Rio de Janeiro, Brazil —- Women in Brazil tend to be mind-numbingly gorgeous —- sun-kissed and with incomparable confidence. On the streets and beaches, they allow their scantily clad bodies to soak up the sun, regardless of age, weight or even stage of pregnancy.

For female tourists, the gut reaction could be somewhere between intimidation and expletives. Instead, the passion and sensuality that imbue Rio de Janeiro make for a surprisingly affirming vacation for women, a perfect girlfriends' getaway where you will feel confident, relaxed and —- dare I say —- sexy.

Almost instantly, the captivating beauty of Rio's beaches washes away your inhibitions and self-doubt. When the tide recedes, what is left are joy and security that can't be clouded by graying hair or pockets of cellulite. When you see white-haired women with body parts that have become lengthened and leathery rocking bandeau tops and barely there bottoms, you want to give a shout out to their poise and self-assurance.

Watching these women demonstrates that it's silly to worry about your body when you're swanked by Dois Irmaos (the mountains called "Two Brothers"), the sounds of samba, the lush greenery of Jardim Botanico, all under the watchful gaze of Cristo de Redentor.

Swimwear update

On Copacabana, Leblon and Ipanema beaches, American women are easily spotted. They're huddled in one-piece bathing suits in black or dark blue, floppy hats, over-size shorts and slathered in sunscreen. Body-consciousness all around. My girlfriends and I decided pretty quickly we didn't want to be them.

We are the same shades of beige, cinnamon and brown as Brazilian women, so we wanted to look like women in Rio. We loved how their air was so confident that they spent very little time actually looking at themselves. They made us question the frumpy island wear that filled our suitcases and search for swimsuits that would make us feel more Brazilian.

My friends, Rachel Jones of Washington and Faith Riggs of Charlotte, and I calculated the time that had passed since we'd worn bikinis. Total: More than 45 years. As 30- and 40-something career women, bikinis weren't our idea of age-appropriate beach attire.

But Faith and I squealed like schoolgirls when we saw Rachel walking samba-style in a bright-orange bikini that wasn't exactly giving her full coverage. She said going for the two-piece helped her find that inner Brazilian. "I'm sucking in this stomach, throwing my shoulders back and getting my groove on," she said winking at the young men playing volleyball. Go ahead, girl.

Before arriving in Rio, Faith says she never would have considered sunbathing in anything but basic black. "When you walk the beach and see 90-year-old women strutting in their bikinis, you ask yourself, 'Why am I worried about a little cellulite?' "

I was convinced. As the prude of our group, I am typically armed with a cache of safety pins and threaded needles to pre-empt cleavage malfunctions. But this is Rio, where you are so captivated by the sounds of the ocean and the beat of bossa nova, that you don't worry about a two-piece creeping toward wedgieland. When self-consciousness invaded, our concern was looking too American: necklines too high and hemlines way too low. And whenever we needed more coverage, we discovered creative uses for sarongs.

I now own a collection of bikinis, including one with the Brazil flag as a reminder to be confident. Or as Faith said, "To work it."

In step with locals

Rua Vinicius de Moraes, the street named for the composer who penned "The Girl From Ipanema," was our location in Rio. We shared a penthouse condo, with views of the beach and mountains and sunsets that were nothing short of transcendental.

By sidestepping hotel life, we got to know this upper-middle class section of Rio and its residents and felt their lifestyles become ours. If there was a line for bread at a particular intersection, we'd buy from there. Busy bus stop? We'd hop along. If a crowd was waiting for a sale to start at a discount store, we'd wait, too.

The locals hit Ipanema beach before sunrise, either for a jog or yoga, or a race-walk down Avenida de Vieira Souto, which faces the beach. People heading to work would brush off the sand, then stand at the counter for coffee and pastries, discussing the day's newspapers.

By midday, the beach again starts to swell. Volleyball and soccer matches emerge, along with umbrellas more to shade lovemaking than sun.

After work, Rua Vinicius de Moraes sparkles. People crowd bars for rounds of beer and cocktails and to watch soccer highlights. The intersection at Visconde de Piraja is packed with residents, tourists and vendors. Groups of young men stop traffic with tambourines and shakere, forming a roda, a circle to perform capoeira, the acrobatic martial art that evolved from the dances of African slaves and Brazilian Indians.

