Entrance to Guanabara Bay, with Pão de Açúcar in the background, c. 1885. Photo by Marc Ferrez - IMS Collection
Surrounded by its rocks and islands, with geological formations thousands of years old, full of coves and mangroves back when its waters were crystal clear, with the Atlantic Forest spreading green across every corner and vast terrestrial and marine wildlife, Guanabara Bay has always been an object of wonder for those who saw it for the first time.
Still in 1585, José de Anchieta called Guanabara Bay “most beautiful and ample” and, by comparison, deemed it “the most graceful and pleasant bay in all of Brazil”. The Calvinist Jean de Léry, thirty years before Anchieta, described Guanabara Bay as a space difficult to navigate, despite its beauty. Impressed by the majesty of Pão de Açúcar, described as “a rock in the shape of a pyramid” that “from afar seems artificial”, he worried about the proximity of the fins of the “horrible whales” that frightened him during voyages through the region.
Already in the 19th century, Maria Graham was one more who called it incomparable in beauty, snubbing “Naples, the Firth of Forth, the port of Bombay, and Trincomalee.” Stefan Zweig, seeing it for the first time in 1940, used superlative expressions such as “gigantic blossoming shell,” “an event without equal,” and the mouth of a city that “opens its soft, feminine arms.”
Entrance to Guanabara Bay, seen from Niterói - c. 1890. Photo by Marc Ferrez – IMS Collection
It was, however, the French anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss who gave the bay its most famous definition. Unlike his French compatriots and other Europeans, Lévi-Strauss saw in the fame that precedes the place something that does not quite live up to it. In his view, formed during his 1934 trip to Brazil and recorded in the pages of Tristes tropiques, Rio was not exactly what one would expect:
Depois disso, sinto-me tanto mais embaraçado para falar do Rio de Janeiro, que me desagrada, a despeito da sua beleza tantas vezes celebrada. Como direi? Parece-me que a paisagem do Rio não está na escala das suas próprias dimensões. O Pão de Açúcar, o Corcovado, todos esses pontos tão louvados parecem ao viajante que penetra na baía como tocos de dentes perdidos nos quatro cantos de uma boca banguela. Quase constantemente submergidos na bruma pegajosa dos trópicos, esses acidentes geográficos não chegam a mobiliar um horizonte largo demais para se contentar com eles. Se se quiser abarcar um espetáculo, é necessário tomar a baía ao contrário e contemplai-a das alturas. Do lado do mar e por uma ilusão inversa a de Nova Iorque, é a natureza que aqui se reveste da forma de um prédio em construção
Lévi-Strauss's "toothless mouth" is undoubtedly an idea that seems unlikely to other authors, but if we consider the viewpoint he proposes – from the mountains toward the sea – as the most privileged for seeing a "spectacle," it is confirmed that, wherever one stands, the landscape of a city between the sea and the mountains seduced even the most critical of its observers.
View of Pão de Açúcar from Fortaleza de Santa Cruz, c. 1890. Photo by Marc Ferrez – IMS Collection