Tchau Tchau!

So it seems that I am finally actually, truly, seriously on my way to Rio de Janeiro. This post comes to you from Charlotte, North Carolina, where I have a 3-hour layover to be followed by a 10-hour flight to Rio. I’m trying to focus on the “Rio” part of that sentence rather than the “10-hour” part, but hey, I’ve got my fluffy inflatable pink travel pillow, some books, and the promise of hours of entertainment from my favored in-flight activity of writing though bubbles coming out of the models in the SkyMall catalogue, so I’m good. The first leg of my trip has seen me through only one relatively minor bump, and I’m hoping (not necessarily expecting) the same for the remainder. I was really proud of myself for witling my baggage down to a single checked bag, a smaller carry-on suitcase, and my infamous skater-boy backpack, but as I boarded my ridiculously packed plane in San Francisco, a flight attendant took one look at my (admittedly EXTREMELY over-stuffed) little suitcase and said “ooooh no, we’re checking this right now!” As she dragged me by the wrist to the front of the plane, causing me to run my suitcase over about forty disgruntled passengers’ toes, I got the sensation that I had done something very, very bad and that I would be taken to the principle’s office for a phone call with my parents, young lady. Eventually she chilled out a bit and my bag was whisked away to Rio before I realized that I had left all my snacks inside. This has been bumming me out for several hours now, but since that seems to be the most stressful obstacle that has presented itself for the time being, I am considering myself a very lucky girl.

Speaking of being a very lucky girl, just in case you haven’t heard, I’m going to Rio! After I arrive, I will meet everyone from my program at Hotel Vermont in Ipanema, which, as I discovered in pre-departure research/stalking of Rio, charges more than ten times its usual prices during Carnaval. If my currency converting skills are more-or-less correct, that’s almost $1500 for a single room. Woooow. Anyways, after meeting up for an orientation we are taxi-ed off to our host families and begin language-intensive Portuguese classes the following day. My host appears to be an older woman named Dora who lives in Leblon, a wealthy (and safe!) neighborhood in the southern part of Rio that is, if GoogleMaps has served me right, a mere 15-minute walk from PUC-Rio, my school-to-be for the next six months.

Anyways, it’s time to stretch these old legs before I embark on the second half of my voyage. I hope, for the sake of my own sanity and creativity, that SkyMall does not disappoint in its selection of weird and totally unusable merchandise. Tchau, dear reader(s?), I will see you in the city of paradise!

One more thing:
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE