Welcome back to my Brazilian travel journal! It’s been a while since my last post, so feel free to revisit the previous chapter on Valongo Wharf and its mournful history. With our check-in still a couple of long hours away, we treated ourselves to a great coffee (true coffee lovers will inevitably fall in love with this country) and opted for a free walking tour of the old town to kill the time. It was scheduled to start in an hour or so – just enough time to enjoy our drinks and withdraw some cash, as these "free" tours run on cash tips. That said, I imagine the Brazilian guides would gladly accept Pix (a local instant payment app) or even Revolut tips, as the country is almost completely cashless.
Large cities in Brazil are… well, huge. Rio is home to almost 7 million souls, and its metro area accommodates another 4 or 5 million people. I'm not sure how they count the homeless crowds who occupy every possible spot—and even some seemingly impossible ones. Every tour guide will warn you against engaging with them in any way, which is something you'll likely already know by the time you get to the Carioca Clock, where many tours start. Unless you teleport there, of course.
Speaking of Carioca, that’s the term for a Rio-born local. Brazilians are proud of their origin, especially if they come from one of the Brazil's two major rival cities—the other being São Paulo. (For the record, I side with the Paulistas, considering Sampa a better place to live; feel free to browse my previous posts to see why). Our guide was indeed a true Carioca, a fact she reminded us of a couple of times with a grin in her face.
Our first stop, or rather, our first walk-by, was the Convento de Santo Antônio, one of the oldest and most important colonial landmarks in Rio. A Franciscan monastery dating back to 1608, it was unfortunately not open to visitors during our stay.
Nearby, historical landmarks blend with modern skyscrapers in a way most European city councils would likely forbid—or so I tend to believe, having some humble experience with Prague's city planning committees. Massive skyscrapers, often the local HQs of international companies, share the street with colonial treasures. Like these, sitting just across from the monastery.
This Art Nouveau-style gem is Confeitaria Colombo. Likely the fanciest establishment in Brazil, where presidents were regulars back when Rio was the capital (until the 1960s). It reminded me of similar posh coffeehouses in Prague, except this one had a queue that felt a kilometer long snaking outside—and that was just for people hoping to sneak a peek and snap a shot or two for their Instagram. Not really my cup of coffee, though; I prefer a more local and genuine experience. I’m glad we just passed it by.
Of all the churches in the old town, many with truly epic names like Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Conceição e Boa Morte (Church of Our Lady of the Conception and Good Death), we ended up in Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Lapa dos Mercadores, as it witnessed a miracle. During a revolt in the 1890s, a shell from a battleship struck its 25-meter-high tower, knocking it down. Miraculously, a statue named 'Religion' that stood on the top floor of the tower survived the blast intact. Both the statue and the projectile are now on display in the sacristy.
As I mentioned city planning and landmark protection, here’s a look at how it seems to work here, Potemkin village-style. The façades are protected; they once belonged to the shops of prominent colonial-era merchants, with doors high enough for a horseman to pass through without dismounting. But the real estate is worth a fortune nowadays, and keeping two-story historical buildings would feel like a waste of money... So, the original houses were torn down to make space for skyscrapers, with only the historic façades left standing.
A tour of downtown would hardly be complete without visiting the palaces, like Paço Imperial, where the Portuguese court sought refuge during the Napoleonic era to avoid taking sides between the competing factions. A wise, Swiss-like move, by the way. The adjacent Palácio Tiradentes, from the 1920s, used to host the Brazilian parliament until the capital moved to Brasília.
Let me take you on a quick detour now. We skipped the cathedral during our tour, but it’s definitely worth mentioning. The Catedral Metropolitana do Rio de Janeiro, dedicated to Saint Sebastian, the city's patron saint, is a love-it-or-hate-it piece of architecture. It's unlike any church you've likely ever seen, but to me, it fits Rio perfectly (you'll have to wait for a few more posts from the city to judge for yourself). Oh, and that guy in front of it, serving as a perch for the pigeon? That's Pope John Paul II.
And now for our final stop of the day: Escadaria Selarón, or the Lapa Steps. I only have daylight pictures. We did come back at about 3 AM to roam the staircase almost alone, but it was after a party—the kind of party you’re advised not to take your phone to—so I don’t have any shots from our second visit.
Anyway, this landmark is one of Rio's newest attractions. In 1990, a Chilean artist named Jorge Selarón felt the urge to repair the stairs adjacent to his house. This snowballed into a new hobby, or obsession if you will, and he eventually transformed the entire 125-meter-long staircase into a monumental piece of art. It features over 2,000 tiles from all over the globe (I even found several from Czechia), and Selarón himself allegedly painted over 300 of them. As you can see, the place gets incredibly busy. Stop by early in the morning, if you can!
And that wraps up our tour of downtown Rio! On our guide's recommendation, we grabbed a quick lunch at a "kilo restaurant" (where you pay for your food by weight) worth recommending, then hopped in an Uber to finally get checked into our place.
See you in the next post! ;)