Eco Trancoso, Part 3: Experiencing Trancoso’s delights.

Being at Eco Trancoso wasn’t all nasty bugs and sad animals. My next post will be about the permaculture and eco construction work we did, but first I want to write about Trancoso itself. Note: I still haven’t found a cable to enable me to post the better photos from my camera, so iPhone pics it is.

Bahia’s Beautiful Beach.

After lunch on our first day Sage showed us the walk to the beach. It’s a pretty walk and ends going through a small jungle, but due to another hill it’s not the easy stroll described on the website. The farm is on the top of a hill so getting anywhere is a bit of a hike, but we got used to it and the views are wide and stunning.


The beach is what Bahia is famous for and it’s truly one of the best I’ve seen. The sand is clean and there’s no rocks, seaweed or (mostly) people. Even so, a few times we were lucky enough to be approached by guys selling melty cheese on a stick, sprinkled with oregano. They melt it right in front of you on coals in a little portable BBQ. I could have easily eaten ten each sitting.

We spent every other afternoon at the beach, happily using the wooden shelters, body surfing (the waves could be huge!) and being bug free. It was fun to spot the near translucent crabs and one day some of the others helped a big turtle get back into the sea. If we wanted to use the boogie board though, we had to find Stefan and ask him to get it as he kept it in his house…


There were some hotels 10 minutes down the beach and occasionally we walked over for a beer and to swim in the river. After the isolation of the farm and our beach spot, it felt like returning to civilisation. The beach here flows into a river, so at low tide a pool is formed and when the tide changes you can stand on the crest and be buffeted from the waves in one direction and from the fast-moving river in the other. The tides really do change the shape of the beach. In the morning, it’s lovely to lie in the channels that form about 30 metres from the water.

In the afternoon, people play volleyball and practice yoga on the hard, sandy beach facing out to sea. People watching the people watchers was interesting too. One time a woman was happily yogaing to a small group of men confidently standing around her, some taking photos. If I was more prepared to look like a pervert I would have joined them; the photos would have been great. When the river becomes deeper at high tide, kids and teenagers take running jumps into its brown waters, just metres from the blue of the ocean.

Trancoso Town.

When we hiked into town it was mainly to use free wifi in one of the cafes. Other than our first few days, the internet wasn’t working at the farm. It doesn’t sound like much, but I’d intended to use some of my free time to write this blog and research and plan the rest of our trip. It was especially annoying when organising our next adventure, as we had to walk to town and back just to spend a couple of minutes checking travel confirmations. Initially we were only allowed online from 4-6pm; we’re not sure why. When we explained that this meant having to come back early from the beach or town, or between the two, and that neither were a quick walk, Stefan agreed to change the time to straight after lunch.

Anyway, going to town was cool and allowed us to enjoy meat, dairy, cheap beer and other goodies (the farm is vegetarian, mostly vegan – I am not). A market stall sold the most mouth-watering, home-made chocolate I’ve ever had and the acai was delicious and refreshing. Acai is made from frozen native berries and while I’d seen it at music festivals in Australia it was really pricey, so I never bothered. Of course, there was also delicious street meat.

There’s almost two defined parts of town; the one where locals live, eat and shop and the tourist part. We probably spent more time in the former. The horses meander unawares.


A lot of Brazilian tourists come to Trancoso, especially rich people from São Paulo and it seemed many came for weddings in the church. This meant envying posh restaurants and resorts and browsing boutique shops an art galleries. The town’s landmark is an old, small church near the cliff and looking over the quadrant.


At night the area is lit up beautifully with lanterns and interesting, recycled light fittings. For example, one was made of coffee cups and another from the bottom of soft drink bottles. We took a moto taxi (motorbike) home a couple of times when it was dark and we couldn’t be bothered with the hill. At $3 each and lots of fun in and of itself, it was definitely worth it.

Happy Horse riding.

Four of us volunteers had expressed interest in horse riding, so Stefan introduced us to Fernando who runs treks from a ranch. It’s been owned by the same family for generations, and the 90-year-old patriarch still goes there everyday and watches his great-grandchildren learn the ropes. We arranged to meet at the ranch entrance and Stefan explained the way; the directions were really simple.

