(Written by my dear soul sister, Jenna Shenna Roberts, with whom I drove home from Home in 2010.
Re-posted with permission by the author.)

“It has been over 10 months since the rollover accident, and I am still working my way out of physical pain. I am not saying this to pander sympathy (although back rubs and hugs are always welcome, why thank you), I say this because the tickets were just mailed out for this years’ burn, and festival season is here, and I want you to go to and from events more gracefully than I did last year.

I know many of you will soon pack hard, party hard, and drive tired. Recently, returning from Symbiosis, my friend Gray said that he thought of me and got a hotel in Reno rather than pushing it. He got nicely cleaned up and then ran into friends and ate and slept well for cheap. I am hoping that writing this will influence more of you to do the same.

I assure you that it’s an ideal alternative to being jolted awake from the gasp of your friend as a sudden jerk to the left becomes the ceiling smashing on the asphalt followed by every side of the metal box you’re in thundering after it as all of your oh so very well organized festival gear spews haplessly across the dusty desert highway while your freshly poignant ‘Now Is All You Have’ dashboard sticker gets splattered with your dear friends’ head wound blood. This run on sentence is brought to you by 5 seconds of nodding off.

We were so very lucky. I am even an example of the adjective “unscathed” in a fatigue-related accident and I have had over $15,000 in healing treatments. I also just enjoyed turning 35 years old and I am more deeply grateful for that this year than usual. Eben and I are a part of the mere 13% of non-fatal sleeping-at-the-wheel accidents (yup, an 87% fatality rate). One good friend who showed up to help me heal afterward had lost a lover when they fell asleep at the wheel many years ago. Others have shown me their permanent physical damage. This all makes my minor but consistent backaches and my cravings to dance freely again into petty whines in comparison, but I sure do miss bumping to beats a few times a week. I can count on both hands the number of times I have shaken my booty since tumbling (well, upright that is .)

I can’t even legitimately milk the sweet teat of guilt on Eben without being a hypocrite. I was slapping myself awake on the drive South in a caravan a few weeks before our crash. I don’t really get how caravanning makes it any better other than having witnesses to your spill anyhow. Eben and I had swapped out only an hour or so before. Granted, we had eaten a big meal and it was a warm day, but we were only an hour from Summer Lake Hot Springs where we would rest for a night or two. So just pull through it, right? I would likely have done the same as he and pushed on. We all do this, but we don’t actually need to. It’s better to catnap and be delayed.

It’s not like Eben and I are the first in our community to have had this happen. Tito had a similar narcoleptic crunch on the burn drive a few years ago. As he says, “I had two red bulls and a yellow jacket (energy supplement) and still went down.” Now, imagine a world without Tito, how much would that just totally suck? If you don’t know Tito, just imagine a fun, loving, participatory, community-building friend. (Oh, and now imagine a big protective ball of light around Tito to counter the ookie of the first thought. . . . Thank you.) Do we need a tragedy to wake us all up? I don’t think so. We’re smarter than that.

It’s easier to be smart than lucky, but I am so grateful for all the details that made this event less painful. Thank God my Subaru Outback was a solid machine that took a beating to spare us. Thank Goddess I had full insurance that included medical for all passengers. Thank our parents for making us always wear our seatbelt. Thank the Universe we were only 4 miles North of a desert town with a new hospital and a good staff. Thank the friends who showed up to help afterward. Thank us that we were totally sober, because going to court or jail in pain must be really, really hard.

Most gratefully, thank the incredible healers of Portland for helping us feel as good as we do. If anyone needs a good chiropractor, energy healer, physical therapist, acupuncturist, massage therapist, naturopath or herbalist, I know quite a few now. I also highly recommend the anti-inflammatory diet, which isn’t easy to do, but I may delve into it again to try and kick out this last bit of back pain. Because I am ready to be done with it. And I am grateful for all it has taught me. And if it saves just one of you, then every wince was worth it.

Please drive safely. Have fun. Sleep. Then drive safely home. Thank you for being alive and vibrant.”

