Rio de Janeiro

God made the world in six days and, the cariocas add, spent the seventh on Rio. It is the only megacity squeezed between rainforest and ocean, granite domes rising from the streets like whales surfacing, and its people treat beauty as a public utility: the beach is the plaza, the sidewalk is the living room, and sunset at Arpoador ends, every single day, in applause.

The sensible traveller takes the classics early: the cog train up Corcovado at first light, the cable car to the Sugarloaf for the afternoon gold, and the beaches by neighborhood — Copacabana for the theater of it, Ipanema for the beauty, Leblon for the calm. Then Santa Teresa's crooked lanes for lunch, and a night of samba in Lapa under the white arches.

The Guide's honesty: carry to the beach only what fits in one hand; the city asks for street smarts, not fear — phones stay pocketed on empty blocks —; favela visits make sense only when the community itself leads them; and the marvelous city is best measured not in sights but in hours of light. Schedule less. Watch more.