Dreadlocks later mischievously aims a capoeira kick at the backs of two people. When they spin round, he justifies the kick by explaining he was warning them to get out of the way of another passing car.

In the morning I am woken up by the sound of dry leaves rattling against the branches of a tree as they fall. My hangover exaggerates the noise. The leaves clank like coins inserted into a pay phone. I get up, take a shower and go to eat breakfast at the communal dining table where I meet Amala, who has long dark hair and a beautiful smile. I ask her why she lives in Santa Teresa. ‘I adore the place,’ she says. ‘It’s like a village in the middle of the city. Everyone is friendly, everyone knows each other and everything is within walking distance. I like that it’s quiet and we’re next to the jungle and surrounded by nature.

There were little monkeys playing on the lines in front of the house earlier this morning.’

After breakfast I wander down to the tram museum.

Santa Teresa’s tram is an icon. You see it on postcards, t-shirts and can buy simple models of it in the crafts shops. The locals love the tram and are keen to preserve it. The captioned photos that line the museum walls testify that it was instrumental in Rio’s expansion during the latter part of the nineteenth century and beyond, but considered redundant by the 1950s and 1960s. Today, the Santa Teresa branch is the only one left operating in the city. Below the museum is a siding that leads to the tram depot. A few bright yellow, toy-like carriages rest in the shade. The scene is like something out of a Thomas The Tank Engine book. My inner five-year-old is magnetically drawn to take a closer look.

Afterwards I head back to Largo Dos Guimaraes for lunch – a half-brick of lasagne eaten at the counter of the padaria and a fresh orange juice. When I go to pay, the till lady is busy re-stocking her float with change. Before she recommences serving, she crosses herself.

‘Would you like to do something later?’ asks Amala, back at the house. I tell her I would. In the evening, she takes me to a friend’s shop, which has had its opening party today. It’s a treasure chest of tasteful kitsch, clothes, pictures and hangings – including a lot of pink and orange, and a lot of Hindu deities and spiritual stuff. Amala’s friend pours us each a chai and we share a brownie. I sit on a settee, then realise there’s something odd about this particular piece of furniture and get up and examine it. It’s made from recycled mineral water bottles, and upholstered with magazine pages covered in sellotape.

Next we go to a house party. The front room has been cleared to make way for the drum kit, amps and guitars of a group of musicians who are playing. Someone asks me if I’m going to play later, too. Amala goes over to her friends and hugs them in turn. She hugs with an intensity that at home would be associated with meeting a soldier lover at the airport after he’s barely survived a dangerous posting abroad. I feel very cold and English as I follow in her wake with the standard handshake for men and a kiss on each cheek for women. A busty woman in black heels gets up and gives a spirited flamenco performance. Everyone claps.

The musicians play rehearsed songs then knot together in the centre of the room to jam. Couples dance in front of them. Someone standing in the corner plays air drums.

Amala and I move on to Espirito Santa, a restaurant, bar and club. We head downstairs to the basement for a birthday party. Amala hugs her friends, then we dance together. The Brazilian pop leaves me cold, but I dance to anything else I remotely recognise.

Afterwards we head home, where we sit in the kitchen drinking tea and eating strawberries as we wind down.

I’m about to leave on the Monday when the troop of macaques put in an appearance and give a circus peformance on the cables across the road. I lob chunks of banana over to the pavement near them, and they nervously come down to take the food before bolting back to the safety of the cables. Amala had to get up early to teach yoga, but she has left me her phone numbers so we can see each other again. Clau gives me a sincere hug at the gate and tells me to keep in touch. I leave Santa Teresa the most romantic way possible by taking the tram over the Lapa viaduct down into Centro, descending from a mountain hideaway into the anonymity of a business district at lunch time.

NEED TO KNOW

Contact information: Cama e Café (00 55 21 2224 5689 or 2221 7635). The company is presently expanding its network to other parts of Rio, such as Ipanema and Copacabana, and the historic towns of Ouro Preto in Minas Gerais and Olinda in Pernambuco. Bar Do Mineiro, Rua Pascoal Carlos Magno, 99; Espirito Santa, Rua Almirante Alexandrino, 264 (espiritosanta.com.br); Museu Do Bonde (Tram Museum), Rua Carlos Brandt, 14.

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