The sun always shines in Rio
First Pells family New Year in 21 years... Nobody died.
Happy new year! This week’s newsletter comes to you from a very cosy loft in Rio de Janeiro, where I sit with the parrots and a view of a forest, watching a storm.
I’m back in newsletter mode after a little Christmas hiatus of busy travel days, a couple of work commissions and a fun-packed visit from my parents. It’s difficult to make time to sit down and write at the best of times on this trip, but in a place like Rio, where the sun is (almost) always shining and there are endless bars, views and beaches to explore, I don’t know how anyone ever manages to get anything done.
With my parents safely back in Europe, Dave and I are left to our own devices once again and opting to stay a third week here while we plan our next moves. I love this city so much, it might have even topped Buenos Aires in my list of all-time favourite cities that I’d like to live in.
I don’t have any strict resolutions this new year, but it’s my intention to put together some practical travel guides for each country we’ve visited in South America, with our routes and travel tips all collated in one place. If that sounds like something you’d be interested in seeing, do let me know.
In the days leading up to my parents’ Christmas visit, I was about one spilt coffee away from a total breakdown over the pissing weather forecast. Yes, it’s a very British thing to be so preoccupied with the weather, but rain on this scale was not on the list of potential disasters I’d mentally prepped for in planning this segment of the trip.
Yes, there are bars and museums, but let’s be honest people don’t go to Rio for a pleasant time spent indoors. They go to Rio for the views, the churrasco, the cocktails on Copacabana Beach in the sunshine. Furthermore, a full six days of my parents’ trip would be spent staying by a much quieter beach up the road from Rio in Saquarema – if the weather forecast came true, that’s an awful lot of time to be spent in a small beach house together playing card games.
Some more context for my weather-generated stress: Pellses don’t deal well with a poor forecast. My parents moved from the UK to Portugal seven years ago for that very reason. Holidaying with them is not something I’ve done consistently through my adult life, but during the past couple of years we’ve been on a couple of big trips as a four, starting in 2023 when Dave and I piggybacked on my parents’ annual pilgrimage to the homeland for my mom’s birthday.
We spent a full two weeks in the pouring rain in the Kruger Park, South Africa, a place I must have been to 20 times in my life, but never once have I experienced it in such abysmal weather. The rain that fortnight was so ferocious that the bridge to the airport road washed away, and Dave and I had to walk across the top of a disused railway bridge (accompanied by park rangers) so that we could get to other side of the river and make our flight back to Johannesburg in time. Proof if ever I needed it that even after 30-plus years of visiting the Kruger, it’s always a new adventure.
But for me, the stress of potentially missing our flight that day was minimal compared to the low-level anxiety brought about by my dad’s daily running commentary about what a terrible time everyone must be having because of the rain.
“Is Dave ok?” he would ask, sidling up to me and shaking his head sadly as if discussing cancer. “Is he managing to enjoy it?” – muttered while ambushing me on my way to the fridge to get more wine. All the while Dave would be sat a few metres away, giggling with delight over a frog or something, happy as Larry. “Worst one yet,” my dad concluded the night we took a sunset safari, having watched beautiful desert hares, owls, and a rare snake in the middle of the bush. His expectations are high, I suppose. Dave still unironically refers to that holiday as the best one of his life.
And then last year, a few months into this trip around South America, my parents came to meet us in Uruguay. The weather held until we reached the quiet, riverside town of Carmelo – where really the only thing I had planned for us was to relax on the beach in the sunshine. It absolutely pissed it down, endlessly, for days.
To be fair, my dad’s grumpiness didn’t stem so much from the rain that week but from the short walk we’d made him take with his oversized suitcase (they never pack light) from the bus to the (slightly remote, it turned out) guesthouse. The rest of us despaired at his sudden aversion to walking. It rained some more. My parents returned home a week later and went straight from the airport to the hospital emergency room: turns out his grumpiness wasn’t born out of laziness so much as the heart attack symptoms he’d been hiding from us all fortnight.
Epilogue: he survived, again. But yes, I was stressed in the lead-up to Christmas.
I should mention that despite all of this drama we did have a great time together in Uruguay. Even in Carmelo, where the locals agreed that the mosquitos that year were unprecedented, swarms of them driving us all completely mad in the brief moments when the rain eased off. This was helped by a plan conducted by me (it’s important to take the credit whenever I can) to visit a local boutique vineyard and taste many, many wines over an afternoon.
I don’t remember a huge amount from that day, but I do remember my dad and I cornering the sommelier in the cellar to ask him questions like, “Can you really tell the difference if a wine has been decanted? What if it’s really cheap?” long after our tour had technically ended. I remember our taxi driver on the way back effectively kidnapping us to take us on a detour around the town to show us all his favourite sights, the five of us stopping for artful* photos directed by him in front of tractors and road signs.
Come to think of it, Carmelo was great, even in the rain. But wow, I was really banking on Brazil bringing the sunshine for this one.
