Feliz Ano Novo!

South America has been on my bucket list for many, many years. So, when my sister and brother-in-law proposed meeting there for winter break/NYE last summer, the only hesitation was logistics, how on earth we’d pull it off. But in my brain, the only thing better than checking off a bucket-list destination is doing it with people you love. So, with a little creativity and some magical fairy dust (jk-ish), we leaned into this YOLO time in our lives, and the planning began.

Fast forward six months, and we were off.

When figuring out that going through Madrid was our best option to get to Buenos Aires, we decided to make it a longer stop and spend Christmas there since Sebastian had never been. Why not add a new city to the mix? I had forgotten how much I love Madrid until we arrived. It dawned on me that the last time I was there was 20 years ago, during our six-month honeymoon adventure. Um, when exactly did we become the people who say, “We haven’t been here in 20 years”?!

Even though it was freezing, rainy, and much of the city was closed for the holidays, Madrid didn’t lose an ounce of its charm. In fact, with so much closed, we were forced to slow down, wander the uncrowded streets, take time to gawk at all of the holiday lights, stroll through the Christmas markets, watch the infamous Cortylandia display outside El Corte Inglés, and try to decide if it was cute or cheesy (both), and, most importantly, EAT. Tapas are deceptive. They sound light, just a few bites, shared plates, no big deal. But we took that idea and ran with it for two straight days.

Chad wanted to start big, lunch at Sobrino de Botín, the Guinness World Record–holding oldest continuously operating restaurant in the world (est. 1725), famous for its wood-fired suckling pig. We went to try and make a dinner reservation. They were booked but said they could seat us for lunch now, so we jumped on it! The restaurant looked every bit its age, and as we were led through the kitchen to our table, the power promptly went out. No matter—the service didn’t stop, and neither did we. The pig was delicious, though I did feel a twinge of guilt passing the line of piglets waiting to be savored.
That night we hit another tapas bar for dinner and then, for only the second time in my life, attended midnight Mass at a historic cathedral. Experiencing Christmas Eve in a grand cathedral, full of pomp and circumstance, was something I didn’t know I wanted to experience until I did, and I’m grateful for it.

Christmas morning was slow and cozy, sleeping in, coffee and breakfast, then crawling back into bed to watch A Christmas Story (because no year feels complete without “you’ll shoot your eye out!”). Then, with most places still closed, except, of course, tapas, so began our Christmas Day of eating!

We began at Mercado de San Miguel, where I started keeping track of everything we tasted, which quickly became laughable. So, for memory’s sake of the Christmas Day we ate our way through Madrid, here goes the list: tuna croquettes, olive and charcuterie skewers, crispy pork belly, patatas bravas, chicken wing lollipops, Galician beef meatballs, jamón-Brie-quince toast, and a lobster roll on a croissant. From there, we revisited an old favorite (that we were psyched was still open), Casa del Abuelo, a stand-up tapas bar with the best garlic shrimp ever (plus Manchego cheese—because why not?). Finally, after a modest amount of walking through the city and a rest break at the hotel to thaw out, we finished with “dinner” at an outrageously decorated, Under-the-Sea-themed restaurant that made me feel like Ariel. Here we ate salmon sushi rolls, Bloody Mary and pesto-injected (with a needle!) burrata, and delicious scallops served in the half shell (aka an “Ursula bowl). Sebastian got a mocktail in a crazy Grinch mug, but by this point, I was so full I couldn’t even finish my wine. Somehow, a day of tasters had turned into gluttony.

Our final day in Madrid included a cultural pause in our eating marathon to visit the Reina Sofía Museum and Picasso’s Guernica, an important, intricate work that, admittedly, pushed the extent of my museum enthusiasm. That night, we boarded our overnight flight to Buenos Aires. Thanks for hosting us for Christmas, Madrid—you didn’t disappoint.

