Day 50: Rio de Janeiro

Our first proper day in Rio de Janeiro, we got grounded by joining a walking tour. We hopped on the metro (an impressive, shiny piece of infrastructure obviously recently upgraded for the recent World Cup or Olympics) a few minutes from our hostel and made our way into the centre, to Carioca Metro. In a nearby square, we gathered where a young girl studying medicine took us around some key spots of the district and educated us on the history of Brazil and the shameful, corrupt political system of recent years. En route we stopped at Confeitaria Colombo, a fancy bakery and café dating back to the late nineteenth century. In this opulent and upmarket dining hall I ordered a coffee and a Brigadeiro, a traditional Brazilian confectionary which comprised a dense ball of chocolate and condensed milk mixture coated in chocolate sprinkles. As sickeningly sweet as it sounds, one bite was delicious, but any more was nauseating. Walking around this area one could be mistaken for thinking they were in any sunny European city; except perhaps the scale of the commercial architecture - huge, modern glass structures dominate this low-rise historic core.

Two key highlights were the monumental Carioca Aqueduct and Escadaria Selarón: the former a mid-eighteenth century construction of white concrete arches that elegantly march across the city, bisecting an enormous, hard-landscaped public space; the latter a staircase in a poor neighbourhood that has been transformed by hundreds of colourful tiles, lovingly adorned by Chilean artist Selarón as a "tribute to the Brazilian people". As with most unique and novel features of the city, it was completely overrun with tourists posing for photos and generally congesting the area: a victim of its own success.

Returning to Travessa do Comércio, heaving with atmosphere and music coming from the dozens of outdoor seated areas in this narrow street, Lynn and I (joined by Daniel and Eva who we'd first met in Sao Paulo and had bumped into in Rio) sat down for lunch. Enjoying the energy of the city, the day got away from us: between the walking tour, lunch and the amount of time we spent trying to relocate the insanely cheap Havaiana's shop, my dreams of returning home with glowing brown skin from Brazil, faded with the daylight.

Back at the hostel we decided to make the most of what was left of evening light, and jaunted out to the nearby lagoon, were fit Brazilians went jogging. Lynn and I shared a coconut and watched the sky change from oranges and pinks to purples and navy and quickly turn to night. Conscious that it was a Saturday night, we knew we had to make it count. We picked up some snacks and a few drinks and had ourselves a little party in our room. A good girly evening, bopping around the room, drinking in the shower and generally buzzing, we had ourselves nicely polished before joining our fellow hosteliers down stairs.

We had a few tasty Mojitos and before long, a sing song led by the guitar wielding Argentinians started. At one point, they started up with Enrique Iglesias' "Bailando" which was, in Lynn's own words, "a dream come true".

Determined to head out to Lapa for the famous street atmosphere, we hopped in a Taxi joined by a friendly Mexican who we'd befriended in the hostel the night before. He had run the Mexican night, the evening before and seemed like good craic. On our mission to "have the best night ever", he offered to tag along, sort of taking us under his wing, and showing us around the big city. It quickly transpired however that he was a total scabby user who'd barely been in Rio a wet week! He let Lynn and I foot the bill for the Taxi, and then, when I bought a round of Mojitos he didn't even pretend to put his hand in his pocket… We needed to ditch this leech…

Despite Spongebob Cheappants, the atmosphere lived up to expectation. The vast public space underneath the aqueduct that was empty only hours earlier was choca-block with street vendors selling food and drink and hundreds of people milling between them - we had arrived in party central, a soundtrack of generators humming, drunken chatter, taxis and not-to-distant music filling the air. Sleazebob Scabpants, led us to some hole of a night club where basically everyone twerked and grinded. That was the last straw. Dumped, and not happy about it, we merrily ditched Slimebob Stingepants and set out to make our own fun.

Out on the streets, we struck up with a friendly and non-threatening Californian and his kindly Brazilian friends. We hung around with them for a while, trying to enjoy the street atmosphere but ultimately just ended up traipsing around talking s***. So, we ditched them too!

The night was getting late, and we made one last attempt to find samba. We found a bar that pumped samba music and was full of people dancing. We paid in, got one song of samba rhythm and then something changed. The music turned into the same generic, sleazy rubbish we'd escaped earlier that night. Right. That was that. If the night hadn't taken off at that point it was never going to! We decided to call it a night about 3am. Sitting in a late night café, we decided to fill up on all manner of Brazilian treats and snacks. Not a bad way to finish off the night!