baile funk

My first few weeks in Rio, people talked about going to these things called a "baile funk" that take place in various favelas. I'd vaguely remembered a scene in Cidade de Deus (City of God) that took place at some giant party with walls lined with speakers. I also remembered that one of the characters got shot at one. So, naturally, with my pidgin Portuguese skills and still rocking my American pale-ness, I was like...maybe next time. For a number of weeks.

Upon returning from my mini-vacation to Buenos Aires (who takes a vacation from a vacation?), now I forget how, but I was totally peer pressured into attending one of these baile funks. And now I'm hooked. It's hard to paint a picture but I'll try. First of all, let me just complain say that Brazilians do not dance with each other. Now after the enlightening "girly pizza party," I understand that it's because dancing = I will have sex with you, so it's a little more understandable. But it's frustrating! Because we gringas look like prostitutes when we dance compared to Brazilians. So you can imagine my joy when I found the one place where I looked downright prim and proper compared to how the women at the baile's were acting/dancing.

They're held in one of the larger favelas of Rio, Rocinha, every Sunday night. Lucky for me, my school is a joke and I only have class Tuesday/Thursday, which leaves Monday wide open for recovery. The bailes are held in a parking garage (I think?) that is emptied out and they play bumpin music. Off on the side there's a bar selling ridiculously cheap beer/caipirinhas (and when I say "ridiculously cheap," I really mean fairly priced. As opposed to everything else in Rio) and then a huge mob of sweaty people dancing to funk. This is not the kind of funk you're thinking of.
Here's my favorite "funk" song

Then, around 3 or so, is when you head to the after party. Well, technically first on our agenda is always stopping for chicken nuggets. At 4 for 1 real (about 67 cents), they're pretty epic at 3 in the morning when you need to refuel. The after party is outdoors, and is just a continuation of some funkyyy music. There's a wall of speakers and (don't read any further momma!) usually a fleet of guards walking around with AKs..."protecting" us. We're usually home by around 6, and I inevitably wake up around noon and look in horror at my mud-splattered feet and legs. And then promptly head down the street for a fresh agua de coco (coconut water, nature's hangover cure. Seriously, try it).

Sometimes, life doesn't feel real here.

"You have the right to say no. But up to a determined point only."

A few weeks ago, all of the "intercambistas" studying at PUC received an email stating that there would be a mandatory "girly pizza party" for all of us...girlies.

At first I was like, mandatory meeting? Pass. And then I realized that I've never been one to turn down free pizza, so we all missed class to see what this was all about.
Turns out, essentially the entire premise of the pizza "party" was to let us know that in Brazil, no does not mean no. In fact, apparently by: kissing boys, dancing with boys, dancing with girls and talking to boys, you are informing them that you'd like to have sex with them. Seriously.

The kicker was finding out that once you're in bed with someone, if they want to have sex with you...they're having sex with you. In the US we're like...hey that's rape. But here they're like...hey you seemed down. That being said, violent crimes are apparently treated very seriously, and our coordinator assured us that any man put in jail who is convicted of rape is pretty much a goner. Immediately.

After the meeting, we wolfed down ate our free pizza, and discussed the fact that we would never again dance with Brazilians. Or each other, apparently.
It's times like that when you're like...being American is pretty great.

carnaval

Brazilians partying are interesting. For two and a half months, I'd never seen one wasted, never seen a girl sloppily dancing at a club (like we Americans are so thoroughly inclined to do), and never seen some dude hanging on his friends to keep from face planting on the ground.
Until carnaval.

First of all let me give a little breakdown on what carnaval consists of in Rio de Janeiro (things vary city by city). For the month or so prior to carnaval, the city holds what are called "blocos." These blocos are essentially massive street parties (Brazilians love their street parties), where huge bus/floats drive through a designated area playing samba songs. Samba songs that every single person has dedicated to memory. Except us foreigners, of course. Seeing as how Brazil understands the merits of no open container laws, there are hoards of guys hawking cheap, watery beer (although they make sure it's "bem gelada" - real, real cold) and smirnoff ices (now an unironic favorite of mine). During the actual days of carnaval, at any given time - starting at seven in the morning- there are a myriad of blocos going on throughout the city for you to choose from.

My personal favorites included:
One morning, me and my roommate (I say roommate, but really we're bedmates. Sup Mitzi!) randomly both woke up at 6:30 after having gone to bed maybe two hours prior. We decided to get our day started and headed to a bloco we had heard about that morning that started at seven. Turns out it's one of the largest of carnaval, with over a million attendees reported. It was amazing, but we learned quickly that unless you're interested in being kiss raped and having your hair pulled by strangers, it's generally a better idea to have a few guys with you at any point during carnaval.
Another favorite bloco was one that took place about...2 blocks from my house. It's famous for it's trannys and outrageous costumes - check out the pics.

Not kidding about the Smirnoffs. L to R: me (obvio), Lindsey (roommate), Jenna and Karen (best friends from Pi Phi, studying abroad in Argentina. Lucky enough to have them visit me for carnaval)

Brazilians were also REALLY into these janky free fedoras from beer companies. And afro wigs.

Slightly alarming tranny.

general debauchery

This picture doesn't do it justice, but a few days after carnaval I realized that those are not balloons, as you might imagine, but rather bottle caps.

Seriously, go to carnaval.

Also not kidding about the men in drag.

Some things I learned from carnaval in Rio:
- Smirnoff Ice is delicious. Yeah it will absolutely lead to my inevitable abroad weight gain (I've given up all hope of being that one girl who doesn't come back significantly chunkier than when she left), but they're also delicious. And let's be honest - get you drunk a lot quicker than watery beer.
- Don't make eye contact with men. During carnaval that is an open invitation to be kiss raped. Which does not get any less shocking as the days wear on.
- For that matter - don't make eye contact with women. Being kiss raped by a woman is even more startling.
- Brazilian men are really down to dress like women. Like...really down.
- There is nothing quite as repulsive as honey flavored cachaca-in-a-rope.
- If you wear havaianas for a week straight and party perpetually on the streets...your feet will never be the same (I'm still laboring away at scrubbing the black off of my toes. Overshare?)
- It's unlike anything you will ever experience in your life. Seriously, if you ever have the chance to make it to Brazil for carnaval, you will have an outrageously good time. Promise.