To read about Day 1 + 2, click here
Day 3:
I woke up to the sweet sound of the comings and goings of hostel people looking to get their costumes, glitter and shit together for the day. And also pouring rain.
After a full and hearty breakfast, a leaky shower and a full appraisal of my dismal wardrobe I found myself quite stumped on what to do. I could go to the beach for a swim…but it was raining.
I could try to walk around and explore the city…but the rain.
I chatted to a guy or two on Grind- but damn this rain!
I’m not proud of this, but I did have a little mini freak out at this point; I planned to explore this continent for a whole month and now it seemed I was rained in. What was I going to tell people back home when all my pics had watermarks of the non-copyright king? When my descriptions of my adventures all included “waterlogged”, “nearly-drowned” and “moist”? Oh god. I had been travelling as a professional flight attendant for the past two and a half years but I was somehow fucking this up royally.
Sometime during this episode of hyperventilation and talking myself down from a ledge (which lasted give or take an hour) I realised the sun was breaking through the clouds, my friend in China had messaged me that he had a friend also in Rio named Alana and was arranging us to meet up, and one of my Grindr chats had sent me an excel spreadsheet on when and where all the Bloco parties were happening in the city.
So I wiped my tears, put on my big girl panties and planned out my day, feeling humbled and more than a little foolish. I decided to glitter it up and head out to see my first Bloco party ever.
Blocos’ are street parties that range from well planned in advance to sporadic events because someone played some music near a bunch of alcohol and food vendors. A lot can be found via social media, mostly Facebook, but a few are only known through word of mouth. It’s all very exciting and quite confusing.
I was lucky I had my spreadsheet – it might have ruined some of the magic in finding these parties but I was not settled enough in this city yet to navigate my way through popularity alone.
Another fun aspect to Blocos is that there was only ever a vague description of where to find them, never quite a concrete location. And all the clues were in Portuguese, which I had considered myself quite fluent in. And yet people seemed quite confused (dialect difference?) and my queries of “¿Churro?” went ignored. So I just followed the crowd of unicorns, Mickey Mouse’s, and Marios as they all seemed to be going in the same direction.
My first impression of a Bloco is a wall of sound which consists of loud Portugues chatter, music coming from three different loudspeakers and raucous laughter. It’s a joyous event where everyone is drinking, playing dress-up and dancing. Imagine a rich child’s 6th birthday party but all the adults said: “Fuckit, this is our day.”
After finding myself part of an impromptu conga line, a conversation containing mixtures of simplified English, Portugues and yelling, alongside several colourful drinks I couldn’t pronounce even when sober I realised I needed to get going to meet up with my soon to be new friend Alana. Any other time I might have been embarrassed to use the metro shirtless, covered in glitter and with flowers adorning my hair, but I was one of the most conservatively dressed onboard. During my ride, I was on my phone to post a story or two on Instagram – what’s the point in travelling if no one else can see right? – when I noticed one or two similar stories were appearing on a friend from back home stories – darling Sara. And she was with some company I recognised as well – Cat, Flo and Joshy.
I realised at this point that my “solo trip through South America” was turning out to be anything but.
I popped her a quick messy message before I arrived at Ipanema beach where I met with the lovely Alana along with her friend Simone. After an introductory beer or three, we decided to head to another Bloco happening on the beachside relatively near us. This time I was less preoccupied with the party noises themselves and more with the group of young Gods who had decided to descend down to Rio wearing nothing but smiles and speedos and gracing the mortals with their divine game of beach volleyball. Simone happened to be a pro back in her home country of Germany and I was fast becoming a budding enthusiast. After the game was done and they had to leave to go back to what I can only assume was Olympus, we carried on walking to explore more of the local cuisine and colourful cocktails.
During a bathroom stop break, while the girls were attending to their business, I found myself approached by a small group of party revellers. A man and woman stepped forward and told me that they were participating in a fun game and did I want to play? Apprehensive but curious I decided to take the red pill. The women stepped forward and after giving me an up-down-side-to-side-look, told me in a bold tone, “You straight; you kiss me now, you gay; you kiss him” and she jerked her head towards the slight, pretty man on her right.
Anyway, that’s the story of my magical first kiss in Brazil.
