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36 hours travel time and finally...

Flooded with happiness to arrive in Rio again. I didn't think it would affect me this strongly. Actually I'd wondered if Rio might have lost its luster, if I would arrive here and think "oh, this again; ho hum; I'm done with this now".

But I stepped off the plane into the heat, saw the familiar 1.5-hour line at passport control under the familiar "Policia Federal" logo on the wall, heard the chatter of the Portuguese, and was unexpectedly FLOODED with happiness. Who is ever happy to see the Policia Federal? I was. It meant I was back in Brazil.

Next to the Policia Federal logo, on the same wall, was a big ad for a Brazilian brand of milk (Elege), with an illustration of one of those odd milk cartons that they use here - so hard to open, so impossible to pour, so obviously an inferior design! - and I was, again, FLOODED with happiness. Those terrible little milk cartons! I am back in Brazil!

I didn't think it would feel this intense. Rio so familiar and comfortable. It's not nostalgia. It's not distant memories. It's home. I've been away from home a long time, and now I'm back.

On the bus from the airport, every street we passed was so vividly familiar that I could swear I was just here last week. The bus drove past the Praca Maua and I was automatically looking for Jorge and Curtis, to hop on the bus to Beija-Flor with them. We drove past the Belmonte bar and I was automatically looking for Jason do Festa and Eric Sete Cordas, ready to jump out of the bus and join them for a choppe and a shrimp pastel. I waved to Marcos Suzano when we drove past his apartment, then to Chris when we drove past hers. Waved to friends and all my neighborhoods and my little juice bars and my newstands and my streets, all the places I've lived here.

The bus swung into Copacabana. Past another street where I used to live. Down the path of the great Monobloco parade where I got such a bad sunburn on my left hand. I look at my hand. My left wrist is STILL darker than my right. It just happened yesterday, I swear.

I hopped off the bus at Posto 8 in Ipanema. Sun and sea. Ten million bright umbrellas on the beach. Trash on the streets. Coconut rinds lying all over. All the passersby chattering in Portuguese. Home.

I feel so relaxed this time. Because the pressure is off. This is my fifth visit. I don't have to dash around and see everything and fill every second with lessons and escola visits. Because this is my home and I will be back here year after year. There is no hurry.

I check into my lovely little hostel (Rio Hostel's got a new branch, in the Arpoador - it's very nice), then go out for a little breakfast - ah! real fruit juice again! real coffee! minas cheese! - then go lie on the beach in the hot, hot sun and jump in the cold, cold sea.