We're naked. For years, well-meaning visitors have been telling us that we`d have a better view of the bay if we cut back the three beautiful poinciana trees that rise up from the little green area below our terrace that sits between us and the beach. But we love our poincianas (known here as flamboyants) and, when we did cut them back last week, it was absolutely not done on a selfish whim, merely to improve our view. We cut them back because these normally gorgeous trees didn't flower well last year or this year. They were getting sick. We thought that a careful but drastic pruning would give them a new lease on life. We thought it would help them grow better.
After
Before
Angelo, the tree guy
I don`t know about tree surgery anywhere else in the world, but if you just merrily lop off branches here in Brazil you make yourself liable to some heavy fines. Lucky for us, then, that poinciana trees are not native to Brazil. In the authorization our muscular, good-looking tree surgeon Angelo got from city hall, they are identified as an "exotic" foreign species and we were at liberty to do with them whatever we wanted to, as long as we promised to do it safely. No site inspection by the environmental people. Nothing. At 8:45 in the morning, Angelo climbed up into the branches with his motor saw. By three in the afternoon, we had that open, cleaner view that so many people had wished on us. But now we were totally exposed. There was no more shade on the terrace. There were no more birds flitting from branch to branch. We hadn't made things more beautiful. We had made things ugly, awful. But we had no choice. We had to do it.
In a way it was amazing that Angelo was willing to prune our trees just a day before the start of carnaval weekend, because Angelo had other things on his mind. Angelo beats the huge surdo drum in the bateria (percussion section) of a neighborhood carnaval group, Cocotas de Tucuns, based in Tucuns, a beach on the Búzios periphery. Easy to figure out where he got all those muscles. Anyway, as he sliced and diced our trees, he spoke so passionately about his carnaval group, he was so eager to have us come to their pre-carnaval rehearsal, that it was hard for us not to accept the invitation. I didn't really think it was how I wanted to spend last Friday night, but off we went to Tucuns and — even though it was really late for me (their first downbeat started around midnight), and even though traffic was pretty bad, and even though I'm famous for not liking crowds — Mark and I haven't had that good a time in ages! This was carnaval at its best and at its roots, all locals and families and children coming out to enjoy the festivities. And though it was loud and driving and the beats reverberated in our bodies, and I had to take aspirin when I got home, I'm up for a repeat visit next year. Angelo says our trees will have grown some new, beautiful, flowering branches by then.
Okay, this is it, carnaval weekend looms ahead. I've been to the Sambadrome in Rio three times to see the 12 main Rio samba schools do their thing first-hand, but this year I'll be staying home to watch from the comfort of our living room or at least until I fall asleep (the excitement starts at 9:00 p.m. and usually doesn't end until 7:00 the next morning). A few blogposts back on the subject of carnavalescos, I wrote that the Sambadrome parade is actually "an aggressively-fought competition." It is indeed, and to my surprise the contest aspect has become my favorite part of carnaval. I'm actually amused that a person as averse to competition as I am relishes this competitive side of carnaval. But I do.
The judges . . . they look harmless enough
It took me a couple of years, but now I'm into the nitty-gritty. The schools are judged in ten categories, or quesitos — percussionists, samba (music and lyrics), harmony, evolution, theme, overall effect, floats and props, costumes, the opening vanguard and the boy-girl couple that are the standard-bearer and master of ceremonies — with four judges per category. Some snippets for those following along at home:
Percussionists — these guys are LOUD. They are responsible for maintaining the rhythmic pulse of the samba at all times during the parade. I'm still not sure I hear all the subtle differences myself, but each samba school has a unique, identifiable percussive sound depending on the number of drums and the way they're hit. Take Mangueira's percussionists. They are known as Surdo Um — surdo is a large drum — because they hit only on the second beat, with no answering surdo on the downbeat, like all the other schools. When Mangueira's percussionists begin, the crowd goes wild. And I get goose bumps.
Harmony — in order to score high in this category, the music, rhythm and singing must all meld seamlessly with the choreography and dancing of the participants. Points can be lost if the judges catch any of the participants not singing. And here lies one of the annual controversies: to allow or not to allow foreigners to participate in the parade. As non-speakers of Portuguese they can't sing the samba, and as non-dancers of samba they don't get the rhythm. So that group of hulking, blond Swedes jumping up and down alongside the group of Americans energetically waving their pointer fingers in the air, Broadway-style, inevitably end up costing the schools precious points. On the other hand, foreigners pay upwards of $1,200 for a costume and a space in the parade, so . . . what's a fraction of a point here or there?
The standard-bearer and master of ceremonies couple — this elegant and graceful couple carries and protects the school's flag while dancing an intricate "minuet-samba." They might have the biggest responsibility of anyone in the school, because they mustn't under any circumstances let that flag touch the ground, or even dip below the standard-bearer's shoulders, for 80 long minutes. And that is one heavy flag (99 pounds/45 kilos!). But they make it look so easy, and they're lots of fun to watch.
Down she goes!
This year will no doubt see the usual dramas: a couple of floats will break down at the entrance to the runway and spoil the school's chances; at least one float will catch fire; several people will fall off their floats and one passista will fall off her mercilessly high heels; one or two schools will have the unfortunate fate of having to parade under a torrential downpour; and one celebrity parader, or destaque, will lose her tapa-sexo (you figure it out). Although the destaque herself will get lots of publicity, the school's directors will be furious. Total nudity is prohibited and she won't be invited back next year. And who knows but that there won't be one of those last-minute censorship controversies that will cause one or another school to parade with a float covered in black plastic (see photo below). So there you have it. I've got my follow-along judging card. Let the games begin!
In 2004, the samba school Grande Rio paraded with a censored float. Underneath the plastic? Various depictions of the Kama Sutra.
