Nights Out And Caipirinhas

Rio de Janeiro is famed as being one of the world’s party capitals. This is no lie. Party-happy Brazilians occupy the city’s bars every night of the week, spilling out onto the streets. Meanwhile, millions of tourists come every year to wreak havoc in clubs, beaches and pretty much anywhere else they can find. It is a city that attracts people with its splendours: year-round sun, beaches and a phenomenal variety of fruit that almost rivals its cultural diversity. As a result, it is certainly a happening place and this translates to a lively nightlife scene.

The first thing to mention is the caipirinha, Brazil’s favourite cocktail, made from cachaça (a sugarcane based spirit), ice, lots of crushed lime and alarming amounts of sugar. My first few weeks here were spent revelling in the brilliance of this drink. Refreshingly zingy, the strength of the pure alcohol masked by a sweet, citrus layer, it is a drink that will bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses of the recipient. In other words, it will get you drunk quicker than you realise, such that you’ll have already bought your fourth one before it’s too late. However, about a month into this cachaça-fuelled existence, its supposed wonder had faded and the caipirinha became nothing more to me than a sticky, sickly addition to the hangover. From time to time, I still indulge.

a typical lapa street stall

Indeed, when consumed sparingly, the caipirinha is superb. On the beach it serves as an antidote to the heat and your dehydration, while on the streets of Lapa, Rio’s weekend haven of crowds and dangerously cheap beverages, it will give you enough confidence to try that samba move, or approach that stunning girl. Lapa is synonymous with partying. A large square under an imposing aqueduct becomes home to street stalls, selling caipirinhas of every flavour imaginable and some marvellous food. The local haunt is one stall that sells a litre of caipirinha for a mere 6 reais (about £1.50). Having overdosed on the original lime variant during carnaval, I have since moved onto several other flavours, settling on mango or strawberry as a favourite, only after a harrowing encounter with a passion fruit.

Aside from cheap drinks and sumptuous snacks, Lapa houses street performers, jazz bars and clubs, with music ranging from samba and Brazilian funk to the painful depths of remixed Pitbull. On the weekend these places will be heaving with punters and there’s rarely a dull moment, not least because of a peculiar approach to paying. In almost every drink-serving establishment, you will be given a card, which will list everything you have consumed. This card will be paper or electronic, depending, I suppose, upon the sophistication of the establishment. You may not leave until the debt has been paid. The electronic cards are particularly dangerous because there is no way of knowing how many drinks you have ordered until you hand it over to the cashier upon leaving; it is, undoubtedly, one of life’s tensest moments. I did once see a rather unfortunate, and let’s face it, simple girl, who found herself without enough money to pay for the countless drinks she had happily imbibed, believing everything to be free. Well, she might have said ‘countless’, but the card knew. It always knows.

lapa's arches by day

Despite the abundance of venues, finding the perfect place to while away the evening has proved to be somewhat challenging. I have found myself at a ‘gringo’ party far too often for my liking, where the people and music are very similar to what I might find at home. My pursuit of a more authentic Brazilian night has been to ask locals (who have been surprisingly unhelpful) and just wing it (which rarely produces successful results). Of course, I have been to my fair share of Brazilian-themed affairs, particularly during carnaval, but also on the odd night where you come up trumps and find yourself dancing to an unknown music style, surrounded by exuberant cariocas. The most spectacular night was arguably spent in Vidigal, a favela that overlooks Ipanema beach and the Lagoa. Ironically, the main demographic present was of a similarly ‘gringo’ persuasion. What a pity.

this happens in lapa 

But, of course, the sheer brilliance of Rio’s nightlife lies in its unpredictability. No evening is the same. Sometimes it doesn’t work out, but on the flip side, sometimes it can be incredible. And it embodies the Brazilian attitude of taking it easy and just seeing what happens. My initial incredulity at the inefficiency of many things here was not an opinion shared by many, and certainly by very few Brazilians. But gradually, I have become accustomed to the fact that although some things may seem ridiculous, it really has little bearing on my life. And let’s face it, if you can’t have a good time here, then where can you? 

Job's Your Uncle

Since my arrival in Brazil, I have been trying to get various things done. After finding an apartment, buying a Brazilian phone and making several (necessary) trips to the beach, I thought I had better try and find a job. This is certainly easier said than done. I had been emailing, tweeting and irritating Brazilian companies for over a year before my arrival, with very little success. The rare replies would be ones explaining that they have no need for an unqualified English person who doesn’t speak Portuguese that well. Fair enough.

However, after persistent emails to one unfortunate man, I have now landed myself a job (I believe). Following on from a successful interview, I spent most of the weekend in the office. The job is rather perfect. It is with a sports newspaper, which reports almost entirely on football, seeing as that’s the only sport the public are interested in. There is a saying here: "Volleyball is the most popular sport in Brazil. Football is a religion." ‘Working’ is not so bad when you’re surrounded by televisions showing every game you can imagine and your job is to write down what is happening, especially as my first assignment was to give a report on Stoke’s marvellous victory over Arsenal. But the best part about the job? It’s all in Portuguese: the writing, the interviews, the office banter. So it ticks all the boxes: prevents boredom on my part, satisfies my University’s demands, whilst not impinging too heavily on my carioca lifestyle. Cracking.

Carnaval parade outside my window.

