There is nothing bland about Rio. It is a city that seems to have been dumped in the middle of a rain forest surrounded by mountains on three sides and a perfect blue ocean on the other. Rio’s streets are lined with giant trees sprouting enormous, deep green leaves. The buildings are a mix of bland concrete interspersed with Portugese colonial architecture. Much of it seems to be in a state of semi disrepair.

The Cariocas (residents of Rio) of both sexes are mainly tall, slim, athletic and good looking; a mix of African, Portugese and Amerindian. Everyone’s face tells a story. I’ve seen at least a dozen men who look like they could play for the Brazilian football (soccer) team.

In fact, since we arrived on Saturday I’ve seen more football than I see in New York in a year. When we landed at Sau Paulo airport on Saturday en route for Rio the first thing to catch my eye was a football match taking place behind a fence at the side of the runway. Every bar seems to have a television showing the latest match while everywhere there are games taking place at the side of the road or on the beach. The Maracana stadium in Rio holds 180,000 people. Even Sofie is talking about going to see a game.

Apart from football, music is the most pervasive past-time in Rio. Last night, our first in the city, we headed to Lapa, a lively district near the center of town that is renowned for Samba, forro and chorro. It was a mainly local crowd, who seemed to know the words to every song. We came away drunk around 2am clutching three CDs and having befriended a 40-something Cariocan called Octavio who appeared mortally wounded when, in the course of our long conversation about music and the city, I accidentally told him that I did not like football.

Apart from the football faux pas everything went well. My hips even discovered a love of samba. (P.S. Apologies that the video appears to be out of sync but there’s a sun lounger on the roof of our hotel with my name on it. More soon.)