By our third night, the faces on the street are familiar. The servers start calling us "Bella," and we start calling ourselves the "Rio Trio." What had become our bar was especially crowded during our nightly toast, with residents glued to the television to watch a U.S. Democratic primary debate. Their engagement in our politics earns a toast: "Saude!"

On the road, in the air

To see Cristo de Redentor (Christ the Redeemer), most tourists take a train to the summit of Mount Corcovado. Our journey was by car, an unusual choice as Morro do Corcovado —- which literally translates to "the hunchback" —- is a labyrinth of bumpy switchbacks that requires a steady stomach or a dose of Dramamine.

Rodrigo, our on-call driver who began each sentence with a deferential "Yes," suggested that we take the scenic route. "You'll see. It's just better this way," he said. The hourlong jaunt up the 2, 310-foot mountain was breathtaking. Every 20 minutes or so, we'd stop to take pictures of the views of different parts of Rio.

Our first stop overlooked the favelas, the poverty-stricken sections of Rio depicted in film and the TV series "City of God." (Rodrigo won't drive us through, despite our curiosity. "Yes. This is not a good idea for Americanas.")

Second stop: A photo op at a small park the locals call "Chinese Pictures." It has gazebo that looks like an Asian temple, complete with dragon-shaped gargoyles.

The final stop was about 1 1/2 miles from the summit. Civilian cars and taxis are not allowed closer, so we transferred to a shuttle for the climb to the see the statue.

Cristo is one of the most visited attractions in all of Brazil. Tourism officials say that more than 600,000 people have gone to the mountain since the Cristo came in at No. 7 in the 2007 worldwide survey looking for more "wonders of the world." On the day we visited, it seemed as if the entire world had joined us. We met Greeks, Canadians, French, nuns in white habits and a group of Americans we recognized from the beach.

Everyone wants his photo taken in front of the sculpture designed by Henri Silva in 1931, so we performed the cliched mimic of the open arms of the 98-foot tall Redeemer, which symbolizes the welcoming spirit of Brazil, before embarking on what would become one of many highlights of the trip.

Rodrigo took us to a helipad halfway down the mountain for a sky tour of Rio. After too-brief safety instructions, we were herded into a helicopter. We soared just a few feet from the Cristo, then swished over to Pao de Acucar (Sugarloaf Hill), which rises above the bay. Oh, look, there's the Sambadrome, and oooh, Copacabana beach. These up-close-and-personal flights are costly—- about $140 for a 12-minute flight —- but with a quick finger on a camera (or a motor drive), it's more than enough time to capture Rio from a very special vantage point.

My friends and I became accustomed to a daily toast with caipirinhas, the national drink of Brazil, but this day's wild rides made ginger ale the drink of choice.

Riches from the markets

Faith, Rachel and I are all discerning eaters, wannabe food critics and armchair top chefs. While we made the obligatory visit to a churrascaria, a Brazilian steakhouse, it was difficult for us to enjoy: Faith is a vegetarian. I eschew red meat. Rachel and I have deadly food allergies. Rather than pore over menus, we cooked most of our meals in the condo.

Farmers markets in Rio rotate through the neighborhoods: Ipanema on Tuesdays, Copacabana on Wednesdays, Santa Tereza on Thursdays. After an hour-long walk on the beach and through the streets, I would stumble upon a market and start picking ingredients for that day's meals.

The Brazil markets offer fruit and vegetables so fresh you can smell the peaches from 10 feet away. It was a food-lover's fantasyland, where the fishermen transformed grouper and snapper into pretty fillets and saffron was ground at eye-level. Rachel and I were sniffed the glowing pineapples and mangoes, choosing the ones that could be best pureed at our condo into sorbet with a shot of local cachaca. Ana, the merchant, hulled and chopped our pineapple and we were on our way. Such service.

We tasted everything offered to us in the market, including the prickly jackfruit, cherries so succulent we feigned hot flashes and an offensive guava cousin that reminded us both of bad dates.

The vendors were accommodating —- and somewhat entertained when we fumbled through our phrase books —- allowing us to buy only two figs instead of the six in the carton and to split bundles of small-leaf basil that we knew we couldn't consume otherwise.

