We are in Florianópolis, South of Brazil. Couchsurfing in a big house, 10 minutes by foot from a waved see with the right temperature, neither hot that does not refresh, neither cold that makes it hard to get in. During the day we have the big house for us, there is shadow and breeze in the porch, right for reading while the sun is too strong to make it in the beach.
There’s a computer with internet, but no mouse, taken by our host to use with her computer. In Brazil many things do not have explanation. They are just like that. Like on Sunday night when we were cooking and we run out of gas. Is just a no-problem, we phone and they deliver in 10 minutes. But no way to buy an extra bottle.
We are in Brazil and thinking the same way. We should move South, to Porto Alegre, but so far we are looking for a couch. For tomorrow, but here is so good that we will postpone to the day after our departure.
Our trip is near an end. Our head does not allow any more different beds to sleep, find timetables, find bus, find way home, find bed, find food, find what to do, find where to go. Our body does not want anymore to be seated 5 or more hours in a bus, adapt to a new bed, a new pillow. Is time to go home. Where’s home? There is no home. Where will be home is a question that keeps us. What will be our new job. Looking for a job. No, we stay travelling. But then travelling would be no more than an escape of looking for a job, for a home.
There is no other sense now on traveling more, we need to find a ticket to Europe. Soon. This is the end.