I really, really don’t feel like playing with gas, matches and testing my hand-eye coordination right now.

But I also really, really want to make dinner—takeout isn’t an option, I’m not a big fan of Rio de Janeiro’s bar fares.

And obviously, the auto-ignition doesn’t work.

“Just checking,” I text my Airbnb host. “Do I have to use a lighter?”

“No, no! Don’t worry, matches work as well. Just… you know, be careful. And let the window open.”

Right.

This is a typical Rio de Janeiro Airbnb. It’s an overpriced “new studio” in Leme, the far end of Copacabana. But in fact, it’s not a new studio at all—or rather, it’s a renovated studio in a very old building because buildings are very old in Rio de Janeiro. The fridge and the microwave look new and it’s been given a fresh coat of paint at one point in the last decade this decade. It’s cute, actually. But plumbing and electricity can’t be upgraded that easily and whoever renovated this place found rather “creative” ways to add modern touches like, you know, hot water and air-con.

Still, it has a tiny balcony, a luxury in Rio where scared residents live behind twenty closed doors.

Besides, I shouldn’t be complaining about my Airbnb considering half of the city lives in favelas up in the hills.

Sigh.

It’s been a long day and the four matches I used before managing to light a burner are my second culinary fail already. See, I was craving tagliatelle, don’t ask me why, maybe I missed Argentina’s delicious fresh pasta. So I bought fresh fish and a pack of tagliatelle, and then I inspected the kitchen only to realize I only had two tiny pots.

I went out again and bought fusilli, less likely to stick in a tiny, tiny pot.

It’s 9 p.m. and I’m tired. This is a funny and occasionally infuriating side of travelling, spending time figuring out each Airbnb. Now, where is the light? Any trick to taking a shower? Do I remember which floor is my apartment?

I only arrived in Rio de Janeiro at 6 p.m. Good thing I know my way around—I immediately went out to get enough groceries and essentials for the weekend. I was exhausted but I had to complete the many “just arrived” chores because no one else was going to do it for me.

Despite my best efforts to sleep early on Friday night, I spent part of my last night in Foz do Iguaçu working with Mark on his upcoming show and tell in France (quiz me, I can describe his neckless, souvenir key and snorkelling gear in great details!), then packing (which involved taping all my liquid shut for the flight), then invoicing clients (because I quite enjoy getting paid).

I got up at 6 a.m.

I had arranged for a taxi to pick me up because I didn’t trust Uber that early in the morning. Brazilians are very reliable—he couldn’t get there on time but he called me to let me know he was sending a friend.

I bought the cheapest ticket so I wasn’t flying directly to Rio de Janeiro, I was stopping in Porto Alegre for a few hours. On the plus side, I was flying with Azul, so…

“You’re gonna get so many snacks! But don’t fall asleep and miss your flight!” Feng advised.

Azul is very generous with snacks as we discovered it a few years ago.

And I laughed when I discovered the many “please don’t sleep here” signs taped around the food court in Porto Alegre. It was a nice airport for a stopover, I was able to work for a few hours then I boarded the 3 p.m. flight to Rio de Janeiro.

I fell asleep and it was only when we landed that I realized I wasn’t arriving at Santos Dumont, the downtown airport, but at RIOgaleão – Tom Jobim International Airport, the far one. Ooops.

On top of that, it was pouring rain.

Never mind. I called an Uber and found my way to my Leme Airbnb.

Carnival is starting soon. I won’t party in Rio de Janeiro—Airbnbs are too expensive and I’d miss Mark and Feng who won’t fly to Brazil for the celebrations this year.

I’m just spending the weekend in Rio, then I’ll move again.

But first, I need to sleep.