Rio: where even the geeks can be chic

THE FASHION world has declared Brazil to be chic and I have come to Rio, arguably Brazil's most chic destination, to find out why. I am not cool.

I outline my itinerary to a local. I shall start by taking the ferry across Guanabara Bay to the Museu de Arte Contemporanea (MAC), a flying-saucer of a building on a rocky outcrop of Niteroi, a nearby island.

The local shakes her head. "It's a beautiful day," she says. "Go to the beach." That can't be cool. I ignore her. I take a taxi to the quay, near Praca XV de Novembro. The driver is also opposed to the Niteroi visit, passionately arguing the case for long trips to remote beaches, by taxi.

Persistence pays off though - MAC is a masterpiece by Brazilian architect Oscar Niemeyer. Its smooth, curvaceous lines are spectacularly incongruous with the unruliness of the natural setting. Its futuristic design is a counterpoint to the architectural jewels of old Rio, many of which, despite generations of town planners obsessed with knocking things down, survive, tucked in at the feet of high-rises like aristocrats fallen on hard times.

Among them are the sumptuous Art Nouveau cafe, Confeitaria Colombo, the Royal Portuguese Reading Room and the Theatro Municipal. But are they cool? I thought so.

Then there is the luxury modernity of the beach districts Ipanema and Leblon, the rush of Copacabana and the faded grandeur of the hillside village of Santa Teresa, accessible by quaint, bone- shaking tram. Creeping favelas (slums) fill ugly gaps.

My quest for cool is derailed in Santa Teresa, when I unexpectedly find myself visiting Ronald Biggs' house, an apartment in a pretty yellow villa overlooking the city. I walk through the area's dark, quiet streets guided by a former local baker and I realise that, although caution is essential, preconceptions about how dangerous Rio is can be exaggerated.

The ex-baker tells me that the Great Train robber liked apple sauce-cake with Brazil nuts.

Rio, a melting pot of styles, races and cultures, has many faces - buildings, I decide, are not where the essence of its much vaunted " coolness" is. Still, I knock off a few of the obvious sights. The views from Sugarloaf and Christ the Redeemer. Then it's on to the magnificent Tijuca National Park, the largest urban rainforest in the world, and the botanical gardens, where life slows to a virtual standstill. Not hip, but sublime.

With all the sightseeing I work up an appetite. If overeating is chic, I am at the cutting edge of cool. There are several smart restaurants that charge a fixed price for unlimited food for less than a cheap eat-as-much-asyoucan joint in Seven Sisters Road.

At one, Porcao, there is a small paper disc on the table. On one side, coloured green, is a fat pig holding a knife and fork and saying, "Yes please." The other side, in red, shows the pig without the cutlery, holding up his trotters and saying, "No thanks". Waiters circulate with giant skewers holding choice cuts of juicy barbecued steak, pork and other highcholesterol delicacies until, begging for mercy, you flip to red.

FINALLY, I succumb to what I should have done all along: I go to the beach.

The local was right, for here is to be found the spirit of what is especially cool about Rio. For all its flamboyance, it is the addiction to life's simple pleasures that best define the city and its people. Carnival Under Fire, an entertaining romp through Rio's history by local author Ruy Castro, sums it up: "Rio reduces everyone, whatever their origin, their fame or social class, to a shirt worn outside the trousers, a battered pair of bermudas and a pair of flip-flops." I can report that cool beachwear for men is Speedo briefs and blue Havaianas flip- flops.

After a coconutwater sharpener, I walk on to the breathtaking sands of Ipanema, dressed appropriately.

Later, I saunter through the easy streets of Leblon and take refreshment at Big Polis Sucos, one of the many bars selling a vast range of fruit juices.

At about 50p for a giant glass of glorious, freshly pulped vitamins, it knocks Pret a Manger's smoothies into a cocked hat. Favourites include graviola - custardy, with hints of pineapple, apple and pear. The Acai, popular among health freaks, is intense raspberry, with a whiff of bay.

After the juice, the bars.

Pavement joints such as Bracarense and Jobi start to fill up after 3pm, with breeze-shooting cariocas (Rio's inhabitants). From there, I progress to the Academia da Cachaca, where the caipirinha cocktail can be sampled with hundreds of different brands of cachaca - sugarcane liquor. I do not learn much at the academy, except that different brands taste the same when mixed with lots of chopped-up lime. But the curriculum is fun.

Later, Rio's infectious hedonism is on show again at Carioca da Gema, a bar in the Bohemian Lapa district, where bands pump out samba and punters glide around the dancefloor. All cool.

The only cool exportable commodities I have found are swimming trunks and flip-flops.

I shall look strange in north London, doing the sambaing in my Speedos, but such, sometimes, is the price of being hip.

(c)2005. Associated Newspapers Ltd.. Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved.