Carnaval in September

Intuition is everything

This never rang more true than it did last Saturday. I knew that, regardless of my decision, I was bound to have an enjoyable, and even memorable, Saturday night. Everything was in place. There’s nothing better than having the freedom to choose.

One of my Brazilian friends, Eduardo, whose of mixed Pernambucano (a state in Northeastern Brazil) and Argentine descent, and PROUD of it, invited me to visit his house in a city that few foreigners hear of until they actually reach Rio de Janeiro. But there’s no surprise there, it’s hard to live in the shadow or rather, across Guanabara Bay, from a place that boasts the name of Cidade Maravilhosa. Nevertheless, Nitéroi, has a very nice aura of its own. Though very similar to Rio in many ways, even down to the calçadão (stone pavement) and to the accent, it is much more calm.

In any case, it was the second time that he had invited me. The first time I had flaked out because it was getting late (at around 3pm at the time, it was already starting to get dark because it IS winter here at this time of the year) and I had wanted to actually SEE the city for what it was. Now it starts to get dark around 5pm, so by the time that I arrived (after a 45 min. van ride which was very reminiscent of the tranquil bus rides that I take to Niagara Falls when I’m back home in Buffalo), we had about two hours of daylight to walk around, visit his family’s store, and play some very disorganized tennis with one ball, without shoes, and very little control. Shortly after, some other friends from PUC arrived and, after visiting the family store once more (a very clever maneuver on Eduardo’s part because inviting friends to Nitéroi means free business), we commenced to buy refreshments for a party in Eduardo’s second residence, which was a short distance away. The party was sure to be a blast, and I already was having a great time, but the prospect of another Saturday night excursion weighed heavy on my mind.

This is why: last Tuesday I began a class in my gym called SambaFit. Now, I will not hesitate to say that I prefer forró (remember: the “jittery” dance) over samba (the most famous of all Brazilian national dances), but since the class, I have been gaining a greater appreciation for it. Without a doubt, I am the youngest and the suckiest of the group of about seven individuals (ranging from…let’s say the mid-twenties to the mid-seventies), and the only American (there is a nice, elderly Englishman though whose a permanent resident of Brazil with whom I have fun exchanges when we/I flub up a move), but the atmosphere is so warm and inviting that I can’t help but to look past the awkwardness of the situation. After the first class, the instructor, Carla, told me “Vem cá, Thiago, você é da nossa galera agora! (Hey, Thiago (this is one of my Brazilian aliases, because “Deion” just doesn’t work out here in Rio), you’re a part of our group now!). She then proceeded to invite me and my friends to a public samba school near Copacabana. It was one of those invitations that…seemed so authentic and so promising that I just HAD to go.

And with good reason. Once, I bid my friends farewell in Nitéroi, I hopped on a van back to Rio and met up with Carla and my friends before heading up to the samba school. Upon reaching the school, I realized that we all just weren’t going to be learning how to samba with people that had been samba-ing for most of their lives, but that we would also be watching a run-through of that sambas school’s Carnaval performance for next February! What I expected even less was that I would be pulled from my table and asked to be a part of it.

My friends cheered me on as I was hoisted backstage by the show coordinators and put into my costume. It was pure madness, bordering on utter chaos back there. It was like…how I imagined the backstage of a major fashion show to be: people changing, others applying makeup, screaming, tantrums, the works. You can imagine my anxiety, not knowing how to properly samba at all, but that didn’t matter at all: more people would be looking at my horse instead of at my feet anyways. “Ô! Não o deixa assim sem graça, não (Hey! Don’t let the horse droop like that!)” I was told. Although we were more or less random participants pulled from the crowd, this was to be taken VERY seriously.

The sensation that I felt during my five minutes of spotlight was very much like how I feel when I dancing in one of the many cultural performances I like to take part in back in Georgetown, yet incredibly different at the same time. It was one of those moments that you remember for the rest of your life. I know that I made the right decision. Maybe I missed a great party in Nitéroi, but, realistically, that was probably the closest to being a participant in Carnaval that I will ever get.

Well done, intuition. Well done.