It was a hot afternoon, the day before the Rio carnival began. I arrived at a hotel in the centre of the city and was handed my costume: a huge outfit made with thick wiring, like a Roman centurion with silver wings, vast padded shoulders and a leotard. I was feeling excited and nervous as I knew no one around me, but not at all self-conscious.
I had joined an official Rio samba school, the Alegria da Zona Sul, and was looking forward to taking part in the largest carnival in the world. Unusually for me, I barely spoke for the next four days. As a woman on my own, knowing little Portuguese, I had no choice but to witness, watch and observe.
At the