We were supposed to get into Rio de Janeiro after Fat Tuesday, but due to a medical emergency with a crew member, we had to speed into port just in time to be there on Tuesday. FYI, our crew member got medical treatment in time and made a full recovery.
Rio de Janeiro is synonymous with Carnival, and it was in full swing when we received clearance to go ashore. We were warned to take the standard precautions while we were there, but due to the increased risk of crime, the warnings took on a more serious tone. We were to go out in groups. Don't wear flashy or loose jewelry. And do not, do not, expose your cell phone where it could be grabbed from your hand by a passing punk or team of opportunists on motorcycles.
Amanda worked on the ship teaching Latin dance among other things, and she had lived in Rio for a time. She suggested a town square near the ship as a good location to go during daylight and experience the street parties that would abound on this Fat Tuesday. Pedra do Sal, or Rock of Salt, was the location recommended, and group after group left the ship to wander into the streets either with or without a destination in mind.
I tried to coordinate with a few friends to leave at 4:00 in the afternoon, but we weren't ready in time. Dusty and I went down to the lounge where a mass of people was getting ready to work their way into the throngs of people already engaged in the loud and gritty spectacle that is Carnival. Finding Diana and Sherene ready to head out, we joined forces and made our way together through the cruise terminal and out into the street beyond.
On either side of the main road were carts and stands selling drinks and trinkets to fun seekers. Down the center of the road were a couple of hundred people walking, dancing, and gyrating to the music being played and the drums being pounded. The four of us were working our way against the stream of flesh and glitter that was working its way towards us. Pedra do Sal was less than a half mile away, but at this pace, it would take well over an hour. As I turned sideways to slip between a few guys, I felt a hand on my left back pocket. Since I had put a nearly empty wallet there and had it zipped up, I had no worries about anything being stolen or creating a scene. Nothing was taken, and it may have been either inadvertent or just copping a feel. It is Fat Tuesday in Rio, after all.
Finally crossing the road and the impromptu parade, we moved at a quicker pace where the crowd had thinned a bit. As the stimulation of close bodies and loud music subsided, we had the chance to check where we were walking and see as well as smell the small puddles that were all too frequent in the street and sidewalk. We spotted the group that had left before us and chatted with them a bit about where we were going as they were getting their first caipirinhas of the day. (The national drink of Brazil, mixing lime, sugar, and a traditional cane spirit called cachaça.)
Before they had been served their drinks in plastic cups from the red cart on the street corner, I heard the sound of more bass pounding from behind me. It was a hundred people or more with another street parade celebrating the flesh and overindulgence of Fat Tuesday, marching in vague unison from where we just came.
After the throng passed, we followed the sound of more music in the general direction of our target goal. The sound was emanating from a smallish square where a statue that looked a lot like Bacchus was perched on a pedestal overlooking the gyrating crowd. We stopped long enough to get the vibe of the location before moving the final few blocks to the location our local had recommended.
The sounds of the Bacchus square were fading behind us as the thump, thump, thump of a samba beat with a woman singing Portuguese lyrics rose above the crowd at the end of the cobblestone road where the pin on my cell phone told me we had arrived at our destination. The omnipresent food, drink, and trinket carts lined the way until we encountered a wall of humanity bouncing and gyrating to the music.
As I approached, I paused and raised my cell phone high over my 6'3" body to gather the image to prove to myself and to the world that I was actually in Rio de Janeiro on Fat Tuesday in the middle of the Carnival crush. A man standing in front of me on a three-foot-high stone pillar looked at me and gestured. Oh crap. He didn't want me taking video. OK. I can just chill. To my surprise, he got down from his perch and indicated that I should climb up for a better view of the crowd. Another happy experience.
A minute or two of video was all I needed to capture the scene laid out in front of me. It was everything that I had seen in the streets coming here, but packed into a small cobblestone square surrounded by colorful old two-story buildings covered with street art and murals. The drinking and dancing were all centered around live music being performed in the center of the square.
By this point, Sherene had left to go back to the ship, and now it was time for us to follow our trail back as well. We made it back with minimal drama. Others chose to stay out that evening to see the last parade of Carnival. The Parade of Champions would be four days later, and we had grandstand tickets to attend. Between Fat Tuesday and the Saturday Parade of Champions, many things happened, both good and bad.
A handicapped resident on an electric scooter and the person with him were attacked and beaten up just across the street from our dock. A resident had a necklace ripped off their neck. At least one more had their cell phone stolen right out of their hand. Someone who had lived in Rio said that the city was at its best and its worst during Carnival.
On Ash Wednesday, I went with a friend to check out Copacabana Beach and all of its wonders. The black and white sidewalks and broad beach with vendors rolling carts of corn and cold drinks up and down. A beachside restaurant stop for coconut water and a filet while we watched the locals stroll the sand and play volleyball in the hot sun. The next day was a tour to the mountains for a visit to a waterfall, an overlook of the city and Christ the Redeemer, and the botanical gardens. The next day was off to Petrópolis and the artwork in the palace and convention center there, followed by the Santos Dumont Aviation Museum and Imperial Museum. And the obligatory Cathedral of Petrópolis.
The next evening was our main event: the Parade of Champions. It would start around 9:00 in the evening and go until around 5:00 in the morning. All of the floats and dancers that were the best of the best would travel down the 500-600 meters of road down the center of a canyon of grandstands. This is where we had two dedicated numbered and lettered spots that would just barely fit our butts for the rest of the evening/morning.
A bus full of people from the ship left the docks at around 8:00. The handlers from the tour company tagged us with colored badges around our necks and made sure the group in their charge got to the Sambadrome (the site of the parade) on time. At the end, they would bus us back to the ship every hour to account for those of us (most of us) who would not manage to stay through the whole parade.
As we settled in early for the parade, we could see the television broadcasters across the boulevard from us through the glass of their skybox. Three attractive Brazilian women in glittering gowns were looking into the teleprompter, doing their version of a pre-game show for the folks at home. At the far end to the left, we could see the cathedral of Rio de Janeiro just past the end of the route, with Christ the Redeemer standing out against the dark sky with the bright lights illuminating it. At the far right end, the first of the floats and dancers were gathering to begin the parade of several groups of champions to strut their stuff right in front of us all night long.
In the row in front of us sat an attractive young woman who seemed to be quite intent on getting as many selfies as possible while she was there. Just beyond her was a group of particularly rough-looking Russian men with fists full of drinks to start the night, while the vendor with a keg of beer on his back and plastic cups wandered where he could to make a few reais while the crowd was still thirsty.
The colored lights all along the route flashed on and off as the music began to shake the concrete stands and all the people sitting or standing on them. The drinking and selfies commenced, and for the next several hours, Rio rocked.
I'm not sure my descriptions could tell the story any better than the photos I took. So here I share what I saw and say that around 2:00 in the morning, we decided to call it a night and pressed out of the Sambadrome with thousands of other early birds to find the bus back to our ship. Enjoy the photos.