When we got to where we were meant to be, we couldn’t see Fernando. For the next 40 minutes we asked locals for help and were grateful that Chloe spoke Portuguese (her dad’s Brazilian and she’s in the process of getting her citizenship). You’d think a ranch would be easy to find, but no one seemed to know. Eventually, Fernando found us in the plaza – where he’d arrange with Stefan to meet us….

With Fernando and horses found and my grumpiness laid aside, we were soon trotting through the streets and towards the beach. First, we trailed through jungly areas and out onto a cliff to view the expanse of perfect beaches down below. When we got there, we had the option of cantering and galloping. I’d been riding about six times before but had never worked up the courage to canter, even though I heard it was more comfortable than trotting.

As soon as my horse began to canter I wished I’d done it years ago! No more painfully bouncy boobs (or balls I’ve been told!) and a lot more fun. As long as I made sure I wasn’t directly behind another horse (where I’d get a face full of sand), it felt amazing to race along the beach. At one point I even swung my hat in the air, holding the reins with one hand. Yee hah! It was great going into the waves a bit and we took the horses into the nearby river for a drink.

When we passed through the quadrant, we tied the horses to some trees and shared a beer. It’s very common to order a litre of beer and share it in small glasses, it’s cute and keeps the beer colder for longer. Afterwards, it felt easy and familiar to get back on my horse and ride to the ranch. If and when I have my dream house in the hills one day, I’d love to have a horse to ride into town (as well as for treks).

Eco Trancoso, Part 2: Getting to know you…

Our efforts to make it Eco Trancoso on Saturday morning came through largely due to luck, as Stefan was online at the same time that we were. Within half an hour, he met us in town so that our taxi could follow him on his motor bike. We quickly realised there was no way we could have walked there with our luggage, even in the daylight. Half the 20 minute walk is up a really steep, gravelly hill.

We arrived just before lunch and met the other volunteers; Dayton (21, from California), Sage (19, from Toronto) and Chloe (32, from London). Dayton had been there since January and Sage and Chloe arrived a couple of days before us. We also met Gilbert; a nicely eccentric elderly Madagascan man who lived next door and joined us for meals. We weren’t sure why, but more on him later. It was great to be there and we were excited to get to know the area and start work on Monday.

Stefan had apologised for our difficulty getting to the farm; he thought he’d put his mobile number on the website and that the directions were clear. As the unexpected taxi and hotel had cost us about $115, we asked Stefan if we could start paying him from Monday instead of Friday. It would set him back about $58, so we were still out of pocket. Thankfully (but a little begrudgingly), Stefan agreed.

Accommodation.

While the others were camping, we accepted Stefan’s offer to stay in a cute, double story one bedroom house on the farm for $9 a night each. We had private use of an outdoor shower and it was blissful to watch the butterflies and shower amongst the leafy trees. You could just see the ocean from the balcony and we enjoyed afternoons reading in the hammock – as long as we lathered ourselves in insect repellant!

If we’d camped, it would have been about $2 a night each for equipment hire. Food was $5.50 a day each and the only other cost was 50 cents per roll of toilet paper. Our arrival aside, this was probably the first bad sign.

Incorporating toilet paper into the cost of accommodation would make for a nicer community feel, especially as we discovered that of course Stefan was paying less per roll then he charged us. It was kind of humiliating to ask for more toilet paper when you needed it. Plus, those who camped had to leave their rolls at the outdoor toilet, so they kind of shared anyway (their tents were a couple of minutes walk away and a pain to go back and forth from whilst working). It was so petty, I hate even dedicating a paragraph to it! Ugh.

Food.

In return for the cheap accommodation and vegetarian food, we worked on construction and permaculture projects from 6.30am-12.00pm Monday to Friday. Our days started with fresh coffee and crackers with tasty guava jam, ‘second breakfast’ was at 8.30am and lunch was at midday. The second bad sign was that the coffee was kept in Stefan’s house, so we had to ask for it before making each pot.

Instead of working in the farm, once a week we took it in turns to cook meals for the seven of us and on the weekends we cooked for ourselves, but usually shared. Stefan didn’t contribute, though he did wash the dishes once or twice on the weekends. We had to ask Stefan for more groceries at least once a week and he seemed surprised each time. Perhaps he was used to shopping for fewer people.

