Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

It's almost 11pm on Easter Monday when we arrive into Rio and our guide Luana is waiting for us at the airport. She whisks us to our hotel on Copacabana beach in super quick time as there's little traffic to contend with at this time of night. We discuss the sights she's taking us to later this week and the very obvious one we're missing - Sugar Loaf Mountain or Pão de Açúcar as it's known to local Cariocas. The Number One sight in Brazil.

We explain that Coman is not a fan of cable cars, in fact he's terrified of them, recounting experiences in both Madeira and Hong Kong that left him traumatised. However she encourages him to try again, explaining how smooth the ride is and the enormous rewards that await him in terms of views.

Her subtle persuasion works wonders and I'm delighted when he relents and says he'll give it a go. It's the one regret from my last visit that I didn't have time to do it and I was secretly gutted we wouldn't be able to go on this trip either.

So next morning, after being plied with Bucks Fizz at breakfast, I bundle him into a cab before he can change his mind and we make the ascent to Urca, the first summit. God bless him, but he sits on the floor of the cable car, eyes shut and quivering as we fly up the wires, missing the vistas that open below us.

Yet when we disembark he confesses it was nowhere near as bad as the flimsy, and much longer, experiences we endured on previous occasions and from then on his confidence grows with each further journey to the final summit, 396 metres high, and back down to earth again. And Luana was right; the rewards are enormous.

All around us lies the spectacular city of Rio de Janeiro, nicknamed the Ciudade Maravilhosa, or Marvellous City. Despite the haze rendering Christ the Redeemer all but invisible atop Corcovado, the rest of Rio lies spread out like jewels on the sea below us. We can see the full, beautiful curvature of Copacabana and closer by lay Botafogo and Flamengo, their sands looking inviting with yachts moored in the bays.

The hillsides are verdant with rainforests and housing, some favelas and others prime real estate belonging to some of the wealthiest people in South America. It truly is one of the prettiest cities on earth and we're lucky that we're not surrounded by thousands of other tourists jostling for space.

For some reason today is relatively quiet atop the summit, with just a couple of hundred Europeans, North Americans, Australians and Brazilians - but in just a few months' time the queues will last for hours as visitors from every planet on earth will descend for the Olympics.

We toy with the idea of a helicopter ride around the bay and over the statue of Christ but I've only brought cash with us on and it's not enough for the five minute flight so we settle for a 'professional' shot of ourselves superimposed onto a background of Sugar Loaf instead. Comedy value 1. Thrill-seeking 0.

Our escapades on the mountain have worked up an appetite so we return to the hotel for lunch and a dip in the pool, which has its own great views of Copacabana beach. Suitably refreshed we head out for a walk along the promenade, its famous pavement swirls of white and black tiles leading us on.

The beach itself is man-made, having been constructed using the earth of four local hills that were levelled in the early 20th century to make way for city buildings and to lay the bed rock for the 4km stretch of golden sand that curves around the bay and extends 120m out to the sea. We wander along, taking time for a quick paddle in waters much cooler than I remember, and then decide to hop on a local bus to Ipanema.

By now the skies are ominously threatening, pendulously heavy with the promise of rain, but we explore the various sections of Ipanema, watching volleyballers, surfers, fitness fanatics and the gay communities in their specific areas, designated by differing flags, all ignoring the darkening skies. I decide to do the same and hand all my belongings to Coman before running into the crashing waves and tumbling around for ten minutes in the surf before sanity takes hold and we repair to a beach bar, unfortunately situated by the public bins, for a cocktail and to dry off.

Our evening plans are fast-approaching; drinks at Rio's grandest hotel, a dinner high in the hills and then meeting a new friend for samba in the edgy nightlife district. So dusting sand from our bodies we jump into a cab and head back to our hotel. It's time to dress to impress and put on our dancing shoes...