Mere words don’t do justice to Rio de Janeiro, that incredible bayside Brazilian city famous for its towering Sugarloaf Mountain, its huge statue of Christ the Redeemer, and its racy lifestyle. Even flying in is an incredible experience. Portuguese navigators undoubtedly felt the same thrill when they discovered the place on January 1, 1502, mistaking the large bay on which the city is now situated for the mouth of a river. They called it Rio de Janeiro — river of January. This is the land of the beautiful people. It is a land of stunning colour, spectacular scenery and people who epitomise the love of life. If you like fun and adventure, then Rio de Janeiro is definitely the place to be.

5am: I’m wakened by the incessant noise of the streets as Rio comes alive. Each day arrives early for its millions of inhabitants, who try to get some work done before the heat becomes unbearable. The majority of Rio’s drivers, when not imitating their national heroes, Ayrton Senna and Nelson Piquet, drive only marginally slower, but with their hands pressed constantly on the horn. It is this crescendo of noise which prevents a Sunday morning lie-in. In Rio, nobody wants to stay in bed after 6am — not alone, anyway.

6am: I decided to go for a jog on the beach. Not just any beach, but the incomparable Copacabana, perhaps the most famous stretch of sand in the world. I’ve seen many of the world’s best beaches, but there is nothing to equal Copacabana for beauty and excitement. It is the people who make it beautiful, although at this time of the morning, I had it pretty much to myself, with only a few other dedicated joggers for company. Even so, there was evidence that we were not the first visitors to Copacabana that day. Every morning, as dawn breaks, flowers are thrown into the sea as part of a religious ritual. Although I never saw the ceremony, the colourful blossoms littered the water’s edge.

7am: Drenched in sweat, for it was already very warm, I returned to my hotel overlooking the bay. It was time for a Brazilian breakfast, and even in a cheap hotel like mine, Brazilian breakfasts are worth having. Maybe it’s these meals which give the locals such lovely clear skin. I’ve never eaten so much fruit at one time before. 8am: The day was shaping up to be especially clear and sunny —ideal for picture-taking. I took the cable car to the 1300ft summit of the famous Sugarloaf Mountain. I was rewarded with surely one of the loveliest sights in all the world — a spectacular panorama of Rio nestling around the Guarabara Bay, split into suburbs by the dominate granite hills which are spurs of the Serro do Mar mountain range.

From the statue of Christ the Redeemer on the Corcovada Hill, the shanty dwellings clinging to the sides of Rio’s hills are clearly visible. This sight makes you realise that not all the inhabitants of this fabulous place are rich and beautiful. There is poverty here that would shock even the most well-travelled person. Life here is cheap for some, and you don’t go where you don’t belong without good reason. Taking the local bus back to Copacabana, I experienced my first robbery attempt of the day. Luckily for me this was an unarmed pick-pocket. I stared at this ridiculous thief as he tried to unzip a bag I was carrying, and when he finally glanced up and burst into profuse apologies in Portuguese, I was able to suggest in rather crude Scottish slang that he would benefit considerably by moving right along.

He did just that. 10am: It was time for the beach. Sunday in Rio is family day at the beach. It’s as much a part of the Cariocas’ (Rio locals) life-style as is football. All the family seem to be there, on their own little patch of sand, either sunbathing or playing some kind of sport. The kids make sand castles while their older brothers and sisters play football or volleyball. Parents read, or play a type of badminton without the racquets. And then there are the “beautiful people”. The girls of Ipanema and Copacabana are surely the most attractive in the world. Their bikinis are world famous, not for what they cover, but what they expose. Being surrounded by countless brown, semi-naked bodies almost induced an attack of camera-shake.

2pm: Some days I overdid the sunbathing — but never on Sundays. This is the day the other half of Rio comes alive. On Sunday they play football. I went to see a local derby — Fluminese v Botafogo — which for the Cariocas is something like Rangers v Cletic for a Scot, or Spurs v Arsenal for a Londoner. Feelings tend to run high when these two teams clash at Rio’s Maracana Stadium, the world’s largest football ground. Opened in 1950, this vast cauldron holds an unbelievable 200,000 people when full. I thought Scottish supporters were noisy and colourful football fans, but these Brazilians were in a class of their own. Although the stadium was less than half full — only 80,000 — the noise was deafening and the colour spectacular.

During the game, rival samba teams thrashed out their rhythmic support while their colleagues in the grandstands waved the biggest flags and banners I’d ever seen, and others pelted flour bags around, turning the stadium into a mass of colourful, but cloudy, confusion.

Although Brazilian football is perhaps the most skilful and entertaining in the world, it was the antics of the people in the terraces and stands which made the experience memorable. The game finished in a nil all draw, a result which probably saved a few lives — or at the very least a few broken heads — such is the passion for soccer in Brazil.

6pm: Most nights I would take dinner in one of the open restaurants on the Avenida Atlantica, which runs parallel to Copacabana beach. I finished my Sunday in Rio by dancing into the wee small hours of Monday, getting slowly intoxicated, not on alcohol, but on the heady experience of Rio night-life. I had packed a lot into this day, but then, Cariocas will tell you that life is like that in their city — fast and exciting. 4am: Walking home. I encountered my second robbery attempt of the day. This time I was surrounded by three dusky ladies of the night, who were after my body and my money — or maybe it was just the money.

The situation almost got out of hand, but fortunately I was big enough and strong enough to demonstrate in no uncertain terms that their attention was not welcome. Even this incident couldn’t dampen my enthusiasm for this incredible city. I guess I could handle a month of Sundays in Rio de Janeiro.