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ri de janeiro’s humidity is a vibe and i’m here for it

@Silas Dean3/9/2026blog

i woke up to that sound again-the distant clang of metal on the street, like some drunk percussionist forgot to turn off their garage band. it’s 5:43 am and i haven’t even left my hotel yet. nothing against quiet mornings but this city? this city wakes up at 4am with a rebellion. the humidity here is like someone spilled a glycol waterfall over everything. i just checked and it’s 20.4c right now, hope you like that kind of thing. 93% humidity, so i’m basically a sweaty sock the entire time. i tried to pretend i wasn’t dripping wet while typing this on my laptop but let’s face it, i’m a soggy notebook with a backup plan of fan****** to the next restroom.

let’s talk about the weather for a second because this place has a way of making it personal. i heard from a neighbor that the air here»acts» like a suit that never lets you breathe. not a bad suit, just. relentless. one minute you’re outside and you’re cool. the next you’re sweating into your socks and questioning all of life. i asked a local vendor for tips and he just handed me a bag of ice cubes and said, »don’t trust the forecast. trust the temperature. it lies more than the politicians here." i didn’t ask him to interpret the weather. i just thanked him and bought a cachaça. turns out he was also trying to sell me a lottery ticket. classic rio prioritization.

now, neighbors. they’re not people you meet in line at the deli. they’re people who might scream when they dance at 3am or leave a half-eaten pastel in your mailbox. one neighbor told me a story about a guy who lived in this building for 15 years. he said he once opened his door and a parrot came in. no, really. none of us believed him. until today. i heard screaming. went to investigate. turns out it was just a parrot. yelling. in spanish. about tax evasion. we all agreed to never speak of it again. if you get bored here, the coastal cities are just a short drive away.eri abadi or manaus feel like entire new lives based on your mood. Brazil’s kinda the friend who texts you a 4-hour video of their dog pooping and says, »meh, you asked for nature."

let’s circle back to reviews. i swear, someone told me that the best hostel in town is just a building repurposed from a 1970s bank. they said it’s haunted. not by ghosts, obviously. by the ghost of a guy who accidentally locked himself in the shower every morning for a week. others swear by a beach house that charges you in reais but gives you a lifetime supply of sun. i haven’t tried either. mostly because i’m too cheap and also too lazy. i saw a Yelp review that said, »the only thing better than the view here is the existential dread you feel when you realize you’ve paid 20 reais for a towel that’s literally underwater in the pool." was that a review or a cry for help? i can’t tell. i’m too busy staring at my phone trying to find an image of a rio de janeiro street that doesn’t look like a human vomited on it.

i took three photos today. one was of me holding a street artist’s work that looked like it cost $5 and another was of my reflection in a puddle that was 100% just my face. the third had to be a cat. obviously. it didn’t matter what the cat looked like. i just wanted proof that this city still has things that aren’t me. alas, the cat was a meme. a waldo meme. it took me 20 minutes to find it in the crowd of passing commuters. i posted it on a local board with a caption that said, »anyone else? or is this my brain hallucinating?" so far, zero responses. three stars on TripAdvisor gave it a thumbs down too. they called it, »a random photo of a cat in a puddle. very rio right there."

you want chaos? here’s a map. i typed in the coordinates late last night because i couldn’t sleep. maybe this will help you find something?

if you’re lost, just follow the vibe. if the air feels like it’s trying to steal your soul, you’re in the right place. i swear, the humidity here is so thick you could cut it with a scalpel. or at least a butter knife. i tried to draw a map of my hotel room. it looked like a tornado had exploded in a spreadsheet. i give up.

i’m also a coffee snob now. not the kind of snob who complains about stale beans. the kind that judges your entire life choice if you don’t order a cortado. i asked for a cortado at a local cafe and the barista gave me a weird look. turned out they didn’t even know what that was. i had to explain it using the chart i borrowed from a fellow nomad who claims to have slept 2 hours that week. turns out rio de janeiro thinks iced coffee is the adulting equivalent of a participation trophy. i’m still mad. i left with a 2-real iced coffee from a vendor outside a church. it was named »the questionable one» in quotes. i drank it. it was fine. probably.

someone warned me about the marathon route passing through this area. they said if you see a running group with serious eye contact, pretend you’re invisible. apparently, they’re in a cult. or just really committed to their PBs. i passed them once. they looked like they were going to murder someone. i walked faster. i also passed a group of kids playing soccer with a deflated ball. when i asked why, they just stared at me like i was the Roman Empire at its peak. or worse. a tourist.

i’m packing tonight. the bag feels like it’s judging me. half of it is donated to a mold lemonade experiment. i smell mildew. and possibility. i don’t know which is worse. i heard from a ghost hunter podcast that this neighborhood has poltergeist activity. specifically in hotel room 347. i don’t know if that’s true. but i’m definitely taking my crossbow. just in case.

i’m done. for now. if you read this, thank you. if not, i’ll still be here tomorrow, sweating, photo-snapping, and loudly questioning all life choices. keywords: 20.4c, 93% humidity, parrot yoga, existential dread, and never trust a bank-turned-hostel.

stay hydrated. inexplicably. and bring a towel. or your whole wardrobe. one of those.

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About the author: Silas Dean

Sharing snippets of wisdom from my daily adventures.

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