“Who the fuck is still doing Carnival after pré-Carnival and three days of it already?” I asked out loud as I forced myself out of bed.

I’m exhausted. And I don’t even drink or party hard.

Fortaleza must have felt the same because, aside from one or two ongoing parties on the way to the beach, the streets were empty and quiet on segunda-feira, aka Monday.

It was sunny, with a bright blue sky. I headed to the beach. It’s a quintessential Brazilian activity—up there with drinking água de coco and socializing.

I wasn’t too inspired by the concert lineup at Iracema, but I still went out at night to take a look.

Rap music. Meh.

Fuck it. So I checked out another Carnival hotspot—Avenida Domingos Olímpio, surely still packed with parades and samba at 11 p.m. I took a mototaxi and we zipped through the city, flying down empty streets and maybe running a couple of red lights.

The avenue was alive. Different crowd, different vibe—more local, less Instagram-ready, a bit less drunk, wearing parade costumes instead of bunny ears. Everyone was waiting for the last samba school to parade and the two final shows. I would have loved to see Jorge Aragão, but he wasn’t scheduled until 1:30 a.m.

I’m a night owl, but I lost to Fortaleza this time. Plus, I had some work to do—Canada didn’t get the memo that it’s Carnival.

And then today was day four, final day of Carbival. Feng and I affectionately refer to it as “the purge.”

Just picture it.

Thousands of people have been partying for at least four days straight, most of them drinking and chugging energy drinks instead of sleeping. The city is a bit of a mess, fishnet tights are ripped, sticky glitter is everywhere, the grand finale is approaching, and at this stage, anything goes because no one looks fresh anymore.

I checked out a couple of smaller blocos and unlikely venues—a former market turned cultural centre turned Carnival stage—but I was really waiting for the 10 p.m. concert on the beach.

Straight from Bahia, Olodum was closing Fortaleza’s 2026 Carnival.

I love Olodum. The bloco afro invented samba reggae, creating a rhythm that’s unmistakable. To me, they epitomize Salvador—much like Ivete, just in a completely different style.

So I walked to the beach and waited for Olodum with a few… hundred thousand others.

When they stepped on stage and struck the first drum, the entire beach started moving. It was amazing—the beach pulsed like an ocean of bodies, the crowd rolling like waves across the sand, arms rising and falling, feet pounding into it.

Carnival is a full sensory experience. It’s hot and humid. Bodies are sticky with glitter and sweat. It smells of beer and grilled meat skewers. The rhythms shift but never stop. People of all shapes, colours, and sizes stick together simply because they can. And the whole picture of this complete madness is absolutely gorgeous.

And right there, dancing with the crowd, my eyes closed, I felt like I was part of something freeing and positive.

It felt right.

It’s not just Carnival. It’s appreciating art, creativity, and the work of people who give everything for an event. It’s coming together for no reason other than being together. It’s being silly instead of being destructive.

It feels like half the world is at war right now.

I’d rather dance on the beach.

I think we should all take a break and go dance on the beach.

Carnival is over. Tomorrow, people will be hungover and in a bad mood.

It’s okay.

It was worth it.