Jane E. Fraser

Semi naked in Rio August 6, 2009

Posted by janeefraser in Events, South America, Travel.
Tags: Brazil, Carnivale, Rio Carnival, Rio Carnivale, Rio de Janeiro, Travel
trackback

Now that I’ve gone and said how much I love Africa, allow me to share some of my passion for my other favourite child, South America.

Here’s a tale of one of my favourite travel experiences: dancing in the Rio Carnivale, which is held in Rio de Janeiro every February/March. Apologies for the dodgy pic, but it’s a bit hard to hide a proper camera in a Carnivale outfit!

  

“This is your top,” she says, handing me a skerrick of fabric. “And this is the bottom,” she declares as another equally inadequate piece of lycra appears. “Don’t worry, that’s not the whole costume,” she smiles, pointing to a grand headpiece and cape that are going to offer little in the way of covering.

A small wave of panic washes over me as the scarcity of my costume sinks in. It’s a feeling not dissimilar to those dreams when you suddenly realise you’re naked in public. Because, to all intents, that is what is about to happen.

  My mind wanders back to the events that led to my alcohol-buoyed decision to take part in the glitzy and hedonistic Rio Carnival.

  

My husband and I had just arrived in Rio de Janeiro, several days before Carnival was due to start, and were trying to find out how to get to the Sambodrome, to buy tickets to the grand parade. Spotting a group of backpackers with what appeared to be a better map than ours, we approached for directions. Twelve hours later, the six of us were in a riotous state in a bar on Ipanema Beach, discussing plans for four of us to take part in the parade.

The day before we met, Norwegian couple Ves and Yngve had married in a simple ceremony at the Norwegian Consulate in Rio, taking their own wedding photos with a self-timing camera on Copacabana Beach. Knowing it was Ves’s dream to go in the Rio Carnival, Yngve’s family had managed to arrange, as a wedding present, two costumes for the parade – not knowing that Yngve had done the same.

Hence, they had four costumes and were looking to sell two. Our other drinking buddies, a pair of blokey stonemasons, were desperate to give it a go, but just couldn’t seem to agree on who would wear the female costume.

  

So, here we are, the four of us, crammed into a tiny hotel room strewn with feathers, sequins and pieces of costume that didn’t seem to have an obvious purpose. The stonemasons drop by, contributing little to the debate on which bit of costume should go where, and leave, chuckling, to find their seats for the parade.

 

When we eventually sort out the jigsaw, we stand in awe of each other’s costumes: ours a striking electric blue and theirs with something of an indigenous theme.

 

In addition to my two shreds of lycra, I have an armour-like shoulder piece, a flowing cape, an Inca-style headpiece and warrior-like bands around my wrists and calves.  The pièce de résistance isa huge disk, about a metre across, featuring a gold sun and silver moon, and sitting behind my head.

 

Accepting that the subway is the only way to travel in such costumes, we walk to the station and cram into a carriage full of excitable, outrageously costumed Brazilians.

 

Arriving at the Sambodrome, we say goodbye to Ves and Yngve, who ‘belong’ to a different samba school, and join about 4000 other people in matching sun and moon costumes. We are warmly welcomed, despite a consistent record of non-attendance at rehearsals, and given a song to learn - but after many attempts to memorise the Portuguese lyrics we decide “la, la la” will do.

 

What we don’t realise is how long it will take to enter the Sambodrome. We arrived about 8pm but won’t make it to the entrance until after 1am, having spent more than five hours chatting and drinking cold beers in the stifling heat, slowly shuffling forward behind a long serpent of people and floats.

 

When we finally enter the Sambodrome, the wait is forgotten, as we are hit by the glare of lights and the roar of 100,000 spectators. We dance and dance and dance, until we emerged out the other end of the Sambodrome well after 2am, collapsing in a sweaty but exultant heap before partying till dawn, changing our clothes and heading to the airport for an early-morning flight.

 

There are many things that are great about Rio Carnival, not least of which is the willingness of the samba schools to welcome foreigners. While we breezed in, had the night of our lives and continued on elsewhere, people had spent months making the elaborate costumes and floats. Each of the 16 samba schools in the Carnival parade makes several floats and about 4000 matching costumes, setting aside a few to sell to tourists or latecomers wanting to take part. 

 

The Carnival is not just a party, but a competition among the schools, which are judged on their costumes, dancing, song and other aspects. The kudos afforded to the school declared the Carnival Champion makes it even more amazing that they’re willing to take in unrehearsed extras.

The other great thing about Carnival is that it is not the domain of any one sector of the community. Gay, straight, black, white, Brazilian or otherwise, everyone is welcome so long as they’re ready to samba. 

 

If you want to take part in Carnival, and don’t like your chances of meeting someone with a spare wedding present, you need to arrive in Rio a couple of weeks before the big parade. Ask your hotel to put you in touch with a Samba School, and be prepared to pay several hundred dollars for each costume.

You can organise a place in the parade in advance, through a tour company, but you’ll generally pay more.  The same goes for tickets to the parade, which you can buy at a premium before you leave or a fraction of that price when you get there, especially if you turn up a few hours into the parade.

 

We arrived in Rio about a week before the parade and found accommodation within minutes of arriving at the airport. It wasn’t on the beach, wasn’t very flash and came with interesting sound effects (the hedonism isn’t limited to dancing and drinking) but it was cheap and only a short bus ride from Rio’s famous beaches, Ipanema and Copacabana (I walked around all week with that damn Barry Manilow song in my head).

In the lead up to the big parade, these beach areas play host to some of the biggest street parades, although these in no way compare to the Sambodrome event.  A push to take the Carnival back to the streets, where it began, has had limited success and the free parades are not much more than a gaggle of people in costumes, out for a good time.

 

The other big events are the nightly Carnival balls, which take place throughout the city.  The balls are wild, exotic and a good place to samba the night away, but not an essential part of the Carnival experience.

 

Aside from the big parade, the best way to take in the Carnival atmosphere is simply by hanging out in bars, restaurants and at the beach.  The city is alive with people and swimming in a sea of good-natured fun, making it easy to forget Rio’s reputation as a dangerous city, although you should still only carry what you’re prepared to lose. Personally, I take comfort from dim-witted tourists who are kind enough to wear expensive jewellery and carry large cameras, ensuring they will get robbed before I do.

Unless you’ve been to Rio before, you’ll want to leave time for some sightseeing.  Start with a trip up Sugar Loaf Mountain, on the cable cars that are well known to James Bond fans.  The mountain offers not only magnificent views but the chance to get your bearings on the vast city, and possibly the only cool breeze you will feel in a Rio summer.

Another item on the core curriculum for tourists is a trip to the top of Corcovado Mountain, to see the famous Christo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer) statue, which stands 30 metres high, giant arms outstretched.  Those who walk risk getting robbed, but you can take a train, taxi or bus to the top and will once again be rewarded with panoramic views.

 

If you’re looking for “The Girl from Ipanema”, who inspired the hit 1960s song, she’s moved to Sao Paulo, but the bar where Antonio Carlos Jobim and Vinicius de Moraes penned the song is still there, not surprisingly re-named “A Garota de Ipanema”.

While you’re at Ipanema, drop into a bikini shop to see the amazing range of the barely-there swimsuits for which Rio is famous. Topless sunbathing is strictly forbidden on the city’s beaches, yet it seems that wearing even less than my Carnival costume is considered within the bounds of decency.  They didn’t invent their own brand of bikini waxing for nothing, you know.

Copyright Jane E. Fraser

View Larger Map