The setting wasn’t ideal for a major Eureka moment. It would be tempting to glamorize it—after all, the mere concept of facts is awfully flexible these days—but I value accuracy, and I realized a few decades ago that I don’t have an Instagram-worthy life anyway.

So here goes. I wasn’t on a stunning beach sipping a caipirinha or dancing the samba in a trendy nightclub. No wonder. I usually do neither.

In fact, I was half-soaked, rushing to the nearest Carrefour, which was inconveniently located on the other side of Avenida Paulista. Crossing Paulista is a bit like crossing 9 de Julio in Buenos Aires—it takes forever to finally get the green light and you really, really can’t chance it because there’s always traffic, and it’s not the kind of traffic where a kind driver will slow down and let you jaywalk. Plus, you have the kamikaze delivery drivers who just don’t give a shit about lights (and human life, including theirs) altogether.

I wasn’t the only one waiting to cross the avenue, obviously. And I suspect I wasn’t the only one on the way to Carrefour either—it’s a popular stop in the evening or late at night in São Paulo.

We were perfect strangers but had something in common because were all stuck together on the wrong side of the avenue. So naturally, people started socializing.

And this is when I suddenly realized why I was comfortable in Brazil, despite the uncomfortable 5 p.m. São Paulo downpour and the pedestrian light that remained stubbornly red.

I enjoy spending weeks and months exploring the country because it’s full of stunning spots and culturally interesting cities that are so close, yet so different.

And I like being here because Brazilians are easy to live with.

Basically, Brazilians are great “roommates.”

I see myself as a committed guest in Brazil. I’m not trying to become Brazilian—you can definitely soak up a culture, learn languages, and knowingly adopt what works for you but I know from experience that you can’t just become someone else. Case in point, I never became Canadian; I’m still French and Canadian when I feel like it.

In Brazil, I’m a curious, tan foreigner with a CPF who takes pictures and asks questions. And Brazilians just accept me the way I am. Most of the time, they don’t care where I’m from. As long as I’m in Brazil and willing to be part of the community, I’m one of them. My background is irrelevant. This alone is valuable to me.

And so, I’m a “roommate” and I have millions of Brazilian “roommates.”

I follow their lead, they’ve been there much longer than me and I have a term lease, after all. Plus, they make me a better person overall.

I like the way Brazilians are kind to each other and always want to help. I like the way they enjoy hanging out together, with friends or perfect strangers. I like the way they don’t complain or sweat the small stuff. I like the sense of community around here—the community can be your building, block, city or whatever event you attend, and as long as you’re here, you’re welcome as a member of this community.

There’s a long list of “Brazilian things” I don’t really get or would never adopt, from beauty ideals to treating God as your best friend or political ally. It’s okay, we’re roommates and we have different tastes.

But mostly, I have thousands of examples of Brazilians behaving like decent people and caring about others, cleaning up after themselves, sharing what they have and what they know, creating parties that would be a disaster anywhere else in the world, doing whatever they’re busy doing well, and just being kind in general.

Gentileza gera gentileza, as they say.

And of all places, I’ve realized this in São Paulo, a city of 11.45 million that looks like a gritty version (!) of Gotham City—but where, believe it or not, people are still friendly, kind, caring, and more.

Crazy.

Oh, and I did end up crossing the Avenida Paulista at one point, don’t worry.