I have moved to a new home in Brazil. The neighborhood is more vibrant, with cafes and shops. There is a youthful energy around the apartment. I am on the third floor, up a long window row of stairs. The wood is very dark, and the building is covered with the jungle. A man lives on the first floor. He had a pink sweatshirt and glasses. He called out to me from the open window. I am happy I am not on the first floor. My apartment has two terraces and four large glass windows with wooden shutters that do not precisely lock or stay shut.

I do not recall the climate being this muggy and dense the last time I visited.

The new home is very well-spaced and supplied with appliances. The kitchen has a blender! And a toaster, a percolator, and a gas-lit oven. The pots and utensils are steel, and the dishes are all ceramic—a light blue with dark brown trimming. There's ample Tupperware so I can cook and prepare meals for days to come. Glass jars with flowers and hanging plants decorate the living room and bathrooms. There are two washrooms. And two beds! One in the living room, loft-style. The other is in the bedroom with a wooden backboard and reading lamps—soft lighting.

You can tell someone lives here. Refined touches and little gestures tell you someone has lived in the space and made it their abode.

I miss the sunset. My last apartment had a view from the fifteenth floor of the hills and North of the city. I sat with the sunrise and sunset each morning to set the rhythm of my day and evening. I could hear the roosters crow. They call at all times of the day, not just in the morning. Maybe these birds were confused.

I do not have such luxury where I am now. I am at the city's level. I can hear the cars and trucks. Last night, I listened to people drinking and laughing outside, maybe on a balcony, and maybe on their way home from a party. Many birds are in the trees, but their chirping is drowned out at intervals by the city's noise.

And the sun! The sun! I cannot see my sunshine, pink skies, or purple wash across the clouds. I've gathered a little rectangle of blue with whisps of clouds from my place by the window. The terrace is no better; the buildings are too high, and there are too many.

I've settled in the space. I created a spot to do my morning meditation and yoga practice. I hung my clothes in the closet. I set out my utensils in the main toilet and kitchen. I don't have much. I've given away so many of my belongings!

I arrived when the cleaner was still dusting and mopping. I stayed out of his way in the bedroom while he hopped from room to room with rags, stopping for a cigarette on the balcony at the back of the house. Filipe. blue shorts and a buzzcut. He was warm and very kind.

The coffee shop I frequent is thirty minutes from here. It is a nice walk, mostly uphill, and I will wear a nice dress and sunscreen today. The bread from the shop is delicious. I purchased a pumpkin seed loaf and a dark rye. I have no appetite from the medication that I am on, though I always eat a meal midday. I am drinking coffee again—oat milk lattes. I order in Portuguese, and my accent is terrible.

I don't fit here, in Brazil. I cannot assimilate, and it is not because of the time. I could drop in with the people, places, and languages in Morocco, Berlin, Spain, and Turkey. Brazil it is difficult for me. France, impossible! The French did not bother with me; in Brazil, it is different. It is too dense here - the static blocks my energy. It is the heaviness of the rains, the hood of the jungle. There is so much life! My kitchen is crawling with ants. They are so small I can only see them if they travel in a group. Little white specks. They do not bite or bother me, so I don't bother them.

Except for the honey jar, but I will not write about that. It was overwhelming—swarms around the lid and bottom of the jar. I nearly tossed the container out.

Thirty days is what I have in Sao Paulo, and how will I spend them?

Photo source.