Viva La Carnaval!

Central Brazil had a buzz to it and thankfully it wasn’t the mosquitos – we’d left them behind in the Amazon. This was a different buzz, an excited atmosphere, music in the streets, dancing the samba. This was Carnaval spirit.

We arrived in Ouro Preto lethargic and never wanting to get on a bus again. 36 hours had taken its toll but we had made it, up into the hills and into the old colonial capital – golden, rich and bloody history was everywhere to see. Golden churches, houses erected by slaves and colonial Portuguese buildings. Ouro Preto felt like a step back in time – cobbled streets lined with grand colourful buildings, perched on painfully steep hills.

As we spent time wandering up, down, up again, down again, we realised the hills of Ouro Preto were tough for the cars let alone the legs! We weaved around the streets, peering into churches and marvelling at the views.

Late afternoon was spent watching the blocos (drummers parading and banging their tunes) and we started to feel Carnaval building

We couldn’t escape the history that Ouro Preto was the home of the Brazilian gold rush, and heard about how much of this wealth was transported across the Atlantic and into the pockets of the Portuguese and British (obviously we found a way to include ourselves in this part of history, too)! We spent a whole day exploring the outskirts of the city centre, paddling in waterfalls and peeking into gold mines (claustrophobia creeping in).

We wandered through the hills, dodging rain showers and picking up stones. Given the area was very mineral rich, Rosh expected some stones were beautiful additions to a future house. For others, these weren’t precious gems, these were dull rocks adding weight to ones backpack… they were discarded swiftly.

The surrounding area of the hills and waterfalls were magical, like a grand entrance before the vast Amazonian forests to the west.

Our Preto was a short but lively start to the Carnaval build up but we were itching to get to the coast. After a quick stop off in Belo Horizonte (home of the 7-1 defeat to Germany in 2014), we headed to Paraty (par-ah-chiiiii).

This small, cobblestoned town that floods with every tide was another beautiful colonial-style place. Wandering along the canals and coast of Paraty was a relaxing stop before heading to the madness of Rio. We dabbled in more caipirinhas, watching a local guitarist play in a small open air courtyard. We were treated to a Danish chef, staying in our hostel, cook up a delicious lentil curry. We were enjoying Paraty.

Then disaster struck. Or more accurately, struck down with flu. Rosh awoke on our final morning in Paraty unable to move well, feeling sick and feverish. We had planned to meet Andy from Ouro Preto in the jungles surrounding the town and pushed ahead with our plans to stay in a treehouse amongst the wilderness.

Although the surrounding nature was peaceful and beautiful (and at any other time a dream come true), our three nights there were spent with Rosh bed bound and unable to enjoy anything. Cal regularly headed out to explore the beautiful beaches with Andy while sleep, ginger tea and puppy cuddles got Rosh through the days.

The 4-week old puppies were a welcome distraction and we named one Rio. If it wasn’t for a strong response from Cal, we would’ve taken her with us. An outrageous and completely irrational decision according to Rosh.

With Rosh still not feeling 100%, we decided to head for Rio a little early and spend a couple of nights recovering in a hotel. Luxuries of a comfy bed, take away Pizza and some of Cal’s dancing brought energy and laughter back to Rosh – post comfort, we were ready for Carnaval! Rosh was on the mend, Cal had practiced the dancing, we reunited with Magda, things were coming together.

In the Santa Teresa neighbourhood of Rio and back to hostel life, we met up with more travellers and started to explore. We set off to see Escadaria Selarón, a present from a Chilean artist to the people of Rio. Many of these tiles are donated from visitors from all over the world, and felt like a celebration of coming together just in time for Carnaval. These were just around the corner from our hostel and as we were up in the hills meant we got a full picture view of all sides of Rio.

The sprawling city of Rio, with a favela clearly in the middle of the photo framed by the high rises

While the views from Santa Teresa were beautiful, we were excited to see central Rio from above. We made our way up to a look out point, gazing at Sugar Loaf and Christ the Redeemer. The views were everything we had dreamed of. Rio was all around us and it was fantastic.

That afternoon we made our way to the markets around Rio and assembled our outfits for the evening, jazzy shirts, bright colours and enough glitter to cover the Copacabana. Together with Magda we had got tickets to see the parade, the highlight of the Carnaval. We set off, dressed in all our gear, fuelled with caipirinhas. That evening, we danced and judged all the parades – offering our expert analysis on the samba schools. It was the best night of the trip – filled with colour, music and dancing. Everything about it was brilliant. A moment to treasure.

The following day was slow to start, it took some time to recover from our Carnaval caipirinhas. Eventually we made it out and battled our way through the crowds to reach Copacabana and all its madness! It wasn’t quite the relaxing beach time we had anticipated but was still fantastic to see. We enjoyed fruits from street vendors and watched the world pass us by for a bit, while soaking in the atmosphere of the famous beach. We truly felt like we were in the beating heart of the city and it was an atmosphere we won’t quickly forget.

The sun began to set. Sugar loaf turned orange and Rio descended into golden hour. This would be our final view of South America for the next two months.

All who read this blog will know that my Dad was found on the night mentioned above. However, not everyone will know that the biggest supporter of this blog was my Dad. He was the first to read it, and would always follow up the blogs with an in depth conversation, tracking where we were, keen to know every detail and full of fascination surrounding the next place on our adventure.

We spoke to my Dad the night before his climb, something I am so grateful for. He was so happy for the both us, dreaming of adventure himself and always wanting to hear more from our trip.

Once we got back to England we were looking through Alan’s things and found Cal and Jimmy’s favourite shirt, that until this point was believed to be from an African football team. When we looked a bit closer, we realised it was the exact same shirt Cal is wearing in the photo above but from the 90s. It was just chance but in a random market in Rio, all these years later, it ended up Cal picked up the exact same samba school shirt.

Rosh and I decided to come back out to South America because it is something he would’ve insisted on. So here we are. Writing and wandering, on and on, into the wilderness and living life to the full. Just the way he loved to see us.

Dedicated to my Dad, our number one fan.

Love & hugs,

Cal & Rosh xxx