I remember exactly when my world started losing colour. Strangely enough, it’s not when we got into the Uber from the Airbnb in Canela to the airport—it was pitch dark by then, but it was the normal, expected kind of black sky.

No, I think it started when we arrived at the airport around 8 p.m.

Brazilians are wise people. Colourful dresses, shorts and shirts belong in Brazil. For the flight to Lisboa, winter gear had been bought, or more likely sourced—the thickest sweater you can find in Salvador (good luck with that, you may as well knit it), puffed jackets typically made for Patagonia explorers, a beanie from a Curitiba shop on Mercado Libre.

I mean, “cold” in Salvador is like 20°C.

One brave soul in front of me had paired Havaianas with a sweater. The best of both worlds or possibly the worst, but let’s be honest, it’s not that cold in Lisboa in April. I’d like to see them board a flight to Canada, but conveniently (or smartly) there are no direct flights to actual winter in Ottawa, Quebec or Calgary…

There’s not much to do at midnight, waiting to board at gate something something. I studied the crowd. I knew most if not all passengers were Brazilians because they had their passports in hand and they spoke Portuguese, but dressed for winter, their Bahia-ism was gone.

We landed in Lisboa, an ocean, a continent, a few hours later. Some Brazilians stepped out of the aircraft still wrapped in the red “property of TAP” blanket, accidentally bringing colour to Portugal. A bit of it, at least. The airport was bright, sunny, and travellers from all over Europe, dressed in all the colours Europe offers, seemed happy to be going places.

The flight to Paris was a blur. We picked up our luggage and rushed into the subway station.

The sliding doors opened.

The sun was setting. The air was cool. An shapeless crowd stood between the terminal door and the subway escalator, mostly smoking, but also emerging from the subway with a suitcase or sprinting towards it, just like us seconds earlier.

Except I had stopped dead in my tracks, and not just to dig around in my bag for my lighter and cigarette combo.

I swear everybody was dressed the same, in black.

It could have been a flash mob, but it wasn’t. Just random Parisians.

I blinked twice, suddenly feeling like I had stepped into the Matrix.

I switched into French mode. I wasn’t blending in with my Peruvian sweater and blue (blue!) 501, but just like them, I hurried over to the subway ticket machine and joined a queue, all dressed in black, why do you ask, getting my toes stepped on and stepping on a few toes as well.

Ah. None of this Brazilian queue bonding moment of random chitchat with strangers. Try small talk with Parisians if you don’t mind losing an eye, arm or leg.

The subway was full of people dressed in black, and so were Montparnasse station and the train to Nantes.

I don’t think I saw a single smile.

People don’t look particularly happy right now.

It’s been a long winter in Europe, not as harsh as Canada, but houses and apartments aren’t heated as generously. Power is expensive, the war in Ukraine drags on, and now there’s another one. Everything feels more expensive, more difficult, more complicated…

People look fed up. Not angry, not combative, just tired of it all.

Maybe that’s why they all dress in black. As if they’re mourning something, lighter days, maybe.

But the French aren’t depressed. Give them something to celebrate and they will smile, laugh, have fun.

Take the fun fair. It just packed up yesterday, but for three weeks it drew everyone: kids, teens, adults, all walks of life. Four or five euros for a bit of fun, and people showed up.

Then last Saturday, the night version of Carnival, free entertainment for the entire city. The streets were packed. Suddenly, people were alive, clapping, shouting, laughing, getting covered in confetti.

Not my sharpest shots, not my best either from a technical perspective, but there’s movement, lights, colours, and at least, people were happy, even if only for a brief moment.

It doesn’t take much, apparently.