City of beaches, bodies and banging drums

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This was published 14 years ago

City of beaches, bodies and banging drums

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From the sexy beaches and clubs to the dangerous slums, Larissa Ham is electrified by the energy of Rio de Janeiro.

It isn't the endless parade of deliciously bronzed, abdominally blessed men, the dancing, the endless cracking music or even sunsets with an icy Caipirinha cocktail in hand and my toes in the sand that gets me.

No, the moment I know Brazil will become a place close to my heart is when, after several hours of rain soaking Ipanema Beach, the sun appears from behind a cloud, and hundreds of people begin clapping.

Nothing is done by half in Rio ... except the size of the bikinis.

Nothing is done by half in Rio ... except the size of the bikinis.Credit: Paul Bernhardt/Lonely Planet

I look around just to check I haven't been mistaken, but apart from the countless Brazilian beefcakes lining the sand, the sun is the only thing meriting this kind of frantic applause.

Smiles abound, and the crowds, who have taken shelter under beach umbrellas, return to the sands to resume the parade of flesh, volleyballing and tanning.

Brazil, and in particular Rio de Janeiro, the host city for the 2016 Olympics, is not a place where things are done by half. Unless, of course, you're talking bikini bottoms, and then it's more like a eighth.

When my plane from Buenos Aires touches down, to hearty applause from those on board, I know I am in for something special. A middle-aged man in a floral shirt, clearly itching to get off the plane, asks me “Is this your first time in Rio?” “It's a very special place,” he says, excitement lighting up his features.

I'm glad of the reassurance. The week before I left to tackle this part of the trip solo, a police helicopter was gunned out of the sky in Rio, buses were set ablaze and at least 17 people killed in fierce drug battles. I was scared, and preparing to fire off a daily text message to my mother back home.

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But now here I am. In Rio. Peering out the window of the bus to my hostel, it's dark, and even though I can't see the beach, I can't help feel a few flickers of anticipation.

Luckily, on the bus I have met a new friend, an Argentinian guy who happens to be staying at the same hostel. What are the chances of that, we ask ourselves, and in the newly found spirit of Rio, celebrate by making an immediate beeline to one of the city's best nightclub areas, Lapa.

I've heard the nightlife in Rio is insane, and the first place we visit, Rio Scenarium, one of the city's most famous clubs, is a pretty solid start – its three floors filled with antiques, awesome music and people dancing with abandon.

Soon, despite my appalling lack of Portugese, we are chatting and dancing with some friendly Brazilians holidaying from Sao Paolo. Business cards are exchanged, and a woman about 10 years older than me tells me I must come and work at the newspaper in her home city. She will of course, put me up. What a legend.

“I love Rio,” I'm pretty sure I keep saying to my new mate. “I just love it.”

Rio, nicknamed “The Marvellous City” has snared many travellers in its gyrating, noisy, sun-drenched web, no doubt largely due to the locals' mostly joyful and uninhibited approach to life.

On a Wednesday night in November, when the average Australian might be curling up in front of the TV, I visit a technical rehearsal at the samba hall of the 2009 Carnival grand champions, Salgueiro. About 1000 or so people, many in curve-hugging white shorts, midriff tops and stilettos, have arrived for a frenetic practice session.

Salgueiro, which became famous in the 1960s for its samba performances, was among the first of the schools to showcase Afro-Brazilian dancing, but is now firmly middle-class and a favourite among celebrities. While most schools are based in the slums, or favelas, Salgueiro's hall is in a safer location close to the city centre.

Running on Brazilian time, tonight things are a little behind schedule, but the delay is a good excuse to try some barbecued meat and salad and local Brahma Chopp beer.

Once inside, it's only minutes until all ages and sizes of people form lines across the entire ground floor of the vast hall, which is decked out in the club's red and white colours.

A Swedish girl and I, looking for the stairs to the second level, find ourselves trapped in a corner of the ground floor, and are quickly ushered up to the grandstands – a safer place to avoid the electric legs and sky-high stilettos.