Buenos Aires:

Trips like this remind me how lucky we are to travel as a family, and meeting up with the Andersons made it exponentially better. I arrived in South America with no expectations, instinctively comparing it to Europe, as that has been a big travel continent for us, but Buenos Aires very quickly proved it was its own thing entirely.

To beat the near 100°F heat, we hopped on a double-decker bus tour (and mostly stayed on for the AC), soaking in the city’s layout and history. What struck me first was how neighborhood-driven Buenos Aires felt, each with its own personality. It didn’t feel as city-center or plaza-driven as other cities. And, as we drove along, I half listened to the history through the headphones provided, but per my usual, I did what I enjoy most, which is watching the goings on of daily life in a new city unfold: the people, shops, restaurants, and transitions between neighborhoods. We walked, explored, ate ice cream to cool off, and eventually hit the point where everyone desperately wanted a shower.

Being afforded a local experience while traveling might be one of my favorite things about seeing a new place, and this trip delivered in the best possible way. In most cities, that could look like riding public transportation during a morning rush hour or attending an event meant for locals versus tourists. Some way to get exposure to a bit more of a local culture and people, versus just hitting the top tourist attractions. Thanks to a connection from my niece Caitlin’s BBYO exchange, three girls she met and hosted in Colorado generously offered us a full locals’ day, complete with a traditional Asado at their family home. What a gift.

It was a marathon day—11 a.m. to after 1 a.m.—starting at a Sunday market, which was less like my open-air preferred type markets and a bit more like an indoor shops and restaurants type of place. Next stop on their list was a tour of the breathtaking Teatro Colón, one of the most stunning historic theaters I’ve ever seen. It was my first of what would be many reasons to come back, to be able to see a show in this theater one day. Then came a massive former theater turned bookstore, El Ateneo, with one-time balcony seating now book sections, the old stage now a café, and while it was quite crowded with tourists, it was still exceptional. We then rode a local bus (when we asked why we should experience a local bus ride, the girls just said, “you’ll see”, and that we did). These buses drive at Autobahn-level speeds—I have no idea how they pull speeds like that off in the middle of the city, but suffice it to say, it was an experience! We were then promised gluten-free empanadas and traditional Milanesa, and the girls more than delivered at a delicious restaurant where we went for lunch. We then took a stroll across Puente de la Mujer (Women’s Bridge), built to represent a tango-dancing couple, with the mast symbolizing the man and curved silhouette of the bridge, the woman (Chad and I were encouraged to re-enact our Tango-dancing days before crossing, so we tried out some of our old moves).

We then wandered through a bohemian-type neighborhood (open-air market and delicious coffee shop included). Here we played a card game I didn’t fully understand, but got a kick out of the girls showing us how they enjoyed spending time with their friends. We walked through a neighborhood park surrounding a lake and filled with dogs and family picnics, and then ended the night with an asado at one of the girl's family homes. An asado is a traditional, Argentinian social BBQ, pretty much centered around mountains of grilled meat! That and chimichurri, side dishes, wine, dessert, storytelling, ping pong, and lots of laughter. These dinners are meant to run late into the night, and while they started “early” (just for us) at 8 p.m., we still didn’t leave until after 1 a.m. An unforgettable day that deepened my understanding and respect for Argentine culture. I left filled with happiness and gratitude… and some serious meat sweats!

The following day, we booked a guided tour of Recoleta Cemetery, which may sound morbid but felt more like a museum than a burial ground (think Pere-Lachaise in Paris). Our guide, Esteban, brought stories to life (pun intended), from Eva Peron’s (Evita) legacy to architectural details I never would’ve noticed. He closed out the tour with a chilling urban legend about a girl buried alive that will definitely stick with me for a minute!

That night, we capped things off with what I always imagined to be a quintessential Argentine experience, a tango show! I was completely mesmerized by the couple dancing, the pianist, and vocalist performance. The couple moved with unbelievable precision and emotion, like they were one unit, floating around the small, intimate venue. The graceful expression of passion and emotion that accompanies this dance, when performed by professionals, is not something I will forget anytime soon.
We packed a lot into a few days, and though I usually say life is too short for repeats, Buenos Aires is absolutely a place I’d return.

