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Brasília under the sun: A digital nomad’s caffeine-fueled daydream

@Topiclo Admin3/19/2026blog

it’s afternoon in brasília. the air thick with humidity, clocks melting like a dali painting into another day. checked the weather earlier-24.4 degrees, feels like 24.9, but hey, at this altitude, gravity’s just messing with you, right? woke up here in a co-working space that’s 80% laptops and 20% stray cats napping on keyboards. the plug-in map behind me shows cafés within range-maybe one with strong wifi and free pastel de nata samples. the cats don’t care. they’re plotting.

someone told me that the bus is a maze here. yeah, i asked. tried to get to palhão park yesterday. ended up hopping onto a jitney full of guys yelling about soccer scores. they were loud enough to drown out the bass from a nearby bar. my phone died halfway. lesson learned: always have a solar charger. found a street artist nearby spray-painting murals on abandoned billboards. his name’s fernando, but he just nods. won’t tell me how much of his work is inspired by the bus schedule chaos.

i overheard two guys at a juice bar rumor-milling about stolen paintings downtown. “zephyr’s at it again,” one said. “the guy posts his ‘found’ artwork on tiktok. ducked his walker and yelled ’what’s wrong with these people?’” juicer served me açaí pequi juice. it tasted like metrosexual chaos.

neighbors are unhinged. tried to move to recruit planet’s future. the skyscraper? walked past it. the view’s great but the elevator creaks like a haunted carnival ride. if you get restless, rio de janeiro’s just a flight away. less bureaucracy, more sambas. taken. booked another night here in administrativo district. the wifi’s crypto-level secure.

first stop: novo crugado. street vendor selling milho frito next to a mural of a guy juggling ak-47s into nutella jars. authentic, right? paid the guy just to stand still while he shot me a video. his 1926 fiat was a better time machine than any app.

waited at the consulate to extend visa again. paperwork smells like corn syrup and neglect. the guy behind me lit a cigarette somewhere-everyone inside denied it, but the air tasted like a french cafe fire.

gastra chip. tried a new empanada place. crust too thick. the nun at the bakery shrugged. “huckit,” she said. “vai,” i said. “o que,” the bakero yelled. we all laughed. crunchy loyalty.

posted a story. caption: “brasília’s weather is a lie. feels like summer but the sun’s just gaslighting you.” got 47 likes. one comment: “here entered the curious incident of the dog in the night-time.” random.

walked past the national library. its glow like a dying supernova. someone -probably a history nerd-said the books are haunted. i believe him. smoke curls from the ventilation shafts. the shelves hum. maybe it’s just the city’s heartbeat, or maybe it’s crimson andersond bending time.

headed to gebyri for sunset. they said the city’s built on a ley line or whatever. if it’s true, my laptop battery’s leaking aura. notifications popping up like auroras.

this day’s chaos: a yoga studio next door blasting ed sheeran. decided meditation just meant hitting snooze. militant about late checkouts. ‘tread more,’ whispers the sign. my knees agree.

found a bodegas at 3am playing mariachi. the man behind the counter is Santa claus on meth. “please, sir,” i said, eyeing the gauchos cutlery. “i need a spoon. it’s for soup,” i lied. he gave me a wooden one. “for the sacrifices,” he said.

maps app crashed. i waved a 20-reais note around. found another way. maybe death by buscario instead of weather.

got this photo of the city’s skyline at 5am. quiricus34’s caption: “does this count as a proper warm-up for marathon training?” i commented. no reply. either he’s ignoring me or he’s just learning to survive on three hours of sleep like me.

days like this make me miss the gym. but at this altitude, muscle memory’s just a myth. i’m the kinda nomad who trades co-working for café au lait, but today? today i’m trading both for a bus seat and 10-year-old gossip.

brazilians never stop dancing. i’m learning. tomorrow: tango lessons. maybe. if i can find the studio that doesn’t require a divorce.





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tags: ['travel', 'brasília', 'digital-nomad', 'humor', 'street-life', 'humidity-sucks']

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About the author: Topiclo Admin

Writing code, prose, and occasionally poetry.

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