Packing is easy when you’ve barely unpacked—I was just hoping no bug had decided to travel with us.

At 10 a.m., we were busy dumping everything in the car when the Airbnb host showed up. I had tried to contact her, but she must have been in a dead zone as well, because I didn’t see the blue checkmark on WhatsApp. She must have learned we were leaving when she somehow saw the Airbnb cancellation—not exactly how I like to handle things; I’m usually pretty straightforward.

But for that, I need Internet—or, at the very least, phone service.

I explained that I was planning on making a hotspot so I could work, and that the dead zone was a major issue for us—both to find each other and to find our way around.

She just shrugged.

We left before she could spot the dead cockroach in the bathroom and the leaky fridge, because I really didn’t feel like listing all the issues. We had been there less than 24 hours, none of them were our fault. Well, except for the cockroach—it was very much alive before an unfortunate incident involving an angry 2 a.m. me and a broom.

We drove back to Florianópolis, against the traffic for once, and killed time at Beiramar Shopping before check-in at 2 a.m. It wasn’t a waste, I bought two pairs of shorts at Renner. I need clothes. I barely have any because I only shop when I’m travelling (not a hard rule, by the way—I just find everything to be way too expensive in Europe or North America, and I hate shopping for clothes).

The apartment felt familiar because we had stayed at the Mercure Hotel when the building was still a Mercure Hotel, and then in various hotel rooms converted into apartments after the brand sold the property.

On the plus side, the view over Floripa’s beloved bridge was amazing, and the shower was great, as usual—especially after getting electric shocks and washing with a trickle of water the night before.

On the downside, I would be sleeping on the sofa bed.

“I would really appreciate it if you took it, Mom,” Mark had begged.

Anything to please a moody teen. Plus, I had work to do, and I love reading in bed until way too late at night, so I often sleep alone. Feng can join me anytime, but sleeping… I do best on my own.

And the sofa bed wouldn’t open. The host—a property management company—sent a fucking YouTube video. The problem was, it clearly hadn’t been opened in months or years—the sofa bed, not the video.

Then we discovered that the air con in the living room didn’t work at all, while the air con in the bedroom was leaking water. Technicians were sent by the property management folks I complained to on WhatsApp, but there was nothing they could do at 11 p.m.

“This is a serious problem; we need to change various parts…”

Ah. I always complain that I’m cold; here I am, complaining that it’s too hot.

At least I can open the windows and the balcony door.

Or not, when it’s raining.

And holy shit, it’s raining.

It rained a few drops, as usual, at the end of the day when we were at Praia do Campeche.

Then the next day, it rained at Praia do Matadeiro, but we stuck with it and, magically, it cleared up.

And then, at the end of the day at Praia dos Ingleses, it rained for real.

Feng could barely see the road—fortunately, it was jammed, as usual.

“I don’t think we can stop at the supermarket…”

“It’s okay, let’s just go back to the apartment. I’ll run to the Angeloni across the park.”

“You’re gonna get soaked!”

“I’ll take a shower,” I replied. “No worries. It’s not like it’s cold…”

“Wait. Can we even make it to the apartment? Rio Branco is…”

Rio Branco is one of Florianópolis’s main avenues. It goes up, then down, then up again, and it’s my nightmare when I walk back from the supermarket and bakery, inconveniently located down in the middle—so either way, I have to climb the damn avenue.

And yes, Rio Branco was flooded.

I didn’t think we were going to make it, but somehow we did. We hadn’t realized just how badly flooded the streets were.

At the apartment building, the underground garage was also flooded, and it was raining in the elevator.

“Take the stairs, Mark, trust me…”

The hallway was flooded on the 11th floor too, but the apartment was fine. Phew.

I ran to the supermarket. Mark went to the outdoor pool. Feng said we were both crazy and went to take a shower—I joined him ten minutes later, and we spent half an hour doing not what you’re thinking about, but washing our sandy, soaked clothes.

It’s still raining. Kind of.

We moved to a new Airbnb today… but that’s a story for another year—probably 2026