Rio de Janeiro. Somehow the name just stays with you.

As do Copacabana and Ipanema, the famous beachfront neighborhoods that conjure up the iconic images and sounds of bossa nova and samba that cemented the Brazilian vibe with music from Antonio Carlos Jobim, João Gilberto, Stan Getz and others starting in the 1960s.

I flew into Brazil on an overnight flight on Avianca Airways from Medellín, on a pretty-close-to-brand-new plane with lots of sweet touches and choices you just don't seem to get on airlines in the States these days. The very stylish women of the flight crew wore red caps to go with their red capes. Yes, I said capes. It all seemed so effortlessly mod in the key of Rudi Gernreich, that my anticipation about Rio spiked and stayed completely tangible during the five-and-a-half hours it took to get there.

Uber is frowned upon in Brazil, but it is not illegal. Though it can be hard to arrange one at Rio's airport, where you are supposed to be able to summon Uber from the second floor only. Upon arrival, I found that the Uber network seemed to have been suspiciously blocked and was nowhere to be seen on my phone, so I decided to arrange for a cab. There are plenty of "official taxi" representatives wandering the first floor, and you can use them to book to your hotel. At the desk I was told it would be 130 reals (the Brazilian currency, pronounced "hey-als"), which is about $40 American. So, I looked at the woman and said, "One-hundred thirty? I'm going upstairs to Uber." Without blinking she replied, "$100 cash." Point is, if you are going to taxi from the airport in Rio, prepare to be tough in your negotiations. Better yet, make your arrangements in advance—when I returned to the airport in a metered cab arranged by my hotel, I found out that the price should be around 70 reals. Despite that first ride, all subsequent Uber and taxi experiences were perfect.

Copacabana carries a slightly dilapidated grandeur that I immediately felt drawn to and at home with. It is crowded. It is urban. It is on the beach. Big elegant hotels—some quite architecturally interesting or eccentric enough that they would not be out of place in a Wes Anderson film—dot the waterfront, wearing their Atlantic Ocean saltwater patinas with a timeless grace and elegance. As soon as I set my sleep-deprived foot at the door to my hotel, just four blocks in from the water, I felt at home. You may, too.

And yes, by all means enjoy a caipirinha, Brazil's national cocktail, made with cachaça (a hard liquor made from sugarcane), sugar and lime. But beware these drinks are designed to change you brain chemistry. And they pack a wallop. You'll find them priced cheaply at stands along the beach—and while these options may not be quite as quality as their spendier brethren at established spots a bit further inland—there is no denying their transformational allure, especially when accompanied by sun, sand, and the hypnotic, swaying sound of waves coming into shore and moving back out again.

It seemed to me that Rio was always looking for opportunities to whisper three words in my ear: Life is simple.