Next stop: Rio de Janeiro!

Everyone warned us—repeatedly—about how dangerous Rio could be, so we arrived prepared and alert. My first impression in the Uber from the airport was absolute chaos on the roads—especially the motorbikes weaving through traffic and incessantly beeping their horns. Terrifying. I seriously had to close my eyes.

We stayed in Copacabana to be front and center for the New Year’s Eve festivities, arriving just in time to see preparations underway. So, after a traditional Brazilian dinner (yes, more meat) and a small walk to get the lay of the land, we decided to rest up for the big day ahead.

We kicked off NYE day with a boat tour, offering fabulous views of the surrounding beaches, mountains, and Christ the Redeemer from every angle. We anchored, jumped off the boat for a swim, and ordered lunch from a guy in a kayak who first brought a menu and then paddled back with the food. Amazing (minus the trash floating near the boat after we got out). Back at the hotel, we changed into traditional white attire (a Brazilian tradition for peace in the new year), sipped caipirinhas, and watched the crowds pour in from the rooftop bar; only a mere 2.5 million were expected. We ventured out to walk along Copacabana before it got too crazy, and the vibe was beyond electric. We walked down to the main stage and listened to a local favorite for a bit. But as midnight approached, we opted for safety and comfort, settling into the hotel balcony for the extraordinary fireworks display.

Around 1 a.m., we dispersed to our respective rooms to crash. I was already in pajamas, fully committed to bed, when Chad begged me to rally for one last trip to the beach (“NYE in Rio doesn’t end until sunrise, babe”). It was one of those familiar moments in our life together: I could give in to my total exhaustion and call it a night, or I could rally under the philosophy of sleeping when I’m dead and say yes to an experience I’d inevitably be grateful for later.

The beach felt like it was midday—families grilling, kids swimming, people were everywhere. There is a tradition in Brazil where you are supposed to jump 7 waves on NYE for good luck, symbolizing facing life’s challenges and welcoming new beginnings with a wish for each jump. So, I went in knee-deep and began jumping for my wishes to come true. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, the sky lit up again, this time with more fireworks and a drone show. Drones rose up and formed Christ the Redeemer, Sugarloaf Mountain, and so many other iconic symbols of Rio. Just when we thought it couldn’t possibly get any better, it did.

At last, we made our way back to the hotel close to 3 a.m. Anyone who knows Chad knows that he fully lives up to his insatiable puppy-energy reputation—which, in daily life, can be a lot. But moments like this are a reminder of what I love most about him, and I’m grateful he rallied me so we could experience it all together.

After an intentionally planned beach/pool chill day for NYD, for our last full day in Rio, we planned a full-day tour of the city. Our guide, Higor, was fabulous and pretty much knew everyone at every site and got us to the front of many lines, score. Christ the Redeemer was really hot and crowded (not my thing), but iconic. So, we came and we saw and even got to see a few monkeys and someone propose to his girlfriend, so that was fun! The Metropolitan Cathedral was unlike any cathedral I’ve seen, with some amazing “rectilinear” (look it up) stained-glass windows from floor to ceiling that make up the structure. And we learned that Saint Sebastian is Rio’s patron saint, so that, of course, made our Sebastian happy.

Next stop: the Selarón Steps. What is now a heavily touristed attraction was once simply a set of stairs connecting an upper and lower neighborhood. That changed in the 1990s, when Chilean artist Jorge Selarón, who was living in Rio at the time, began renovating the steps in front of his house using cement and colorful tiles to bring vibrancy to the area. What started as a personal project quickly grew into an artistic installation, with people donating tiles from more than 60 countries, making it over 2,000 tiles in total now! In 2006, the steps even made an appearance in a Snoop Dogg music video. So, to fully appreciate as many tiles as possible, and to work off the many pão de queijo (Brazilian cheese bread) and açaí bowls we’d been enjoying, we climbed all 215 steps and then made our way back down. And while I genuinely loved the story behind the artist and the steps themselves, I couldn’t help but get a bit of a Pisa feeling, watching people hilariously contort themselves into some of the most ridiculous poses imaginable for photos.
 
