Galo da Madrugada

I hadn't planned on joining the masses of Galo da Madrugada (rooster of the early morning) for the 2nd day of Carnaval. My Brazilian friends told me it would be a sweaty infernal heat box if we stuck to streets, so unless I was really into slithering amongst the masses, or had purchased tickets to a camarote (a safer, fenced off party with a view) then I ought to stay home.  Well, I hate crowds. And sun that I can't escape. And pointy elbows. I intended to heed their advice. Then Mark and I took the kids out swimming and met one of our neighbors who chatted me up in the pool. After exchanging pleasantries and stories of her trips to the U.S., I learned our neighbor's name: Margot! We discussed this uniqueness and then she invited us to join her husband's camarote at the Police Delegation of Pernambuco. In fact, she invited us three times- including an offer to give us a ride there. So what could we do? We said yes and had twenty minutes to get ready. Luckily, my mother-in-law had little interest in joining the festivities so our babysitter was already built-in. 

Live samba music: essential at any Carnaval.
Everyone here knew every single
word to every single song. 

Camarote companions.

Frevo dancer.
How he didn't break his feet
I won't ever know.

My father-in-law, Mark and I piled into the car with Margot and her son and sped off toward downtown. Margot eloquently barked out directions through one-way streets and we arrived to the back door of the Delegation. All the while filling me on on her interesting and overwhelming job as a public health nurse- yet another coincidence! She ushered us in and we were literally handed a shot of Johnny Walker in one hand and an official Galo t-shirt in the other.  The latter was our "ticket" for entry. Before I knew it I was seated with a group of police officers, retired and off-duty, eating feijoada with quail eggs. Dancing, singing and people watching ensued for the day. 

Our table mates and main whisky supplies.

At one point Mark took off to take some photos of the towering rooster watching over Carnaval. This rooster themed celebration was created in 1978 to revive Recife's spontaneous street parties prior to Lent. Apparently it worked, and the rooster came back year after year. Naturally we wanted to capture the true amount of people who gathered to celebrate: millions- and I mean millions of people were there. I enjoyed the scene from afar and got ready to head back. But Mark announced we'd be making a "quick lap" through the crowds. In we went, walking against throngs of people and looming floats equipped with a ridiculous power sound system and band that plays on the roof (aka trio elétricos). These double decker flatbeds stop for no one and more than once I was forced to sluice my body between hot metal siding and hot glistening bodies. If the crowd jumps, you jump. If they sing, you sing. If they squash together, you go too. I admit for a few moments I was scared out of my wits as I jostled my way to open air and eventually back to the camarote for a bit more socializing and dancing before heading home. 

Parties took place on the streets, bridges, rooftops, boats...

By the time I realized what was happening,
I couldn't back out; in I went.

I relayed this generous and bewildering experience to the same Brazilian friends who explained to me the intricacies of partying at the Galo, and without missing a beat, they said that was a) unsurprising that we were invited to experience true Brazilian hospitality and b) was exactly how some of their friendships were borne into fruition. I don't know why we were so fortunate to experience Galo up close and personal, and I am so glad I didn't weenie out on anyone though I might skip the crowd surfing next year. 

Rooster again.