Ask Me About Brazilian Fruits — A Manifesto

Hi. I’m Aurora!

I’m Brazilian. I'm the Founder of The Better Place. I’ve been traveling this world for a while now. And I'd love to talk to you.

The world always amazed me.

When I was 5 I asked my dad to take me to New York, because I thought Barbie lived there. He did, but I didn't see Barbie - maybe she was depressed. My first roadtrip in Europe happened when I was 13. We drove from Portugal to Spain. I saw Morocco on the other side and asked my dad if I could go - he said "no way".

I accidentally took my first solo trip at 15: My friend missed the flight, and I found myself sitting next to Lenny Kravitz’s drummer. We spent the whole trip talking, and kept in touch for many years.

At 21, I packed my life into a suitcase and moved abroad alone for the first time. Went to a small town nobody had heard about in Australia: Byron Bay.

During that time, I went to Bali for the first time, back when Canggu was still this new hotspot for “expats.” There, I met Kadek: to this day a dear friend of mine, who, in just two minutes, managed to convince me — a penal abolitionist — that the execution of the Bali 9 was fair. Even though I woke up to the news that a Brazilian had been officially executed with a bullet to the head, I didn’t want to leave Indonesia.

Australia was beautiful, but exhausting.

Because along with the sunsets and wallabies, I had to swallow daily doses of xenophobia from my colleagues and teachers. The way people spoke to me, looked at me, made assumptions about me...

A Swiss guy told me to clean his toilet when I was having dinner. A Spanish guy told me the only job I'd ever have in life would be as a prostitute - before even moving to Australia I worked in the launching of Spotify in Brazil and in simulating an AI platform for Ford Motors.

My life abroad was miserable. My mom tried everything to convince me to move to New Zealand, I begged her to let me go back home.

Every day spent in Australia was a day missing Brazil.

That was a decade ago. And honestly? It's been 10 years that I’m done with this 💩.

I’m done with being exoticized.

I’m done with hearing the same questions every time I say where I’m from:

👉 “Is it dangerous there?”

👉 “Wow, how come you’re white?”

👉 “Do you speak Spanish?”

👉 “Have you been to a favela?”

👉 “Do you do coke?”

It’s so predictable it’s boring. Until it becomes extremely depressing. As you can guess, I'm obviously a very privileged Brazilian: I have the privilege of hating things most people in my country would would kill for - not literally, as you probably think.

What’s worse is when the foreigner is a man.

Because the second I say “I’m from Brazil,” I watch their face change.

The tone of the conversation shifts.

Suddenly, it’s not about culture or where I’m from.

It’s about how they’ve always wanted to go to Rio (wink wink), how Brazilian women are the most beautiful on earth, how maybe I can teach them a little samba sometime, often they can even speak some words in Portuguese.

I’ve learned to spot that look - which I literally call "the look" - that mix of fetish and stereotype disguised as curiosity and respect.

And you know what?

Sometimes, I lie.

Sometimes I say I’m Italian, just to get them to back off and talk to me like a human being instead of a fantasy.

But then, something beautiful happened.

I bought a flight from Madrid to Essaouira, a small town in Morocco I’d never even heard of before. It was a random Ryanair deal - €14,99, you know. I didn’t actually plan to use it. I bought it just to make my interview with Spanish immigration a little smoother, hoping they’d ask fewer questions if I had a “next destination” lined up.

But I ended up going.

I’d dreamed of Morocco ever since I was 13, when my dad shut me down with the sharp “no way.”

My first night was rough. Too many classic-depressing questions about my country asked.

I started wondering if it was a terrible idea to travel solo again.

But the next morning, a girl arrived.

I didn’t even think, I spoke Spanish to her right away.

I can smell Latinos from miles away.

We bonded instantly over our Latina exhaustion and quickly found another hostel, where we met our first Moroccan friend: the receptionist.

The way he spoke about his town made us want to see Essaouira through his eyes.

At that new hostel, I met a Moroccan girl from Rabat.

When I told her I was from Brazil, she didn’t ask about violence.

She didn’t comment on my skin color, favelas, or Carnival.

She just lit up and said:

“OMG — the fruits there must be SO delicious.”

It was the most honest, human, beautiful and non-xenophobic reaction I’d ever received.

And in that moment, I realized for the thousand time how people from the global south see each other in ways western eyes rarely do.

Without reducing each other to a stereotype.

Without pity or fetish.

Just recognizing life. Flavor. Heat. Color. Music.

At that hostel I met many Moroccans, and a year later I was still in Morocco.

This is why I created The Better Place. It started with the angry 21yo me in Australia. Because xenophobia either kills us or makes us want to die, but I want Earth to be a better place for us, so we can live and be happy HERE.

I believe tourism is meant to be broken. Tourists are not supposed to know that locals don't really want them there.

Especially western tourism: built on centuries of colonial fantasies, romantic poverty, and Instagram filters slapped onto other people’s realities.

Luckily, I was already a very good UX designer by the time I was fired by my Italian ex-boss: a white mediocre man who has a surf camp in Tanzania and said I cared "too much" about the locals.

See: I'm a Digital Nomad myself. I could be part of the problem. But I'm also a local when I'm home. So I do my best to preserve and respect the locals who welcome me in their countries.

I believe in a different way of moving through the world.

One where we actually meet the people who live in the places we land.

Where we pay locals a fair price for experiences - not to be entertained, but to be challenged.

Where we learn from those who don’t depend on tourists to survive, and who might honestly prefer if we weren’t there.

I learned this for real when my friend got punched in the stomach by a Vietnamese woman.

Honestly? I get it. They’re exhausted.

They’ve been invaded and disrespected for too long.

When they tell us to go, they’re not being rude. They’re just right.

Being am empathetic tourist is uncomfortable. It's messy.

And it’s the only honest way to travel.

I’m tired of stereotypes. I’m tired of playing along.

I want conversations about mangoes and jabuticabas. I want to be punched by locals who don't want me where I don't belong.

I want to talk about what matters - culture, politics, identity, joy, and rage.

So here’s my manifesto:

If you meet me somewhere out there and you’re curious about Brazil:

ask me about our fruits.

Not our crime rates. Not our skin tones. Not your sexual fantasies. And no: I don't have a monkey - I'm from São Paulo: if I had one, it'd be King Kong.

And if you’re ready to experience a world that doesn’t exist for your entertainment only -

welcome to The Better Place. It's right here.

Aurora.