When I was asked to elaborate on my experiences of Rio de Janeiro for Eat Me Magazine's South America edition I was naturally very excited, I managed to commandeer a lap top whilst on the Caribbean coast of Colombia and spent a few days sweating over the keyboard, as I attempted to compile a muddle of anecdotes into an article with some sort of readable fluidity from the pages of my journal. Little did I know that six months later I would be shaking hands with the man pictured on the front cover below, the front cover of the magazine in which I have managed, some how, to get a double page spread.
As far as I'm concerned I can now pack my knife away and hang up my apron, I've reached culinary Moksha and come face to face with my hero.
“Tall and tanned and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking, and when she passes, each one she passes, goes aahhh”.
Stan Getz it, and so do I, but it’s not just the beautiful people watching that draws millions of people to Brazils ex-capital and one of the world’s most famous cities. It is the lifestyle that it affords you. Tropical weather, delicious food, even more delicious people, a party atmosphere that is simply unrivalled and a setting so iconic that the droves of movie stars, directors and musicians that have descended upon it for over eight decades have been enveloped and inspired by its magic. The final nail in the coffin of desire is that every year in February it plays host to the world’s largest party, the infamous Rio Carnival.
With the above in mind Rio de Janeiro seemed the perfect place to kick off six months of post Uni vagrancy in style. So it was in dreary February I found myself at Heathrow on a 777 bound for Brazil with two of my closest friends along for the ride. We landed and grabbed a cab to Copacabana before walking to the beach of the same name. The heat was stifling, even at 11pm as we strolled with intent towards the seafront and the promise of a Caipirinha. The beach was incandescent with floodlights and the sea crashed against the yellow sands beyond, past that the moonlight flickered across the crests of the waves as they pulsed in a constant lunar motion toward the warmth of the toasted terra firma.
Rio has plenty to keep one occupied in the way of culture, and the first main attractions on the list are the beaches. As big a part of the national identity as Samba and the Surf, Ipanema’s ‘Posto Nove’ is the hot spot for Rio’s beautiful elite to come and tan their annoyingly chiseled physiques. There are no two ways about it, unless you’re built like Charles Atlas and stand at 6’5” (I’m neither), you will feel like an inferior specimen betwixt these Brazilian buns. The only thing one can do to fight of these body blues is to eat, and there is nothing faster, cheaper, or more delicious than South Americas synonymous snack and the humble cousin of the Cornish Pasty: the Empanada. Chicken, meat and corn are the components of most, along with a host of extra additives and satellite sauces to wet your whistle. They are a survival staple for many a cash-strapped-traveler, and beyond being absolutely delicious, I haven’t come across one for more than a pound throughout the whole of South America.
At the far end of Copacabana beach in the shadow of Sugarloaf Mountain lies an absolute gem of a restaurant, Brazil is famed for its grill restaurants (Parillas) and ‘Marius’ is one of the best there is. There are two options: meat or fish. The simplicity of this choice is a good thing as the décor can be a little overwhelming. The ceiling is covered in various wares and trinkets and a pirate theme runs throughout. For me this confusion manifested itself in the lavatories, wherein I attempted to take a picture of the various ornaments, hanging and otherwise, and at flashpoint a bemused woman exited the cubicle. I had walked into the ladies, and as far as I could tell the look behind her eyes was a mixture of confusion, shock, and accusation of perversion. I thought it best not to explain in Portuguese, as I speak none, so I smiled my most innocent of smiles and made a swift exit.
The only thing for absolute certain in Marius that night was the quality of the beef. We ate sirloin, rib eye, t-bone and filet mignon, all of which were cooked to absolute perfection and as is the Brazilian way the meat was covered in salt. The waiters / pirates brought the cuts to the table on large chopping boards and skewers and we chose each piece individually before they sliced effortlessly through the beef. The buffet salad bar served its purpose as a pallet cleanser, but by the end of the meal we only had room in our hearts for the carne.
After a night of sweet dreams and beef sweats a freshly squeezed fruit smoothie and a long walk was the best way to tease out the taurine. Countless juice bars throughout Leblon, Ipanema and Copacabana offer any number of refreshing vitamin fueled supplements. My personal favourite remains the banana and pineapple combo, yet it would be a travesty to visit Rio and not indulge in an Acai smoothie poured over a bowl of granola, it is actually possible to feel yourself getting younger after one of these. As for the long walk, in the City of God it is absolutely essential to pay a visit to his most famous son.
