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!

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!).