The markets also allowed us to expand our vocabularies with food words. Masas for pasta. Frango (chicken). Espinafre (spinach). Frambeza for the raspberries that weren't in season. Our gluttony, however, didn't allow us enough Brazilian Portuguese to understand the vendor who sold us some kind of citrus varietal. Its mottled rind was uglier than grapefruit, had flesh that was sweeter than mandarin but yellow like lemon, just without the zip. We named them Orange Whatevers, and they were tasty in the crepes.

Most people don't spend a lot of time in the kitchen while vacationing, but we revered this extra time together to talk and laugh and sip the Chilean viognier we had come to favor. Rachel would peel and chop garlic while I sauteed onions and sun-dried tomatoes, then Faith would follow up with clean-as-you-go. At the dining table, we'd grasp hands for grace and a toast, thankful for food, Brazil and friendship.

ADVICE FROM YOUR GIRLFRIEND

Wear a two-piece

Wash those inhibitions away in a bikini. If a friend brings her granny bathing suit, pick up one from a street vendor for about $5.

Buy something pretty

My girlfriends and I paid a visit to H. Stern, the sophisticated jeweler that specializes in gold, precious and semiprecious Brazilian stones. The salespeople are persistent and don't mind loosening your pocketbook with rounds of cappuccino or champagne. www.hstern.net

Stop by the salon

We figured that wearing bikinis was victory enough to forego the Brazilian bikini wax, so we had our nails done instead. At the two salons we visited, a mani/pedi was about 25 reais, roughly $14. While feeling Brazilian isn't about the wax, the procedure is offered in most salons for about $30.

Spend time alone

You don't have to spend every waking moment with your friends. I took the bus and visited the Jardim Botanico, a tropical lush land with more than 450,000 species of flowers and plants. Admission is about $1.50, the same as the bus fare. www.jbrj.gov.br

Do a little samba

On Saturday nights, check out one of the samba schools for lessons, then take your new skills to a gafieira, a dance club in a trendy district like Zero Zero. These hip-twisting, rump-shaking affairs don't start until after 10 p.m. Admission is about $10. www.ipanema.com, www.saoclemente.com.br

Drink caipirinha

Brazil's national drink made of cachaca and lime is delightfully simple. Toast your friends saying "Saude!"

For your tote bag

Don't bring one along. Instead, visit one of the bazaars on just about any street, including the Hippie Fair on Sundays on Praca General Osorio in Ipanema. There, you'll find handwoven straw or leather bags for just a few bucks.

> Neutrogena Cooling Sunblock, Body Mist SPF 45. This spray-on sunscreen gives you the appropriate SPF protection without the greasy residue.

> "Rick Steves' Portuguese Phrasebook" (Avalon Travel Publishing, $7.95). This book was especially handy for navigating Brazilian Portuguese. But this is European Portuguese, so keep an ear open for that lilting Brazilian accent.

> M.A.C. Studio Tech makeup. If you insist on wearing makeup, try this water-based foundation that will keep you hydrated while lounging in the sun.

> Small bills. With so many street festivals called feirhas, Rio is a treasure trove of retail therapy. You'll find jewelry, hand-carved masks, even artwork on stretched canvas for sale. Plan to barter; everything seems negotiable within 10 to 20 reais of what the vendor demands.

IF YOU GO

Getting there

You'll need a visa to visit Brazil, and getting one can take more than two weeks depending on the dates of travel. The fee is $130. See www.brazilemb.org.

Round-trip airfares from Atlanta to Rio de Janeiro can cost around $1,200. Delta Air Lines flies nonstop, so keep an eye out for specials.

What to see

> Jardim Botanico (Botanical Garden): Rua Jardim Botanico, 1008. 011-55-21-2294-9349

> Christ the Redeemer: Leave from Morro do Corcovado (railroad station), Rua Cosme Velho, 513. 011-55-21-2558 1329, www.corcovado.com.br

> Pao de Acucar (Sugarloaf Hill). Leave from cable car station Av. Pasteur, 520 in Praia Vermelha. 011-55-21- 2546-8400.

More info: For ideas including hiking, helicopter tours and cultural events, visit www.braziltour.com.