Trying to bounce back from a breakup? Our twenty-first century rogue tells you how to get the rebound.
Illustration by Celia Calle
My girl and I were going to spend New Year’s together in Playa del Carmen, but she surprised me by breaking up with me. She gave back the money I spent on my flight, but I can’t think of a single place I could go that would take my mind off the possibility that she’s in Mexico getting nailed by the cabana boy. To be honest, I don’t really want to go anywhere or do anything anyway. This is the girl I thought I was going to marry. And to make matters worse, all my friends are going to be with their own girls, so I’m flying solo. How do I avoid ringing in the new year with a shotgun blast?
When I hear a question like yours, I think, Which country has the strongest booze? Then I think, Caipirinhas. Then I think, Rio de Janeiro, where Christ the Redeemer awaits a wretch like you with open arms and—more to the point—so do countless mochaskinned porn stars. Look at an online map of Rio and you’ll see that it’s a wondrous collection of peaks and valleys. And yes, I’m talking about tits and ass (I should have added, put the map on street view). Rio might as well be called “the city of perfect tens.” You should have no trouble finding termas—saunas that are equipped with a full bar and an assortment of, well, let’s call them physical therapists. If that doesn’t take your mind off your new ex, you might as well walk into the favelas and ask a drug kingpin to shoot you in the face, because you truly are hopeless.
Of course, getting tongue-bathed in bathhouses can put a nice dent in your wallet, even with the favorable exchange rate. If you’re on a budget, just park your butt on Ipanema Beach. You’ll have to bury yourself in the sand to hide the chub you’ll get from watching all the topless titillaters, but at the end of the day, your spank bank will be full for a lifetime.
Whatever you do, end the year as the Brazilians do: sleeping on the beach. Some Cariocas guard against the elements by putting up a tent, and with memories of the termas and the samba clubs floating around your brain as you drift off to sleep, you’ll be pitching a tent of your own.