CARNAVAL - DENTAL FLOSS AND WET SHOES

Having recently tracked me down over a longstanding debt, when a long lost school chum learned I was living way down south, he opined, “When I think of Brazil, I think of scantily clad women in feathers and stuff.”
“So do I”, I quipped back, ducking instinctively. But there’s much more to Carnaval than simply food for socks-and-sandal-wearing northern European men to get overemotional about – it’s not just the best use humankind has yet found for drums, sequins and G-strings (or fio dental – dental floss). Oh no.

Hardly has the smoke cleared from the New Year’s fireworks than the annual saturnalia of flesh, samba and more flesh is upon us, when largely conservative Catholic Brazil lapses collectively into up to a fortnight of hedonistic tumult, making you wonder if there hasn’t been some kind of countrywide mix-up involving mushrooms.

The Rio de Janeiro carnival is, of course, the most famous for its lavishness, followed by poor cousin São Paulo, but other regions of Brazil interpret the festivities in their own unique manner. Salvador, the capital of Bahia, leaves aside floats, samba schools and the perfectly choreographed drumming in favour of a free-for-all that takes over the city’s streets, turning it into the largest street party on the planet, regularly attracting around 2 million participants. Ignoring the official carnival dates of Friday to Tuesday, baianos spend at least a week following the “trio eletricos”, more or less open-top buses on which famous bands and singers perform for the delirious populace in tow.

Show’s cousin went there last year and spent the first few days in a hospitality box, before being persuaded to join the multitude jumping around in the streets below. The first two or three hours of this bouncing along was alright, she reported, but as the day wore on she became increasingly disillusioned by the fact that it was impossible to leave the throng due to the sheer numbers involved – even to find a public convenience. The resulting collective letting go in the middle of the crowd created an acrid stench of human waste products strangely at odds with the sweet, sweet music. Arriving back at the hotel after dark and weeping, she threw away her shoes and elected to stay in the comfort of the air-conditioned hospitality box for the rest of the week.

When I first came to Brazil and saw Carnaval, I must admit I was ignorant of the complexities involved. I didn’t realise, for instance, that the parades went on all night, nor was I aware that each samba school has to tell a story using its various components – the floats, the samba song specially written for the occasion and the various choreographed groups of dancers in costume. The carnavalescos, responsible for designing and building the carros alegóricos (floats) are creative genii - many of the materials used are recycled household waste.

Strict time limits are also in place and there are various pernickety rules - the porta-bandeira, a woman charged with carrying the samba school flag, for example, isn’t allowed to let the flag roll. It is a deadly serious business for those involved, especially when the results are announced a couple of days later, overshadowed by the threat of the weaker performers being relegated to the second division.

Being genetically unused to such practices, coming from a country where popular festivities amount to pancake races, morris dancing and one town where people chase a circular cheese down a hill, I tend to watch the first two or three schools from the comfort of my bed, after which I flake out and usually have some strange, but stimulating, dreams.

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