January 1, 2004. The drive from Rio's airport, down Avenue Atlântica, past the crowded beaches of Copacabana and world-famous Ipanema is still astonishing. Hotels and apartment buildings on one side, sunbathers, swimmers, runners, volleyball and soccer players along the shore. Throngs of people walk nonchalantly in and out of traffic, many sporting only painted-on bikinis. Today, this is how Rio's 8 million cariocas, citizens of African, Portuguese and Native South American descent, welcome their visitors. With tantalizing, people-watching eye candy.

Sheraton Rio Hotel and Towers - A Haven

For seven restful days, I created a vacation routine that would be the envy of any rat-race-worn traveler. Each morning I ate breakfast at the Mirador Café, where the buffet includes pastries galore, fresh fruit and omelets made-to-order. Then I gathered up my magazines, sunglasses, an MP3 player and sunscreen. (Bring at least 35 SPF, because otherwise no matter how dark your skin the sun will fry you like a piece of bacon.) Then I headed out to the large terrace with its tropical foliage, three swimming pools, two tennis courts, a soccer court and three restaurants (including Casarao, a BBQ steakhouse). Ah, paradise.

My biggest decisions for the next few hours were selecting music, picking a magazine article worthy of my attention and choosing where to swim -- pool or ocean (beware the undertow). I lunched on a thin-crust pizza, accompanied by a cold tasty glass of Guaraná (a carbonated drink made from an Amazon berry that tastes like apple juice and ginger ale) and a wedge of orange.

At 3p.m., I shook myself out of my daze and played two hours of tennis with Renato (pronounced He-na-to), one of the tennis pros . From the courts I made my way to the health club, worked out for 45 minutes, hit the sauna and steam rooms, then relaxed with a one-hour massage.

Seven days of sun, tennis, sauna, massage. Pure self-indulgence.

Each night, by 7p.m., I was famished and looking for a great place to eat.

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