Final stop of the day was Sugarloaf Mountain, sitting in the middle of a peninsula and accessible only by cable car. I imagine there is an interesting geologic story to the mountain itself, but my joy came from ascending by cable car(s) into misty, rainy panoramic views of Rio (we hoped for a beautiful sunset but got rain instead). We finally concluded the day with a traditional Brazilian stew called feijoada, which was even tastier than I imagined with meat, beans, rice, collard greens, and topped with oranges!

On our last day in Rio before flying out, we woke up early to enjoy one more breakfast together, followed by some beach and pool time. Thanks to Caitlin, a few of us even joined a hysterically intense Jane Fonda-esque water aerobics class. The waves were breaking fast and furious close to shore, and both Sebastian and I ended up with a bit of road rash after getting taken down—but it was absolutely worth it.

Final thoughts…Another incredible trip in the books. I’m endlessly grateful for experiences like this and even more so for sharing them with my family.

Until next time, Stammdersons.

Happy 2026 to all!

The Andersons Said:

Our family met up with the Stamms for an adventure that felt equal parts reunion, cultural deep dive, and mildly chaotic endurance sport.

We kicked things off with three classic, bustling, beautiful days in Buenos Aires. We did the hits: the Obelisk, Teatro Colón, and tango (so intimate and impressive, it made Alli and Chad want to get to level 2). But the most meaningful day didn’t come from a guidebook.

Last year, we hosted four lovely girls from Buenos Aires in our home. On this trip, three of them planned an entire day for us—every detail thoughtfully curated—and then welcomed us into their family home for a traditional asado. It was one of those meals that stretches on forever, filled with laughter, stories, mystery alcohol and that unmistakable warmth that makes you forget you’re thousands of miles from home. Travel doesn’t always hand you moments like that, and when it does, you realize how amazing experiences like this are.

From there, we flew north to Rio and landed squarely in Copacabana, where the beach hums with energy at all hours and the ocean goes on for miles. We had a fun boat day—sun, salt, smiles, missing food—slightly marred (and forever immortalized) by the moment we realized we were swimming through what can only be described as… sewage-adjacent waters. Travel builds character, right?

Then came New Year’s Eve. Rio does not mess around. A Guinness record-breaking 2.5-2.6 million people flooded Copacabana Beach, all dressed in white, celebrating under the most jaw-dropping fireworks display any of us had ever seen. The party raged past 5 a.m. Some people danced until dawn. Some people (us) made it respectably far before surrendering to sleep, awe-filled and happy.

We then relocated to Leblon Beach, trading a bit of chaos for a slightly calmer vibe, and soaked in a perfect beach day and tennis. Rio, however, wanted to keep things interesting. After a brief but memorable visit to the ER for Isaac (all is well, though a sling made for an unwanted souvenir), we joined what felt like approximately a zillion other tourists to see Christ the Redeemer. Crowded? Yes. Worth it? Absolutely. Add in the Selarón Steps, Sugarloaf Mountain, OG Brazilian cheese bread (hello, Brazi Bites), and copious amounts of açaí, and it was peak Rio in all the best ways.

Like all great family trips, this one came with its battle scars: two to three people leaving with the flu, one parasite (because of course), and one arm in a sling. And yet—zero regrets. There was quality time, exploration, culture, and nonstop laughter. The kind that comes easily when you’re with people who know you, love you, and are always up for one more adventure.

In the end, this trip wasn’t just about Buenos Aires or Rio. It was about togetherness—across continents, time zones, and minor medical mishaps. And honestly? We’d do it all again in a heartbeat. Preferably with fewer pathogens—but still.

