Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Late night cocktails and samba moves mean we're knackered and slightly hungover when the alarm goes off, fortifying ourselves with a very hearty breakfast including multiple pão de queijo - chewy cheese puffs made with tapioca instead of wheat - and copious coffee to get us through the day ahead. Fortunately Coman opts for the correct lift this morning having got stuck in a service elevator with some confused chamber maids yesterday, much to my amusement.

Luana is waiting for us in the lobby when we descend, ready to take us across the city to visit the world-famous Christ the Redeemer statue that towers above Rio and then show us some of the colourful neighbourhoods by day that we explored in darkness last night.

The quickest route to the summit of Corcovado, the mountain atop which the Redeemer sits, is via a little train. We park near a modern church directly opposite the station and then cram on board for the 20 minute journey up the mountain, passing through primary and secondary rainforest as we go.

Luana tells us that Corcovado means "hunchback", so named for the shape of the mountain, and that long before the statue was placed on the summit 19th century day-trippers would ascend on horseback for the spectacular views. Those poor horses - the incline is ridiculously steep. The train system was started in 1884 and in 1901 became the first electrified railway in Brazil. As for Christ the Redeemer, the foundation stone was laid in 1922 but the largest Art Deco sculpture in the world wasn't completed and inaugurated for another nine years. And since then it's become one of the most iconic monuments on earth.

While we're blessed again with blue skies, unfortunately like yesterday on Sugar Loaf, there's a haze in the air that renders more distant landscapes as blurry shapes on the horizon, rather than the crystal sharp islands I was lucky enough to see last time round. And on that visit I was accompanied by two of Kerrang magazine's finest - Simon Young and the photographer Ashley Maile, a dear friend, now sadly gone too soon, whose long hair and beard ensured he was photographed constantly while we were on Corcovado by Japanese tourists, convinced he was playing the role of Christ for their scenic benefit. His drily laconic Canadian dismissals of their entreaties for shots with him ring in my ears. He's very sadly missed.

Descending Corcovado, we drive through Centro and Lapa, taking in their colonial buildings and colourful graffiti before Luana takes us back to Santa Teresa, a residential district reminiscent of Lisbon, even down to its yellow trams. It's very picturesque, with twisting roads, little restaurants and prettily painted fin-de-siecle architecture.

We ascend high above the city to the 'Parque da Ruinas', the remains of a grand house occupied at the end of the 20th Century by the single socialite Laurinda, also known as La Dama da Elegancia. She threw huge parties here and bequeathed her estate to the city when she died. A favourite location for photo shoots, we stumble upon a film crew and an over-painted model trying in vain to recapture the splendours of the past for a magazine spread amongst Laurinda's decayed presence.

We climb the ever-ascending spiral staircase of the old bell tower and get great views across Centro and on across the bay to Rio's sister city of Niteroy, a far less known conurbation of the greater municipality. A distinct and separate city it's a bit like New Jersey in comparison to New York City; it exists but there's not much point going there unless it's where you live.

We finish our tour by driving through Lapa and the downtown area, gazing at the graffiti and visiting the famous stairs, tiled by the artist Jorge Selaron. His life's work was cruelly brought to an end three years ago when he was found mysteriously burnt to death. The official verdict was suicide but all Cariocas suspect he was murdered by drugs gangs who he publicly opposed.

We spend the rest of the afternoon relaxing by the pool, catching up on work and packing for an early morning flight. Our evening is similarly chilled, with dinner and margaritas at a jazz bar on a Copacabana side street before we have a final nightcap at a seafront restaurant called Maxims, watching the world go by.

Our short stroll back to the hotel is rudely interrupted by cars and taxis honking their horns and bars ringing out with shouts of joy as the Brazilian football team seem to have won something. We, however it seems, have won the attention of a pair of prostitutes who accost us outside the Copacabana Palace hotel and quite physically try and get our trade. We literally have to fight them off, much to their annoyance, but there's plenty more fish in the sea for them tonight as the soccer celebrations carry on into the early hours.

We instead ready ourselves for a trip deep into the rainforest on the border with Argentina to see one of the new Seven Wonders of the World... and it proves itself to be truly spectacular!