The Royal opulence continued with a gigantic, beautifully embellished ball clock that came alive with a randy King and Queen who would make out on the chime of the hour. The display brought back big memories for me, since I broke a similar clock as a child. Well, not as ornate as this one, but the same principle with the balls and all. I cringe whenever I see one.

As you can see by the picture, this queen hasn’t missed many meals. And I’ll bet she just loves lobster!

And we know M’Lady will love a delicious stew. But WAIT! What are these bugs? They’re eating HRH’s veggies? What shall we do? Call an exterminator! An exterminator who makes his poisons from herbs indigenous to the Amazon, that’s who!

What’s with the trees, I wonder. Could this be the natural ingredient in a pesticide that’s safe and wonderful? I don’t know. These trees are marked with yellow ribbons like they were to be cut (or not cut). Did cutting these trees bring on the bugs? It’s such a mystery. Note that there are people on stilts inside. Sorry to ruin it for you if you thought they were real.

I love the expression on the grasshopper in the lower left corner, looking around in such a panic, like “Shit! Here comes Orkin!”  And clever irony there, G.R. designers, with the canisters carried by the grasshoppers!

The next group was by far the eeriest and saddest of all the things I had seen: a herd of what I would guess were the ghosts of extinct animals, represented by a pleasant-faced furry guy that looked a lot like Spike. Under each animal’s head was a human skull that obscured the face of the dancer. Only upon close inspection did these become visible. Almost like a whispering reminder to mankind that his abuse of nature will ultimately mean his own undoing.I was also beginning to notice that Grande Rio had taken extra pains to disguise its dancers. It meant for a more startling effect, when mobs of creatures were mobile under seemingly magical power.

The shift to Amazonian themes continued with these natives. It was good to see that Grande Rio was handicapped accessible, with participants in decorated wheelchairs.

The twirling group that followed was stellar. The skirts undulated with the turns, and it became a blinding mass of red, orange, yellow and brown punctuated with flashes of white that would appear when the skirt would catch air and fly up.

It had been entirely too long since we had seen a solo star. Not.
But here was another one! A cat tamer of the highest caliber. Your gorgeous introduction to the double-edged beauty of the Amazon.

These cats could really samba! It was crazy cool. Even the mother was grooving with her baby in her jaws. Right behind was what I have dubbed the Amazon Monster. This gigantic creature is made up of all the life that inhabits the jungle. Part snake, part cat, part foliage, part man, surrounded by protective virgin-white birds and topped with a jaguar-headed native, he spouted smoke while turning his head to glare at each person in the Sambódrome. And he wasn’t kidding, either.

Time to shake off the chills with a cute little bee girl celebrating the insect life in the jungle.

Right on her heels were a bunch of parrots that seem to have swallowed the humans that brought them to the parade.

This had begun to feel like a trek into the Amazon–a journey to find the gas deposits. But the dangers are plenty. The next float was led by an army of only about one millionth of the things that can kill a person in the jungle. It was headed up by a giant leering snake that swayed back and forth as if he were looking for just the right thing to bite. NOT ME!! And NOT ROBO!! We’re both scared shitless of snakes. Since childhood.

I looked over at him and he was mumbling to himself, “It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.” Pettus was offering him sips of water and patting him on the back.

Once the intrepid explorer made it through the gauntlet of possible fatalities, he would be rewarded with energy. Lots of energy.

It was another case of people gyrating inside of globes. It was very ethereal, the way the wispy costumes would shimmer and flutter. They looked like mothmen.

The crazy thing about this and so many of Grande Rio’s floats was the lengths they went to to camouflage the participants. Just when you’re looking at a giant bug, thinking it’s a great prop, it starts to move, dance and then sing! Not this praying mantis above, but these spider guys fooled everybody. They would sit still for long periods of time, then begin to scramble furiously up and down their web, menacing everyone in sight range.

This lineup of beauties heralded the arrival of energy itself: the dancing guy.

This young man was phenomenal. He was in constant motion from the time he came into view until the time he left it. Tap dancing 16th-notes fast, he personified perpetual motion, and the crowd went apeshit for him. Us too.

Jean had already called Marcelo, and our 30 minute window was open. During the break before Beija-Flor, we took a few parting pictures. Flávia had told me how they were going to be in Santa Teresa the next day, and for us to come. “It will be a big party!” she said, writing the information down on another of her business cards.

I assured her we’d be there. It sounded great to me! And we would have Marcelo to translate for us providing maximum laughs.

Notice the two girls in the white body suits. They had just returned from one of the parades, this being the third year they had done it. I should have asked them more about it, but had no translator for a subject that would be possibly hard to grasp with my twelve-word vocabulary of Portuguese.

We said our goodbyes, passed out belezas and obrigados, and began making our way out of the Sambódromo. We figured we’d miss most of the crowd not staying till the end, and were pretty much right. Only the outer areas were glutted with half-costumed participants again, sweating, beaming, drinking, shouting, dancing, singing, and glowing with satisfaction.

We reversed directions to get to the pickup point, having no problems whatsoever. Both sides of the street had been glutted with vendors of all kinds awaiting the crowds to come out. We bought several waters and stood under the viaduct, our eyes bulging at the whole sight. I had my camera in duffel position 1 the whole time, though in retrospect, it probably would have been safe. We were in a crowded area. Or is that just the point?

Marcelo pulled up just about on the dot of 30 minutes, like a father picking up the kids at the dance. We piled in, laughing, all talking at once, chugging water, and elated to see our friend. He turned to us and asked “How was it?” just as a dad would do. Except, instead of replying with “Okay” the way a jaded kid would, we all exploded with superlatives. Marcelo just smiled and nodded.

“Did you get any sleep?” we asked.

“Yes. I stayed in my car,” he replied without a hint of the martyr in his voice. “I thought it would be smarter to sleep in my car than to drive back and forth to my home.” Sounded smart to me. It also sounded like one hell of a guy making sure he didn’t leave us all alone at the Sambódromo. Thanks, Dad, er brother, er pal. He was all of that.

The ride over the bridge to Niterói was pleasant, and we all began to unwind during that time. The only thing I remember about it was Marcelo turning through the median one block too soon, us laughing at him, him giving “the look” in the rear view mirror at the back seat group, and finally us pulling up to Mirante de São Francisco. It was around 5:00, and somebody was picking up the kids at 7:00. I hoped it was Marcelo, but Jean knew what was up. Thank God for that.