Have you ever visited a place you felt a deep, yet seemingly inexplicable, affinity for? I have.

I first traveled to Brazil in 2005 to visit a guy I met while traveling in Hungary the previous year. I returned four more times in the next two years, despite the relationship slowly dissolving in the interim. What remained, in fact grew, was an intense attraction to the language, the contradictions within the culture, the hospitality of the people, and the chance to become part brasileira—to stay and know the place better than a visitor can.

I can be highly organized and strategic when I want to be. Sometime in 2006 I launched an “escape plan.” I analyzed living costs, created a budget, and began saving. Meanwhile, I started researching various cities based on criteria I deemed important, such as ease of transportation, safety, cultural offerings, and even “green space”. My subsequent vacations doubled as reconnaissance missions as I scoped out the places atop my list: Rio de Janeiro, São Paulo, and Florianopolis.

Ultimately I chose the first city I visited. Though I collected more tangible reasons, I confess that perhaps the biggest pull was the simple fact that each time the plane descended and I saw the purple-blue airport with sunny yellow letters, Porto Alegre felt like home. It’s a rather un-touristy southern city, which means locals tend to react to my explanation, “Eu fugi da casa…” (I ran away from home…), with surprise and delight. It has a manageable population of 1.5 million; it’s large enough to offer museums and theatre while being small enough to not feel smothering. Though

public transit is efficient, inexpensive, and readily available, the city is also quite walkable. Plus, I made friends with the monkeys in the giant Redenção park on previous visits, and I couldn’t bear to let them down.

In March I whittled down my possessions to two carry-on sized bags and two boxes (which were shipped). I gave up my corporate title of Glorified Secretary, sublet my apartment, and sold or donated the furnishings. I shared lots of dinners and happy hours with family and friends. And then I got on a plane.

I arrived in “Port Happy” on an invitingly hot late-summer day and I felt…incredible. I knew that I wouldn’t have to set an alarm clock anytime soon. I was at liberty to make myself sick on tropical fruits and salgadinhos (they’re terribly delicious fried snack foods). There would be at least one futebol (soccer) game on nearly every day. I would regain something I’ve been missing for ages—time; to wander, discover, think, sleep, exercise, write, and idly chat. I felt…relieved. 

That was the beginning—about two and a half months ago. I have since settled into a small apartment in Centro, a neighborhood that has not yet lived up to its dodgy

reputation. Many wonderful landmarks, including Catedral Metropolitana, Palácio Piratini, Teatro São Pedro, and Usina Gasômetro, are nearby—as is anything else I could possibly need. I regularly buy cashews, salami, cheese, and chocolates at Mercado Publico, and I try to commit to a few hours a week of Portuguese self-study at Casa de Cultura Mario Quintana—instead of just catching foreign films there. I’m in the midst of my first Brazilian winter, which is both a strange thing (being June) and a source of amusement (being from Chicago). Finally, for the first time in a decade, I don’t feel a wistful desire to be on every plane that passes overhead.

I didn’t presume to know, as I planned this adventure, what would transpire over time as I reestablished myself; alone, in a new culture, learning a new language, living a new reality. I still don’t know. But I keep an old magnet on my refrigerator that reads, “Leap and the net will appear.”

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