Butterflies took over as I boarded the plane, evoking those feelings from that first day at school. Although I have travelled on my own before it is seldom that a trip has the potential to alter my full perspective on life- granted it is not as yet developed much. The time began to drain away and soon the plane was over Sao Paulo. The obvious segregation from the air saddened me. The vividly painted shanty towns stood miles out from the guarded towers of the rich. It becomes ever so clear that such segregation is a harsh truth of life in Brazil.
The world behind the corrugated iron which I have been advised to avoid must surely be subject to the depths of humanity. I do not have to use much imagination in wondering why; a world of crime and drugs but also suffering. Smiles too, no doubt. There is some sort of poetic irony in that it can take having nothing to truly appreciate everything. But this is purely speculation.
Life in Florianopolis is different to say the least. To ride a bus is to have a death wish, as I have just witnessed. Staying only minutes away from the desperately poor but somehow so far. To have clean running water and electricity is considered to only the apartments and houses rich enough. Although, to shower is a bolt from the blue as it is much like ice but sure as hell wakes you up.
Being so far away from England I’ve realised how foreign I am to the Brazilians. Living among people with only a few English words between them, a conversation which would usually only be two minutes takes roughly ten. I have yet to become acquainted with the true culture, though, many of the Brazilians I have met thus far greet with sunny smiles.
I am surrounded by effortlessly beautiful people׃ dark hair, light eyes and olive skin. Voluptuous and sculpted figures strut past, somewhat reminiscent of pages in Vogue; stunning.
Thus far Florianopolis appears to be a dark, wonderful world away from suburbian London, I am oh so used to.
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