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.

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!).