I’ve settled back into daily home life but can’t seem to kick this travel bug. So I have fleshed out a breadth of alternative hospitality exchange organizations that might inspire you (and me!) to adventure a little further in the coming years. So, what’s stopping you from planning your next expedition?

Couchsurfing.org, With it’s 2.6 million members and over 1 million worldwide couches available at any given time, this is organization is your best shot at finding a place to rest your head and enliven your heart, even in Antarctica, where, currently, 98 hosts await your request. Clearly, the organization’s use of emerging technologies and down right fun and easy user interface with simple, interchangeable language translations inspired throngs of people to join and participate since its founding in 2004.

Servas International, the original, real deal. Founded by US peace activist Bob Luitweiler in 1949, this international organization builds tolerance and world peace one traveler and host at a time. Servas’ membership process seems a bit outdated compared to similar organizations as potential members must apply to join then be interviewed. But then again, 60 years of amazing connections make it worth mentioning and giving mad props.

Hospitalityclub.org Founded in 2000 by Veit Kuehne, This project may appeal to you because it’s entirely non-commercial even though it boasts less than half the members of Couchsurfing.org.

HomeExchange.com This fee-based company begun in 1992 connects you with one of the other 40,000 worldwide homeowners who’d like to house swap with you for an average stay of 1-3 weeks. This 2009 article interviews founder Ed Kushins.

Intervac Home Exchange Begun in the early 1950s, this non-profit boasts members who are typically affluent and between the ages of 35-60. $99/yr membership fee.

Home Exchange University A home exchange site for people ages 50+. This is home exchange for mostly couples without children who have the time and flexibility to travel anytime throughout the year. The site has a handy Home Exchange 101 section to help answer newbie questions.

Know Your Trade is a useful home exhange portal site, not affiliated with one particular home exchange site but partners with various companies to offer one stop searching for home exchange. The site also includes great exchange tips and an article on various free home exchange sites.

Want to Take It Up a Notch?

These volunteer organizations exchange work for lodging and food.

Help Exchange (ests. 2001) Want to volunteer on a ranch or a sailboat? Then join this fee-based company ($29/2 years) to find your next serious adventure.

Global Volunteer Network (est. 2000) connects people with communities in need by becoming a portal for local volunteer organizations and potential volunteers worldwide. Come on! Don’t you want to volunteer at Thailand’s Elephant Refuge and Education Centre? One downside: a $350 application fee for 5 years access to the site and it’s amenities may be steep for some of the most richly traveled, yet financially strapped volunteers.

WWOOF (World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms est. 1971) One of my new Brazilian friends couldn’t stop telling stories about her experiences with WWOOF New Zealand. She volunteered on an organic farm and learned about local, sustainable farm techniques while tilling the soil and getting to know the farm family. Volunteers work for food and lodging. (WWOOF charges a $30 membership fee to help defray administrative costs.)

PLEASE, tell me about other similar organizations or companies you’ve heard of or experienced. Now, back to the elephants…

So, now that I’m back from Brazil, I just have to delve deeper into a few topics. The first is electric tango. Yes, it’s been around for a while, but with Brazil wooing me and promise of Spring and Summer flirting with me, I couldn’t help it, I fell in love. So, I have most dutifully labored my tympanum to bring you a quite subjective short list of yummy electric tango. Yes, that’s a genre, a RSL genre. I’m a fan of yummy music. Call me too happy to use such descriptors as “filthy” or “dirty.”

Tell me what you think of my recommendations and if you’ve got some additional taste tunes to share.

Otros Aires, Tricota, 2010. (iTunes) With his third album, Otros Aires walks the seductive tightrope between modern and traditional avant-garde tango.

Tanghetto, Emigrante, 2010. (iTunes) A masterful melding of tango’s passion with electronica.

Federico Aubele, Berlin 13, 2011. (iTunes) Mix ambient with a strong tango beat and Spanish guitar and you’ve got a delicious feast for your ears.

