Ah! Ah-Ha! So de Jacarepagua!

It’s the weekend before Carnival. I am standing among thousands of Cariocas jam-packed into this no-name street in a no-name neighborhood. It is pouring rain. I am wearing nothing but a black negligee. I am having the time of my life.

Rio has also always been my chill city. My city to take a break from adventuring and just hang out on the beach, listen to great music, and otherwise be a regular tourist for a while. This is greatly helped by knowing my friend Felipe, a native Carioca whose family always makes sure to make me feel welcome in their city - although sometimes in unexpected ways.

“Oh man. I totally forgot to tell you. Tomorrow we have to dress up like women.” This is the news from Felipe the night before as we’re sitting enjoying the best black beans in Rio after heading back from a street party in Ipanema.

The party had been terrific. The music was great, the atmosphere fantastic. My only complaint was the complete lack of bathrooms. The default men’s room turned out to be a palm tree on the beach. I have no idea where the default women’s room might have been - or even if there was one.

But as fun as the Ipanema party was, it was just a warm up. The next day we woke up, and Felipe presented me with a piece of black lingerie that I somehow managed to make fit me. After donning a red bra and dress himself, and picking up a few friends, we were off.

Our destination was Felipe’s friend Pedro’s house in Jacarepagua (“alligator harbour” in Portuguese) - a middle-class neighborhood next to the “Cidade de Deus” or City of God, well off the tourist path in the Western Zone of Rio. In true Carioca fashion, we showed up about 2 hours late. Pedro was none too happy at our lateness, but quickly changed into his outfit (as an old woman, complete with cane) and we hit the street.

Now, there is “drag,” and there is “guys wearing dresses.” This was definitely “guys wearing dresses.” No one was bothering to look good or anything.

And, if anything, the guys were acting even more boyish and rambunctious than usual. A group of 6 dressed as Playboy Bunnies met us with various gestures and chants as soon as we got out of the car. The whole thing was a blast. The energy was unbelievable. And I was about to find out how Brazilians really party.

It starts to rain. Everybody cheers. The light, tropical sprinkling turns into a driving maelstrom. Nobody leaves. We hear thunder, and huge winds threaten to blow down electrical wires. Everybody climbs onto the roofs of the houses. Then, in unison, still wearing dresses, everybody starts to chant “Ah! Ah-Ha! So de Jacarepagua!” If your Portuguese isn’t up to snuff, that basically translates as “Ah! Ah-Ha! I’m from Jacarepagua!” I didn’t feel out of place chanting along - Felipe said that he was pretty sure I was the only Gringo in attendance, and that was enough of an honorary membership for me for the afternoon. After all, I was standing on the street in the torrent wearing women’s underwear right along with everyone else.

By this time, the rain had completely soaked through my negligee. Now, I did have something else on. True to Brazilian form, I had slipped on a pair of Speedos underneath. The problem was that they were Felipe’s Speedos. Felipe’s got a good 40-50 pounds on me. I took off the negligee, and ended up in my pair of three-sizes-too-big Speedos, drenched, in the middle of Brazil.

In addition to being a ton of fun, the whole experience was great for another reason: it reminded me of a fundamental truth about cities. While things like climbing bridges and exploring tunnels can provide a great, seldom experienced perspective, ultimately cities are products of their citizens - infrastructure is only there as a means of support. The experiences that most capture the essence and character of a city are almost always social - not structural - encounters.

We finally made it home, where hot showers (and dry men’s clothes) were extremely welcome. I’d managed to make it without flashing half of Rio, but just barely. Of course, Rio is pretty much the only city in the world where I didn’t really even feel uncomfortable wearing nothing but a pair of falling-down Speedos walking down the street. Just one more reason to love La Cidade Maravilhosa.