I’m standing on the hotel’s terrace, mysteriously located on the second floor just above a parking lot and not on the top floor as you could expect. No view on Ipanema beach—yes, for once we’re staying on posh Ipanema, thanks to the fact Rio’s famous holiday parties have been cancelled and there are few foreign tourists this year.

 I’m surrounded by apartment towers and I can see the shape of one of the hills or mountains behind. This is Rio in a nutshell—buildings and mountains all around, an impossible number of people packed on a tiny piece of land with unique and mesmerizing topographical features.

Some days, it’s probably worth it. Some days, it’s probably not. Living in Rio de Janeiro comes with challenges even I notice as a temporary resident. It’s stuffy, fairly dirty, the socio-economic gap between residents is maddening and also you can never bite into a good piece of bread. No, seriously. Bakeries produce twenty thousand types of bread but no matter which one you pick, it’s a soggy mess two hours later. Great artisans and recipes, wrong weather—it’s just too humid for a proper crunchy crust or some kind of texture.

It’s Christmas Eve and I’m smoking a cigarette, staring at a giant loft in the building on my right. All lights are on in what seems to be the living room. A collection of framed artwork on the wall, modern and stylish furnishing, a tasteful colour scheme and large curtainless windows, in Ipanema no less. I have yet to see a living soul inside—maybe it’s one of these living rooms where you’re not supposed to watch TV in your indoor clothes because you want to keep it spotless for guests.

Who lives there? Old and rich couple or young and rich couple? Doesn’t look like a kid-friendly loft—white walls without Crayola doodles and leather couch! If you have kids, you know what I mean—they don’t. They probably have a dog, though. All rich cariocas seem to have a dog. They walk Oscar or Pipa on Avenida Vieira Souto along Ipanema beach or Avenida Atlântica along Copacabana beach with a bitchy look on their face as if no one had warned them dogs needed to be walked.

It’s Christmas Eve and the city is quiet. There were fireworks a few minutes ago, around midnight, but I only heard them—the buildings and hills blocked the view.

That, or a gang war is starting. Hoping for fireworks now.

We landed in Rio two days ago and we saw the city getting ready for the Ceia de Natal (Christmas dinner). Despite Rio’s lack of Italian heritage, there were mountains of panettone Bauducco in supermarkets, all promising more chocolate chips and more chocolate filling.

I took a last walk around Ipanema as stores were closing earlier this evening and I witnessed a last-minute shopping rush to a toy store—did people just remember they had kids or what?

It’s a quiet evening for us too. No traditional Christmas dinner—all restaurants are closed and we don’t travel with a ten-pound turkey. Feng did make microwave popcorn and I think the smell will never go away. Mark is playing on the tablet, yes, I know it’s past midnight. Feng is listening to music and falling asleep on the bed. Santa came in Ottawa just before we left and I packed a couple of small gifts for Mark just for the sake of it.

It’s not your typical Christmas but we’re used to it and we don’t mind. We celebrated many Christmas on the road—there’s something comforting in being together and not feeling the stress of cooking, hosting, making the special evening perfect.

It’s an unusual Christmas all over the world, anyway.

It’s rainy in Rio this week but it’s still hot. We walked the entire length of Copacabana beach this afternoon, first on Avenida Atlântica on the way to Leme—the end of the beach—then we walked back on the sand leaving deep footprints behind us. The sky was grey and waves were huge but there were still surfers and families on the beach. There’s always someone on the beach. I mean, this is the only place in Rio where you can breathe.

Rainy Rio still looks good, kind of like a very pretty girl is still amazing without makeup.

Then we walked along Ipanema beach after dark, the lights of Vidigal, the favela located at the base of Morro Dois Irmãos, in the distance.

If Brazilians party for Christmas despite the pandemic and warnings, they do it quietly. Okay, minus the mysterious fireworks. Rain and slippery Portuguese pavement is a good incentive to relax at home.

Whoever you are, wherever you are, Merry Christmas or Merry December 25 if you don’t celebrate.