Theatro Municipal do Rio de Janeiro

Stand still for a moment and listen. Buses grind along the avenue, pigeons scatter across the square, and somewhere a street vendor calls out. Then lift your eyes. Above all this noise rises a building of pale stone, green-tinted copper and bright gold. It looks like it came from another city and another century. In a way, it did. You are standing in front of the Theatro Municipal of Rio de Janeiro, the grand opera house of Brazil's old capital.

Notice the spelling on the facade. Theatro, with an h. That is the older Portuguese spelling, kept here like a family heirloom. The building opened in July 1909. At that time, Rio was the capital of a young republic. The empire had ended only twenty years earlier. The city's leaders wanted Rio to look modern, clean and European. This theatre was one of their boldest statements.

The square around you tells that story too. In the first years of the twentieth century, the mayor Francisco Pereira Passos pushed through a huge rebuilding of central Rio. Narrow colonial streets were torn down. A broad new boulevard was cut through the old city. Today it is called Avenida Rio Branco. The theatre was placed at the heart of this new Rio, beside other grand public buildings. Behind you and around you, you can still see some of them standing.

The design came from an architectural competition. The project credited with the result is linked to Francisco de Oliveira Passos — the mayor's own son. Visitors often miss that detail. The models were clear. Look at the arches, the paired columns, the dome and the gilded figures along the roofline. Many people see the Paris Opera in these forms, and the resemblance is intentional. Rio wanted its own Paris, and this was the place to show it.

Now let your eyes travel slowly up the front. The lower level is heavy and solid, with arched entrances. Above it, columns frame large windows. Higher still, sculpted figures and decorative details crowd the skyline. The dome is covered in metal that has turned soft green with age. Gold accents catch the light, especially in the late afternoon. On a clear day, the contrast between the green, the gold and the blue sky is something you remember.

Here is one surprise. Many Brazilian artists of that period worked on this building. Painters such as Eliseu Visconti and Rodolfo Amoedo created major works for the interior. Visconti in particular is remembered for the painted ceilings and decoration around the stage. So although the outer shell looks European, much of the art inside is Brazilian. The theatre is a kind of conversation between Paris and Rio, written in paint and stone.

If you go inside, the mood changes at once. The street noise disappears. Marble stairs sweep upward under painted ceilings. Mirrors, gilded mouldings and coloured glass fill the foyers with soft reflected light. The main hall is shaped like a horseshoe, with tiers of boxes rising toward the ceiling. This shape was common in the great opera houses of Europe. It allowed the audience to watch the stage — and also to watch each other.

That second purpose mattered a great deal. In the early twentieth century, a night at the Municipal was a social event. Families came to be seen in their best clothes. Seats and boxes showed who belonged to the city's elite. Today the audience is much more mixed. You may sit next to students, retired music lovers, or travellers like you. The building has become more open over the decades, and many visitors feel that change.

Now for the second surprise, one of the strangest rooms in Rio. Below the main levels, the theatre holds a space decorated in an Assyrian style. Assyria was an ancient empire in the land that is now Iraq. Here you can see glazed tiles, bearded figures and heavy decorative patterns inspired by that distant world. The room was once used as a restaurant. It feels nothing like the elegant French rooms upstairs, and that is exactly why it is so memorable.

The stage itself has a long and busy life. The theatre is home to its own orchestra, ballet company and choir. Over more than a century, it has hosted opera, symphonic concerts, dance and important visiting artists. Some of the most celebrated touring performers of the twentieth century appeared in this city. For many Brazilian musicians and dancers, a first performance here marks a turning point in their careers.

Like any old building, the theatre has needed care. Tropical heat, humidity and city pollution are hard on stone, paint and gold leaf. The building went through a major restoration around its one hundredth anniversary. Workers cleaned the facade, repaired the decoration and updated the technical systems behind the stage. When you look closely at the stone today, you can see both freshness and age side by side.

Take a moment to look at the square itself. This area is often called Cinelândia, which means something like cinema land. In the early twentieth century, several large movie houses opened around here, and the name stayed. Today the square is a meeting place, a protest site and a crossroads for office workers. Political rallies, street musicians and quiet lunch breaks all happen within sight of the opera house steps.

Before you leave, turn your body slowly and take in the whole scene. The theatre faces a square full of ordinary life. People hurry past with phones and shopping bags. Some never look up. But the building keeps standing there, green and gold, holding more than a century of music inside its walls. As you walk away, glance back once more. From a little distance, the dome rises clearly above the street, the way the city's planners hoped it would, long ago.