My first voyage to South America was soon approaching. I was packed, inoculated and with sunblock in tow, thinking I was ready to hit the streets of Brazil’s iconic seaside city … but my brain was not. In anticipation of my holiday, I attempted to study Portuguese for three months. Portuguese is a sailor’s tongue — the base is supposedly Latin, but the flourishes are from all over the map. If you think someone is speaking Spanish and it sounds strange, that’s because it’s Portuguese.

I don’t profess to be skilled at learning languages, especially Latin ones. My year in Italy only succeeded in coloring my accent, which apparently I can’t turn off. My attempts at communicating in Rio de Janeiro were laughable, as my travel companion continuously informed me it just sounded like I was speaking Italian. La sigh. Fortunately, I did meet a comrade in arms, Luigi. We reminisced about the old country and our nonnas’ health.

The Carioca Aqueduct

Beyond the obvious challenges of traveling through a new locale, I reckon my biggest anxieties came from a more subtle, unconscious place. I had never traveled outside of Europe and I wanted to be on my best behavior for my host city. I knew there would be a load of tourists, and I wanted the flag I flew to be the kindest and most inclusive. American travelers don’t always receive the warmest of welcomes, and I wanted to challenge that.

Rio de Janeiro

I’d discover it wouldn’t be words or gestures that connected me to this sultry place but fancy footwork. Brazilians love to dance together, especially samba. It would be dishonest to say I didn’t watch at least 10 demonstration videos of the tread before I arrived at the spirited and gritty nightlife found in Rio’s youthful, dark underbelly. I finally found myself feeling nothing but contentment and acceptance dancing in that sticky, crowded room, full of strangers that surprisingly did not feel at all strange.

Never Stop Dancing

— Kelsey Farrell, administrative coordinator