Food was especially important as Sage is vegan, but all of us needed nutritional food; we were doing hard labour in a hot climate and needed protein. The chickens didn’t really lay eggs, at least where we could find them! I actually enjoyed doing the cooking and experimenting with what was available. I loved getting ginger fresh from the ground and making tea with leaves from the cinnamon tree. It was also great that we made fresh bread each week; I learnt a really easy recipe to take home with me.

In the first week Tristan and I suggested we allow some time after lunch each day for people to raise issues or clarify work. The first thing was kitchen hygiene. Like many houses in Brazil, there was no hot water. This was fine, but we had to remind Stefan to buy detergent a few times, especially as everything was stored outside so bugs and lizards crawled on them. Compounding this was that tea towels were also kept in Stefan’s house, so we often ran out of clean ones. I liked that old rags were used as cloths, but they were kept for much longer than they could be useable or hygienic.

More importantly, the chickens and ducks were given scraps in the same pots and dishes that we ate from. The plastic ones that were more easily pecked into really bothered me. Worse, some of the ducks were sick and had been (rightly) quarantined from the others in their own area. At the meeting, Stefan agreed to make sure we always had detergent and that the animals had their own dishes.

Animals.

Our other duties included cleaning the laundry and feeding the ducks, chickens and horse; Bonobo. There was confusion when we did these duties, partially as Bonobo had temporarily run off. There was also confusion about how to do them. Stefan had shown me on my first day, but I had to explain it to the others (he wasn’t always easily found on the farm and often went to town).

I felt bad for the animals as they survived on scraps and not all volunteers made sure they had water. On the weekend when none of us were on duty, I often did it myself. It was especially hard when Bonobo returned, as he was skinny and it didn’t seem like he was getting enough food or water. Until we reinforced fences elsewhere, he was confined to a small pen with a dirt floor. He ran away twice more before we left and didn’t trust Stefan, partially because he was badly treated when younger. When we left, I missed not staying longer to build on the trust I’d developed with him.

My new enemies; sand flies and mozzies!

The mosquitos were terrible, but nothing compared to the sand flies! As I write this it’s been a month since we left and there’s still one scratchy scab left and I have some scars on my arms. It was so bad, people asked what was wrong with my legs and I honestly think that the bugs sucked about 30% of enjoyment from the experience.

The farm has no indoor areas and the only communal space with seats was the kitchen dining table. So, to eat, spend time with people and learn theory, we were exposed to the nasty bugs and in the evenings we had to dress covered from head to toe. It didn’t help that the chickens and ducks were fed scraps close to the kitchen area, attracting more bugs.

Citronella coils and insect repellant helped a little, but not much. I’ve always suffered more from bugs than others though, and recently learnt this could be because I’m deficient in B12, which bugs don’t like. While not bug proof, at least we had our house to retreat to; the others just had their one person tents. When Chloe or Sage were suffering from the heat, bugs or just not feeling well, we let them have our place to themselves for the afternoon.

One evening we had the girls and Dayton over for drinks, touting the ‘no spirits’ rule with gin and tonics. Beer and wine were allowed on special occasions. It really did feel like being back at school camp sometimes. (NOTE: it wasn’t. Eco Trancoso is for adults and the application stresses the importance of having lived independently).

I have to mention that I like camping, love animals and am not a fussy eater! My next post will be more positive, I promise.

Trancoso, Bahia, Brazil – Part 1: Arriving at Eco Trancoso.

I may have been putting off writing this post. I don’t regret my two weeks at Eco Trancoso one bit – I was inspired, made friends, learnt about permaculture, was taught techniques I’ll use back home and experienced a beautiful part of this world. However, we did leave a week earlier than intended.

When I began planning the trip, I wanted to spend some time in one place to start with. It’d be good to get my bearings, meet some travellers with tips to share and get my ears used to the new language (even though we began in Brazil, where they speak Portuguese, not Spanish). A cheap, helpful and interesting idea was to volunteer at Eco Trancoso; a permaculture and eco construction centre in Trancoso, in Brazil’s beautiful state of Bahia and a 20 hour bus ride north of Rio.

In around November, we filled out a brief application form which was accepted by the project’s brain-child; Stefan. We spoke with him via Skype a few weeks later, and agreed to arrive the afternoon of 7 March.