The one problem is that the Carnaval festivities have kicked off. I won’t be working this week, but did find myself in a couple of awkward situations over the weekend. I was casually getting the metro home, only to find the station absolutely rammed with people, all in fancy dress. Tarzans and Playboy bunnies surged past me, all scantily clad and in exceptionally high spirits. I felt rather out of place in a shirt and chinos, but joined the throngs heading for the exit. Above ground, I realised that there was a rather large street party going on and a parade that would end up going right past my flat. The pushing and shoving wasn’t over for me, so I threw caution to the winds, took my shirt of too and got stuck in. I wasn’t going to be left out.

The street parties are rather mental. During Carnaval, they kick off as early as 8am, meaning that you could quite easily dance, drink and divulge in whatever you fancy from dawn until dusk, as well as during the night when the mayhem continues. Thousands of people converge in fancy dress and just have a good time. It is a fantastic idea and one that I am looking forward to immensely, if also slightly apprehensively. My main concern is not the lack of sleep or the large consumption of alcohol; it is, as you should probably have guessed, that enormous, burning ball of gas that preys on fair maidens like me. No matter what anyone says, it is impossible to apply sun cream during a Rio Carnaval parade without the use of magic.

'More love please' - Santa Teresa

Before the Carnaval atmosphere became too intoxicating, however, I did embark on another touristic adventure. The highlight of Rio de Janeiro’s week has undoubtedly been the arrival of Surrey’s very own, Harry van Manen. Most of you will not have had the pleasure of meeting the man so I shall try to explain him. His phenomenal exuberance is such that a Brazilian man, dressed entirely in the feathers of several exotic birds and dancing samba that you can only dream of, would not succeed in stealing the limelight. Rio and Harry are a perfect match.

Anyway, we had a lovely walk through the arty, fashionable district of Santa Teresa. As you can imagine, I felt right at home… We chose to go at midday, which probably wasn’t the best idea as Santa Teresa is up a painfully steep hill. Having sought refreshments, however, we could sit back and take in the stunning views. I suppose that’s the benefit of building a city in between a load of hills and mountains: there are great to views to be had all over the place.  

Me with a view

But for now, Carnaval awaits. There is chanting outside my window, to which I must attend. Hopefully I will survive.

A Gringo's Life

In Brazil, I stick out like a sore thumb. I don’t mean literally, although after a fierce haircut and a few minutes on the beach without sun cream, you would be hard pushed to find a human more befitting that description. The problem is that everything from my appearance down to my language is an immediate giveaway that I am, as the locals say, a gringo. And so, naturally, I have set myself a challenge: to become as Brazilian as possible.

1. Appearance

Getting tanned is the first, compulsory step. My white, burnt skin is a shining beacon from afar that tells people I do not come from these parts. The obvious solution to this problem is to spend some quality time on the beach in the next six months, something that I am perfectly happy to do. Rather more problematic are my clothes. My attempts at being fashionable saw me buy a couple of pairs of shorts, which come to just above the knee. Apparently, this is gringo giveaway number two. The longer short is more fashionable among cariocas. I may have to grin and bear the extra heat of more fabric if I am to succeed in my bid to fit in.

2. Beach Behaviour

Beach behaviour is a crucial part of one’s quest to lose the gringo tag. Locals laugh at those foreigners who ‘bring their house to the beach’. That is to say, they come equipped with enough equipment and supplies to last them a good few days and spend about half an hour spreading their belongings out on the sand. Fortunately, I have devised a strategy to get around the typical gringo problems. Firstly, apply the strong base layer of sun cream at home, so as to avoid embarrassing yourself later. Secondly, take as little as possible with you to the beach. Thirdly, buy a beer and blend in. Part of that blending in applies to your beachwear. Perhaps in protest against a ban on topless sunbathing in Brazil, the women seem to wear as little fabric as is possible. The popular thong bikini really does leave very little to the imagination. But if it’s sheer bravado you’re looking for, my award goes to Brazil’s men. These exemplars of masculinity parade up and down the beach in remarkably tight-fitting numbers, which offer far more than a suggestion of what’s going on underneath. I’m sorry to be so graphic, but this is simply how it is. You may now understand my predicament: to become a carioca, I must embrace the speedo. I, too, must arrogantly prowl the shores of the Atlantic, exposing my upper thighs to the power of the sun for the first time in over 21 years.

The Sunset from Arpoador Roack (3 mins from my flat)

3. Language

English is another killer. It is the global language, particularly the tourist’s language and most locals know enough to recognise it. It would be naïve of me to expect my Portuguese to become flawless, but I shall do my best to fool people. What I have done to avoid speaking English is to pretend I am Russian, which is always good fun. I pretend not to understand, forcing people to speak in Portuguese. Fortunately, as other language students will confirm, the expression of a lack of comprehension is one with which we are all painfully familiar.

This list barely scratches the surface. Of course, I must get to know Rio like the back of my hand and not be so in awe of what it has to offer. Yesterday’s hard lesson of finding myself in the middle of a street party with a rented, bright-orange bicycle, struggling to wend my way through the crowds is a demonstration of my current shortcomings. There are no prizes for coming second. You can’t be nearly carioca. You’re either gringo or you’re not, and I’ve got an awfully long way to go…

Ipanema Beach at Sunset (2 mins from my flat)