Party time
Revels in the samba beat for a week of Rio’s Carnival
MIND the gap. Three words I usually hear on the London Underground. But today, I’m not elbowbarging past stressed commuters.
I step off a cable car in Rio de Janeiro that has taken me to the summit of Sugarloaf mountain. Christ the Redeemer watches from lofty Corcovado in the distance, with arms outstretched.
The sprawling cityscape looks peaceful as the sun sets and boats leave gentle ripples on Botafogo Bay. In a matter of hours, Brazil’s second largest city will be awash with millions of people dancing in the streets.
I take a big breath, an even bigger sip of my caipirinha, and brace myself for the wild week of Carnival that lies ahead.
Six o’clock in the morning isn’t usually when I’d go out drinking, but this is a very special occasion.
Street parties, known as blocos, start as soon as the sun’s up. So I wipe the sleep from my eyes and get ready for Cordao da Bola Preta.
The famous carnival block, founded in 1918, has become one of the biggest blocos in Rio. It draws in more than a million people each year with its catchy marchinha music and good vibes.
I arrive early and climb on top of a truck that will slowly make its way through Centro, surrounded by hordes of revellers.
The name and theme of the bloco is “black ball”, which inspires various quirky outfit choices.
Wearing as few clothes as possible helps to negate the scorching heat, which isn’t a problem when everyone’s so attractive.
Ladies don polka dot corsets and men cut see-through circle shapes into their T-shirts.
In spite of the relentless sunshine, a couple in Dalmatian costumes and dog leads crawl along the street.
There’s also a bloke dressed as Jesus, who gets the crowd going by pumping his fists in the air.
Overlooking the sea of hundreds of thousands of partygoers feels pretty daunting initially. But the driving beat of drums is so hypnotic my hips start moving involuntarily.
Street vendors selling £1 cans of Brahma beer also loosen everyone up. Strangers catch eyes, gyrate together and don’t bother learning each other’s names before locking lips.
The spirit of Rio is so infectious I keep dancing for four hours solid. And the fun doesn’t stop there.
A long shower just about removes the glitter from my clammy skin and I manage to snatch a couple of hours shut-eye before the Carnival comes calling again.
It’s the evening of the Palace Ball, a black tie event that has been held at the Belmond Copacabana Palace for more than a century.
The hotel has provided the backdrop for films such as Flying Down To Rio starring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. But, once a year, it throws the ultimate night of excess, extravagance and exclusivity.
Tickets cost upwards of £500 for general admission – and I’m lucky enough to get an invitation.
I arrive on the black carpet to the sound of clicking cameras and feel like I’ve fallen down Alice in Wonderland’s rabbit hole.
Chess pieces hang upside down from chequered ceilings, geometric shapes are suspended above the dance-floor and people mingle in Starry Night banqueting halls.
Drinks are free and champagne flows freely, with smartly-dressed waiters ensuring the flute in my hand doesn’t go dry. Freshlyshucked oysters are served up in a silver clam dish, giant prawns spill out of an ice-filled fountain and there’s a whole suckling pig on display.
You can eat as much as you want, but this perk is probably wasted on the stunningly svelte models in attendance. Live bands play everything from samba to showtunes and pop music, artists perform inside oversized picture frames and baristas shake-up cocktails with flair. As the party begins to wind down, guests wander outside to the bar area to schmooze.
I join for a spot of star-gazing, before heading back to the hotel with high heels in hand and a massive grin on my face.
When people think of Brazil, they tend to picture football matches and Carnival parades. While the former may have more worldwide appeal, samba is just as deeply ingrained in the national identity.
Competitive carnival parade events take place in Rio for four consecutive days, climaxing in the Sambadrome Marques de Sapucai.
It has a capacity of 90,000 people – around 17,000 more than Maracana Stadium, where Brazil’s bestsupported club Flamengo plays.
Each samba school has spent an entire year preparing for their performances, which last between 65 and 85 minutes.
A panel of 40 eagle-eyed judges are placed along the entire route and award points based on categories – from theme, to harmony, costumes and music.
Lower scoring teams are relegated and winners of the lower Access Group get promoted – so there’s a lot at stake.
It feels bigger than the FA cup final, Glastonbury music festival
Strangers catch eyes, gyrate together and don’t bother learning each other’s names before locking lips
and Notting Hill Carnival put together and I can feel tension in the air when Mocidade kicks off the first performance at 10pm.
The parade is dedicated to the humble cashew nut and its link to Brazilian legends.
Towering floats, themed around produce-growing regions, trees and warriors, hold feather-adorned dancers who shake their stuff.
But my favourite show of the night comes from Mangueira, one of the most popular samba schools in Rio.
The performance pays homage to “the black voice of tomorrow” and Brazilian samba singer Alcione. There’s a tangible sense of togetherness.
I’m covered in goosebumps and we’re all singing, waving flags and wiping tears from our eyes by the end of the night.
It’s gone 4am when everything stops in the Sambadrome, so we head back for some sleep.
But instead of wasting too many precious sunlight hours, I’m soon up again. I hop into a jeep that’s heading past Copacabana beach towards Prainha, a much more secluded slice of coastline.
The 2,300ft crescent-shaped sand obtained Blue Flag status because of its wild beauty, with lush trees, rugged rocks and cliffs that border it.
After chilling out here for a while, I head to a Brazilian barbecue restaurant. Fogo de Chao is a highly rated chain, praised by Michelin for its “excellent” steak.
Carnival translates as “farewell to meat”, so it seemed right to get my fill before Lent rolled around.
Fogo de Chao uses a traffic light system where each diner can flip their coaster to red or green depending on whether they’re hungry or full.
Waiters slice picanha, a prime part of top sirloin steak, directly on to our plates and offer delicacies like wagyu ancho ribeye, chicken hearts and pork belly.
The meal ends with pineapple that’s caramelised on the barbecue and sprinkled with cinnamon.
Then I raise a glass of red and toast to a fantastic week in Rio.