Beached in Buzios

Business took my husband and me to Rio de Janeiro, but the pursuit of pleasure drove us to Buzios.

Buzz was that Buzios was to Rio what Santa Barbara is to Los Angeles or the Hamptons to New York City: a place to escape, relax and have fun. A 2 1/2-hour drive up the coast from Brazil’s second most populous city, Buzios is synonymous with second homes, weekend getaways and summer vacations.

Here in the Southern Hemisphere, summer runs from November to April, embracing the major holidays from Christmas and New Year’s through Carnival and Easter. This means crowds, scarce lodgings and high prices, even though seaside resorts like Buzios are enjoyable in the mild Brazilian winter.

For hundreds of years, Buzios was a simple fishing community where gossip revolved around what was biting and excitement consisted of boats unloading the day’s catch. Then, in 1964, Brigitte Bardot arrived on the muscled arm of her Brazilian boyfriend and proclaimed (if you believe the locals) “St. Tropez is dead! Long live Buzios!” Before you could say “paparazzi,” Buzios was a new playground for the international jet set. These days it’s known as Brazil’s party capital and, of course, “the St. Tropez of Brazil.”

This reputation promised more glitz than we might appreciate, so we were pleasantly surprised to discover that Buzios remains, at heart, a fishing village (buzio is Portuguese for “conch”). There are no high-rises; most of the buildings are made of stucco with tiled roofs. Cars are not allowed on the stone-paved streets in the center of the main village, Armacao, which is lined with the sort of small, one-of-a-kind boutiques and upscale bistros one expects of a wealthy town. But no glitz. Buzios is, in fact, exceedingly accommodating to all sorts of visitors. Contrary to the Brazilian stereotype, not every body on Buzios’ beaches was buff--although they did all seem to be bronzed.

The ambience of friendliness and safety also was a pleasant surprise. Before leaving for Brazil we had been warned so much about the risks of wearing any kind of valuables that we left our wedding rings at home. I felt like a real hick that first night in Rio when we went to dinner at Claude Troisgros’ restaurant and were surrounded by women decked out in high fashion and fine jewelry. In the much more casual Buzios such adornment would be out of place, but everyone strolls the streets at midnight dressed in designer T-shirts and sarongs, without a care in the world.

The only trouble we encountered was with taxi drivers in Rio agreeing to charge one price before starting a trip--we had been told to insist on this--then raising the price on arrival. But a firm refusal to cave in to their scam was always grudgingly accepted.

We also had been told that Brazil was inexpensive, but in an international resort like Buzios, nice things cost. Not as much as in St. Tropez, certainly, but more comparable with what prices in the U.S. would be for the same level of quality and service. But we were there last March, before Brazil’s currency, the real, was devalued, and now prices (in dollars) are almost half what we encountered, which would make Brazil a good deal indeed for U.S. visitors.

Taxis presented the biggest bother and expense in our Buzios excursion. We had been advised against taking a bus; apparently, Americans lugging suitcases through the teeming Rio bus terminal are easy targets for thieves. As for driving ourselves--we couldn’t find a rental car with automatic transmission.

Our hotel in Rio offered to arrange a hired car and driver for 250 reals--close to $250. Each way. Reeling, we considered canceling our weekend. But the owner of our hotel in Buzios came up with a manageable price: 150 reals. On the return we did even better, and got a driver whose car had no air-conditioning to agree to 100 reals; of course, on our arrival in Rio he demanded 150.

Another pleasant surprise for us: Pretty much everyone we encountered spoke enough English that we could make ourselves understood. And once again we discovered that pantomime, however crude and comical, is a universal language.

Everything in Buzios revolves around a day at the beach. There are two dozen beaches, each with its own character and fans. Geriba, where the wind is brisk, is best for surfing; Ferradurinha for peace and quiet; Azeda and little Azedinha next door for young beauties in thong bikinis; Joa~o Fernandes for activity; and the secluded Amores, reachable by boat, for, well . . .

Water taxis, which are basically rowboats with motors, whiz back and forth between the beaches and Buzios centro. For about $5 per person (negotiable) they’ll ferry sun worshipers from town to cove to sandy crescent.

After discovering that the water was too choppy to alight on the Praia (beach) dos Amores, my husband, Steven, and I headed to Joa~o Fernandes. We may have been hungry for love, but what we found was a satisfying lunch.

The beach at Joa~o Fernandes is small, but packed with dining possibilities. Dozens of tin-roofed lean-tos and thatch-roofed palapas offered sandwiches, deep-fried pasteles filled with meat or cheese, platters of grilled fish and frosty pitchers of caipirinhas (the national drink, similar to a margarita) to wash it all down.

Since all the tables under the palm-thatched umbrellas were taken, I grabbed two wooden beach chairs and asked Steven to check out the menu. He returned with lunch: hefty grilled chicken and hearts of palm sandwiches. As we were munching, we realized we could have simply settled back and waited for the man selling skewers of grilled shrimp to pass our way.

Just up the hill from the beach at Joa~o Fernandes and neighboring Joa~o Fernandinho (Little Fernandes) are two of Buzios’ bigger and better-known hotels. After a nap on the beach and a dip in the astoundingly transparent, azure Atlantic, we decided to take a walk up to the hotels.

