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Some Brazilians Would Rather Party Hardly

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Times Staff Writer

Carnaval time has come, that once-a-year bacchanal when Brazilians of all ages, races and classes pour onto the streets to sing and dance and throw their cares to the wind with joyous abandon.

Eduardo Pereira hates it.

“There are people who don’t like tumult,” Pereira said. “When I have time off, I want to relax and clear my mind.”

So the 25-year-old hairstylist and some pals are fleeing this seaside city known the world over for its feather-laden, sequin-flashing, semi-naked revelry. Pereira insists that he’s no pursed-lip prude; he likes a good time, but in the company of friends, away from the hordes.

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“There are more tourists than Cariocas,” he complained, using the term for the residents of Rio.

Every year, the start of festivities leading up to the Carnaval holiday, which is known in other parts of the world as Mardi Gras, is the cue for hundreds of thousands of Cariocas to skip town before the onslaught of visitors.

They head to the hills to tranquil, scenic retreats or to smaller towns whose inhabitants observe the holiday in a milder, less commercial fashion. Those who can leave the country altogether.

“None of my friends stay in Rio -- not one of them. They go to Saquarema, Cabo Frio, Angra or the mountains,” said high school senior Gabriela de Souza, ticking off a list of resorts within driving distance. “You only find tourists in Rio during Carnaval, because the locals leave.”

Carnaval is the indisputable cash cow for Rio’s tour operators and hotels, who expect about 770,000 visitors this year, most of them Brazilians from other parts of the country eager to experience a spectacle they grew up watching live on national television. Officials predict that the influx will inject up to half a billion dollars into a local economy that depends on tourism.

Those numbers don’t impress the dissenters, whose ranks are larger than might be expected in a land often thought of as being perpetually on spring break. As many as a third of Rio’s residents intended to escape the city during this year’s Carnaval, according to a survey published Friday in the daily O Globo. A nationwide poll last year suggested that more than half of Brazil’s population of 180 million disliked all the hoo-ha.

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That, of course, still leaves tens of millions who love it, including a large segment of Brazil’s poor, who embrace the flamboyance and freedom of Carnaval as a respite from the grinding drudgery of everyday existence.

The holiday has its roots in pagan seasonal rites that eventually were tacked onto Christian tradition as the prelude to Lent, the 40 days of self-denial and penitence before Easter. Carnaval allowed everyone a last hurrah, the chance to indulge in something worth repenting.

Here in Rio, celebrations officially begin the Friday before Lent, when the mayor symbolically hands over the city’s keys to “King Momo,” the lord of license. (Traditionally, the character of King Momo is known for his corpulence and has been played by men weighing more than 300 pounds, but in keeping with the mayor’s emphasis on healthy living, he’s slim this year.)

But informal events such as the many blocos, or block parties, throughout the city begin days before that. Celebrations culminate in the two-night parade of fantastically decorated floats, deafening percussionists and samba dancers who would be in danger of arrest for indecency at other times of the year.

The air seems alive with joy and heat of all kinds. But not everyone partakes -- or approves.

“It’s not a practice for our members to participate in Carnaval,” said Celso Grafina, the pastor of an Evangelical church in Rio.

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“We believe that as Christians we shouldn’t get involved with something that’s so sensual and where so much alcohol goes around.”

Street preachers exhorting revelers to turn away from evil are common during Carnaval, as well as Christian youth groups distributing tracts reminding people that man does not live on bread and circuses alone. The Roman Catholic Church has condemned government efforts to distribute free condoms, and Alcoholics Anonymous chapters in Rio have announced plans to have a meeting available every two hours, round the clock.

Many Cariocas yearn for the days when it wasn’t such a globally known, slickly produced event.

“The spontaneity is gone,” lamented university professor Dani Gamerman, 47, who plans to decamp to somewhere outside Rio during this year’s festivities. “I enjoyed it better the way it was, thought it was more interesting. I remember a Carnaval 20 years ago when everyone was dancing in the bloco and it wasn’t so crowded.

“I don’t think it’s any fun to be squeezed in a bloco. That’s not my style.”

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