Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Rio de Janeiro. The final chapter of the World Cup trip, and the city decided to show up for it. After a slightly grey start the weather turned and suddenly everything looked exactly like the postcards — blue sky, green mountains, white sand, and that ridiculous coastline curving around in every direction.

The fan fest at Copacabana was absolutely heaving. Thousands of people on the beach, flags from every country, caipirinhas flowing. Luiza had driven from Brasilia to hang out, which was great — a familiar face in the madness of Rio. We watched the World Cup final together at her friend’s apartment. Germany took it, which after the 7-1 felt almost inevitable.

With the football wrapped up, I could actually focus on Rio itself. Cristo Redentor was first on the list, and I went early to try to beat the crowds. Standing at the base of that statue, looking out over the city with the mountains and the ocean laid out below you, is one of those moments where you just shut up and stare for a while. Photos don’t do it justice. They never do with places like that, but especially here.

From Cristo I headed to Santa Teresa, the bohemian neighbourhood clinging to the hillside. Narrow streets, good food, arty run-down charm. It felt miles away from the beach scene below.

Then Pao de Acucar at sunset. If Cristo is Rio’s postcard, Sugarloaf at golden hour is its love letter. The cable car takes you up in two stages and the view from the top is spectacular — sun dropping behind the mountains, city lights flickering on, the bay stretching out below.

The beaches consumed the remaining days. Posto 9 at Ipanema for volleyball and people-watching. Coffee at Arpoador, where the rocks jut out between Ipanema and Copacabana with stunning views. Spent time with Luiza and met her friends, which made the beach days feel more local. Long afternoons on Ipanema, then walking Copacabana as the sun went down.

The nightlife was no slouch either. Rio Scenarium in Lapa was a classic night out — three floors of live samba music in a beautiful old building stuffed with antiques and random curiosities. Drinks and live music at a beach bar on Copacabana one evening. Shopping at Rio Sul and picking up trinkets along the Copacabana beachfront on another.

For the last dinner in Brazil, there was only one choice: Fogo de Chao. The all-you-can-eat churrascaria had been a recurring highlight of the trip, and this final visit felt appropriately ceremonious. Endless meat, a couple of beers, and that bittersweet feeling of knowing it’s the last proper meal of a trip. Had some beers in Lapa afterwards, said goodbye to JT and Chris, and that was it. World Cup over.

Or so I thought. After flying to Sao Paulo and connecting to Johannesburg, my onward flight got cancelled. The airline put me up at the Southern Sun hotel, and the next day I ended up at a lion and rhino park on the outskirts of Joburg. Not exactly how I planned to end a Brazil trip, but seeing lions and rhinos on a free bonus day in South Africa is hardly something to complain about.

Eventually I made it home. A month in Brazil for the World Cup — stadium matches, new friendships, the 7-1, Cristo Redentor, Copacabana, and kindness from strangers who became friends. The kind of trip that stays with you.