Seb Said:

We left for Madrid early on Christmas Eve on the shortest flight I’ve ever been on, 55 minutes. By the time I got comfortable, we were already landing. After checking into our hotel and taking a nap, we headed out to explore. I had never been to Madrid before, so while Spain wasn’t new to me, the city was, and it was a pretty great first impression.

We wandered through small streets and eventually ended up in Puerta del Sol. Every time we passed through, there was a long line to take a photo with the sign marking the center of Spain. You could get basically the same photo just a few steps away, so I never really understood why the line was so long. The square was crowded but memorable, with the Tío Pepe sign and a huge Christmas tree. We also noticed that Madrid seems to really love Stranger Things. While Dad waited to get the perfect photo, mom and I stood around getting colder by the minute.

Since Buenos Aires and Rio were going to be hot, none of us packed much winter clothing, which we immediately regretted. We escaped the cold by going into El Corte Inglés, a Spanish department store with heat, jackets, and a Christmas children’s show called Cortylandia. After hearing that song once, it was stuck in my head for the rest of the day. From there, we walked to Plaza Mayor. At that point, I was way too hungry to fully enjoy it, but the Christmas market and tree in the center were still hard to miss.

For lunch, we went to Casa Botín, which claims to be the oldest restaurant in the world and is celebrating its 300th anniversary this year. Halfway through our meal, the power went out and never came back on, which honestly felt kind of fitting. They’re known for their pig, so of course we ordered one. The waiter showed us the room where they cook them, with an oven and shelves of pigs just waiting to be cooked. It was a little sad to see, but the food was really good, so I tried not to think about it too much.

That night, Dad said he had a plan for Christmas Eve dinner, but every place we tried was closed—even the market that claimed to be open 24/7. We stopped in a Carrefour and ended up with plantain chips and beef jerky, which didn’t exactly feel like a holiday meal. Eventually, we did find a real restaurant. We also went to midnight mass, where the most interesting part was quietly eavesdropping on the American tourists sitting behind us.

On Christmas Day, we slept in and kept our tradition of watching A Christmas Story, except this year it involved a laptop and a VPN. Later, we went back to the market that had been closed the night before, and it was completely packed. It reminded me of the market in Valencia, except this one was only food, which was not a problem. We ordered a lot of tapas and justified it by reminding ourselves that tapas are small.

We also took a tuk-tuk around the city. It was cold, but still fun. For dinner, we went to one of the most interesting restaurants I’ve ever been to. It was underwater-themed, with seashell floors, mermaid sushi stands, underwater god decorations, and purple lighting that made it feel like we were eating underwater. The food matched the theme: scallops served in a shell, sushi on marble seashell plates, and burrata that you injected with pesto and Bloody Mary mix using two needles. It was weird, but in a good way. After dinner, the adults got tequila in test tubes, and I got an apple cider one.

The next day, since we were leaving for South America, we didn’t have time for much. We went to an art museum, and the highlight before we left was finding an all-English bookstore with a full collection of Freida McFadden books. Our flight left at 11:55 p.m. and lasted 12 hours and 30 minutes—the longest flight I’ve ever been on. During that time, I watched two movies, five short shows, took a four-hour nap, finished my book, ate two meals, and still had time left.

Buenos Aires:

If I had to compare Buenos Aires to anywhere I’d already been, I’d probably say Cuba, but at the same time, it doesn’t really feel fully comparable to anywhere I’ve been.

We landed at EZE around 8 a.m. While the flight was long, the time difference was only four hours, which helped a lot with jet lag. After about an hour in the border control line—and getting randomly selected for extra security at customs—it was around 9:30 by the time we finally saw the Andersons waiting outside. They had landed a few hours earlier, so they looked much more awake than we did.

The drive from the airport to the Airbnb took about an hour, and the ten steps I had to take in sweatpants and a jacket leftover from Madrid were about ten steps too many. The heat was intense! We changed into shorts as fast as possible, grabbed a quick bite to eat, and got tickets for a hop-on, hop-off bus tour of the city.

