Rio Carnival was my best holiday ever – would going back solo be disappointing?  ...Middle East

It is 7am on a Monday morning, and women on stilts are beating their feathered wings in time to the joyous sound of trumpets and rhythmic drum beats. We’re moving through streets so packed I can barely see a way out.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a crowd so jubilant. One extremely pregnant woman has decorated her bare belly with big yellow petals to make it look like a sunflower. A man has shaved his dense back hair into the shape of a cross. Finally, we turn a corner and the scene opens up, revealing the Atlantic Ocean and Christ the Redeemer in the distance. I feel euphoric. So often in life I wonder if I’m missing out on something better. But right now, I feel that would be impossible.

Somewhat superstitious about the possibility of spoiling good memories, I’ve rarely returned to a place I’ve been on holiday. But two years ago, I had the best week of my life at Carnival in Rio de Janeiro.

I am desperate to try and recreate it, but not hopeful. I figure it’s a confluence of serendipity – good weather and people – that make a holiday successful. And because I am travelling solo this second time too, I know I will have little control over who I end up meeting and spending time with.

“Carnaval” – the period of celebration leading up to Ash Wednesday has its roots in pre-Lent indulgence, and takes place all over Brazil. It lasts days, weeks or arguably a month, given the national aptitude for revelry. For visitors, it’s a bucket list opportunity to join a party like no other.

Rio’s skyline is a juxtaposition of favelas dug into mountainsides with rainforests, islands and city lights. Imagine the biggest party in the world – Rio Carnival attracted more than 8m participants this year – set against that backdrop. On my first visit, I’d been amazed by the scale of joyful street parties or “blocos” under sunny skies. This year, the carnival expanded by more than 30 blocos, to 482.

Two years ago I spent my nights watching the parades at the Sambadrome, the purpose-built, 700m long stadium at which around 70 of Brazil’s samba schools compete for the carnival championship title for days until sunrise. They prepare for up to a year (although as a tourist you can join a samba school last-minute to fulfil the role of a slightly more entry-level performer). Would going back offer the same sense of awe?

Rio’s skyline is a juxtaposition of favelas dug into mountainsides with rainforests and islands

I’ve decided to take the risk. Flights were expensive, and even when booked in advance, accommodation in the city can cost five times as much as standard rates during carnival. But I knew this was a bucket list trip. and having hit 30 I was also conscious that, say, the prospect of a family could make this sort of trip more difficult. 

A truck of nuns

Last time, I’d stayed in a hostel in favela Vidigal. I’d had to hail a motorbike taxi to descend the winding streets of the favela, and then another to get into the city centre. Memorably, there had been no running water by the end of my stay.

This time, I am staying at the Fairmont hotel overlooking Copacabana beach. From my balcony, I watch kids playing football, vendors shuffling up and down the sand selling the iconic green-and-yellow Brazil bikini and handicrafts. I am also close enough to a station to make use of the metro on which passengers include samba dancers in bejewelled corsets and men carting supplies of decorations around the city, as strangers sing together.  

I make a beeline for Santa Teresa, a part of the city I didn’t visit last time. The leafy, bohemian neighbourhood perches on a hillside where I join the crowds and dance to the sound of the blocos on cobbled streets lined with 19th-century mansions, gazing out onto the city below with the iconic Sugarloaf Mountain in the distance.

Here, the Carmelitas bloc party is themed on an urban myth of a nun escaping from Santa Teresa convent, and the crowds trying to disguise her. A truck with women dressed in pink habits on its roof weaves through the winding streets as men in “sexy nun” outfits dance around it. Above us float giant jellyfish-shaped, decorative lanterns.

Familiarity also means I worry less about wearing the right kind of outfit, or my safety. Aside from pickpocketing (Rio’s infamous street crime ramps up during Carnival), the main daytime parties come with a joyous sense of welcome.

I also have the headspace to notice different things this time. An old couple pours water from the top window of their apartment to cool the crowd below – the daytime heat reaching 40C.

I see a baby in a sling being jiggled in parades, and memes blown-up and stuck on placards held by partygoers – including, without context, a scene from the reality TV show Real Housewives of Beverley Hills of a woman yelling at a cat.

There’s a saying that “a kiss is the Brazilian handshake” and I frequently see it in action (people warn me that at Carnival, eight seconds of eye contact means you have to kiss the person).

Friends I made here during my last visit introduce me to local dishes such as feijoada – slow-cooked beef and pork in a bean stew – and farofa – toasted cassava. Generally costing less than £5 I order them to eat at basic outdoor tables as I watch massive floats – glittering dragons and temples-on-wheels – rumble along Rio’s streets.

A float travels down the Sambadrome

One Brazilian friend and his mates invite me to spend the day with them and although they can’t speak English, some of the women communicate critical advice – such as where to find the bathroom at street parties – via hand signals. 

I ask whether life in Rio – with its beaches and rainforests and nightlife – really is the dream, and his friends tell me “yes, pretty much – life here is easy”. I visualise upending my life in London and moving here. But after one day of trying to keep at their pace drinking and partying in the hot sun, I admit defeat. While they party, I spend the day buying bottles of icy water to pour down my face, while they look on pityingly. 

Football and fearlessness

When I descend in the hotel lift to go to a street party wearing a tasselled hula skirt, a well-dressed middle-aged Brazilian woman tells me I look great. “I feel kind of self-conscious, I wouldn’t wear this out in London” I tell her. “No, here it’s normal during Carnival” she tells me. “When I go out, I wear the same.”

Whenever there is tension – competing for space in a crowd, or thinking you were first in a queue to buy a beer – it is quickly diffused by a gentle touch on the hand or a smile.

To cool off between parties, I bathe in the Atlantic that laps glitzy Ipanema beach, as Brazilian actress Fernanda Torres did in the Oscar-award winning film I’m Still Here.

But not every joyous experience is new to me this time. As I take in the sights of 90,000 Brazilians, of different skin colours and backgrounds, swaying with their arms around one another and waving flags, I feel tears welling in my eyes.

Carnival exudes a universal feeling of fearlessness to be warm towards one another, and to demonstrate a love for life.

I leave time to enjoy the city once carnival has finished, too. I go to a football game at the legendary Maracana stadium – to see the side Fluminense defeat another Rio-based team Volta Redonda. I am ecstatic for the win of a team I hadn’t known two hours ago, electrified by the atmosphere of almost 80,000 supporters.

On the shopping street of Rua Uruguaiana, I barter for football shirts and paisley dresses and window-shop the glitzy Carnival gear.

Returning to a favourite holiday has been a wise choice. I’ve deepened my connection with Rio’s culture, I understand its people better. And like anything you spend more time with: you can go from liking a place to falling a little in love.

How to get there 

Rio de Janeiro is served by British Airways from Heathrow. Connecting flights are available on TAP Air Portugal via Lisbon, Lufthansa via Frankfurt, KLM via Amsterdam, Iberia via Madrid and ITA Airways via Rome. 

Where to stay 

The writer was a guest of Fairmont Rio de Janeiro Copacabana, where doubles start at $408 (£304). More information 

visitbrasil.com/en

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