The Thought Of My Paradise Being Scary

Looking back out of the small window, I catch a final glimpse of corn fields and lonely railroad crossings before they dip below the horizon. For my first time on a plane, the excitement of adventure meets me as I depart from the comfort of home and enter a world unknown outside of Nebraska. Seeing the world in God’s view as the landscape evolves below, I fall in love with flying. Looking down from 30,000 feet and seeing earth on such a vast scale, I realize how much there is to discover.

In conclusion, reading about Carolina’s life has had a huge impact on my learnings of Brazil. While reading this book, I was able to reflect on what we learned and discussed about life in the favelas in class. When I hear of Brazil, I always hear of the wealthy places, pretty women and beautiful sites to visit. However, the favelas and life of the poor people living in Brazil is rarely mentioned and talked about. Reading Carolina’s diary gave me a different image of the country and showed Brazil in another light. Carolina’s diary gave me more insight on what the daily life of a favelado is like and what people who live in the favelas experience on a daily

As soon as the door opened, the heat hit me. It was like putting a hot iron in front of my face. But it felt even worse as there was a slight wind which pushed the heat towards me. My body was surrounded in a blanket of heat and I even started to sweat slightly. My uncle told me to wait by the lift as he went to collect the car so I wouldn’t have to walk as far and drag my suitcase along. While I waited, I took time to look around at the surroundings. I could see mountains which stretched towards the clouds and the airport behind me. There were a vast number of people walking around from their flight looking drowsy and with no energy. The frequent red double-decker bus also came and a few planes flew above my head. I didn’t even have to look, but I could hear the planes departing and arriving. The planes all looked the same in the sky, big and white with some sort of logo. During the wait, I took a few steps to take away the cramp. Although I had trainers on, I could feel and see that the floor was new. The concrete looked

The sounds of the city at night mix with the laughter of my friends. Taxis honking, subways rushing under your feet, and buses rumbling, all carrying their cargo of dead-tired, empty-minded passengers, following the daily routine until they reach their doorstep. For once, I 'm not one of them, not riding my train after a long day at school, brain set to automatic. Today, I am wide awake, soaring a thousand miles high.

Visiting guest speaker Patricia de Santana Pinho has written several articles, a book, and is in the process of releasing her second book. Her extensive knowledge on Afro tourism in Brazil shows the world a great deal bout the African culture in Bahia, as well as information about the African American “roots” tourist who visit Brazil. When these two African decedent cultures unite they learn a great deal from each other, all while Patricia observes and records the interaction and the positive impact it has on the community and economy of Brazil. In her talk she makes three main points that are significant to the development of brazil, there are: the history of Bahianess, Afro-Brazilians as “happy natives”, and the lack of modernity for the Bahian Afro-Brazilians.

When I first approached El Fernando it was as if it was love at first sight. His body structure was frigid, but yet attractive. Although the dark blue bruises and fiery red bumps on his body were not appealing, I was yet still attracted. His body was coated in a tan color that gave him his charming looks. But it is not only his body structure that gave me that feeling about him. It was also the fact that when I reached down to grab his dough, I had learned more than I have ever had about someone.

As usual, we arrived early and wondered how we would know Johannes. Martine; Casambiente’s Administrative Assistant, only instructed us to meet at the gas station. Vince waited in the car while I checked out the adjacent coffeeshop to see if anyone looked as if they were waiting to meet a stranger. This coffeeshop at a country roadside gas station felt friendly, was obviously a local favorite, hectic with rush hour customers needing gas and a morning jolt of espresso. One of the interior walls was decorated with a colorful mural and the words Buona Fortuna; Italian for Good Luck. I considered this a positive sign for us. No one at the coffeeshop looked like a real estate agent. When I returned to the car, simultaneously, a handsome man with wavy dark hair drove up next to us, smiled, rolled down his window and asked

The airport was crowded, and as the cameraman started to talk to some young Brazilian girls at the time of their arrival, James somehow knew that this trip wasn’t going to be like the others, that something obscure awaited for him in the rainforest. After getting on the bus with the journalism equipment, James looked through the open windows and saw the so-called “favelas”, which were the poorest sections of all cities in Brazil. James had read about them on his book, so he knew that diseases, crime, and drugs were rampant there. This image of the favelas left him without hope and with despair, for some reason he couldn’t bear to watch this horrific images on a country full of resources. Four hours later, James and the cameraman arrived in Manaus. The city was just like James imagined it, full of vegetation and with a humid climate. This environment gave him a little bit of peace within his troubled soul. However, the weather was getting atrocious as they walked to a station where an “Amazonic Scholar” was supposed to guide them through the forest so that they could do their report. As the cameraman talked to the scholar, James had his eyes fixed on the rainforest that was approximately a mile away. Sarah’s voice had started to be heard again within James’ senses. He suddenly felt that tribal voices were calling him

“Look at the sunset,” he told me. I shifted my focus to the window and was taken aback by the wonderful view. The world was coated in several shades of oranges, pinks, and purples; all of them blending together perfectly to create a beautiful sight. I had never seen a sight like this before, and in that moment I knew what Julian meant when he talked about “the exhilarating feel of experiencing something new”. Sure, I stepped foot on an airplane before, but spending this time alone with Julian made it different somehow. The entire relationship resonated a different vibe than the one I was in before. Many people picture their destination when they’re flying, and I was among them with the same thrill and daydreams coursing throughout my body.

The moment I disembark from the cool conditioned ferry the heat engulfed my face and curled around the rest of my body; after a lengthy hour airplane journey and an hour ferry ride I was separated from the continent by a hostile saltwater barrier and introduced to the Galapagos Islands.

Then without any warning blood curdling screams filled the air as the the floor dropped beneath us. Up and down and side to side it bounced, making my stomach jump into my throat. A man behind me started screaming, begging for it to stop. I couldn’t help but laugh at the way this ride made me feel. The frequent rushes of wind smacking against my flushed skin , making my hair float in all directions. I was flying. For that very moment nothing else existed but the euphoria that consumed me.

I felt the eye of judgment piercing through me as I entered the plane. I could hear people whispering and giggling. While scanning the rows to find my assigned seat, I could see the looks of concern from those who thought I might sit by them. The clicking sounds of seat belt buckles almost sent me into a panic. I was dreading asking the flight attendant for a lap belt extension, or worse, having it offered without asking. Words were not necessary to feel the intensity of mass criticism. To make matters worse, it was a hot day, and my clothes were sticking to my body, outlining my multiple layers of over-indulgence. I was overheating and could taste salty beads of sweat trickling down my face.

So, the purpose of this piece of reflective work is to compare and contrast the environment you

The night before we began our journey to Orlando, I didn’t get much sleep. My eyes were wide open like an owl most of the night, tossing and turning under my cloudy soft comforter thinking about what awaited me the next 24 hours. I have always been interested about what it would be like to go on a roller coaster, but I hated the feeling of weightlessness like a balloon. I even hated going on elevators, just the thought of all that force sent a shivering sensation throughout my body that made me agonizingly uncomfortable. Nevertheless, there was a roaring lion fearlessness within me that wanted to indulge on this endeavor. In the morning we pack the family SUV as if we were sardines in a can and headed out to Islands of Adventure.

Puffs of reddish Albuquerque earth rose as the jet settled. Chatter broke out and passengers climbed from their seats, shaking out cramped legs. Carolyn had to get out of here. Just like high places, crowds had never been her thing. Leaping up, she cracked her head on an overhead bin.