We took Stefan’s advice and got bus tickets from the station in Rio a few days beforehand. When we emailed Stefan the details, he advised that we’d probably miss the last local from where our regional bus would drop us off. With only one bus leaving Rio a day, we’d booked the only bus available. Kindly, Stefan recommended a hotel to stay at should we miss the local bus. Luckily, we met some Germans taking a similar route, changed buses, caught the last local bus and made it to Trancoso early Friday evening. Hooray for us!

When we arrived in town, we spent around half an hour calling the only number on Eco Trancoso’s website. Having no luck, we decided to use the address and directions to take a taxi. There were directions to walk there in 20 minutes but it was dark. We’d been travelling for 25 hours and were looking forward to arriving at our home for the next three weeks.

During this we met a French woman; Martine (who agreed that the walk was unsafe). At first, we thought we’d been incredibly blessed because she thought she knew Stefan and gave him a call. Awkwardly, when he arrived we realised that it was a different French Stefan, but one who helped us get a reliable taxi. Both Martine and Stefan gave us their mobile numbers to call if we needed anything and we planned to call them for a thank you drink once we’d settled. To our shame, we never did.

In the taxi, the address took us to a gated community that needed an entry code. We thought this was weird, because Eco Trancoso is more or less a farm. The taxi driver tried the number several times, again to no avail. We all shouted at the gate, tried random code numbers and briefly considered jumping over the fence to find someone, but in the end our only option was to head back to town for the night. The taxi driver’s cousin owned a hotel so we went there; as to whether we were ripped off or simply took our only semi-reliable option is anyone’s guess – we were tired, hungry and annoyed.

After a shower, we got some burgers and beers in the buzzing Quadrant (plaza). We watched people dancing, browsed the small market and randomly saw a white horse majestically strolling through. It had no saddle and didn’t seem to belong to anyone but no-one paid much attention, it was like an apparition! Brazil has a big horse culture and in towns like this, horses are free to meander around; everyone knows who they belong to and leave them be.

The next morning, we woke early and had delicious papaya and honeydew milkshakes. I’ve never liked papaya back home but it’s much better here, and while I’d never think to mix melon with dairy, the honeydew milkshake was also yum. Then we strolled through the quaint quadrant and down to the cliff top to check out the view – paradise awaited us!

Before we could explore further though, we had to make it to Eco Trancoso. As soon as it opened, we went to a tourist agency advertising for eco tours and that they spoke English. They didn’t, and nor had they heard of Eco Trancoso, but we used their internet and finally got in touch with Stefan. We were almost there!

One night in Niteroi, Brazil

Three hours, two buses and a ferry across Guanabara Bay brought us to Pura Vida; the jungle chalet. We arrived in the early evening, met at the bus stop by Marcello who drove us to the B&B he created with his wife, Dee. They were both so welcoming that it felt like we were visiting friends; sharing their beer and chatting until we were too tired. When we got hungry, we borrowed their bikes to ride down the road to a local pizza place. The town has a real local feel; not at all touristy and we felt totally safe.

The next day started with a big breakfast from Dee before Marcello took us to a couple of beaches. After introducing us to the manager of a restaurant and buying fish straight from a boat on the shore, he left us to enjoy the beach. Despite the cloudy day and a bit of rain, we hung out front of the restaurant reading, eating hot spicy fish and trying the local fire water until it was time to head back to Rio for an overnight bus to Trancoso.

Our only regret is not returning to Pura Vida as we promised. Dee and Marcello were going to arrange a package for us to go horseriding and see the jungle, waterfalls and monkeys. Plus, we owe them beer. I urge anyone visiting Brazil to go to Pura Vida; you will not regret it. The views beaches were stunning and you’ll feel at home.

I wanna take you to a Gay Ball!

Walking past the classic Copacabana Palace one night we noticed barricades in front of the foyer and figured we’d stick around as something important was probably about to happen. We watched fancy and likely famous people rock up in fabulous gowns and masks, including a celebrity drag queen (never found out her name!).

Inspired, on our last night we partook in another Carnival tradition; the Scala Gay Ball. We got our pricey tickets from Craigslist, and while the couple we bought them off in Ipanema were lovely, I was relieved to see them at our table on the inside. Frida and Shakti are an American / Indian couple with kids our age and went to the gay ball because they thought it’d be fun. It was.

