The helicopter pilot is in good spirits: he's been round Christ the Redeemer twice now, towering 710 metres above the bay of Rio from the top of Corcovado hill. Twice round, instead of the one scheduled before take-off, just for the fun of it; and even more surely as a courtesy, to thank his passengers for marvelling so much at their city.<\/p>\n
It doesn't take much effort for the passengers to enthuse about the splendour of the place. Without a doubt, the bay of Rio de Janeiro is the most beautiful in creation. With its islands, its bits of sea held captive by who knows what celestial hand, its skilfully carved coasts, its gentle hills and, here and there, its sheer cliffs and its morros, emerging granite rocks, the most famous of which, Sugar Loaf, looks like a monstrous 395-metre shell ready to set off on a cosmic adventure. And what about the city? White, as if worn down - from above at any rate - by a sun that seems to have hung forever at its zenith, deliciously stretched out along the curves of endless, world-famous beaches: Copacabana, Ipanema, Leblon and all the others...<\/p>\n
For the Carioca, the beach is more than just a way of life. It's the village square, the agora, the last trade fair in town, the sports ground, the place to meet people, to talk, even to do business; it's also the place to see and be seen, and above all not to make a mistake when it comes to choosing the swimming costume you're going to wear, obviously from the latest collections; because, undressed as you are, the ordinary accessories of social recognition and belonging to a clan count for nothing. All that's left is the body, which good taste dictates should be toned and gilded, the sunglasses and the famous swimming costume. This year, it's being worn wide on the hips, whether for men or women. And beware of the scatterbrains who, depending on their sex, will linger on either the stringy bum or the potato sack shorts.<\/p>\n
And then there's the choice of sand. Copacabana is the most famous beach of all, but its heyday, which peaked in the 20s and 30s with the opening of the Copacabana Palace Hotel, the first palace to open in the whole of Latin America, is now long gone. Of course, the elegance is still there, but on certain stretches, the number of pensioners per square metre somewhat overshadows the omnipresent beauty of youth... And then, from dusk onwards, the underworld crowd wandering along the Atlantica avenue, as well as the surly faces of some of the young people, don't really lend themselves to a romantic stroll along the seafront. Even if the police are keeping a watchful eye on things. No, Copacabana is definitely not what it used to be. Ipanema, made world-famous in the 60s, when it was still just a beach and a so-called \"fringe\" neighbourhood, by a simple song: \"The Girl from Ipanema\". In it, the musician Tom Jobim tells the story of a young girl passing by, free and sensual, strolling along at the opposite end of the spectrum from the fatal, sophisticated woman, a film star if ever there was one, who at the time was only accepted by good society as a \"free, single woman who was nevertheless approachable\". At the same time, the Mediterranean was discovering Sagan, Vadim and Bardot...<\/p>\n
Today, Ipanema, the home of the carioca bobos, has a line of streets lined with luxury boutique after luxury boutique, French brand after Italian brand, arty bar after restaurant serving light salads... But this doesn't mean that some popular canteens, generous in portions as much as in Brahma beer, can't coexist in an urban environment. For example, Michael, a waiter in a large hotel on the seafront, is not averse to his caipirinha, a delicious and very refreshing Brazilian cocktail made from cane alcohol and lime, at the end of the afternoon, before boarding a bus. Obviously, I don't live there,\" he says, dripping with tropical sweat, as if coming out of a hammam. It takes me two hours to get there and two hours to get back. And I start at 7 o'clock in the morning, sometimes earlier. That's Rio. It takes a long time. But it doesn't matter, one of these days I might be rich...\" This slightly fatalistic philosophy says it all, with a hint of \"things will be better tomorrow\", which is exactly the spirit of Rio.<\/p>\n
And God knows how much spirit is needed by the inhabitants of the favelas, these shanty towns right on the edge of the city, these aggregates of sheet metal, planks and bricks that climb the hills in cubist style, where no architect would agree to build anything for fear of a landslide. And then again, there are favelas and favelas... The concept is so far removed from the Western way of doing things that it's best to handle it with the utmost caution. For example, La Rocinha, with its 127,000 inhabitants, is the largest favela in Rio. And perhaps also the most successful, in terms of health infrastructure. Some have Internet caf\u00e9s, banks and, it's said, even McDonald's. Chic favelas, if you dare. And they are open to tourism, albeit under strict supervision.<\/p>\n
Besides, you always have to be a little careful in Rio. Everywhere. Even if, once the usual precautions have been taken, the risk of violence is fairly minimal. Like in the Santa Teresa district, where it's best not to visit alone at night. But you must visit this delightful place. In the 19th century, it was the most elegant place to live. Hence its large houses surrounded by gardens, its high walls and follies, its superb views over the bay, the business district and its old convents, its squares with clumps of trees, its disjointed cobblestones where weeds run wild and its incredible and very photogenic tramway that has been running since 1893. Today, the district is being reborn and renovated, and is home to all the avant-garde artists Rio has to offer. All the same, the old, the historic, the colonial is not Rio's forte. That's something you'll have to find further north, just over an hour away by plane, in Salvador de Bahia, another myth.<\/p>\n
So it's into the heart of colonial Brazil that we plunge as we wander through the old town of Salvador, capital of the state of Bahia and, until 1763, capital of Brazil itself. There are so many churches in this heartland - 165 in all, but the Bahians like to say that there is, in fact, one for every day of the year - there are so many churches, so much baroque, rococo, gilding, cherubs and all the saints of heaven, that if you don't select, it becomes tiresome.<\/p>\n
So many cloisters, azulejos shipped in from Portugal, palaces, colonial houses... So many pastel walls - pale pinks, acid greens, yellows - climbing steeply up narrow streets stifling with tropical humidity, there's so much to see and so much to do in this tiny historic centre, here called Pelourinho and listed as a World Heritage Site by UNESCO since 1985, that you quickly get mixed up in just about everything, and end up slumped over, dripping and arms hanging down, in a bistro chair. And there's music everywhere, blasting out of a half-open window in a dark alleyway, blaring drums in the sunshine in the main square, in stereo in unlikely bars and even on the roofs of cars on advertising campaigns. Salvador de Bahia is black. Black with the world and black with blood, a tangible reminder of a slave-owning Portugal. Bahia sings, sways, claps its hands, dances to impossible rhythms, parties all night long and, above all, even in poverty, lives a true joy of existence to the extreme.<\/p>\n
It's everywhere in the city, the era when sugar cane made its fortune, the culture that came straight from Africa. Starting with the gastronomy, one of the finest, richest and most flamboyant in Brazil. Then there's capoeira, the world-famous martial art that originated with the enslaved people and is part game, part acrobatic combat, part ritual dance practised in schools, but also on the beach and in the streets of tourist areas. Then there's candombl\u00e9, an Afro-Brazilian cult practised in impressive ritual evenings. As you can see, in addition to its extraordinary wealth of heritage, Salvador de Bahia is above all an atmosphere. An atmosphere that is hard to leave behind as you head off to find the sensual pleasures - the word is not accidental in Brazil - of the beach under the coconut trees.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"