Greetings, my neglected readers. I am coming to you from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, where I have spent the last week filling up on black beans and roasted pork and walking for miles along the shore. Already hidden under the cloak of middle-aged-female, the ethnic melting pot and laid back culture of Rio have allowed me to blend in and wander almost invisibly each day.
My first adventure in Rio was going on a hike organized by the hostel. At 10 am on our first full day I joined a group of 20-somethings in the lobby and introduced myself to the nearest few. We were bundled into Ubers, which took us to the base of the mountain (pictured above), and then piled one-by-one onto motorbike taxis, minus helmets, which zipped into oncoming traffic up the steep winding roads into the favelas. Had I not spent three days on the back of a motorbike in Vietnam, I would have been absolutely terrified. We finally arrived at the trailhead and I spent 45 minutes scrambling uphill after a group that required no rest stops. Red-faced and panting, I sat at the summit questioning my life choices.
Once I recovered from the hike, I settled into one of my favorite things about travel: observing things I have never even thought to imagine. Here, beach volleyball is played with everything but your hands. Like soccer, but back and forth across a net. Today I saw two women standing in the road at an intersection holding an advertising banner facing the stopped one-way traffic. When the light changed, they relocated to the perpendicular cars. Back and forth.
It’s been 8 months since my last solo trip. Technically, I’m traveling with my son, but his interests and mine diverge enough that we are basically on two separate trips, staying in the same hostel each night. That said, he did get me to jump off the side of a mountaintop the other day. As I stood at the edge of the platform, harnessed to a paraglider and an instructor, I expected to feel nervous but I was strangely calm. Our peaceful 6-minute descent was incredibly beautiful. Mid air my instructor, Juan, said “I love my job.” To which I replied, “I love your job too!”
As amazing as that experience was, this trip has made me realize that I have outgrown the travel bug. Visiting 20 countries in six months last year, I can safely say I got it out of my system. Now I find myself craving familiarity rather than novelty. My first full day in Rio, I had to go to three ATMs to get cash. Surprisingly few people speak English here. Perhaps the most obvious sign that my hardcore travel era is behind me is that I’ve been taking Ubers. Last year I took public transportation everywhere, as a point of pride. But here in Rio, where Ubers are cheap and plentiful, I’ve chosen the easy way.
Travel, like building out a van, is an endless series of puzzles. I’ve grown weary of puzzles; my nervous system is asking for rest. After three months living in the van, parked in 33 different locations, I finally remembered my original intention in building this tiny home on wheels. It wasn’t, as it is for many, a way to live everywhere. For me, it was intended as a search vessel to figure out where to live. I’d sort of lost sight of that.
When I return to the US, I plan to spend a couple of weeks in three or four small cities in the Northeast, doing a “test stay.” I’ll visit the local libraries, coffee shops, and farmers markets. I’ll wander the independent grocery stores and hardware stores. I’ll explore the hiking and biking options, maybe even join a meetup or community event. I’m looking for a small- to mid-sized city that is civic-minded and diverse. It’s time to trade wide for deep, my friends.
Let's Go, Jane! 
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