RIO DE JANERIO - Dogs in Booties

You can tell a lot about a town by its dogs. Florianopolis tended to gravitate towards the massive, big teeth variety. They´d stand there, behind locked doors ready to shout furiously at anything which wandered past. (Similar story with the cats, horses and even the chickens, actually) Dogs in Rio de Janerio don´t bark so much. And they don´t hide behind big gates ready to attack anything. Your classic Rio dog can be seen wandering down Ipanema beach, wearing his matching purple bonnet and booties. Yes, Rio is the home of the egotists.


African art at the Hippie Market. And without a hippy in sight.

Rio is one funky city with a rather undeserved reputation for danger and immediate death lurking around every corner. It´s the recipient of one of the most stunning situations for a city. Carved out of the Atlantic rainforest (I´m sure they´re sorry for that) and plonked between some impressive sheer rock formations, it´s a beachy, jungly, mountainy kind of a paradise and a welcome final stopoff in the big adventure I call Brazil.

Which means, of course, an excuse for relentless tourism.


Isn´t there a big statue around here somewhere?

The biggest tourist traps in the city are the peaks of Covorcado and Pao de Açucar. Or, if you prefer, the statue of Christ the Redeember and Sugarloaf Mountain. The first is as impressive a bit of grey stone perched on a huge hill as you can imagine. It also has a very exciting approach featuring near vertical cog train. More exciting an approach is Sugarloaf Mountain, which features one of my favourite irrational fears: cable cars.


Nicola pouts at Sugarloaf Mountain. Jess gets to look scared.

If it goes up without an engine and shakes from side to side then I´m not a happy bunny. However, remembering that Roger Moore managed to tackle this particular cable car back in Moonraker and not wanting to be outdone by James Bond I managed to make it up the mountain. And was very glad to be rewarded by the incredible Rio sunset and much twinkling of lights below. Cable cars lead to views so I suppose their existance can be tolerated.


Gekko enjoying the sunset on Sugarloaf Mountain. Probably because he gets to lick up all the chocolate the tourists drop.

Back briefly to those egotists. Rio has its fair share of the rich and fabulous. Mostly the seem to hang around the twin beaches of Copocobana and Ipanema, wandering around the hippie market with their poodles and eyeing up artwork of the favelas they´ve never visited. But, actually, they´re all rather lovely in that you always know exactly where to find them and can ignore them at your leisure. They will do the same, leaving the younger and slightly poorer types to be your friends and share their acquired English skills. "Let´s go!" and "Hey, guy" seem to be the favourite phrases of choice. Ignore the naysayers. Come to Rio and you won´t get killed. Promise.


The mighty Brazil line-o-map. No, I didn´t quite get everywhere, but the south got quite well covered. And the rest of it has loads of forests and swamps to deal with. That´s my excuse, and I´m sticking to it.

So time to leave Brazil. Home of the very rich and the very poor, the most commercialised flag in the world and the greatest hand gestures to accompany a language. Sarah and I head to Santiago, Chile on Sunday. A city which we know little about and which everyone we meet tells us is dull beyond all measure. The jury´s out, though. I mean, come on, I´m the kind of person who finds dogs wearing booties worth writing about...


Sunset from Sugarloaf Mountain. Or, "wait, I´ll have to go on that cable car again in a minute."