Pink Martini, Hang On Little Tomato, 2004. (iTunes) (and their other albums are nothing to smirk at either). A little plug here for my hometown peeps, not exactly tango, but they’ve got a sweet twist to the world beat mix going on: sexy, sweet, playful and sophisticated. Yes, you may have heard them, but when was the last time you took them for an auditory spin? I’ve been lucky enough to see them many times in concert. They are a great live performance and work hard to entertain their audiences.

Oh, and since I’m mentioning sexy, smart tune makers, consider the original bossa nova meets new wave remixes of Nouvelle Vague with their quirky, 2004 self-titled work (iTunes) (or one of their other 14 albums.)

Now off to Pandora, Grooveshark, lastfm or your other favorite music genome site and sensually feast on the tango groove during a sumptuous supper for two. It’s Friday after all.

Friday finally arrives. My flight’s at 10pm so I have one more full day to soak up this beautiful, amazing Brazilian energy before the long flight home. I spend as little time as possible repacking my backpack then escape out into Lapa. I pay my R$.40 fare (that’s .25!)  and jump on the Bonde, the last of Rio’s historic streetcars. Brazil had one of the world’s first electric tramways and the world’s largest fleet of open streetcars. It’s a must ride! I step off into the St Teresa neighborhood atop a hill is full of restaurants and shops as well as artist galleries and magnificent views of the city. I wander the curvaceous cobblestone streets and visually feast on exquisite views, homes and gardens. All is awash with color. Brilliant blue homes to fiery sunset skies spark the natural energy felt among the streets and establishments here. I leave begrudgingly to see my final, famous piece of Rio, the Selarón stairs.

After a quick Bonde ride back down to Lapa, I wind down a few streets and come upon these most famous steps. Selarón began to tile these steps, in front of his house, in 1990. 250 steps measuring 125 meters long are covered in over 2000 tiles collected from over 60 countries around the world. This constant work in progress, he claims, will only end upon his death. He encourages people to send him tiles from around the world, and he will use them as he replaces tiles often. I heard he still lives in the same house along the stairs and works on the mosaic each morning while telling tales at night. Sadly, I didn’t see him while I was there, though I secretly hoped to thank him in person for his beautiful art.

5pm. No escaping. The end of my trip to Brazil lingers, awaiting the final moments to tick away. I return to Rodrigo’s to say goodbye. He greets me with the broadest smile and fullest hug. Somehow thank you isn’t enough but no other words seem more true. He tells me we have to take a Couchsurfing picture. It’s tradition! And so my last memory of Brazil is of Rodrigo and I surfing on his couch. It captures everything Brazil is: fun and silly, generous and alive, and mostly, openhearted. It feels like home. Is it the real people? The simple joy of dancing? The food? Maybe it’s the authentic me that feels most like home. Maybe that’s why so many of us call the playa home. But like the playa I do not leave home when I leave Brazil. I carry home with me, everywhere I go. My home just keeps growing bigger the more amazing people and places I experience, and for that, I am most humbled and grateful.

Today, I mingle with the local Cariocas! Now that all the college revelers have zipped up their backpacks and left Rio and its beaches, I easily bus back down to Copacabana and Ipanema for a day at the beach. After much rain the hot sun peaks out of a partly cloudy sky and warms me.

I exit the bus at the northern most point of Copacabana. Today I walk the entire boardwalks and shorelines of both of these two world famous spots. Though locals pack the beaches, an sense of calm and rest, not revelry, fill the air. THIS is the scene I want to experience!

Copacabana is more dense and a bit shabbier than its sister beach and because it faces east to the Atlantic, it loses the sun sooner than south facing Ipanema. I walk past the Copacabana Palace and envy the magnificent costumes guests must have worn to its famous Magic Ball masquerade the Saturday before, but in the same moment I also don’t envy the easily $1000 ticket price. (Burning Man theme camp magnificence dances through my head instead.)