The only way in was along a red carpet barricaded against papparazzi who encouraged us to pause beneath the giant balloon archway. The crowd cheered and I felt really silly, but it was definitely a once in a lifetime experience! Comparatively, inside was a bit of a disappointment. I felt like i was in the basement of a hotel that may have been a happening joint for bridge players in the 30s. Nonetheless, it was pretty amazing and I was grateful that we booked a table so we could sit, watch the beautiful people and safely leave our bucket of beer while out on the dance floor The music was a fun, elderly band alternating with a DJ.

We wore masks and Tristan dressed as a pirate. I donned my sequin dress with the neckline plunging to my belly button that’d only previously seen Las Vegas. I felt great, but also very aware of one thing. My real boobs.

I’d heard that one of the samba schools had committed to dancers with real boobs and had a devil of a time finding any. Plastic surgery is no big deal in parts of Brazil; many already beautiful people go under the knife and many are transgender. I didn’t spot a jiggly breast anywhere (trust me, I looked) and out on the dance foor I was acutely aware of my own. My slight envy at what this meant for comfortable clothes choice soon faded when I noticed the quality of other surgery. Too many eyes were weird, noses turned up and oddly, some hips too, well… low.

On the one hand, the body consciousness of Brazil is a win for fitness, curves and the accessibility of surgery for transgender people. On the other, it can lead to judgementalism and at least at the Gay Ball, I felt that it wasn’t so much about looking like a female but in looking like you’ve had the surgery, no matter how realistic. A new look had been created here (and probably elsewhere in the world) but as long as the people are healthy and happy, why should I care? With these thoughts and a slight hangover, we headed to Niteroi.

The Big Jesus, Sugar Loaf Mountain and Escardia Selaron.

Even though we stayed at a hotel (overpriced, even for Carnival), hostels are a major source of guidance and we booked a tour with one of them. While entrance fees to Sugar Loaf Mountain and the famous Cristo Redentor were decent, it was worth paying extra to avoid queues and be driven around. The subway was really easy to navigate, but as we walked out of each one, we prayed for no bloco!

Our guide Leandro was great. At the Big Jesus (as he called it),the detail up close was awe inspiring. The gigantic statue hovers over Rio, arms outstretched as if to love everyone despite the frivolity perhaps even debauchery) Rio is known for. I liked looking up to see if I could spot him, wherever I was in the city. At Sugar Loaf Mountain the monkeys weren’t shy and the views above the clouds via two cable cars were terrific.

We also went to Escardia Selaron; 215 colourful, mosaic steps up to Santa Teresa incorporating random tiles from around the world. I could have spent ages lingering there and I felt the tragedy that befell its creator. Chilean artist Jorge Selaron started the renovating the tatty steps in 1990 as a tribute to the Brazilian people and they became his life’s work. He was found dead on those steps in January 2013, seemingly by suicide after suffering depression and feeling betrayed in disputes about his art sales (which sky rocketed as the steps became a Rio landmark).

Amongst all this we wasted time trying to get cash from various ATMs and accounts; my least favourite thing about travelling next to carrying my bags. We spent two hours going to the bus station to buy tickets for the trip north and another hour being misled by signs to a waterfall we never found, but other than that had no troubles.

On the other hand, unforseen obstacles can lead to some surprise gems and the excuse to stop for street food. In this heat, the homemade vodka icy poles being sold out of an esky at a train station were a god send!

Ojai, California – now included, oops!

Ojai, Ventura County, California, USA.

I thought I had posted this one but seems I didn’t, sorry Ojai! We were there after Santa Cruz and before Rio – the last weekend of February.

Ok, I love Ojai as well. What can I say; Tristan’s family live in some pretty cool places. It is a bit touristy though, in the sense that wealthy hipsters drive up from L.A on the weekends and some shops are too posh for their own good. No one does breakfast like Melbourne though; even here there was no obvious signs of a brunch culture (maybe a good thing).

It’s in the truest type of valley I’ve ever been in. Every where you turn you look up to find yourself encircled by reddy brown mountains contrasted against what for us was a perpetually blue sky. It was unseasonably warm, hooray! Ojai gives you a protected, small town feeling with all the benefits of a larger town.

There’s a good choice of bars; seedy pool hall, live band venue with weathered couches, dark fancy small bar, edge of town former bikie haunt and Ojai Beverage Company, which we at least visited almost every night. To be fair, it is a two minute walk from Tristan’s mum’s house where we were staying. It’s also one of the best stocked bottle shops I’ve seen; we spent a good hour all up just browsing. The staff are friendly, the food is hearty and there’s an ever changing list of micobrewery beers (the 15 beer tasting platter is worth it, despite a couple that resembled yeasty syrup).

