Carnaval Brasileiro, 3: Blocos

OK, it's been a long time, so I'm going to try and catch up on all the Brasil trip fodder, as well as new films, exhibits, political hapennings and general rants in the next week or so. Here goes... After spending a few days in Curitiba, in the south of Brasil, I went off to Rio de Janeiro, my home, and the place where I would spend Carnaval. It rained on and off during my first few days in town, before the official beginning of Carnaval, but that did not deter the people from celebrating. Children were on vacation for the summer, and Carnaval tends to coincide with the last week of vacation for most schools. So not only are the kids/college students eager to end their break with the biggest party of the year, but tourists descend on the city, and most people take off work for some of the previous week. Everyone is ready to have fun! When I was little, I remember the centerpiece of Carnaval being the parade at the Sambódromo, with the samba schools and the organized costumes, songs, and themes. I knew that there was more to it, and I knew that people partied on the streets, but I guess I was too young to realize the extent of the chaos. I was about to experience the blocos. A bloco is a group of people that organizes a street Carnaval parade of sorts, usually with a sound truck and drumming group (bateria). It grows over time as more and more people join it, progressing through a stretch of city near its neighborhood of origin. A bloco tipically keeps the party at its apex for a few hours, but some people stay for the whole day. But some blocos go beyond that... My first experience with a bloco was as I waited for a friend of my dad's in a nightlife enclave in Lapa. Since the cell phone I had had horrible reception, and I had only met this friend once or twice in my cognitive years before the previous night, it was a bit foolish to wait around. But I was having fun, looking around at the expensive bars, trying to pick a place to go. Everything fun looked a bit too fancy and indoors; I hadn't come to Brasil to overpay for drinks and not enjoy the summer and Carnaval, so I kept looking. I finally spotted a cart on a street corner selling just caipirinhas and batidas (caipirinhas with different fruit). As I downed my delicious cold beverage and began losing my sense of time and space by the sip, I notice a commotion approaching from beyond the arches. I still don't know the name of the bloco I was in, but it was an incredible initiation. As I was overtaken by the sound truck and drumming section, stupidly drunk people stumbling in their wake, I began to recognize all the songs I had heard so many times during my childhood. Traditional samba songs that I had not heard since 10 years old came to the tips of my lip instantly. It took me another drink to acclimate to the general confusion around me, especially considering I was alone. But I still accompanied the throngs of people along the street, maneuvering around shaking asses, stumbling drunks, piles of beer cans, drums, and parked cars. After a while, including some filming of the rainha de bateria trying to shake it faster than the drummers could keep the beat, I jumped into the crowd and started chanting and dancing along with everyone. Well, I wouldn't call it dancing, because it was more of a 5-block long moshpit, to a samba beat. Sure, there were moments when the crowd flow allowed me a few feet to break it down, but generally it was a lot of jumping to the beat. But the energy is intense, more intense than anything i've ever felt in my life (energy wise ;) ). The rush of everyone in a tightly packed group, there just for the fun, not getting angry about the lack of personal space, just enjoying the sound, the people, the sweat, the laughter... ...it is amazing! everyone must experience that at some point, that type of connection that isn't so much primal, but somehow feels so natural. I don't know, maybe this is why Brazilians are known to be warm people, personable, etc? Maybe we are indoctrinated in these bonding rituals, and it becomes our second nature to carry that mentality to other parts of our life?
Or do i give too much credit to my people? I don't know, I was starting to doubt these silly theories of mine, especially because they weren't based on any recent encounters with brasileiros; but now that I felt the warmth of my people, I begin to realize that I was probably right. When we want to, we can make anyone feel welcome, relaxed, at home. And being from there, I really felt that way. Up to that point, I was remembering old adventures from my childhood, reconnecting to places and people I had not seen for more than a decade, and generally having a time-warping experience. It was when I stepped into that bloco, and became part of that crowd, that i began to reconnect these experiences to my self. I snapped out of my state of awe, and became a brasileiro again. Sounds too melodramatic, I know, but if you know me, you know I've thought about this before I put it down here. The bloco is the quintessentially Brazilian experience, even if not all Brazilians take part in it. Well, maybe futebol and corruption have a place in that experience, but they are more placeless than the bloco.
Well, the crowd continued to parade around Lapa, ending at the arches from which it began. The crowd spread out through the square, and the beer runners that had been weaving through the crowd selling cans of Skol placed themselves in the perimeter, now letting the revelers come to them. With this initial dismantling of the crowd, it suddenly began to pour. People were initially in shock, and some didn't even try to run for cover. I was laughing my ass off at the whole situation, but even the bloco could not withstand this toró (torrential downpour). I rushed into a club that happened to be having a live afro-brazilian show, with an Olodum tribute band on hand. Wow! I stayed there perfecting my moves for another 3 hours , until the DJ started playing some shitty hip-hop. Follow the bloco, and you will reach some fun, even afterwards...

