Sway to the samba beat
and wonderful land that separates the two? Opting instead to cover the 255 miles by road, I journeyed through Rio de Janeiro State along what may well be South America’s most impressive stretch of road.
The BR-101 Highway reveals beaches and islands and jungle laced with walking trails. With so much to see, I took my time and factored in an overnight stay in Paraty.
This laid-back coastal town, oozing with colonial charm and backed by verdant peaks, was originally home to the Guaiana Indians before the Portuguese arrived in the 16th century.
Today, Paraty – the old indigenous name of a local fish – remains fabulously atmospheric, with old churches and crumbling buildings along narrow streets cobbled with stone. Boat trips and leisurely strolls are the order of the day.
My hotel, the lovely Pousada Porto Imperial, was just around the corner. Dating back to 1804 when it was a merchant’s warehouse, its 43 rooms are filled with antiques and intriguing old touches while the swimming pool is centred around tropical gardens laced with bromeliads and native orchids.
As dusk descends and lanterns illuminate the old streets, the outdoor tables of the cafes and restaurants are soon busy with people feasting on locally caught octopus and Brazil’s national dish feijoada (pronounced fey-jwah-dah), a hearty stew of pork and black beans.
The next morning, the quiet harbour is filled with boats, each colourfully painted with names such as Bella. We board one that’s pretty and pink and set sail along the jungle-cloaked coast to a deserted crescent beach, scattered with starfish in the shallows.
Later, we are escorted by a pod of playful dolphins who seem to be enjoying the surroundings just as much as us.
With a heavy heart, we bid a reluctant farewell to Paraty and press on further east towards a city that needs little introduction.
Rio de Janeiro finally materialises some five hours later, the windy coastal roads replaced by congested flyovers that soar, dip and twist around favelas that tumble down the steep hillsides.
I first fell head over heels with Rio around 15 years ago and even now, countless visits later, it’s still the city that makes my heart sing the loudest.
My preferred base is always the Copacabana Palace. The grande dame of Rio’s hotels, with its grapefruit-infused marble lobby and sweeping staircase to its 243 rooms (splash out on one with an ocean view), it was designed by French architect Joseph Gire in 1923 and has attracted royalty and A-listers ever since.
But best of all, it’s the perfect base from which to explore everything Rio has to offer. Quick cab rides take me to the hippy hilltop enclave of Santa Teresa with its cafes and artisan workshops and to the raucous samba bars of Lapa, while the world’s most famous urban beach is literally across the road. Move over Bondi and step aside Santa Monica because there’s no inner city shoreline that beats Copacabana and neighbouring Ipanema. I rent a bicycle from the hotel and join the procession of joggers, bikers and skateboarders along the promenade.
The journey isn’t particularly long or arduous but it takes me most of the afternoon on account of my leisurely pace and frequent stops. I sit under palm trees and sip fresh water straight from bulbous coconuts, watching sprightly Cariocas (Rio residents) somersault and flip during energetic volleyball matches on the beach. Some run into the shallows with their surf boards, others perfect their already perfect