After a deep dive into the map of Brazil which, by the way, is absolutely massive and about a ten-hour drive from Sana, Ouro Preto just showed up out of nowhere on what had been a pretty undefined route, like it showed up right when I needed something real. It stood there, wrapped in colonial houses, hills that don’t play fair, and the steepest streets I’ve ever dragged my legs across, quietly proving why Minas Gerais out of all 26 states, is the one that stole my heart and left me craving a full-on return, every corner, no exceptions.

In the spot that holds the densest collection of baroque architecture in the country, it caught me off guard to find this buzzing university crowd lighting the whole city up. A place literally carved into mountains, almost disrespecting gravity, moving like it’s got its own set of rules. Ouro Preto, once known as Vila Rica, the birthplace of the Estrada Real, the same road that carried gold down to Paraty and Rio de Janeiro, pulled me straight back to the roots of where my country’s greatness comes from. It showed me, raw and unfiltered, the warmth of people who hold tight to their land and their traditions, telling their story like it’s something alive, something breathing through every stretch of those endless valleys.

I had never seen that many waterfalls in one place. Never seen green go toe-to-toe with the sky like that. Everything felt alive, loud in its own way, all happening at once. My days slowed down, got thick and juicy, drifting between long walks on dirt roads, trails, and stones that kept unfolding into straight-up surreal landscapes. And being able to take all that in, in a kind of silence that only waterfalls know how to leave behind, felt like the most restorative therapy I didn’t know I needed.