Rio On the Wild Side
MEN’S JOURNAL
Not all cities are created equal. Not even close. These five GLOBAL CAPITALS OF ADVENTURE combine emerging food and music scenes, fun-loving locals, and the kind of terrain that turns your world into a playground.RIO DE JANEIRO,
I’m chasing away last night’s caipirinha fumes, running up a steep, twisting road that sparkles in the morning sun. My target, Corcovado, the rain forest covered mountain smack-dab in the middle of Rio de Janeiro, topped by the Christ statue. Racing up the crest, I can hear my reward, a silver waterfall that spools down the mountain. I reach it, breathless. Two women are already bathing there, wearing the tiniest of bikinis, workout clothes flung on the side of the trail.
Waiting my turn, I step to the mountain edge and look down upon the Cidade Maravilhosa — the Marvelous City — which sprawls out below. Facing southeast, the sinuous shoreline of Copacabana stretches out to the left; Lagoa Rodrigo de Freitas, a large lagoon circled by apartment buildings, sparkles in front of me; white-tipped waves crest off the sands of Leblon farther right; and the twin peaks of Dois Irmãos — the two brothers — jut proud, rocky shoulders into the cerulean sky.
Rio de Janeiro is geographically blessed beyond reason. It might be a city of 12 million, but it’s also home to the largest urban forest in the world, some 50 miles of Caribbean-class beaches, and a clutch of granite spires. Small wonder that the locals, called Cariocas, are so fit. A fellow linguistics student named Aná Paula once told me, “The whole of the city is an outdoor gym. You can’t help but be in shape — nobody wears many clothes.” She was right, of course. Corpos atleticos and bundas boas (athletic bodies and great asses) are a beachside given.
I have never been in better shape than the year I spent here in 2002 — exploring, partying, and learning Portuguese — or more put upon to decide my daily adventure. Many things have changed, but the host of adventure options to indulge in when I return at least twice a year have not. I always run up Corcovado on my first morning, a ritual that gets me up to speed with the pace of the city and lets me plan my adventure options, which include hang-gliding, surfing, diving, sea kayaking, kitesurfing, rappelling, hiking, sculling, mountain climbing, biking, and running — all within the city limits.
The apartment I lived in was only a block away from the sands of Ipanema. I would wake up as early as allowed by last night’s caipirinhas — the sweet but potent cachaça-lime-sugar concoction — and I’d either hit the path around the shore of the Lagoa Rodrigo de Freitas, which has alfresco workout equipment with jujitsu guys doing endless pull-ups, or jog along the beach, plunging into the waves at the run’s end.
Usually I’d end up at Posto 9, a spot on Ipanema where the beautiful people gather during the day to hang out, play furious games of paddleball in the surf, or engage in futevolei — the beach volleyball game in which hands are not allowed and Pelé-style scissor kicks cinch points.
Though the rain forest of Tijuca National Park beckons with dirt roads, singletrack, and rock faces, the raison d’être for adventuring in Rio — and the foundation on which most of the citizens base their days — is the beach and ocean. The first week after I moved here, a local buddy of mine, Guilherme Aguiar, popped me into his armored Mitsubishi (sadly, the threat of violence is real; for fear of carjacking, it’s technically legal to run red lights after midnight) and took me to a beach that became my favorite.
We drove past the scullers gliding across the lake, admired the women sporting fio dental (dental floss) bikinis in Ipanema, looked up at the hang gliders riding the thermals, zoomed by kitesurfers jumping off the waves at Barra-Meio, and ended up at Prainha — which means “little beach.” On the edge of town, Prainha is blessed with stellar, almost deserted waves with absolutely no buildings in sight. Guilherme is an expert body surfer, the most egalitarian water sport in Rio, and he introduced me to the style of sliding on my belly, one arm outstretched à la Superman, through the perfectly curling waves.
Guilherme taught me that everything about Rio is affected by the beach. If you’re planning a visit, get in shape beforehand; sucking in your gut won’t do. T-shirts and jeans are suitable for nighttime — including clubs. Flip-flops and boardshorts are de rigueur during the day, and if you don’t want to be pegged as a foreigner, don’t bring a towel to the beach; men either sit on the sand or borrow a corner of a pretty girl’s wrap.
I also learned that Brazilians are the world’s most forward people. The women will think you’re a massive wimp if you don’t meet their eyes — and you should never look away. The art of paquera (flirting) is thriving. They adore the brave and courageous — adventurers are hugely regarded — and neither shyness nor meekness wins hearts here.
After several months in the States, I get restless: I yearn for the adrenaline of Rio, the easy exuberance that Cariocas seem to employ in all that they do, the charred meats at the churrascarias, the fresh juices at beach bars, even the enduring frisson of knowing you might be jacked at the end of a highway tunnel. There is, quite simply, no other city in the world as explosively compelling as Rio. Besides, there are still many city adventures I’ve yet to conquer, such as climbing Pedra da Gávea, a 2,760-foot granite mountain. Nor have I jumped off nearby Pedra Bonita on a tandem hang-glide ride, which many people say is the best way to see the city, or ever tried to ascend Sugar Loaf by its 5.5 climbing route. It’s all there, though. Next time. –Jason Harper