blurry crowd in the bloco in Lapa

My next bloco experience involved my dad's friend, Sérgio, two days later. We met in the center of the city under the pretense of tagging along with Cordão da Bola Preta, the oldest bloco in Rio. Meeting him was no problem this time, as it was daylight and we arranged for a calm rendezvous point. But once we got closer to the starting spot for the bloco we realized the mistake we'd made; we could not get within 5 blocks of the square we were supposed to be at, because the crowd was too dense! At this point, we became more determined to fight our way and get to the actual bloco, by whatever means necessary. A 5 block radius around the praça had become a gigantic urban tailgate party, with barbecues, beer carts, lawn chairs, live music, radios, and even sacolés (popsicle in a bag, sort of) made with caipirinha!!! Regardless of the fun these people seemed to be having, we had a mission.
Half an hour and four blocks later, we arrived at the beginning of Avenida Rio Branco, one of the main avenues of the center. From there, for a span of about 20 blocks, all I could see was people! Never mind that it had just taken us 30 minutes (and 3 beers) to get through the previous crowd, we were now confronted by more people than I could have imagined, lots of them dressed in black and white polka-dotted garb belonging to the group. I believe there were estimates floating around between 500,000 and 2 million people on the streets, and I think I could believe those numbers (especially over a whole day). We battled our way to the front one beer at a time, and made it very near the sound truck. But I never saw the percussion section. I did see a random tour bus roaming the crowd, with various "personalities" inside, not having nearly the amount of fun those of us in the sun were. :P

Cordão da Bola Preta, Avenida Rio Branco

After singing through the history of samba, for a couple of hours, Sérgio and I resumed our bar hopping from a few nights before. He took me to one of their favorite hangouts from the past, a bar called Paulistinha. We ate the best bolinhos de bacalhau I've ever had, danced and singed to some more street samba (this time on a stage closing off the small street from the rest of the commotion in the center), and got generally plastered. Stories of my father's debaucherous years came to the fore, and I even visited the old pool hall where they used to not play any pool at all. Like I said, the bloco gives you a great time, and it seems to guide you towards even more fun...

Over the rest of my time in Rio I went to a few more blocos. One of note was Vaga-Lume, which paraded in the neighborhood of Horto near the Botanical Gardens. Vaga-lume is the name for firefly in portuguese, so participants were supposed to bring a lighter to brighten up the night near the park. Sadly, I missed the organized part of the celebration, but my bus was filled with drunken teenagers singing songs and being generally rowdy. That was a treat; the bus driver almost walked away from his job just to get some peace and quiet. :D But my cousin and my aunt played percussion with the group in this bloco, and I did stick around for the party afterwards. The crowd was the youngest of any bloco, and the sound truck blasted some more electronically infused music while the drummers took a break. Some of the funniest stuff was happening on the side streets, were guys were pissing on every single doorstep and tree, and even girls were straddling between parked cars. But you know, it didn't really smell any different...
I jumped in and out of a few more blocos; whenever I felt like dancing a littgle, there was always one around the corner, ready to make me feel at home.