I complete the 4km Copacabana walk before early afternoon and stop by the Forte de Copacabana before I continue my gait to Ipanema. First, I sit on the seawall to watch the surfers then make way to the sand. Vendors troll the beach offering the most delightful of liquid concoctions and wears. I stop one man to buy the most deliciously large slice of ruby red watermelon while another, with blow horn turned to 11, announces “Acai! Acai!” (“Ah-sigh-EEEE, Ah-sigh-EEEE!”) I find one vendor selling bikinis on the beach.  With only hand gestures, sand writing and a few key Portuguese phrases, I astutely barter down to a mere R$35 ($21!) for my new, two piece Brazilian beauty.

I continue along the beach. Different crowds sand loiter at different, world famous lifeguard posts. Ipanema’s Post 9 is known for the tanned and lithe, while also laid back and alternative, sunbathers. I walk on this post’s foamy shoreline until I find a comfy spot on the sand to sunbathe with my kanga beach blanket (much like a colorful, fringed sarong). Another vendor stops to offer me a made-fresh-in-front-of-me caipirinha (muddled lime over sugar, ice and cachaça, a Brazil-famous fermented, sugarcane liquor).

Here is where I wait for Chelsea, a Brazilian who recently lived in L.A. and though hasn’t been to Burning Man, was welcomed into the local burn community while in the U.S. She and I have tried to hang out several times. Today we meet. We drink beer on the beach then walk to the lagoon, chatting the entire time. We become instant best friends. *Sigh.* I love being a big kid in the world’s sandbox.

Soon we are off to the weekly Rio Couchsurfers meeting near Post 5 in Copacabana to meet Rodrigo and other like-minded locals and travelers. My last night in Rio, in Brasil, I meet the most incredible, inspiring people. Gathered under too small umbrellas, it begins to monsoon around us. Unlike the others anxiously avoiding the rain, I intentionally step deep into the middle of the warm drops. They soak my clothes, my skin and my soul because rain will wash away everything, if you let it. Yes, it is a night to remember.

Wednesday, I awake refreshed and happy. A seasoned member of the neighborhood now, I wander to the supermarket for freshly baked rolls, then stroll over the the pastry shop for decedent banana puff pastries and then find a mom and pop cafe where I buy a delicious ham and cheese breakfast sandwich and strong, sweet Brazilian coffee for R$3. That’s about $2 USD. I make my way back to the apartment, create an incredible fruit salad with mostly fruits I can’t pronounce nor buy in the U.S., then pack myself a lunch for the trip to Christ the Redeemer.

Getting anywhere in Rio is a process. Buses are excellent transport but do not keep regular schedules and their drivers are madmen, nearly sideswiping delivery trucks, small cars and pedestrians who dare to venture anywhere near it’s tank-like exterior. All the buses are manual transmission. I watched bus driver after bus driver slam back his stick shift and kick his 36 foot race car into high gear with gusto at every possible opportunity.  I heard many stories of people waiting an hour or more for the right bus, but I never had to wait longer than five minutes for any public transportation my entire trip. Perhaps it’s Ka Hana Pono sweetly aligned and intervening again.

I catch the bus to Cosmo Vehlo, and the moment I step onto the sidewalk, a tour guide approaches and offers me a round trip van ride to the top of Corcovado Peak (2,330 feet above sea level) to the monument. I jump in, and the van wisks us up an incredibly bumpy and winding road. We reach the parking lot where everyone disembarks and then wait in not one, but two lines: one to purchase an admission ticket and one to catch the final van up to the monument. The wait for many seems long but not for me. I spend the time reflecting on my time in Brazil so far, smiling.

When I reach the monument’s base, I climb the 220 stairs to ultimately see clouds surrounding the Christ the Redeemer, only his base visible. The sun peaks out here and there.  I sit patiently among hundreds of impatient tourists, maybe 45 minutes, until the clouds part for but 15 minutes.

There stands Christ the Redeemer, 98 feet wide and 100 feet high, about the same size as the Statue of Liberty.  Built of concrete and soapstone between 1922 and 1932 in the art deco style,  it weighs 635 tons.

Most people expeditiously snap their photos and rush down to the shuttle van, but I find a nice spot to eat my lunch and quietly look out at the panoramic view of Rio. I notice lovely red buds beginning to bloom on lush green foliage just as a gorgeous iridescent blue and green hummingbird flutters in and out of the blossoms. I ponder the dangling legged insects, much like wasps, buzzing about. I feel lucky to have such magical, winged companions with me.