With the taste of Brazil in my mouth and the girls back from the powder room we went on our way to find a decent dinner by the beach. As we sat down I saw I had a message from Sara, mostly consisting of exclamation marks and some drunk spelling. I was instructed to chat to Flo to coordinate meeting up that night in the clubs as she was drunk and leaving her phone behind for its own safety.
After a few more drinks and chats, Alana and Simone headed off to have a nap, encouraging me to keep them in contact with my whereabouts so we could all meet up again out (spoiler alert; that didn’t happen, nap traps are real).
I headed back to my hostel and on the way was informed by Flo on the location of the gay club we would be partaking in that night. At receiving this news, I realised my outfit of shorts and flower crowns was far too conservative and needed amending. Some extra glitter, guyliner and shiny tights later I felt far more comfortable.
The name of the club we went to escapes me. All I remember was that it was dark, it was shirtless, it was pulsating, and my outfit managed to fit right in.
In the midst of the bumping and grinding, I found the group that would be a delightful constant in my life over the coming week; lithe Cat and her creative mind sheltered by her long curly locks and even longer legs, the enigmatic Joshy with his quirked smirk and large dark eyes reflecting all light and inquisitiveness back at everything happening around him, towering Flo with the big muscles, bright clothes and brighter smile, and the jubilant Sara, who aura of happiness is only outshone by her glowing blue eyes – a human version of Ecstasy.
To my surprise and delight, I was finding myself on the cusp of a moment of self-discovery for Sara as she was bedazzling the dance floor in a jacket reminiscent of a bird of paradise and with her tits out getting their fresh air and dance moves in. We had a lovely chat about her right to comfort and her ability to enjoy herself without strapping the girls in.
“Everyone else here is shirtless, why can’t I be?” and why couldn’t she indeed. Her areolas would become a constant feature for the next few days and the more power to her for it!
The night blurs into a concoction of freestyle dancing, locking eyes with various others from across the room while enjoying cigarette-and-beer flavoured catch-up conversations that went on into the night and early morning.
Eventually, Joshy felt it was time to head to the most popular gay club in town, called “The Week” which was infamous for its Muscle Marys’ and unhindered attitudes. The remaining three decided to call it a night and I decided that, while I had loved their company, I hadn’t let loose in while and wasn’t able to in their presence.
As we said our goodbyes and promises to make plans together for the morrow, my eyes turned back to the dance floor with a slightly more predatory arch than before. There are few situations that are as unfettered as being in a country where no one knows your name or where you come from or where you will be going. While in a room full of gleaming eyes.
After two hours I decided to call it a night after an American in a tight red speedo gave me a more-sweaty-than-I-was-comfortable-with hug, and looked deep into my eyes and said, “Lets go make love in my hotel room”.
No.
Next Scene: me running outside and ordering an Uber.
While waiting I looked up and saw a pair of large black eyes watching me from under heavy brows and above thick curved lips. After a quick suck on his bottom lip we exchanged names. He asked where I was going and I told him my destination in the Copacabana main road area. He said his uber was going past that way and he could drop me off.
I know this sounds like the start of every Taken story ever, but I was emboldened by drink, my extra weight and height over him and the fact that I saw Red Speedo walking out of the club and my Uber was still seven minutes away. So I hopped inside.
We ended up having a lovely chat on the car ride towards where I stayed. He was local, and graciously would have offered me a place to stay but he had plenty of friends visiting so it offered little privacy, unfortunately. I decided not to tell him I had my own bed I was looking forward to and had already turned down a hotel room tonight, so his chances were never high.
His reservations about privacy seemed to fly out the window though when he casually made a makeshift barrier with his shirt so the driver couldn’t see and whipped out his erection. Normally this would be the part in the story where the protagonist gasps, rolls out the still-moving car into a well placed soft bush and gets up running with their hands waving in the air, proclaiming loudly that men are pigs.
But I was in a salacious mood, and so continuing our conversation in order to not alert the uber we played an unconventional game of paddy whack. After about ten minutes of this, the uber driver suddenly pulled over and I realised I was about to get kicked out and instantly regretted my brazenness.
Instead, he got out the car and went to have a chat with the policemen who had motioned him to pull over. My comrade listened to their conversation with a furrowed brow for a bit before telling me “The uber driver doesn’t have proper number plates and he’s getting told off by the policeman.”
