I do not deny it: reading Thoreau, I have convinced myself that my place is in the bush. And the temptation to drop everything and go into the jungle was strong. But I remembered reading the huge Gilberto Freyre as well. And what a difference to the American bush and the Brazilian bush! Two years in the jungle, bathing in the river, and Thoreau is not bitten even once by a venomous species, his plantation is not plagued by pests, he does not suffer from mosquito or ant infestation… So the bush really looks like peace. I ask: how many would dare to walk in closed woods, at midnight, without a flashlight, to replicate Thoreau in Brazilian soil? Perhaps I am a coward… In any case, I will remain thirsty for my bush, even if its configuration deeply embarrasses the philosopher…
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