Feng was checking in at GRU, São Paulo, while I was buying groceries in Ilhéus, Bahia. We had parted ways hours earlier at the end of Carnival 2025, but we were already in two different worlds.
I was hesitating between a green pepper and a head of broccoli when my phone rang.
“Mark and I are waiting at the gate. We’re boarding soon. Was your flight okay?”
“Super smooth and on time. Oh, you know, the Cabo Frio Airbnb? I got a review when I landed… she trashed us!” I blurted out, finally settling on the green pepper.
“What? What did she write?”
“She said we left a torn pillowcase and a white towel on the floor!”
“That’s bullshit!”
“I know!”
“There were ants all over the kitchen at her place!”
“I KNOW!” I almost shouted, grabbing a pack of Coke Zero. “I left her a good review!”
“Don’t worry about it,” Feng said, as usual. “It doesn’t really matter… does it?”
“I guess not, considering this is the first time I’ve ever gotten a bad review. Still, it’s not fair.”
I was kind of hurt. We had taken good care of her place, and it was expensive—I paid for it, a four-day splurge after Carnival in Rio where the Airbnb was tiny and full of cockroaches every night, and complaining wasn’t really an option because it was Rio, it was Carnival, and you were lucky to find a place at all.
This was my first bad review ever.
Mark and Feng flew back to Canada. I cooked grilled chicken, green pepper, and pasta in Ilhéus.
That night, when the guys were somewhere above Panama, El Salvador, or possibly the Gulf of Mexico, I clicked on my Airbnb host’s profile.
Ah. A lawyer.
Huh. I doubt she cleans her own apartment, I sniggered.
Her listing, the Cabo Frio apartment, was still pretty new on Airbnb at the time. Her reviews had been good so far—it was a nice apartment, minus the ants.
I clicked on the reviews she had left for other guests. Most were short, positive comments. But once in a while, seemingly at random, she trashed someone. Looking back, our negative comment was actually mild compared to what she wrote about other guests.
Why?
In full detective mode, I checked the profiles of the “terrible guests” she had—just like us, first bad review, all seemingly decent guests.
This was driving me crazy. I didn’t get it.
Why would someone be so petty? So random?
Like many others on Airbnb, I rely on reviews to make decisions. And I know hosts check my profile before accepting a booking. I always leave a review, and I’m always factual. If I have a one-time issue and it’s solved, I don’t mention it—why would I? It probably won’t affect future guests.
I think this one was my most critical review over the years, and I kept it factual even though the apartment was terrible:
So why is this Niterói Airbnb owner—she now lists four properties—so determined to trash a few people here and there?
No idea.
Yet another Brazilian mystery, I suppose.
At least we had no bad surprises this winter—except for the house from hell in Enseada da Pinheira. I left an honest but fairly nice review, and later noticed several guests after us mentioned the same thing: getting an electric shock every time they showered.
Ah, and then there was my host in Curitiba. He was offended that I wrote the Airbnb was lovely but quite dark inside. He replied that my Portuguese wasn’t good enough to understand how LED lighting works. Honestly, it made me laugh—it was dark, even with all the lights on.
Staying in Airbnb is always an adventure, but I’m lucky—most of the time, I meet lovely people and stay in great apartments.