Unfortunately, the only seats left were outside and completely unshaded. When the bus was moving, it was fine, but when it stopped, which was often, it felt like sitting in a sauna that you weren’t allowed to leave. We passed through Palermo Soho, the famous football neighborhood of La Boca, drove down 9 de Julio Avenue past the Obelisco, saw the parliament building, passed the Casa Rosada, and went by Plaza Lavalle. After what felt like a very long ride, we stopped for gelato and headed back to the Airbnb.

The next day, we had an insider’s tour of Buenos Aires and a local asado planned. We met up with girls that the Andersons had hosted for a BBYO conference in Colorado, who offered to show us around the city. We met at a local outdoor flea market, walked around for a bit, and quickly agreed that air conditioning was definitely necessary. They took us to San Telmo Market, a food market famous for choripán, a traditional Argentinian sandwich with chorizo and chimichurri.

Our next stop was Teatro Colón, a historic opera house known as one of the best in the world. For lunch, we went to an all-gluten-free restaurant with amazing empanadas. Later that night came the asado. Asados are traditional Argentinian dinners that can last late into the night—sometimes even until 7 a.m.—but since we were still jet-lagged, ours ended much earlier.

We had choripán, salad, steak, cow innards (which I politely declined), homemade flan, ice cream, and finished by passing around a cup of hot mate, a South American tea often drunk by students to stay awake while studying. We ate in the hosts’ backyard, and during dinner they told us about things people had dropped into their yard from the apartments above—socks, cigarettes, towels, and more. They asked us to guess the craziest thing someone had dropped. Most of us guessed something weird but harmless. Very calmly, they said, “A dead body.” All of our jaws dropped—not just because of what they said, but because of how completely unfazed they were. Apparently, it’s now just a funny dinner story.

The next day started early with a cemetery tour. Walking around a cemetery for three hours with a history lesson might have been interesting under different circumstances, but in 98-degree heat, by the end, I was wondering how many more coffins we could possibly look at. After cooling down, resting, and taking naps back at the Airbnb, we went out again to see traditional Argentine tango. The speed and coordination of the dancers’ footwork were crazy, and with the singing, accordion, and piano playing in the background, it made the whole experience even better.

Rio de Janeiro:

After a quick three-hour hopover on British Airways, we arrived in Rio! Aside from, you know, completely colonizing it, one similarity between Portugal and Brazil is the INSANELY long customs line. Since we were all starving, the combination of no food and zigzagging around the same room for over an hour was not ideal.

Eventually, we checked into our hotel right on Copacabana Beach. Our first real day in Rio, the following day? A boat day! Honestly, getting from the Uber to the boat was probably the hardest thing we did all day. As it turns out, there was a marathon happening, right at the marina. Once we got out of the Uber, we had to carefully bob and weave through countless sweaty runners proudly posing with their medals.

Once we made it onto the boat, though, it was smooth sailing. (Get it?) We had a private boat with drivers who only spoke Portuguese. Side note: Brazilian Portuguese was really hard at first, but once I got used to it, it almost became easier to understand.

We anchored in a little cove where a guy literally kayaked out to our boat and handed us a menu. We ordered, sent the menu back, and about 45 minutes later, he returned—canoeing again—with buckets of food. 

After we got back to the hotel, the Andersons relaxed while we headed to the beach. The waves were huge and the undertow even bigger. There was actually a rescue while we were there: people got stuck past the breaking point, and a helicopter came in, lowered fishing nets, and lifted them straight out of the water and back to shore. 

That night, we got ready, grabbed a caipirinha ( a non-alcoholic one for me), and wandered through the growing crowd waiting for the fireworks. A lot of people warned us not to trust the street food because some tourists had been drugged, which was a huge bummer because it smelled so good. Instead, we settled for bad hotel pizza, but honestly, it didn’t matter because the fireworks more than made up for it. The show went on for a solid 20 minutes and was probably the most expensive fireworks display I’ll ever see.

The next day, we switched hotels to the Sheraton, a resort more isolated from the city. After a quick lunch, we went straight to the pool. That night, the kids stayed in for Italian food while the adults went out.