The 36-room Colonna Park had the feeling of a gracious hacienda, with polished stone floors, wood beams, dark wooden tables and antique prints on the walls. We looked into one of the unoccupied rooms, which was a little worn around the edges but still delightful, with stucco walls, a terra-cotta tile floor and black wrought iron bed. The hotel had just changed hands, the manager told us, and was about to undergo upgrading.

The more modern Galapagos Inn was perfectly nice, though a little bland. The 32 rooms, connected by what felt like a million steps up the side of a hill, had white tiled floors, white walls, white wicker furniture and nondescript pastel fabrics.

We stayed at the Tropico de Capricornio, in the hills outside town. An acquaintance who works in the hotel business had steered us to this unassuming pousada, or guest house, with the ultimate recommendation: “It’s a little bit of heaven.” The promise of paradise included a swimming pool overlooking the harbor and sea, and a French host who was also an accomplished chef. We booked two nights.

Our host, Lucien Geismar, greeted us at the front door and helped us with our bags to our room. It was large, with a king-size canopy bed; brightly painted wooden sculptures of cactuses and banana trees were sprinkled about. Sliding glass doors led to a private balcony, but the best part was the black marble bathroom, with its spa tub next to a wall of windows open to the breeze.

Educated at law school in France and business school in the United States, Geismar came to Brazil on business and loved it so much he decided to stay. “Life is easy here. There are no obligations,” he said. Stores close in the afternoon so everyone can eat and nap, then reopen from 5 p.m. to 11 p.m. Dinner starts at 10 p.m. “There are no traffic lights, no dress code, no need for a watch,” he continued, padding around barefoot as he showed us the house.

The stucco-and-wood Tropico would be at home, architecturally, in Southern California. Geismar built it as his private home, with six guest rooms for visiting relatives. Now there are eight rooms for paying guests, but the feeling of staying in a friend’s home, comfortable but not luxurious, remains, right down to the opened mail left out on a table in the living room. If you want a drink, you mix yourself one from the honor bar. If you want dinner, you tell Geismar, and he’ll cook it for you. If you want 24-hour room service, or the certainty of receiving phone messages, forget it.

We put ourselves in Geismar’s hands for dinner, and he whipped up a tasty meal of penne with porcini mushrooms and baked lobster served with a crisp local white wine. At breakfast the next morning, the buffet offered fruit, cake, croissants, cheese, ham, breads and surprise chocolate mousse.

The chocolate buzz propelled us off our hilly perch into the red-tile-roofed main village, Armacao, for a window-shopping stroll along the leafy Rua das Pedras.

Anyone in need of a bikini would be in luck: At least half a dozen boutiques offered swimwear, from brief to briefer to barely there. Others tempted with colorful ceramics, playful wood carvings or the sort of clean-cut sportswear--khaki shorts, oxford shirts, polo shirts--that’s at home at seaside resorts around the world.

We returned to town for dinner at a seafood restaurant called Satiricon, where our table on the veranda looked out over the water.

We had eaten at the Satiricon in Rio, where everyone who’s anyone in the glitterati set, from Madonna to Mick Jagger, comes to dine. If Satiricon were in New York, the air would reek of attitude and the food an afterthought. Instead, we found the staff graciously schooled in an Old World standard of service. The calamari was perfect.

Same in Buzios. U2, the Red Hot Chili Peppers and George Michael may have signed the restaurant guest book, but the staff was welcoming to everyone, even us, overdressed as we were in actual clothes when everybody else was still in swimwear at 10 p.m. As in Rio, the food--red snapper baked in a crust of rock salt, and spaghetti alla pescatore--was scrumptious.

After dinner, we strolled back through town to the taxi stand. As we passed the village movie house, the Gran Cine Bardot, I silently gave thanks. If it weren’t for B.B. and her bikini, there might not have been a Buzios to enjoy.

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GUIDEBOOK

Basking in Buzios

Getting there: Varig is the only airline flying direct (two stops, no change of planes) from LAX to Rio de Janeiro. Round trip: $1,250. Continental has a special $817 fare through April, with one change of planes.

There is bus service from Rio to Cabo Frio, the closest town to Buzios, and local buses go from Cabo Frio to the beach communities. Since bus information in Rio is in Portuguese only, you’ll have to get assistance from your hotel or a travel agent in the city.

Where to stay: Tropico de Capricornio, telephone 011-55-246-23-63-62 (same for fax; ask for fax signal), has eight rooms with breakfast ranging in off-season from $200 to $800 (presidential suite); 30% higher in peak season (Dec. 15 through February, Easter Week and late July). Dinner, by advance order, ranges from $25 to $100 per person, including wine.

Colonna Park Hotel, Praia de Joa~o Fernandes, tel. 011-55-246-23-22-45, fax 011-55-246-23-29-23, has doubles with breakfast starting at about $140 off-season.

Where to eat: Satiricon, on the waterfront in Armacao, specializes in Italian- style seafood; dinner for two runs $35 to $50.

Chez Michou, on Armacao’s main street, is a cafe known for its crepes and pinha coladas.

For more information: Brazilian Consulate Trade Center, Tourist Information, 8484 Wilshire Blvd., Suite 730, Beverly Hills, CA 90211; tel. (323) 651-2664, Ext. 202, 203 or 204; fax (323) 651-1274.