My friend Renata is a Carioca, as the residents of Rio are known.  She's friends with some of the folks from Uniao da Ihla, a Escola de Samba ("Samba School") from her Rio neighborhood, Ihla do Governador.  Yes, Ihla do Governador is home to the international airport, but there's far more to the island than just jet noise; I've stayed there twice.   Ihla is a proud member of the elite Grupo Especial division of samba schools. There are also lesser groups -- there are the minor A, B, C, D, E and F leagues -- but the grand Carnaval champion is chosen only from the Grupo Especial. 

Each Escola has its own theme, which is depicted through the use of colorful floats and thousands of dancin' Cariocas (and their Gringo friends) in feathered, glittering costumes called fantasias.  Lots of exposed flesh and hip-thrusting action seem to be necessary to adequately convey the meaning of each theme, which is probably why us puritans in the USA, unlike the rest of the free world, are denied TV coverage of the event.  

It's too bad that we Americans immediately associate the word "Parade "with “Tournament of Roses," with images of Cathy Lee Gifford  coming to mind.  Yuck. 

Anyway, after A.J. and I solemnly swore to give our best for Uniao da Ihla, Renata forwarded our body measurements to the Escola so they could prepare costumes.  Renata later commented on the ordeal of trying to fit the fantasias in her VW hatchback, an omen of things to come.  

When A.J. and I arrived at Renata's apartment, we saw what she meant. It's had to put exactly into words what the fantasias looked like -- suffice to say that a lot of tropical birds must be feeling pretty naked without all those tail feathers, which were used to decorate the four foot tall hats, sequined shoulder pieces, loincloths, and boots. 

Before our big night out in costume, we had a few days to enjoy Carnaval-infected Rio, and Renata and her friends were outstanding hosts to A.J. and me.  We went to a few barbecues (which are so much more festive occasions than the Smokey-Joe-and-a-bag-of-Kingsford events we have in the U.S.) and enjoyed a couple large-scale street parties, the best being put on my a group called Simpatia E Quase Amor (Sympathy is Almost Love).  

I was pretty excited as the night arrived when Uniao da Ihla would parade down the Sambodromo.  Ihla was the last group of the night.  We were scheduled to "concentrate" (get together, presumably to ready for the show, but I think it was more to concentrate liquor in our bodies) at 11 pm.  In true Carioca fashion, we arrived at 1:30am to find our group just starting to assemble. 

Renata had arranged a driver to deliver several of her fellow airline employees and us to the Sambodromo.  Our driver somehow packed all of us and our assorted plumage into his VW van and expertly wove through the crowds until we reached our drop-off point immediately adjacent to the Sambodromo.   Amidst a sea of street vendors, Carnaval revelers and pyrotechnics, our driver executed a rapid deployment of us with military precision.  There, in the midst of the chaotic scene, on a sidewalk next to a busy street, we somehow got ourselves stripped down to swimwear, threw clothes and valuables back into the van, and strapped into sequined fantasia gaudiness.

As another escola entered the Sambodromo, a nearby park erupted into fire and deafening explosions.  I guess the typical aerial pyrotechnics of a fireworks show, like what we're used to seeing on the 4th of July, isn't enough to satisfy Carnaval's thirst for excess.  Skyrockets were combined with a ground-level show of fire and machine gun-like explosions that could only be paralleled with either a fireworks stand catching on fire or Baghdad on a bad night.  

After a little more wandering though blocks of chaos, we eventually found where Uniao da Ihla was “concentrating,” and among the immense floats and thousands of costumed Ihla participants, we secured our proper location.  We joined everyone else in our ala ("wing") singing along to the words to "Fatumbi, a Ihla de Todos os Santos," the samba tune that would carry us through the Sambodromo (and would be stuck in my head for the next week, supplanting "Simpatia E Quase Amor" from the night before). 

Security forces used a chain-link gate to extract the beer vendors and other unofficial participants from our escola, we rounded a corner, and entered the Sambodromo to the deafening roar of a brilliant fireworks show that announced our appearance.  From street level, it was an incredible scene:  the Fatumbi tune was cranking everywhere from loudspeakers, bright stadium-style lighting made the street as light as day, television cameras swooped down on huge overhead booms to get overhead shots of us and the floats, and everywhere we looked, the 200,000 or so spectators were singing and dancing along to the samba beat. 

I had picked a samba-dancing spot close to the grandstands, so I could be certain to be caught on all the TV and newspaper cameras and so I could work the crowd as I went along.  Since there wasn't any official samba steps taught to our ala, we all danced and spun to the beat as we felt most appropriate, flashing feathers and sequins.  Some official-looking guy in a white T-shirt waved his arms a lot and screamed in Portuguese at us, presumably to make sure our energy level was up (not a problem), to keep us singing the right parts of the samba (not too much of a problem) and keep us from becoming too bunched up or spread out in the excitement (a bigger problem). 

About 5:00am, we parted from our 3,300 closest new friends and searched for our driver.  The sun was rising as the street thermometers read 30 C (85 F).  After a mile or trek through the streets, past heaps of garbage, sleeping food vendors, condom wrappers and over-taxed revelers, we found our man with the van.  After parting with Renata's co-workers and all our new friends, Renata, A.J. and I eventually reached her apartment, where we all slept 'till about 5 pm. 

Two days later as we lay on Barra beach, we heard the scores being announced to determine Carnaval's samba champion.  Uniao da Ihla scored perfect 10s in many categories, but did not end up placing among the top five groups, who had the opportunity to show their stuff again in the upcoming Saturday's "Desfile das Campeas." 

I reluctantly returned home several days later . . . carrying a large cardboard box.  US Customs in Miami were curious about the contents of the box but never looked inside.  The box still sits in my living room, unopened.  I'm still trying to find a place to store its contents, my Carnaval fantasia.  If it doesn't make it to the next Carnaval, it will certainly be put to good use next Halloween.