Casa doce casa

This was my place of residence for the next three nights, Hotel Rivole. It was in a decent neighborhood, Praça da Republica, and quite close to the metro. Although I was terrified of my own shadow after dark, I managed to walk these streets as if they were my own. The room was small, but sufficient. It had two twin beds, a private bathroom, and came with a complimentary breakfast, oh my. The trechorous hike to the third floor proved to be difficult with a 67 pound bag, but after the first attempt, I became quite acquainted with these narrow halls. I often had to go down and up again, as I would forget how cold it was in Brazil. Its percieved as a tropical wonderland, equiped with coconuts and palm trees, but it gets rather cold in the winter, and sweaters are a necessity. None the less, this $R 59.00 a night suite managed to far exceed my expectations, and proved to serve its purpose quite well as a small sleeping nook.


Accompanied by three fairly large bags, a foreign accent, and a baseball cap, I was quickly tagged as the American the minute I walked in. After abruptly knocking a picture off the wall, and taking two trips to get my oh so necessary luggage up the stairs, I comfortably settled into my room. As I fumbled over my words in an attempt to ask the attendant where a restaurant was, what was the time, or where to get a beer, the confused man behind the desk could not help but smile and nod. In a helpless effort to practice my Portuguese, I realized something, I need a lot of work. For all they knew I was speaking German with my horrendous accent. After a few days of listening to the language, my main method of communication, hand gestures, had slowly faded. People in public places began to understand me slightly better, and just as I got the city language down, I left for the country.