The annual Ojai Tennis Tournament wasn’t on, but I enjoyed relaxing on the bleachers surrounding the four outdoor courts in the local park (and a maybe pretending I was in Grease). Lots of people and their dogs use the park, its gazebo and small amphitheatre that hosts school concerts. I always love seeing people use their public spaces (like the good public servant I was).

Apparently there are hot springs but we never found them. The river is pretty enough though, and we had it almost to ourselves. On Sunday’s there’s an artist’s and farmer’s market; the strawberries were huge and the pumpkin pie was yum. I was excited to try it having only seen it in the movies and all; it was ok. I also went to Lulu Bandha’s Yoga which was sunny, laid back and welcoming.

Just out of town, we drove down an orange orchard lined road to Tristan’s very cute primary school and one morning we visited the one in Santa Paula where his mum works. Her grade two class was really sweet and a good insight. With only one or two whities, it reminded me of my primary school in Melbourne’s Springvale South, but instead of the majority having a bunch of different backgrounds these kids seemed mainly Latin American. It’s multiculturalism, kinda.

It had recently been President’s and Valentines Day, so there were signs of that, and I thought the map looked weird; centred as it was of course on America. Tristan and I gave a show and tell about Australia, which we only just kept from being completely hijacked by tales and questions about giant snakes. I managed to talk about Indigenous Australians, our varied landscapes and that we don’t ride kangaroos to school. Other than having a brain fart while explaining time zones and telling them that the sun moves around the earth, I think that I instilled some interest in Australia. Or at least a fear of our animals. Ho hum.

On February 27, via Charlotte, Carolina, we took off for Rio de Janeiro. Carnival here we come!

Burgers, Blocos, Bums and Santa Teresa.

In Copacabana we had a favourite burger place. After around 10pm, a wagon magically appears in a backstreet and becomes surrounded by hungry people. It’s hear that we learnt that standing politely by, waiting for the cooks acknowledgement gets you nothing but hungry. Loudly interrupting them gets you an X Todo burger; cheese, chillis, peas, beef pattie, bacon, ham, lettuce, tomato, tiny crispy fries and a quail egg. Mmm mmm.

Being Carnival, of course it was a great time to be in Rio. There’s a real buzz in the air and everyone’s out for a good time (it is the party before lent after all). However, the blocos we so welcomed on day one first turned on us in downtown Carioca. We were there to see Confeteria Colombo and suspect we got within metres of it, but a bloco had other plans, namely trapping and pressing sweaty gyrating bodies on us. The authorities were prepared; many stores were boarded up and roads were closed. Despite a few moments of claustrophobia, I was glad for the experience and we did make it to our second goal; the nearby Metropolitan Cathedral (definitely one of a kind).

The next time we came up against a bloco was in Santa Teresa. After begging a taxi to take us there despite rumours of the bloco, we got as far as we could before proceeding on foot. It’s a lovely neighbourhood though; my favourite in Rio. We were there to pretend to be rich. I’d booked a massage at the tranquil sanctuary of Santa Teresa Hotel and my plan to weasel into their fancy schmancy pool area paid off. After getting directions from some friendly Germans (thanks mum!), we spent the afternoon in luxury. The massage was great and afterwards I had use of a private bathroom and sun speckled, air-conditioned deck where I was brought juice and fruit salad.

We spent another afternoon on the Lagoa; a lake in the south of the city with great views of Rio surronded by mountains, peaked by Sugar Loaf. I went back to my childhood when we paddled out on one of those duck shaped boats and got yet another kitschy song in my head when we went to nearby Ipanema. It’s a cool beach, gorgeous at sunset and there were loads of people in happy Carnival mode, but it didn’t live up to its reputation and we preferred the far less touristy Copacabana beach.

What did live up to its reputation were the Brazillian gstrings. Women of all ages and sizes wear them and I think it’s great. There’s no judgement and bums look better with less on them anyway. I even got a ‘bummier’ pair myself when we got to Trancoso (not the full bum floss!).