(It’s only upon later inspection of my photos, do I realize these natural creatures followed me all day. If you look closely at the photo above, you will see one of those odd insects captured in flight just under Christ’s chin. And in the photo to the right, you will see my friend, the hummingbird.)

I make my way down to the base of the monument and find the small chapel named after the patron saint for Brazil, Nossa Senhora Aparecida (Est. in 2006). Only a mere 20 people can sit on small boxed seats inside the vestibule. I enter, take a seat and appreciate the quiet calm juxtaposed the crowded white noise just outside. It is here I take in the holy. Yes, I was raised Catholic, but though I don’t practice now, I do find churches to be sweet places of positive light and energy. I pray. Not the rote prayers I was taught in parochial grade school, but instead, I take this opportunity to be grateful for all the abundance in my life and to set my soul’s intentions free atop this beautiful mountain. A passing Brazilian tells me to make three wishes upon entering the chapel for the first time (when entering any church for the first time). And so I sit and wish. I wish for worry-free emotional, spiritual and financial abundance while fulfilling my soul’s path: writing. I wish for abundant, blissful love to constantly surround me and my loved ones, in all its forms. I wish for simple joy, peace and graceful enlightenment for humankind.

I feel good and at peace when I step out the chapel doors and back out into the brilliant sun. Only once my shuttle van returns me to Cosmo Veldo, do I realize it is Ash Wednesday. I smile at this lovely revelation and sweet momment of grace just as the right bus for Ipanema pulls up in front of me without delay.

With the sun finally out, now is the perfect time to lounge on the beach, acai in hand, and daydream.

I don”t get to bed til 2am, but watching the Sambadrome spectacle is worth it. Power Risers, stilts, dramatic costumes, performances- all things I love! I sleep in the next morning and awoke just in time for Rodrigo to ask me if I wanted to join him and the gals for lunch then for one of the most famous blocos in the afternoon. I heartily accept!

We enjoy lunch at a per kilo luncheonette then bus to a park in I believe the Laranjeiras neighborhood. The sun pops out, and we take in its warmth while lounging on the grass, awaiting the party to begin. Over the next hour, hundreds of people continue to gather. This bloco includes a rawkin’ soundsystem with wireless mics attached to all the brass instruments. Not every bloco has amplification, but they surely needed it for this growing crowd of revelers.

The music begins at 4:30pm and so does the dancing (see video here). I want to be up front, near the band and speakers, so Suzette and I squish forward. The 30 piece band plays for four hours – straight. I am happily drenched in sweat by nightfall, thirsty and famished. Within minutes of the music beginning, I had lost Rodrigo and all the people I’d come with, but we somehow seemlessly reconnect among the hundreds of post-party park loiterers. At 10pm we take a short walk back to Lapa, where the evening’s festivities have begun. I stop at a street vendor and buy a beef kabob rolled in what I believe is vegetable juices then happily make my way back to Rodrigo’s apartment, with full intention of going back out to Lapa later.

I finally sit down on Rodrigo’s couch. Blessedly, I am served pasta and water. I look out on the street below and then intentionally say to myself, “Today was absolutely the most perfect way to celebrate Fat Tuesday. I don’t need to go back out in Lapa to somehow complete my experience.” I relax then settle in for the night, satisfied and content. I go to bed before midnight with no regrets.

Quick! To the shower then to a taxi! I am about an hour late but Kyle messages me the driver still hadn’t arrived. I jump out of the taxi to find a chill Kyle updating his Facebook in his hostel’s lobby. His hostel is of questionable standards. This is confirmed by Kyle who tells me a girl at breakfast counted her bed bug bites. 412. Yep. Another reason to be grateful for my Couchsurfing host! I have tried to blissfully ignore the dead cockroaches crunched along the streets but the bed bug story inspires me to make my way down to the corner restaurant to grab a quick breakfast while awaiting our driver.

