Florianopolis, or Floripa for friends, is a true paradise, perhaps so perfect as to arouse some questions. I write on a rock by the side of a quiet and crystal clear ocean, almost sleepy, in front of my eyes a cream-colored beach, lots of green and some nice islets. Simply idyllic.
Too bad that I cannot take pictures, this will only be part of my memories and my stories.
Last night I attended the carnival in the city of Florianopolis, a wild mixture of all imaginable kinds of music and dances from samba carioca to maracatù pernambucano. It is not clear if the mix is really spontaneous or the classic tourist trick served to the many Argentines who spend their holidays here.
This is also why I feel more and more intense and inviting air of Argentina. Party tonight and then Porto Alegre, land of gauchos.