Rio de Janiero: 12-15 May

I was warned that Rio was the "marvelous city" and I was not disappointed. I am on Paixa de Ipanema. To my left I can hear a gentle thwack and thud as a group of guys played futvol - a seemingly impossible game where a football is juggled over a volleyball net. A few joggers drift into view and then disappear off-stage. But it's the sensational view to my right that has captured me, and I can't look away.


Postage stamp bikini tops and dental-floss bottoms? I hear you ask...not on this occasion. The sun has drifted off somewhere behind the clouds, but its glow turns them a fluffy pink and makes the spray coming off the heavy surf sparkle. The "twins" - two huge conical towers sprouting improbably out of the ground - are now looming black. Their silhouettes lock me into the scene, making it feel close, claustrophobic almost, dramatic. The beach stretches away from me in a graceful convex arch until it touches the twin's toes. And this is what frames the beach front cityscape.


I'd like to say that I was seduced by Rio's colonial architecture, its faded glory, or its sultry samba clubs (though that almost happened!), but I can't. For me, it is the city's extraordinary geography which unfolded and surprised me everywhere I went - up on Cocovado under Christ's huge outspread wings I was ambushed by a virtual map of the city, down in Centro I kept on glimpsing the Sugar Loaf, and strolling along Copacobana I saw the how the waves had carved it into a gentle arc. Someone said to me that if you were going to choose to create a city anywhere in the world with extraordinary geography, then Rio would be it. I couldn't agree more.


People are from Earth, Matthew is obviously from Mars
The hostel was comfortable enough, despite the 4 bunk beds crammed into a tiny room (it's only R$40 (£10) a night, cheap for downtown Ipanema). Tucked away in a backpacker's alley I thought the potential to meet other interesting travellers was pretty good. I was wrong.

There was Matt, the overly friendly American from Arizona. He sported a shaved head, a goatee, a leather wristband-watch combo, and a tattooed musical score of an Alice and Chains tune twisting around his bicep. Our conversation went like this:

Him: "Matt! What's happening man?"
Me: "I'm fine thanks. What have you been doing today?"
Him: "Not much dude. Just kinda hanging out, watching the surfers. Cool waves here man."
Me: "What do you think of Rio?"
Him: "Cool man."
He then swivels back to watch the TV. End of conversation.

Jeff is an early 30s Swedish physicist who now earns his living making risk models for London banks. He was on three months gardening leave having just been been poached by a rival firm. He was smart and interested in my story, but I think he found me a little bit odd: was it that he didn't really believe I'd worked for the UK Government? Or did he think DFID was just my cover story because I'm really a spy? Was I spying on him? Or maybe he thought I was just a little bit sinister because I knew a few Swedes and had an opinion about Swedish politics? I was making his eyes dart around the place when I spoke. What was that a sign of? My paranoia snowballed: was he asking me questions to trip you up? How did he managed to mingle an air of diffidence with curiosity? Maybe he was a Swedish spy? The conversation fizzled out.

Then there was the dopey girl from Guernsey who in our first conversation claimed that she didn't believe the big-bang theory. Why I asked? Well....she actually didn't know why. She just thought it "sounded odd". I thought it probably would sound odd if you were hanging around at the time of the big bang. We didn't hit it off.

Where was the motley crew of latter day hippies, eccentric travellers in Panama hats, or Japanese manga writers seeking inspiration from Rio's scenes? Surely I'd fit in with that bunch! I'd obviously strayed deep into the mainstream gringo trail. But then, was I really any different?