In perfect time the driver arrives; however, he tells us the price to hang glide because it’s Carnival is more than the hostel host quote. Kyle tells him this is odd as the host confirmed the cost this morning only two hours ago. The driver conveniently tells us he is just the messenger. We kindly request he talk to his boss and offer just R$20 more per person, including photos. After a bit of haggling, we are in the car and driven to the São Conrado neighborhood of Rio. From there we sign our lives away,  purchase our student pilot’s license (state required and a sure fire way to make an extra buck), and wait for our ride up the mountain. Each time we interact with our tour, we meet a different person. Kyle and I agree we are glad to be partners in crime for this adventure as we might both have pulled out of the jump had we gone through this somewhat shady treatment alone.

In the car and up the mountain we go. The fog moves in and out over the mountain. Some flights go, some wait. We hope we can beat the weather and make our flights. Kyle and I witness several other, perhaps more reputable, hang gliding companies give student pilots long safety instructions. Our guides offer us this advice: “I will count to three, then we run, do not jump, just step out into the clouds and whatever you do, don’t look down until we’ve taken off.” One might wonder at this point if I have good judgment, but Kyle and I both queue up in line to fly, questionable sanity intact. Kyle is first. The fog rolls in. He has to wait. His nerves build a bit but when the clouds clear, his take off is perfect.

I am next. My momentary bit of fear releases. We prepare. “One, two, three, RUN!” I step off a cliff and fly like a bird. The shift from ground to air is effortless and without turbulence. Suddenly, I am flying, surrounded by beautiful mountains, the ocean and an amazing city. I am most pleasantly surprised at how quite the flight is. I am blissfully happy, all smiles.

We land on the beach sand, and I jump up and down like a kid. What fun! I meet Kyle on the boardwalk, and we share in two celebratory coconut waters, then scrape out the shell’s jelly. A perfect treat to follow such an adventure.

On the ride back to Ipanema, I tell Kyle all about Couchsurfing. He is prime to join. He’s traveled the world, loves to surf and is totally laid back, congenial and fun. He’s sold. I leave him at his hostel to go online and join while I stroll the beach. I wander the boardwalk then the shoreline. I talk to locals and tourists alike, check out street vendor wears and then make it home in time for Rodrigo to tell me the girls are going to buy tickets to watch the Sambadrome if I’d like to join. Yes! No time to rest. I am off to sit in Sector 6 and watch, no dance, to the parade. We return home about 1am. I am beat. I sleep 11 hours. I awake in perfect time to dress and run off my final day of blocos.

I awake to Rodrigo telling me Suzette and Sarah are about to leave for a Bloco, but they’ll wait if I want to go. YES! I dress with my Sambadrome costume streamers, and we make our way to the party, which I believe is Escravos de Mauá, in Centro. Many blocos don’t list their start times correctly or aren’t listed at all in order to encourage local participation and crowd control. Even the most diligent Carioca might not find an accurate schedule. Ah, so goes Brazil. Time is always a suggestion.

Bloco costumes often resemble online ordered Halloween costumes to raided grandma’s closet outfits. Glam is not the goal, hot mess fun is. We apply thick eyeliner, bright lipstick and lots of sparkle glitter then wander the streets until we reach the party. The clouds part just as the band begins to play and march down the street. We three gals keep close to the bloco ropes and the band! Thousands of people show up for this bloco! Rain or shine, the streets are alive with energy. Yes, these neighborhood parties are the life of Rio.

We dance for hours but parade only a few short blocks. It doesn’t matter. The day is perfect. People of all ages, costumed and not, dance like no one’s watching.  This is a neighborhood block party. The music ends and we trail home for an hour before the next local Lapa bloco at 2pm. Then we march and dance even more. We leave this party only to catch the metro down to Ipanema where I plan to meet Chelsea, a burner connection I had yet to meet in person. Sunday is the biggest  day of Carnival celebration, and most young people go to Ipanema to celebrate. The metro is crowded with revelers in costume, many singing bloco songs and carnival chants, pumping electricity into the now stuffed metro cars. It is here on the metro we meet Lilianne and her friend. They help us navigate the packed streets and find my friend among the thousands upon thousands celebrating. What a difference from Lapa. The Ipanema crowd reminded me of Fort Lauderdale’s Spring Break. For me it was too crowded and too drunk. Chelsea, the gals and I and our new friends leave to go to a bloco in the Botafogo. After a short visit there, Lilanne suggests we go to Lapa. Chelsea stays behind, and I am off to spend the evening with new friends met moments ago on the metro. Did I mention Lilianne doesn’t speak a word of English?

