The Girl from Ipanema (Wasn’t Me, But I tried)
Where do you go to get your husband to dress up like a tropical bird and samba his heart out for an hour? Naturally, you head to Rio de Janeiro—where feathers, rhythm, and questionable decisions under the influence of caipirinhas are not only accepted but encouraged.
It was my first trip to South America, and let me tell you—it will not be my last. The beaches, the people, the music, the everything. I finally understood the lyrics to “The Girl from Ipanema.” Every other woman strutting down the beach looked like Gisele’s long-lost cousin—tall, tan, and wearing about two inches of fabric, if that. Modesty in Rio is basically optional; a string bikini is considered business casual.
Copacabana and Ipanema beaches were a kaleidoscope of chaos in the best way: umbrellas splashing color, samba beats floating through the air, vendors juggling trays of grilled cheese-on-a-stick, and the sun doing its very best to melt us all. It was glorious. Naturally, we checked off some tourist icons. Christ the Redeemer? Even bigger than you’d think, arms outstretched like he’s about to give the whole city a hug. And the panoramic views? Worth every sweaty, winding stair.
Between caipirinha breaks (seriously, how is sugarcane liquor that good?), we hiked up Sugarloaf Mountain, gorged ourselves at an authentic Brazilian steakhouse (it’s a carnivore’s dream and a vegan’s fever dream), and attempted samba in the Lapa neighborhood. Let’s just say... we won’t be joining Dancing with the Stars anytime soon, but we nailed the “enthusiasm” score.
One of the coolest surprises? The Museum of Tomorrow. Futuristic architecture meets existential questions about climate, tech, and humanity—with air conditioning. A win-win.
We ran out of time before catching a match at Maracanã Stadium, which means one thing: we have to go back. Next time, I’ll pack lighter—emotionally and literally. In Rio, all you need is sunscreen, sunglasses, and your most daring swimsuit. And maybe a few feathers. Just in case.