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

We arrived on Friday 28 March, a few days into South America’s most widely celebrated festival; Carnival. To actually be in Rio felt surreal. We were staying in Copacabana (so that song was in my head) and for months my password at work had been ‘when my baby’ (goes to Rio…). We were in Rio baby!

Our first stop was the beach at the end of our street. Copacabana beach! It was a gorgeous sunny day and we ate huge fried sardines and walked with our beers into the water. They put long hoses leaking water from the street to the beach so you can walk on wet sand, avoiding burns to the soles of your feet. Genius. Australia needs this!

After a swim in the hotel’s lovely roof top pool and a nap, we walked straight into a street party; perfect timing! Known as ‘blocos’, a float meanders through the streets carrying samba singers, a dancer or two and sometimes a whole band. We joined the crowds and grabbed beers and street meat from vendors along the way. For me, ‘street meat’ is any meat on a stick you can conveniently get from local vendors; this time it was beef dipped in dried manioc. Yum!

We followed the bloco through to the beach. It was beautiful at night and people watching was fun; mainly young Brazilians on holiday dressed up as cartoon characters or just wearing crazy hats and wigs. I’d forgotten about loud American tourists until we were on the plane, but saw none until we went to the Sambadrome, and they weren’t really loud at all (but maybe I couldn’t hear them over the music!).

The Sambadrome is where the main part of Carnival takes place; the samba school competition. Dozens of schools have an hour to strut their stuff down the roughly 1km, purpose built stadium / road (which I was told is going to host the 2015 Olympic Opening Ceremony). Walking up into the stands for the first time was truly amazing; I was immediately consoled that it was worth the $450 tickets. We arrived just after the first of six schools started, so were greeted with overwhelming lights, colours, movement and sound, including fireworks. I was glad I didn’t dress up like I’d intended as no-one really did, and we spent most of the night standing up.

More than a dance competition, each school’s entry is an epic production with huge floats and outlandish costumes that make little sense without having read the theme and are too numerous to count. My favourite themes were a universally appealing toy box theme and one focusing on Brazilian’s rainbow culture; from the boats carrying slaves, to Indigenous cultures and contemporary life. Another focused purely on soccer; a fairly single-minded theme to devote an hour production to and a tricky one to keep interesting. I was bored; there’s only so many ways to make a costume resembling soccer, and most aren’t pretty).

Locals support the schools like they’re football clubs; wearing their colours and learning their anthem which is sung repeatedly for the hour. I think it’s nice for people to support dance clubs instead of sports clubs. It’s certainly unique. Many schools are in the favelas; poor slum areas on Rio’s mountain sides. It’s one of the few cities in the world where the poor have the best views, and the rich live at the bottom of the hills. So the people participating in one of the world’s most watched festivals are among their cities poorest. We were going to do a tour with a community organisation, but stupid banking and bus ticket logistics made us miss it.

Each school has around 1800 participants, some of whom are foreigners who pay up to $800 for their costume; their ticket to temporarily joining a samba school. We went on the last night when the top schools from the previous year perform. I’m not sure if the piles of costumes at the end of the Sambadrome were from the whole competition, or just one night, but some piles had to be over 10 metres tall. The next day people were selling them on the streets. So much effort must have gone into making the costumes; I hope someone’s still enjoying them.

There was a cleaner’s strike that weekend; the world was watching and it had the desired impact. It was great to see locals supporting the workers, despite the mountains rubbish piling up in the central region. We got caught in the middle of one of their marches; workers ran down a boulevard towards a bus carrying more workers. The bus was forced to stop, everyone got out (including the driver), riot police rocked up in their dozens and the march continued pretty peacefully. At the Sambadrome, cleaners did sweep after each school. One did his own samba with his broom to great cheers – he heard he was the main dancer at the Beijing Olympics when Rio was annonced. This was the first of many protests we’ve seen so far; it good to see people caring about their community.

Back at the Sambadrome, we were sat where the schools paused for the judges and it was impressive watching the participants keep at least what appeared to be genuine smiles on their faces. Everyone looked like they were having a great time. While it was hard to spot the actual samba dancers, I loved seeing them in the traditional Carnival get up. The women must be super fit to wear those heavy headdresses, feathers, sequins and heels that strap all the way up to their knees for an entire hour, in spot lights, while being judged on their dance technique. The winner was announced a couple of days later; one of the two we decided to skip in favour of bed. It was 3am after all and the last school started at 6am!