“Capaz!” This legendary expression of Southern Brazil couldn’t do justice to my expectations and promises ahead of a two-and-a-half-week visit to this country. One university, two football teams, three barbecues, four chimas, five cities, six hotels, seven beds, eight pounds in the real for a pair of alpargatas—the whole nine yards. The trip was well timed to coincide with the crescendo of a political crisis and a spontaneous blanket protest march and was amply spaced for reminiscing previous travels to this golden but cursed nation. However, would I be lucky enough to escape the tribulations of a thinly cloaked English independence campaign, otherworldly business email chains, and nutty correspondence from sharing economy tenants at my summer cottage before they walked off with my front-door knocker? All this and more, as told to a PDA during the morning and evening commute of a careworn Northern Line rider.