I have so much I want to say about my time here in Brazil. Impressions that needs to be processed, re-experienced in memory and in writing. A deep desire to capture these feelings in writing or in painting, preserved and exposed. Impressions and feelings about Brazil, Vitoria, the summer school, the day in Rio, the flight here, of sand between my toes, temperature of the water, the wild wind, the humming bird, the burning sun, the music, the food, the exotic fruits in pile after pile, the enormous blue butterfly, the hotel hopping, the early mornings watching the sun rise, the cheap taxis, the google-translate conversations at the hotel lobby, about poor dressing styles, about fabulous dressing styles; about me in this new context.
Overwhelmed by not the number of impressions but the intensity of a selected few. Dangerously lingering is an intimate conversation, a couple of well directed compliments and an all too short moment in ill disguised secrecy.
People tell me Brazil is a dangerous country: “Don’t go out alone in the dark”, “Stay away from certain areas”, Don’t carry to much valuables”, “Mosquitoes may carry Dengue fever” etc. is told from left and right, from Brazilian and international folks alike. Being a good sensible girl I take the necessary precautions, and then some, to make sure that my body stays safe in this dangerous environment but I cannot help to start wondering if I did not misjudge the dangers here a bit. The central streets are relatively safe, there are no really suspicious characters anywhere and I am covered in mosquito bites that does not seem to have any more dramatic consequences than itching a bit. Still preserving the sensible watchful eye instead another feeling creeps up my spine like a pleasant summer breeze.
The irresistible disaster inviting itself like a beautiful and raging thunder storm and the only acceptable option is to like a matador walk into the bullring silently screaming out to the world: “Yes, I am a complete idiot – I am ready to bleed.”