By LUANA MONTEIRO

The moment I succumbed to life in the suburbs for the duration of our two-year stay, my husband’s employers offered us an apartment in the middle of Salvador.  We promptly packed our twelve suitcases and moved to Barra, a neighborhood on the peninsula between the Bay of All Saints and the Atlantic Ocean.  Again, the steep hills and winding sidewalks dotted by sprawling almond trees evoked in me an eerie familiarity.  The main bedroom’s built-in wooden closet smelled musty, old-world, and opening its doors never failed to conjure up my grandmother.

By LUANA MONTEIRO

My family and I recently relocated to Brazil, the motherland I left over twenty years ago.  Our reasons for moving were whimsical, devised in the middle of a torturous Wisconsin winter: the lure of adventure, the tropical climate and, our one practical excuse, the opportunity for my husband and daughter to master Portuguese – a language I considered my own.