Carnival

We've just had Carnival here in Rio. You may have an idea about what it is already, but I'll just fill you in quickly on where it comes from and how it takes place.
Carnival means 'raising of meat' and is a Roman Catholic tradition in many countries to mark the start of lent and to give the people an opportunity to get rid of all their sins before the period of abstinence. The Portuguese colonials originally imported a French form of the festival in the early 17th century, but in Brazil, the influence of African and Native culture brought in such additions as feathered costumes and drum music to the parades. Today, Rio de Janeiro is the centre of Brazilian Carnival and hosts the very seriously taken competitive parades at Sambodromo (Sambadrome), the 100,000 capacity stadium, a street lined with grandstands. Though this is the grandest, most famous part of Rio's Carnival and its greatest tradition, most Cariocas will tell you that the real fun is to be had at the dozens of Bloccos (block parties) that take place in almost every neighbourhood in the city. Having now experienced this, I can agree. On Carnival Saturday, everyone from the hostel went to Sambodromo for the big parade. Though the show was grand and flash, the floats ornate and the dancers skilled and colourful, after an hour it quickly became tiresome. The ceaseless beat of the samba became tiresome and the spectators were silent in observation as they watched for details and hoped the opposing samba schools would make mistakes or lack flair. The atmosphere was too rarely as electric as I had imagined and hoped and so after and hour and a half we decided to leave and head to a Blocco in Ipanema.

The Bloccos are fantastic. People come from the surrounding areas and crowd the streets, joining onto parades. Spontaneous musical erruptions catch you pleasantly by surprise and everybody walks together, beers in hand, costumes donned, ready for fun. The Bloccos happen at any time of day, from 8am to 11pm and on. The biggest we saw was in Lapa, the party district where several hundred thousand people crammed the streets, eating, drinking, kissing, fighting, pissing and endulging in all the most hedonistic, natural human pleasures immaginable. The buzz around the place was tremendous as we sat on the green hill listening to the music of the free AffroReggae concert behind us. This was the real Carnival, not the dour and serious tourist show we had watched from the stands of Sambodromo. Here, thousands of people were free to enjoy the night - the police were given no respect that night. At one point, they attempted to arrest a man with a drinks cooler, presumably on suspicion of drug possession. The advanced on him, battons in hand, but before they could get within metres of him, the mob surrounded them and began to counter attack. Random locals and friends of the man alike joined in to quickly drive the cops back, throwing anything at hand - bottles, chairs, stones. Then the man made a dash from the safety of the crowd and fled, giving the police the chance to persue him. Soon the Policia Militar had arrived and were forcing back the mob with tear gas and loaded guns. The tention rose and the crowds dispersed, clearing the way for the police to capture their man and his wife, who they dragged by her hair along the floor to their van and then drove off. More missiles followed them on the escape, but they had won. All looked angry and dissapointed for at least 2 minutes and then the fun continued as if nothing had happened.

Now Carnival is over and my friends at the hostel are leaving. I've decided to dedicate my remaining time here to reading, writing and walking around town by myself. I'm looking forward to having some time alone and travelling down to Argentina. The two books I'm reading right now, Jack Kerouac's 'The Dharma Bums' and Paul Theroux's 'The Old Patagonian Express' should prepare me well for the next chapter of my adventure and not too long from now I'll be back in England, eating curries and roasts with pints of bitter.