Christo Redento (Christ the Redeemer) stands a top the 700m Corcovado peak and looks in the direction of Sugarloaf Mountain, the best way to scale it is without a doubt by the funicular railway, despite the insistent hoard of taxi drivers at the bottom telling you otherwise, and the view once you get up there is simply breathtaking. Although you’ll feel you’ve seen it before on many a postcard, the sensation of being up there in the most vertiginous of situations makes almost anything you’ve seen before, somehow smaller. As both an atheist and a sufferer of vertigo I kept my distance from the chapel and the edge. That said it would take a severe lack of faith and balls not to revel in the sheer scale of your surroundings.
Brazil has more Japanese ex-pats than any other country on earth so it isn’t any wonder that it serves up some of the best sushi in the world, and the best restaurant in Rio for this is ‘Sushi Leblon’. We queued for 20 minutes with no reservation and were seated by the polite and incredibly attractive hostess. The Sashimi, Nigiri, Maki and Tempura were made to perfection; the choice of the evening was the teriyaki eel and avocado California Rolls, all prepared in full view in a kitchen at the centre of the simplistic and chic restaurant. Having eaten sushi all over South America it seems the style is more complex on the other side of the pond, many more ingredients are thrown into the mix, fusing the basics of the genre with the wider spectrum of the Japanese kitchen. Couple these with a pinch of Latin American influence and you have a truly unique recipe for culinary kudos.
Rio’s second famous null that deserves a slice of your time is Sugarloaf Mountain, and Marvin and the grape vine had brought us news of a party at the top. A day of dedicated sunning down on Copacabana and we caught a cab to Playa Vehemela at the base of the loaf. After paying through the teeth for tickets and noshing a few healthy slugs of Bacardi Dark, we took the cable car up to the first level. Before we could get a drink we were accosted by a Brazilian TV station that interviewed us about our opinion of Rio, my drunken amigo Jamie, evidently not destined for a career in television, began a long and incomprehensible monologue about his beloved Scotland, I made rather uncouth remark about the concentration of ass on the beaches, whilst my other friend had the most fitting of gambits – “I f***ing love Rio”! For our sake, and theirs, I hope it wasn’t going out live.
The drink of choice for any self-respecting citizen is the Caipirinha, made from Cachaça, (fermented then distilled sugarcane juice similar to rum), lime and sugar. It is sweet, sour, refreshing, and so delicious that you could easily drink several without a second thought. We didn’t think twice and got stuck.
The party was fantastic and the beats were sweet like Tropicana, electro in the main room and funky techno on the deck. Beautiful people and a serious view to boot, we danced till the early hours and swilled punch until the banter bus pulled into town and we bought a one-way ticket to Bedfordshire. Non-refundable.
A trip to Rio simply wouldn’t be complete without a visit to one of its many slums. The vibrancy of the favellas is as concentrated as it is chaotic, the jumble of houses drench the mountain side in an array of colour, self proclaimed electricians balance precariously atop step ladders wiring their houses into the unofficial mains that hang like heavy rubber vines throughout the larger streets, dispersing outwards into the tributaries at random like the dendrites of a brain working with confused intent.
Some of the areas have become much safer in recent years, so much so that some of the population is moving into them as a matter of choice rather than necessity. The majority are still far too dangerous for a gringo to simply stroll through, and the last thing you want on holiday is to end up a statistic. The best way to visit them, as we did, is to organise it through your hotel or hostel or find one that does. Every Friday night locals and tourists alike can buy tickets to a party in the favellas. A massive warehouse holding upwards of 2000 people bounces to the beat of the Brazilian drum till the early hours, then party goers spill out into the streets where more speaker rigs pump out an array of dance music.
Moving on from Rio? There are endless possibilities: Isla Grande for a stunning beach break, Salvador for a taste of the Africa in Brazil, Florianopolis for the surf and the gorgeous Southern Brazilians, Foz de Iguazu to catch a glimpse of the biggest waterfalls on earth, or perhaps even Manaus – Capital of the Amazon rainforest. Whether traveling or just on holiday, there are few places on earth that can offer you so much, and get it so right, as Rio de Janeiro. These are merely my experiences that I have put down as best I can, yet I urge you, nay, implore you: book a flight, grab a couple of friends to take with you, and go and see for yourself what all the fuss is about.
“Oh, would I give my heart gladly, how can I tell her I love her?”
‘The Girl From Ipanema’
- Antonio Carlos Jobim, Norman Gimbel, Stan Getz.
