Some of you may remember Ted from his days playing bass clarinet (third chair of three) in the Jefferson High School Wind Ensemble I. Ted later parlayed that talent into playing bass drum in the Jefferson High School Marching Band. This year, Ted tired of Working for The Man and Minnesota winters, moved to Rio, changed his name to Tedge (kind of rhymes with Edgy), and opened up his new apartment to anyone inclined to visit. I was so inclined.
I departed on March 7th and arrived in Rio on the 8th after twelve hours of flying and minimal sleep (Continental sucks). We dropped off my bags, found a restaurant, and started drinking caiparinhas. Somehwere between my second and fourth cocktail I learned that I would participate in a post-Mardi Gras parade (once a marching band member, always a marching band member) later that evening.
The parade would be a "victory lap" attended by approximately 100,000 crazed Brazilians. It would feature the five first-place finishers from the Mardi Gras parade from the prior week. For some reason beyond my comprehension -- I've never been to Rio before in my life -- Ted and I were among the winners, and therefore granted the honor of appearing in the parade. For a fee.
I admit it: I was excited. I envisioned myself sashaying around in some skimpy, sparkly, sexy outfit festooned with feathers, glitter, and blingbling, as one envisions Mardi Gras paraders. No. Ted neglected to inform me that I would don a Catain Hook outfit: 50 pounds of a red, long-waisted jacket; clunky, big-buckled shoes; the requisite hook; an oversized hat; and an itchy, heavy, hot, curly wig. Once dressed, we consumed more caiparinhas and headed to the parade.
The parade began at midnight, which is the Brazilian equivalent of 6:00 p.m. in the Midwest. Cariocas (Rio natives) are just leaving their homes for the night. We were late (Shelly, does that surprise you?) so I ran -- drunk, sleep-deprived, in my clunky shoes, desperately clutching my swashbuckler hat and wig with my hook, ruby tailcoat flying, to join our section of the parade. We made it with seconds to spare.
Our section didn't march exactly -- we proceeded with miniature swing steps and at one point in the song we'd stop and perform a little arm routine. We completed that damn parade three, miserable, hours later (did I mention that the temperature was 90 degrees and humidity was 100%)? And we only swayed to one song the entire time. Sung in Portuguese. Over and over and over again. The tune still haunts me.
Well, I still haven't figured out if the parade was the highlight or lowlight of the trip. Anyway, my vacation was quite fun.
Brazil is beautiful, the food is spectacular, the exchange rate is advantageous, and the weather is hot and muggy like I like it.
By the way, Continental sucked on the way back, too.