As if there wasn’t enough pressure already, my parents had taken our suggestion of November and raised us Christmas instead. And while I did look at the typical climate for Rio in December, the internet promised that the most rain to expect even in this wettest month would be five days. Who would have predicted a forecast of two full weeks of torrential rain and thunderstorms until they saw it on AccuWeather.com some weeks later? I checked the forecast most hours, every day in the lead up to December 23rd, just to be sure.
The benefit of already having dragged my parents and their enormous hard-shell suitcases across the wilds of Uruguay in February was that Dave and I had learned some lessons and could make adjustments to the planning of this trip to ensure minimal cause for concern, tantrums or heart attacks.
We chose to spend more time in fewer destinations (Rio, Saquarema, Rio). We carefully scouted Airbnb apartments to find ones that were suitably shiny, with more than one bathroom. This was crucial, since a major learning from the previous adventure was the realisation that when it came to interiors, one person’s idea of beautiful hand-crafted artistry (me) was another person’s idea of “rustic” hippie hell (my dad). We went for modern places that promised enough cups and cutlery, while also providing plenty of space for cooking and braaing if we wanted it.
And of course, a major benefit of meeting my parents in Rio is that Uber runs this town – and it’s super cheap. No need for anyone over the age of 60 to put more than one foot in front of the other if they didn’t want to. Coincidentally, the second Rio apartment I booked for us to stay in happened to be next door to a cardiac hospital.
On 22nd December, Dave and I finally joined the masses of families – every one of them carrying an airfryer – to queue for our final overnight bus down to Rio. Or rather, the neighbouring town of Petropolis, which had cheaper connections. The plans were tight; the schedule was ideal. The only thing that could ruin Christmas was the rain.
One of Dave’s best and most annoying traits is his relentlessly positive outlook. I tend to go about life semi-prepared for disappointment, but Dave will see the joy in any misfortune, present or future (two exceptions to this being showergate and the time our bag got stolen from the bus in Ecuador…) Every day of December, like a broken advent calender I despaired about the future (ie, the weather forecast) and Dave told me it would all be fine. I said he was wrong, that relentless positivity couldn’t save us this time, our sightseeing plans were doomed. But as usual, he was right, and the weather was fantastic. Of course it was!
Sure, it rained for a bit on the day my parents arrived, and it rained while we were waiting in line for the Santa Teresa tram. It rained a few days later on the evening we arrived in Saquarema while we sat under a cosy canopy eating burgers. But I don’t know what I was so worried about. The showers here are always hot and tropical, they never lingered. It’s a world away from the particular grey, cold dampness that haunts the UK and makes us Brits so miserable.
The rest of the time? Completely dry. Seriously hot, yes. Humid, obviously. But mostly days of absolutely glorious blue skies and sunshine, including on Christmas Day when we went up to see Big Jesus himself on his birthday.
My lingering paranoia that the weather could still change also encouraged us to seize the day, especially on the 25th when we went against family tradition of opening presents in the morning and instead opted to get out of the apartment early on. After a champagne breakfast we took in the views from Cristo de Redentor (minimal queues by booking online), then headed to a bar on Ipanema Beach for a Christmas swim and some afternoon beers to cool off. We returned to the apartment to drink more beer and wine and cook a late dinner, eating our enormous stuffed chicken at around 10pm, Brazilian-style. And nobody died. Apart from the chicken.
We packed a lot in while in Rio: we took the old tram up to Santa Teresa of course, pottering around the shops and stopping for lunch; spent an excellent day at the top of Sugarloaf Mountain and wandered around Urca, the beautiful neighbourhood beneath it; we visited the dalek-shaped cathedral, iconic Escadaria Selarón steps and arches of Lapa; obviously we went bar hopping in Botafogo, Copacabana, Ipanema, and all the rest. We helped my dad confront his fear of monkeys in the botanical gardens (“evil little bastards”). We introduced them both to Brazilian buffet culture with great success.
One of the best things we did was take a sunset boat ride around the bay, swimming off the boat and drinking caipirinhas with a view of the skyline. And we lay on the beach and marvelled at how mad it was that we were all there.
Rio’s famous Réveillon (New Year’s Eve celebration) is enormous and chaotic, drawing in five million people – apparently this year there were 2.6 million on Copacabana Beach alone. We vetoed it, heading instead for the quieter beach town of Saquarema, some 100km north.
When planning the fortnight, I’d initially had Cabo Frio or Armação de Buzios in my mind for a New Year’s escape – but then so did everybody else in Brazil with any money. Both places are famously beautiful, upmarket seaside retreats and understandably popular among the Rio elite. Accommodation was booked up several weeks (possibly months?) in advance, and wildly expensive for our budget.
Scratching around on Google Maps for alternatives, I stumbled upon Saquarema, and went for it based on the fact there was a nice and affordable Airbnb available right on the beach, and that it was well connected by bus from Rio. It turned out to be the perfect choice.
