My Last Days in Brazil: Carnaval, Birthday Parties, and Mild Chaos

I never get tired of Brazilian culture. I’ve been living abroad for over 20 years, and every single time I come back, I’m shocked by how much life you can fit into just a few days here. Brazil doesn’t do “quiet schedule.” Brazil does festival mode.

I’ll write more about my experiences in this magical country, but I had to start with my final days — because they felt like a Netflix mini-series with too many plot twists and zero sleep.

Three days before my departure, I met friends visiting from Ireland. The husband — a very committed Irishman — had a clear spiritual mission: drink Brazil before Brazil drank him. His wife, a joyful Brazilian from the south (where people eat churrasco about five times a day and call it “a light snack”), completed the duo perfectly.

We started calmly at a neighborhood food truck court with live music and a couple of caipirinhas. Very civilized. Very responsible. Two hours later we were in a karaoke bar next door, singing so loudly that people from other rooms came to investigate whether there was a celebration or a hostage situation.

My Irish friend believed he was celebrating Oktoberfest in February. At some point he removed his shirt, lay on the floor, and kept singing. His final words before entering the Uber dimension were:“Thanks for the book! I’m excited to read it!” — referring to the copy I gave him of my book about sex and happiness.I admire his optimism and confidence in future reading conditions.

Friday was calmer. In theory.

I helped my mother shop for a new car. She’s turning 76 and decided she wants something faster — which is not what you want to hear from your mother at that age. We did a test drive in an automatic car, which she had never driven before. Watching her was like watching a teenager at driving school — equal parts fear, excitement, and pressing the wrong pedal with conviction. Adorable and slightly terrifying.

That night I joined a true Carnaval bloquinho — a small street band playing classic songs while a few hundred people pretend they are professional dancers. Three blocks of music, costumes, flirting, glitter, and beverages of questionable decision-making power. Pure joy.

Saturday morning was my mom’s birthday. I took her to a surprise breakfast spot with cheeses, breads, jams, juices, and enough food to feed a royal wedding. She loved it. After so many years abroad, being present on her birthday felt like the real gift — to me.

In the afternoon, I went searching for another Carnaval gathering with a friend and accidentally ended up at someone’s cousin’s live samba party — which is the most Brazilian sentence I can possibly write. Great music, great snacks, great vibe, and zero idea whose cousin it was.

At night we had the official birthday dinner at a Lebanese restaurant. My mother didn’t want a party because she “didn’t want to bother people.” Naturally, 21 friends and family members showed up. It was beautiful to watch her light up with each hug and conversation. I added a surprise by bringing old travel photos of her — proof that she was already an influencer before Instagram existed.

Departure day arrived. I woke up late, skipped breakfast (a bold and dangerous move in Brazil), and went straight to a Minas Gerais lunch style — a cuisine where every dish is legally required to include comfort. Then we visited an elderly aunt, over 82 and fading gently. Saying goodbye felt sacred. Some moments ask you to slow down and just feel.

With only a few hours left, I went home, packed between conversations, took a fast shower, and headed to the airport surrounded by family energy — and somehow still made it on time.

Brazil doesn’t give you rest. Brazil gives you stories, specially on my last days in Brazil.

What a way to say goodbye.