The following day was a HUGE tour day. We started at Christ the Redeemer, and even though we had “skip-the-line” tickets, we still waited about half an hour in the heat. It was worth it, though. The monkeys at the top were hilarious. It was straight out of Rio 2. Sadly, Isaac hurt his shoulder and had to head back, but after Christ, we found the BEST pão de queijo and açaí ever. 

Next stop: a round church (a first for me), and then Sugarloaf Mountain. The cable car ride to the top only took about two minutes, but the views were insane. Unfortunately, despite all of Uncle Bill’s optimism, it rained. Luckily, it started just as we were finishing.

That night, we headed out for our last dinner in Rio—and our first feijoada. It was so good. I can’t say the same for the aftermath, though (sorry, Isaac and Cait). And once again, I was right, Uncle Bill, it started raining again.

On our final day, we had a quick breakfast and then headed to the pool, where we somehow ended up in an impromptu pool dance class led by a woman and a guy wearing a chicken hat. We packed up, said our goodbyes, and headed to the airport.

I had seen a video on Instagram saying that if you politely asked, “Are there any complimentary operational upgrades?” you might get bumped to business or economy plus. So, in my best Portuguese, I gave it a shot. Unfortunately, I ended up stuck in the middle seat again. My parents at least got bulkhead, but they were next to a crying baby the entire flight.

So yeah. Instagram lied.

Chad Said:

We landed in Buenos Aires in the dead of winter, which, after crossing the equator for the first time in my life, was really the dead of summer.

Spain had been cold in the way that seemed to fit the holidays, but suddenly, the freezing tuk-tuk ride we took all around Madrid to begin our ten-day journey was now a warm Argentinian breeze on the top of a double-decker bus. Shaking off the jet lag with my arm resting along the rail, I soaked in so much sun that it left a racing stripe across my right bicep. At some point during that ride—when I stayed on the top deck even after everyone else headed for the shade—I realized how little I was thinking about the things that come next because, the truth is, I have no idea what those things are.

Long-haul flights can bend time, and by the time the bus got into the third or fourth Buenos Aires neighborhood, it already felt like weeks since we’d been in Madrid—walking across the city, eating our way through the markets, attending midnight mass in the great cathedral on Christmas Eve, bellying up to the bars where Hemingway once sat while covering the Spanish Civil War, and standing before Picasso’s vision of what that brutality looked like as Spain entered a dark period of authoritarianism, which echoes uncomfortably today in places we never expected. But summer, albeit bizarro summer, had returned, and it was time to tour.

Later that night, I took the opportunity to meet up with Tim, one of the Rotary Youth Exchange volunteers who was visiting his son, a former youth exchange student to Argentina who has since moved back to the site of his exchange. It was great catching up and spending some time together amid both of our adventures. We talked about the program and, inevitably, how important it is in today’s world, creating global citizens who help make the world just a little bit smaller. It was a discussion that perfectly framed the day to come. We spent time with three local girls Cait knew from one of her programs the year before. Instead of walking us through landmarks, they opened windows into their lives. In the afternoon, they took us to a café and introduced us to la merienda, a daily ritual, a moment when the city seems to collectively decide to stop. Coffee appeared. Cakes. Yerba mate passed between friends. A deck of Spanish cards came out, unfamiliar and slightly absurd, with rules I don’t think anyone fully gathered. But the game wasn’t the point.

We talked about what they were studying. Where they hoped to go in the world. What kind of lives they imagined for themselves. And it dawned on me that when you spend time in a new place with young people in that capacity—getting a full tour and a crash course on a country—we didn’t just learn about the history of Buenos Aires. We got a glimpse into its future, too. We saw what the next generation wants to accomplish. We learned about their hopes and dreams. Somewhere between the cards, the coffee, and those conversations, the expectations for the future reemerged. It was something I carried with me on the flight to Brazil as we prepared for the most time-bending holiday of them all—New Year’s Eve.

