THE BEAUTY OF BRAZIL 



quays. There are many fine buildings too, and parks, and charming 

 streets with green gardens and alleys of palm-trees in Rio, and the 

 well-dressed shop-windows and the lively traffic in the streets exert 

 a lasting fascination. But it is the magic of its night-long illumination 

 that makes Rio supreme over all the cities of the world ; and the 

 Brazilian capital has justly been called the City of Light, "Cidade 

 da Luz." 



It seems as though Rio endeavoured to prepare the approaching 

 traveller for what lies before him by a gradual enhancement of the 

 beauty of the landscape. Coming from the south, one finds a prelude 

 to Rio in Santos. The city, whose comfortable houses are still of 

 genuinely Brazilian architecture, is beautifully situated on a broad 

 peninsula; on the right and the left, across the arms of the river, 

 rise hills with graceful contours, while in the background is the 

 splendid range of mountains, 2,600 feet in height, which terminates 

 the plateau of Sao Paulo on the seaward edge. To the south of Santos 

 the Praia Grande runs for thirty-six miles along the shore; a motor 

 track of firm grit, the especial pride of the citizens of Santos. And to 

 the north, beyond the channel which gives access to the city, the 

 cliffs approach the sea, enclosing the calm Turtle Bay, and forming 

 the background of the bathing-resort of Guaruja, whose beach 

 merges into the green foot-hills. 



Approaching Rio from the north, one comes first of all to Cabo 

 Frio, a cape which deserves its name, for here at most seasons a 

 cool wind is blowing, and the sea is often rough. The finest view I 

 had of this cape was at night. The steamer had made such a quick 

 passage that she slowed down to half-speed, in order to avoid lying 

 all night off" Rio, since the harbour officials would not come aboard 

 and give us permission to take up moorings until the morning. 

 Quietly as a sailing-ship the Gelria glided through the calm sea. The 

 coast lay at peace before us, flooded with moonlight; the hills 

 sloped downwards in several stages to the headland, where a light- 

 house poured forth its beams of light. 



The ship fared onward through the night. Loftier and loftier grew 

 the mountains. Beetling cliff's fell darkly to the sea, cloud-begirt, 

 and seemingly void of any life. It was a wild and majestic scene, 

 and as one stood shivering in the cool wind one felt as though one 

 had left the tropics, as though this must be the rocky coast of Norway 

 or of Iceland. / 



After passing a high pointed mountain, the "false Sugarloaf," one 

 begins once more to see traces of humanity. A white church with 



c 33 