We arrive to a lively Lapa crowd, walk off the main roadway and find a sweet, small samba band playing on the streets. We stand and dance, then a couple of Brazilians ask Lilianne and I to dance. Oh, partner samba dancing! What fun to find a man who’s an amazing lead. We dance for hours, laughing and enjoying the play of the dance. I arrive home in the wee hours of the morning. I believe I just may have danced more in the last three days than I do the entire week I am at Burning Man.

My internal alarm clock awakens me at 9:30am sharp. The exact time Kyle, my hostel friend from Ilha Grande, told me to meet him at his hostel so we could go hang gliding together. Luckily I knew I had Brazilian time on my side, but would I make it?

Friday. I have been in Brazil for one week. And it´s time for Rio! I rise to enjoy one more infamous breakfast at the hostel, then make my way to the dock to catch the 9am catamaran back to Angra dos Reis so I can bus to Rio. As I sit atop the boat, the sun breaks out. I sigh but smile. `Sun the next time I am on this island!´There will be a next time.

After an uneventful bus ride to Rio, I taxi to my Couchsurfing host´s home in Lapa. Rodrigo isn´t there but his friend is to let me in. I settle in and take a nap so I am ready to take in my first Rio night. If you are not familiar with Couchsurfing, I recommend you check it out. After burning for many years, being a part of Couchsurfing seemed a no brainer for me. You can read about the organization´s philosophy and safeguards on their site, but basically, I signed up, created a profile, and began to host people in my home who sent me requests to stay with me for free. It´s about connecting with people and building community. Sound familiar?  I don´t host everyone who requests, I can´t, but I do host people who have good references from people who have either been hosted or hosted that person before. The more references the better. I base a lot of my decision also on intuition. I just know when I read a profile if we´ll get along.  I met some amazing people along the way, including Eddie from Syndey Australia, who I hosted during his last week of a one year world travel tour. His late night stories were priceless! So far, I´ve hosted people from Italy, London, Paraguay, and folks from around the US. And now I have friends to stay with in all these places!

I surfed through Italy last June and here I am surfing in Rio, during carnival. Rodrigo arrives home, and I jump up and give him a huge hug. He tells me my request was the best couchsurf email he´s ever received (it had something to do with a South African, a Barcelonian and a burner) and then he presents me with a Couchsurfing Brasil mug. Then he takes me out to the party on the streets in Lapa, where it begins to pour rain down on us. (Yes, more rain.)

The next day, Burnal Equinox, is the day! I dance in the Sambadrome with Viradouro, one of the Samba schools. Our fantasia costumes arrived the night before. At first I was concerned. Would I be wearing some skimpy sparkle bikini and have to suck in my tummy the whole time? Instead, here is what we found in our costume bags. Phew! I thought. There is no way I need to worry about being sexy in this outfit. I pat my ego on the head and tell it to go back sleep so I can giggle with glee and child like wonder at the experience I was about to have in this hot pink puffy costume. I couldn´t wait to be silly in it. We ready for the night and join the parade queue for our school at 6pm. We don´t enter the Sambadrome until 10pm. The long wait allows me to photo all the amazing costumes and floats. What a wonderful way for me to celebrate burnal equinox, the ultimate Rio Carnival participation!  I wasn´t supposed to take photos while parading in the Sambadrome, but you know I did. (Oh, and it poured rain down on us as we samba danced.) Nothing stopped me from smiling and laughing with utter delight. Check out a video clip of my school in the Sambadrome here. Sorry, no clip of me You´ll just have to imagine it! Oi!