Saquarema may be less boujie than its neighbours up the coast, but it has endless, unspoilt white beaches lined with subtropical Atlantic forest – and not the big crowds. Our house was the right kind of rustic, down a dirt track just a few metres from the sea – but still a short walk into town past plenty of cute little beachside bars selling caipirinhas and beers by the bucket.
Make no mistake, Saquarema is still high-end by Latin American standards: My dad described our end as “up and coming” but judging by the very posh supermarket and its extensive pet care wing, I’d say the town is already there. The beach gets big waves and attracts surfers and hippies, so the vibe is very chilled, but also very authentically Brazilian and I suspect they don’t get many foreign tourists – the owners of our local beach bar found us quite the novelty, especially when my parents tried to order a regular black coffee. Relatedly, my dad is convinced I’m fluent in Portuguese now simply because I was able to repeat his food and drinks orders back to waiters in an accent they’d have a chance of understanding (“What’s not to understand about ‘Moscow Mule’?!” he asked, filled with indignation, in the King’s English. You work it out.)
We pottered about by day, visiting the big church on the hill (a mission of duty in any new place, if only to be able to relax afterwards, knowing we’ve completed it) and sat with drinks for sundowners on white sand watching the sunset. We went for seafood, we braaied and we buffeted and we drank and we drank some more. Late on New Year’s Eve, we took champagne to the beach to watch the fireworks down in town – the first New Year’s Eve I’d spent with my parents in probably 21 years.
There was no time to be whimsical about any of this, because at midnight we discovered that we were sat directly underneath a neighbour’s personal firework display. We therefore spent the first minutes of 2025 cowering and screaming while gunpowder exploded directly above our heads, ash landing in our hair and in our champagne cups. The year started with a bang. Again, nobody died.
Travel bits and tips from this week
In Rio, we stayed in this Airbnb near Lagoa for Christmas. It was gorgeous, but the management company that ran it was shambolic so I left them a pissy review.
When we returned to the city after the New Year, we stayed here, nearer to Botafogo, which was also very nice and probably my favourite location in Rio.
The Santa Teresa tram is great, but wow was the queue long during Christmas week. I’d recommend going in the morning during busier periods, but it’s worth it.
On the way back down the hill, we stopped at Bar Do Mineiro for a fun traditional meal of chicken, chips and beans.
In Copacabana we ate and drank at: Faenza buffet restaurant, Classico de Copa bar, Papa Fina (another great buffet, this one for Christmas Eve) and Amir (tasty Arabic food, lots of veggie options).
There are dozens of little kiosk bars along the length of Copacabana Beach and I couldn’t tell you all the places we’ve tried during our two visits to Rio, but we’re pretty sure Quiosque Cabanna is where we went on my parents’ final evening.
In Botafogo we frequented Xepa Bar, Armazem do Pão bakery, and had brilliant fish and vegan ceviche (for my allergic mother) at Ceviche RJ. We also had a decent pasta at Formato, and another night we had the best pizza I can remember at Oficina Local, where my mother (a few carafes in) exclaimed to everyone “this feels FUN doesn’t it!”
We also had a drink with the most stunning views of Sugarloaf from Brewteco Bar, on a terrace in the Botafogo shopping centre (cooler than it sounds!). There are queues but you can add your name to a digital waiting list and we only waited about five minutes.
Near Lagoa, we went to La Bicyclette for brunch – Dave and I had been there once before with Anthony back in April and loved it. It was as good as I remembered.
One of the best meals ever was at Vegan Vegan Espaco Vegetariano in Humaita, near our second Rio apartment. Obviously with a name like that, I had to work to convince certain members of our party – but everyone loved it. Delicious, creative vegan and veggie food in the most beautiful garden, tucked down a residential road with gentle live music and a very jolly atmosphere.
In Saquarema, we stayed at this beach house, which was basic but lovely. The food in this town was very mixed – and most places only served the traditional fish/meat/chicken and rice and beans. But we enjoyed some good meals out all the same, starting with very tasty food from the aptly named Bold Burger.
Itauna Esquina da Praia had a great lunchtime buffet. We returned for overly cheesy pizzas and overcooked octopus at night and concluded the dinner menu isn’t the best. But the atmosphere was ideal.
We had a failed attempt to access the nearby nature reserve (more of a deserted impenetrable wilderness) near our house and ended up sitting in what was definitely someone’s garage for lunch at Restaurante do Manuel. It was dominated by huge local families enjoying their Sunday lunch over several hours – all very jolly.
A chaotic lunch was had at Casa da Praia Itaúna on the popular main strip (over an hour wait for adequate food, which didn’t go down super well). We did enjoy drinks at Meu Beach Bar, however.
For lunch on New Year’s Eve we had some great fish at Amigos Da Barrinha, overlooking the lagoon.
We tried and failed to go to Maasai, Saquarema’s top-rated restaurant, on New Year’s Day… they confirmed our reservation more than once but when we arrived they told us they were closed. Ozias, you let me down. You are on my list.