Rio, from the Buenos Aires Herald today

Carnaval in Rio is not something you jump into last minute, no reservations no plans. It’s a sought-after, tourist destination, the stuff travel dreams are made of, as in, “Mardi Gras, sure, but the real party is Carnaval in Rio.” A couple of weeks ago, an Argentine friend informed me she had made up her mind, we were going to Brazil, she was able to get work off. “What weekend?” I wanted to know. “The last two weeks in February,” she said. “For carnaval?” I thought, tallying the hectic logistics of Rio at its tourist peak. “Dale,” said Virna.
Like plenty of Argentines, my friend Virna had never been out of Argentina. She’d never been on a plane. This was her yearly vacation that she normally spends camping at the river in Entre Rios or holed up in a simple cabin in the hills of Cordoba, relaxing on a budget. Not running around with a Yankee in Brazil where the world converges to party. But she had always dreamed of going to Brazil. Carnaval sounded fine to her.
Virna showed up with her lucky ACDC t-shirt and a grin and we hopped her first plane, on Tam airlines. I had found tickets online a couple of weeks in advance at only $350 US plus tax. With me I had the address, phone, and email of a women off of Craigslist that promised us a room in the neighborhood of Botafogo for $40/person – a good rate at Carnaval. I’d received my visa the previous day. We had a hotel reserved in Buzios and would take a bus from Rio to the beach, 2 hours away. We were going to Rio Carnaval, I had told my cat, and would be back in Buenos Aires in 10 days.
Waiting for our flight, we ran into some people we knew. Virna waits tables at a popular sushi restaurant in Microcentro, Irifune. One of her customers was heading to Rio on business and I asked him the name of the neighborhood I had heard of that has a consistent scene at night. “Lapa,” Alberto confirmed and made me write down his favorite restaurant and samba club.
Virna loved take off and gazed out of the window without interruption for most of the 3-hour flight. At the airport, we changed money, pondered the exchange rate, and phoned the apartment in Botafogo. We ran into a couple of Brits I had met at a dinner the evening before and planned to share a cab with them. After waiting with them for some time though, we ventured out on our own and found an Aussie heading to the same area. She chatted about Lima and Macchu Pichu and I translated for my friend, which quickly got old for Virna. We decided to stay in Spanish for the rest of the trip as we dually deciphered Brazilian Portuguese to the best of our collective ability.
The apartment was in a great neighborhood, with a view of Gesu on the very Brazilian mount. We put our stuff down and got a taxi to Lapa to get some dinner.
The street was packed with people and culinary options. 20-somethings congregated on every corner and getting through the crowded streets was already a challenge, pre-Carnaval.
We settled on a popular corner spot open onto the street with views for people watching. Virna ordered Skol, a local lager, and I opted for the strawberry version of a caipirhina. A waiter came by with a tray of savory pastries and I chose the cheese and shrimp over the bacalao. After a meal of fresh local favorites like mango arrugula salad and linguica on baguette, all in generous portions, we lumbered back into the crowd to search for samba.
I’d heard horror stories about Rio in Carnaval but the streets of Lapa were well-lit and populated with a fun-loving, local crowd. We wandered for a few blocks stopping to hear the music of local bands spilling out onto the street. There was a crowd stopped in front of a building with a historic plaque at its entrance. The foyer of the “democrats’ hall” was full of art-deco, maritime dancing ladies in bias-relief. The art beckoned and there was the sound of a live samba band above. We bought our tickets and climbed the stairs, happening upon the classic samba hall we’d hoped for. We enjoyed the music of the band Lua de Anjo, with drums, percussionists, acoustic guitar, and charangos evoking Rio of the 1960s. We had drinks at a table and watched exuberant dancers, joining them in the end for our own amateur attempts at the samba.
We woke up in Batofogo and investigated our new neighborhood. It was full of small shops and eateries without a tourist in sight. We wandered through colorful streets set against the impressive cliffs that cover the city. In the afternoon we headed to a bloco in Ipanema.
Blocos are the foundation of Carnaval, samba bands on trucks with enormous speakers that gather the neighbourhood into a block party of dancing and general revelry. Posto 9 was rumoured to have a bloco that day though we never found it. What we did find was the beach of lore, a popular stretch of city sand with restaurants and shopping and beautiful people. We looked through paintings by local artists and tried a berry cachaca cocktail, then headed down to the shore for sunset.
We had dinner in Ipanema, where there was nightlife to equal Lapa, then took the bus to Lapa to enjoy Carnaval. Marching samba bands led crowds through the streets, under the famous aqueduct arches, and up into the hillside that borders Santa Teresa. Joyful crowds mingled and danced and the tone was set for the start of Carnaval. Smiles, songs, moving through the city with no purpose other than enjoying music and company made for an incredibly uplifting sensation. Costumes and noise makers added to the unabashed joy while people welcomed each other as the crowd of party-goers swelled and spilled into traffic, taking over the area with every right to it.
When the march was done, the band held court under the bridge of the arches by the hill and we took to the stools of an old corner bar at the top of the street. We met locals and shared dances and toasts. I was surprised at the tameness of the alcohol intake. The party seemed to be centered around the drums and interaction in the crowd. It was the friendliest of street parties.
The next day was a bloco back in Batofogo in the middle of the day. We had lunch in a local dive and joined the throng of costumes and debauchery in the sunshine. The truck carrying the band was led by a another truck that sprayed the crowd with a strong hose, drenching people of all ages. The amount of people in the street was impressive and their mood was ecstatic. Virna was wearing her Boca t-shirt and everywhere we went, people cheered “Boca Juniors, oi” and gave the thumbs up while name-dropping Maradona. My friend felt really welcomed by Brazil and chatted in Argentine Spanish about Boca to Portuguese fans. The appreciation for the soccer stars continued later when we were back in Lapa. In fact, her shirt introduced us to a group of Argentines living in Lapa in a house next to the Steps of Selaron. We chatted with them on the mosaic steps overlooking the nightlife hub and got to know a bit more about the city from their perspective.
The next day was the start of the Sambodromo with the official parade where President Lula took part, throwing condoms to the crowd from atop a float. The level of energy was intense with growing throngs and consistent blocos throughout the city, plus the main event downtown. Sun, crowds, and a hectic pace fulfilled the promise of the world’s biggest party, set in Rio de Janeiro for a week of drums and dance.