Arriving in Rio was oddly comforting in a way I wasn’t expecting. Instantly, there was a greater familiarity with the language as I read the road signs leaving the airport, trying to look off into the distance for a view of Maracanã Stadium but finding first glimpses of Christ the Redeemer instead. It’s easy to see how Rio yields to the landscape and not the other way around, with neighborhoods tucked into lush vegetation and buildings giving way to cliffs.

From the water, the skyline feels less constructed than allowed, filling it out rather than forming it. For the Rio de Janeiro skyline is—to borrow a phrase from Argentinian football—formed from the Hand of God. Our boat day provided these unique perspectives, the gentle rise and fall of the waves causing our vessel to nod in agreement at just how beautiful Rio really is. The hazy horizon had no impact at all on our enjoyment, and in fact, the sun eventually broke through, kissing my racing stripe a little bit more. I guess we should have remembered the sunscreen. It was the first time in my life that I had a sunburn on New Year’s Eve.

What can I say about Copacabana? This might be the world’s greatest party venue, and Brazilians are probably the world’s most professional partiers. All afternoon and evening, we took stock in how crowded the beach became, each hour bringing more and more white-clad celebrators onto the sands. It was nothing like I have ever experienced. Millions of people enjoying the moment, which as I mentioned somewhere previously, heightens my personal enjoyment even more. Said another way, I find joy in watching other people’s joy, which is all part of the New Year’s Eve experience. It’s a time to reflect on everything that just happened the previous year. It’s a time to enjoy the celebration of the moment. And it’s a time to look ahead at all the things that await in the year to come. Only this time, for the first time in a very long time, I’m not quite sure what those things will be.

But there was a party in progress, and at one point in the evening, probably around 9, something became clear to me. In the US, making it to midnight is the climax. Hell, a lot of people I know don’t even make it that far, and there’s even pride in that proclamation, like it’s a badge of honor to be too tired to make it to the ball drop. Different strokes for different folks, I guess, because it was clear that in Rio, midnight is when the party STARTS, and there was no way in hell I was missing out on THIS party. I convinced Alli to get out of bed and walk to the water with me, where there’s a tradition of jumping seven waves for good luck. The beach was packed. Families everywhere. Circles of people eating. Kids with glow sticks. And then there were the waves. Alli, in her white, started jumping, one by one. I watched, wondering what her wishes were, and then I wondered if wishing for the same thing seven times is allowed by the rules. That’s when the drone show started, shapes in the sky, another round of fireworks, and then the recognizable figure of Christ the Redeemer in hundreds of tiny lights in the sky.

By mid-morning, Copacabana had been restored. Streets cleaned. Porta-potties gone. Trucks shampooing the pavement along the length of the beach. Nothing felt wrecked. Nothing felt frayed. The city had absorbed the night and kept moving, which is the only way to truly keep the party going, by getting ready for the next one.

Later, after we moved hotels to Leblon, I spent what seemed like hours in the ocean with Cait—body surfing, climbing waves, getting knocked around in the best possible way. It was so much fun, laughing and chatting, remembering how much we loved being in the ocean, not jumping the waves, becoming them. And that's when it became clear to me: I’m in a narrative right now, and I have no idea where the next chapters are headed. In fact, I’m not even sure which book I’m in.

One future seems defined by evolution, personal growth, and continuation into a world that’s becoming smaller and smaller by the day as we challenge the norms that we always assumed we could not change, questioning ideals and definitions and truths that we always assumed to be self-evident but really aren't.

The other future is filled with logistics and timelines, dates and deadlines, less driven by imagination than by the necessity to set goals and plan, to hustle, and eventually reclaim a distant horizon from the Rio summer haze.

The truth is, I'm not sure which story I'm in. Maybe both.

But this trip reminded me that even without knowing how the book ends, it matters how you move through the pages. Each letter counts. Paragraphs can be written and rewritten. And when the moment asks for your particular ending, when it demands it even when you don't know it, you can always find a time to return to the sea and join the waves.

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