And then (brow still furrowed) fully whipped it out again.
By the time the uber driver had returned to his car – chastised, holding a ticket – and drove me to my hostel, I had received my second proper Brazilain taste.
All in all, quite a day of flavours.
Day 4:
The sound of various people getting up and moving about and talking loudly is an alarm clock I can now look back on fondly, but one my hangover failed to appreciate.
Breakfast mostly consisted of black coffee and boiled eggs, the champs breakfast. As I chow down I see I have a message from Sara explaining they’ll be heading to an LGBT Bloco at Flamengo beach at noon. Now that I’m alive and the prospect of glitter and good looking men is on the horizon I can get myself changed, get my rainbow-poop emoticon backpack on and start the day’s journey.
It’s a beautiful sunny day full of optimism, and especially so in contrast to how yesterday started with rain and gloomy thoughts. Within minutes of arriving to the Bloco Toco Xona, I managed to find the gang (minus Joshy who apparently had a more wild night than the rest of us combined) due to them being the whitest people there and similarly also the most glitter covered. I thought I had done an adequate job on decorating myself, but Sara took one look before whipping out her bag of goodies (not her tits this time, but the day was still a fetus at this stage) and made sure my sexuality could be seen from the Christ The Redeemer statue.
We strolled around trying the various beers and food stalls as we were regaled by a melody of local pop and world classics. I noticed far more lesbians in attendance than I had ever recalled at previous gay parties and mentioned this to Cat and Sara. They told me it was an LGBT Bloco but was known specifically as a more Lesbian-leaning one. I nodded my head sagely and replied how it made sense due to the name.
They looked at me in confusion.
“Isn’t Toco Xona something about Tacos? As in it alludes to vaginas?”
The resounding groans and rolled eyes really set the tone for the rest of the trip.
As Flo and I would come to discover though, Lesbians may rule this party but the gay men will always attempt a bitchy takeover.
After around an hour or so of frothy beers and flowing chats, Cat left on her own adventure, which was food-related if I remember correctly. Sara managed to find a group she met her first night which happened when “the others abandoned me to my fate, so I found other gays.”
These bespeckled men embodied the very essence of tales of the Fey; bright shiny eyes, capricious smiles and pink glitter covering every pore and every line of their barely clad bodies. They were friendly, easy-going and introduced themselves as Manu and Ally. We were led by our elfin escorts to a group of revellers in the throes of intoxication and very likely a few choice stimulants. And the reception we received was over-and-above the friendly kind.
I am no stranger to the friendly openness of gay men, especially if last night was any indication. But never in my life have I been a part of a whirling vortex of male bodies like the Blocos of Rio.
Flo and I were assaulted from all sides by what was a never-ending tide of naked torsos, bulging biceps and hungry lips. I couldn’t tell you what the weather was like for a good half an hour. I had a moment of clarity and looked for Sara as surely she was bored out of her mind at this spectacle (I had no such worries about Flo) until I surfaced for air and found she was sampling some of the local populace as well, their homosexuality be damned.
After diving back in, only taking breaks to hydrate with another round of beer, I was pulled up from beneath the surface fifteen minutes (or years?) later by Flo who insisted on going for a swim at the nearby beach. Dehydrated and gasping I agreed. Our journey there was eventless, apart from being accosted by a large group of larger men in Tutus and little else, who taught me that you can be groped by multiple persons at once, and not even the one you’re currently locking lips with.
The beach of Flamengo is not one of Rio’s cleanest of beaches, but it was a body of water and it would suffice. Also apparently Rihanna swam there once so it had to have some merit? While Flo and I cooled our bodies and libidos in the tranquil waters we spotted a man with a physique that would leave Poseidon himself putting on a t-shirt at the pool in shame. Unfortunately, he spotted us ogling him in the water and brought his friend over to exchange pleasantries and more saliva.
I promise I’ll stop with the kissing descriptions now, I’ve also had enough just writing it.
At this time I noticed that storm clouds were gathering and the evening was coming along, so between Flo and I, we managed to locate the wayward Sara and exchange goodbyes and plans to meet up later for perhaps another Bloco that night – ideally a straight one this time.