The drums are so loud you can feel them pounding in your heart. The spectators in the grandstands can't stand still.

Our guide Wilson says the “technical rehearsal is for the community, not for the tourists”.

He points out the “special girls” in white shorts. At the Carnival, he says, “they wear nothing, just their beautiful bodies”.

The 1000 or so people at this rehearsal only make up about a quarter of Salgueiro's Carnival turnout. And in total, 24,000 people will strut their dancing skills, feathers and abs at the samba parade.

I try and imagine this scene multiplied by 24. Probably a bit better than Moomba.

And then before I know it, it's all over – the drums have stopped, the crowd has cleared and we have to search for our mini-bus back.

“Can you please get Hobbit,” the guide Wilson asks, pointing to a Swedish guy, known formerly as Robert. Laughing uproariously, I remember Rs are pronounced as Hs in Brazil, and this young bloke has accidentally taken on the role of a Lord of the Rings character.

'Hey FRODO!' giggles a Swedish girl, her humour enlivened by a few cocktails.

Back at the hostel, when I ask the Brazilian receptionist what Carnival's like, he says many locals don't enjoy the jam-packed streets and the endless parties.

“You've got to be on the right frequency,” he says. And when you're no longer in tune, that's when you escape for the four days.

When it comes to Rio, the frequency is more FM than AM. In fact it's more like loud, slightly tinny tunes out of a ghetto blaster perched atop one of the muscular shoulders strolling Ipanema Beach on a Sunday morning.

Music and passion are certainly always the fashion in Rio. Especially at Copacabana Beach, where on a Sunday afternoon, I get another taste of what Carnival must be like when I, and an estimated one million others, turn out to watch a gay parade.

In the first five minutes I see a Michael Jackson look-alike, at least five transvestites and some rather intimate kissing about 20 centimetres away from me. There are also tequila shots being sold at every turn, condoms worn as earrings and not too many body parts left unwaxed.

An enormous woman in a green floral dress flashes her top-heavy assets, and a leering grin each time a float travels past. Like a car crash, I can't stop looking; then it dawns on me, she is really a he!

The florally adorned chap sparks the first fight of the parade when he pinches the bottom of a passing gent and receives several swift kicks and a death stare that would melt metal.

It's the second fight I've been within metres of that day, after a drug-crazed man stormed into a cafe at lunch and began kicking a woman in the stomach repeatedly.

It reminds me that Rio is not all sun and surf, there's also the ever-present worry of being robbed, and that very alarming statistic of 6000 murders last year.

To find out more I sign up to a favela tour. Around 20 per cent of Rio's six million strong population live in the shantytowns, apparently home to much of the violence.

The favelas often appear as normal, if not perhaps slightly poorer communities, and many of Brazil's best dancers and most famous soccer players, including Ronaldo, grew up in these towns.

Our guide says murders are high, but robberies are zero. If you steal something, you pay with your life. That's the best way to keep police away in towns that often operate on a mostly cash-driven economy. Many of those economies are propped up by the distribution of drugs, mostly cocaine, to overseas countries.

Ironically, while the favelas are the poorest places to live, they often come with the best views. The first town we visit has three postcards in one single view, with Sugarloaf Mountain, Christ the Redeemer and the city's lagoon in clear sight.

Others are smack-bang opposite the richest areas in town. Our guide tells us in one street, one side has been likened to the living standards of Canada, while the other, a favela, ranks equal to Ghana.

Many of the residents have invaded the areas they now live in, and while our guide says everyone has electricity, 80 per cent don't pay for it, instead stealing from the mains.

Strangely the favela we visit is just a scenic 15-minute bus ride back to Ipanema Beach, where the beaches continue to pulsate, and instead of drug lords, an endless parade of almost-bare bums continue to rule the sand.

When I finally drag myself out of Rio and on to a plane to Argentina, I know I have learnt a thing or two about living, and found a place where I can tap into some free electricity of my own.

favelatour.com.au

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