* Eroding away a morning doing nothing in particular and then spending the afternoon on the beach at Ipanema. Lots of tall and tanned and young and lovelies. Ahhhhhhh. Molly pointed out that humming "The Girl from Ipanema" when in Rio is a bit like walking around London belting out "London Bridge is Falling Down". Not very chic. Very odd to see pigeons on the beach.

* Multiple cups of the gorgeous açai (pronounced ass-eye-ee) which was first initiated by curiousity and is now maintained by addiction. It's the fruit of the palm tree that Tree is heading south to investigate for a couple of months and it is best described as a grainy mix of chocolate, blueberry, and very strong dark grape juice. They blend it with ice and oodles of sugar and it is fantastic, even though it looks a little like mud. Also a big fan of palmito which is something like artichoke and is bloody good on pizzas and in salads.

* Obligatory trip to visit The Big Jesus On The Hill, better known as Cristo Redentor of Corcovado. Biggest art deco statue in the world and quite intimidating if you're the God-fearing type. We were about to get on the little red caboose that chugs up the hill to the big guy when we were captured by a tout who warned us that "The weather is foolish," and we would be better off getting his taxi up the hill. We got the train. And good that we did... half-way up a samba band got on and shook and shimmied down one end of the carriage. They handed some percussive bits and pieces around and grabbed the nearest passengers to dance. On the way back they had the good fortune to grab an African woman who danced her arse off, inciting such excitement that after the band had left the train, the passengers started clapping and singing and wanting her to get up and do it again. Which she did. You know in cartoons when they start running on the spot but don't go anywhere, and their feet become a blur? This woman looked like that. I couldn't see where her feet ended and the dancing began. After she had been tortured enough, the passengers turned their attention elsewhere... a few other folks were forcibly encouraged to get up and shake it... then they asked Tree where he was from. "California," he answered, and the chanting and clapping went up a notch. "USA, USA!" they shouted, and good sport that he is, he got up and jumped about, long limbs flailing. They were delighted. I shrank into my seat and hoped they wouldn't ask me... you think I'd escape if they knew I was Australian? Fortunately the train pulled up and I avoided ritual humiliation.

I was very pleased that Tree indulged in the tackiest souvenir possible... a plastic plate, replete with plastic plate stand, bearing a photograph of himself before Christ, holding the classic "ooh look, I'm nailed to a crucifix" pose. I then got a photograph of Tree in front of Christ holding his plate of himself in front of Christ. Fantastically circular and terrifically kitsch.

Needless to say the view from up there was out of this world. The mountain is covered in rainforest and the odd flowering tree made it look like the hills were going grey. The vast, rambling city doesn't look real up there. It looks like a chaotic, tropical Monopoly game.


* The Life Aquatic, thankfully subtitled not dubbed. Completely absurd. Guffawed and snorted through the whole thing (ie found it bloody funny.)

* Museum of Contemporary Art... full of strange and wonderful stuff as museums of modern art tend to be.

* The gorgeous hillside area of Santa Teresa, reachable only by rattling yellow tram. Here is where I have selected to buy my Rio apartment. Please send funds to purchase thus. Also dropped into to the World's Ugliest Cathedral, Sao Sebastiao, that looks like a dalek from Dr Who grossly bloated and studded with stained glass.

Portuguese is less scary, but still very formidable. I can say Good Morning and Thank you and Good Night now, but the days of the week puzzle me... for instance, Monday is segunda, commonly written 2^o. Why is it the second day? It is much more lyrical than Spanish to listen to, anyway... it rolls around like Italian and has soft sounds like French.

Next mission is to buy my ticket for the... wait for it... *twenty six hour bus ride* to Salvador de Bahia. Perhaps I'll fly back... other plans for today include roaming around the rainforest within the city where I have been told by authoritative info boards that there are sloths. I wouldn't be surprised... yesterday I walked past a group of tiny monkeys leaping about on the electricity cables, confusing them at first for squirrels. And this morning in the middle of the footpath was the biggest caterpillar I have ever seen. Like a Polish sausage, only black and yellow striped.

Yep, so, life is good in Brasil. Tudo bom.