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By Gene Pembroke

The bus ride from the Argentine border to Rio de Janeiro is an all-nighter and then some. We sleep well, and only wake up at 9 a.m. when the bus pulls into some high-tech roadside diner. It's a cloudy day in these parts, somewhere south of Sao Paulo, Brazil's largest city, which, sadly, we will not be visiting.

We ride through lots of farmland.  At a police check the cops come on and search only one bag: mine.  We arrive in Rio at 17:30.

We are staying in the colonial district of Santa Teresa at a very cool place called Casa 579, an old mansion with great views of the sea and of our old friend Cristo Redentor.

We clean up and bus down the hill to a restaurant called Espiritu Santo. On the veranda, huddled underneath a huge umbrella with VISA written all over it, we have a nice dinner. Outside in the streets cariocas are having spontaneous parties in preparation for Carnaval. Despite the downpour the atmosphere is lively.

In case you're wondering, I have pork chops encrusted with garlic and cornbread with a sausage farofa and collard greens while Arlene devours a tilapia stuffed with nuts and jungle fruits and wrapped in a banana leaf. A warm chocolate ginger cake seals the deal, and then we are back at Casa 579 and fast asleep.