Carnival was everything and nothing like I expected. 
I expected noise, colour, sweaty bodies pressed together, and music that forces you to dance. Makeshift tiny outfits, cheap drinks, dehydration, glitter on sunburnt skin. All that was true. 
But beyond that carnival felt like jumping into the unknown, right into the chaos. There is no time to act as an outsider, because the blocos literally leave no room for it. Thousands of people move as part of the parade, shuffling to the beat through Belo’s narrow, hilly streets. And somewhere along the way (around the 2nd Xeque-Mate), the line between performer and crowd, stranger and friend, disappears.
What struck me most was how public it all was. Carnival has the costumes and whimsy of a university Halloween party, but none of the hiding. The drinking, kissing, drugs, and dancing all happen in full daylight.
Carnival is taken as a way of cleansing yourself real life and starting fresh. In that way, it’s not just a week-long party, but a public release. It felt like life was cracked open, with all its chaos, joy, and inhibitions spilling out into the street.