As I left, calling up an Uber on my phone, I noticed to my horror I had 2% life left. Where had the time and battery gone? As I waited among the drove of party-goers similarly waiting for their rides, I was approached by a woman with two male consorts. She had fair skin along with eyes the colour of the deep blue while they both carried Brazilian features of olive skin and shining brown eyes.
After we were all done lip embracing I realised that little soiree had cost me my battery life and my uber ride. But I couldn’t bring myself to be mad at them.
I hustled over to where I left Flo and Sara and requested to travel with them back to their place where I could charge my phone and get back to my place since I still didn’t have the city layout memorized and I was worried about taking the metro alone and walking around would result in me being horribly lost in a soon-to-be torrent drenched city.
After a short laugh at my misfortune, we all linked arms and skipped along the rainbow brick road to find our way to the Metro. The problem it seemed though, was that every single man, woman, child and their dog was attempting to do the same in preparation for the incoming storm clouds.
I think at first we three were planning to attempt to fight the storm. I think we honestly had it in our heads that we would make it to the metro safe and dry and there would be hot chocolate at their apartment waiting for us and we would laugh at how we were almost in the clutches of an unforgiving squall.
This hopeful trio did not have that experience.
The rain came down harder than a step-parents open palm. It barrelled down on us faster than a soccer mom with sub-par service. It soaked through our clothes like hydraulic acid on…well, clothes.
We found ourselves actually gasping for breath between keeping hold of each other and trying to navigate our way through the surging crowd of humanity and steadily growing water levels.
It. stands to be one of my most fun memories of that trip.
We were a trio of tricksters laughing at the open sky, egging it on to give us more. I felt the press of the other storm chasers soaked flesh all around me and Sara’s warm hand in mind. I couldn’t tell where any single part of us started and the rest of the horde ended. It was a maelstrom of chilled water and flushed bodies as we were pulled along with the crowd to-and-fro. We were forced to break free a few times so Flo could navigate the way for us, through the use of landmarks and the only usable phone among us.
Eventually, as a giggling mess, we decided to find shelter under a nearby hotels canopy and crowd-watched as the city fought itself to get anywhere. Overcome by giddy laughter, we passed the time with acapella and admiring in awe of the power of Brazil’s stormic abilities. It was an odd mood we were wrapped up in.
After a short time, the mob and monsoon waned in power and we traversed our way to a nearby station, which happened to be KFC adjacent. Unanimous in our hunger we decided to seek dry shelter and enjoy an adequate meal of deep-fried chicken, spongy fries and iced coca-cola.
Sated, we journeyed down into the depths of the metro train ad boarded the nearest carriage. As we swayed along with the trains migration, Flo turned to me and Sara with a gleam in his eye and told us, “Quick, run to the next carriage!” as we pulled to the first station, and took off before we realised what was happening. We leapt out after him and would honestly not have made it onto the forward one in time to make the closing doors if Flo hadn’t used his back and arms to hold the door open just enough for us to slip through (I should rename him to Hodor).
And so began a silly game of leap carriage. Every time we came to a stop we would run as fast as we could to the carriage in front. For no other reason than the merriment we derived from piquing our inner child.
Until we came to our final stop, and Flo sheepishly admitted he had actually been trying to find the carriage that held the group of gorgeous lads who he had spotted a couple of ones ahead of us when we first got on the train. So it seems we hadn’t won the game after all, but this aspect didn’t seem too important to our laugh convulsed stomachs.
We finally made our way to their apartment where we found a bemused Josh and Cat eyeing our wet clothes and flushed faces, who were then forced to listen to our recount of dancing about in the rain and looking unconvinced on its level of enjoyment.
As my phone charged to a level where I could safely call an Uber and get back to my place, I began to say my goodbyes when Flo suddenly left the room and returned quickly to me with instructions to open my mouth.
“Thanks for the offer but I’m kinda done with kissing for the day-” my teasing was interrupted when he used a hand-held nozzle spray, attempting to reach the back of my throat.
After I was done coughing and looked at him with question marks for eyes, he turned the nozzle to himself with a couple of throat sprays. “It’s an antibiotic spray, I think everyone needs it after today.”
I laughed in agreement all the way back to my hostel.
I love you with all the colours of my heart Brad Brad ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