I Went to a Rave for Olympians at a Castle in Rio de Janeiro

The arrival of the Olympic Games in Rio de Janeiro has brought with it something akin to an eviction notice for many parts of the city. More schools, cultural centers, and even landmark historic buildings than I care to count that have stopped their usual activities and given up their spaces for foreign countries to house themselves in during the games. Inside these "official residences," the main focus is—at least according to the official spiel—the promotion of each country's culture to a global audience. As for the kinds of cultural activities you can expect, there's everything from distinguished beer tastings at Casa Austria to mermaid (huh?) and drag queen pageants at Casa Denmark.

The British, perhaps owing to their attachment to royal castles, made a point of finding a most regal home in Rio de Janeiro: Parque Lage's palace. Gently set back from the hustle and bustle of the beaches and miles away from the Olympic Park, it's essentially a castle surrounded by a dense forest. The 19th century Portuguese military figure Rodrigo de Freitas Mello built the postcard-worthy home in 1811, and in the 1920s it was sold by the current owner to industrial magnate Henrique Lage, who remodeled the place as a gift to his wife. Since 1975 the space has hosted Rio's prestigious School of Visual Arts. Its eclectic yet sober style—mixing Roman columns with dark marble details all around—makes it feel like a real life version of the tropical paradise cliché that Rio evokes in the international imagination, but with a distinctly English flavor, including a garden designed by a British landscape architect.

Last Sunday, August 14, the so-called "British House" opened its doors to the public for the first time during this year's Olympic Games—though, "opened its doors" may be a slight exaggeration. For the occasion—a dance party ostensibly headlined by the floaty drum and bass-inspired sounds of the UK duo Chase & Status—they decided to let in a select group of outsiders to enjoy the party alongside the British athletes, who are currently second in the Olympic medal table. From what I could glean from the crowd there, the guest list consisted primarily of people who either had at least some kind of contact with someone on the inside, worked for the government, or were merely deemed important enough. Although I didn't really fit any of these categories, I managed to secure an invitation through a Brazilian friend of mine.

I arrived around 8 PM, and any hope of a smooth entrance was swiftly foiled by a long and slowly moving queue. In Rio, a big smile and an enthusiastic handshake is usually all it takes to gain entrance to an event like this, but the English had decided to ID and photograph every single guest—which seemed a very British take on the usually highly informal "carioca" (a local term for Rio-born people) party scene. Once inside, I saw no sign of the art school that usually occupies the space. For the duration of the Games, the institution has had to up and move to some far-removed corner of the city, though I imagine they will benefit from the exorbitant sums of money that the British government is rumored to be paying to rent the space.

The British had also very clearly spent some additional money upgrading their surroundings. The house's natural stone swimming pool, a popular destination for tourists in Rio, was turned into a dancefloor with a large pane of glass and illuminated with LED lighting. The classrooms had been transformed into TV rooms, fitted out with giant screens and monitors showing all the Olympic competitions in real time. Bars offering every type of alcohol imaginable have been set up in each corner of the building. At the door, English women warned guests to exercise caution during the undoubtedly wild night ahead: "Don't forget to drink water, otherwise you can get really dizzy because of the heat."

Inside the main hall, about 90 percent of those present seemed to be whispering nervously amongst themselves, wondering where the awe-inspiring Team GB was, as if waiting for a Hollywood starlet at a film premiere. "They're stuck in traffic," one of the organizers explained to me. No surprise there for a carioca like myself—traffic in Rio has never been worse than over the past few weeks, thanks to the insane regulations required by the games and put in place by the wildly unpopular mayor, Eduardo Paes.

A seemingly random set of house and pop music was emanating from the sound system—a pleasant enough soundtrack for the early arrivers to begin getting a little tipsy. Suddenly, a communal sigh of relief swept over the room, leaving no doubt that the athletes had entered the castle. They'd stepped off a couple buses that had brought them here from the other side of the city, their faces stamped with grins that seemed to ask, "Is this where the party's at?" One question of universal interest that has arisen over the course of these Olympic games concerns the party habits of the athletes, who hold a mythical status in the public imagination. Is it acceptable for them to get blind drunk and dance till dawn during an international competition of this ilk?

I decided to walk up to one of them and ask for myself. "Forget that notion," said Louis Smith, silver medalist in gymnastics' pommel horse competition. "I'm done, so I can party. I try to prepare for 4 to 6 weeks before a competition, but when it's done I can do whatever I want." No one appeared particularly ashamed when faced by the curious gazes that were doing the rounds of the party. Eight-time Olympic medal winner, cyclist Sir Bradley Wiggins, seemed completely at ease sporting metallic lens sunglasses and enjoying the night like there was no tomorrow, interspersing his dance moves with fan-appeasing selfies.

Around 11 PM, Will Kennard of Chase & Status emerged from the room the Brits had labeled as "VVIP" to mingle at what seemed to be the athletes' bar of choice, hidden in one of the remoter corners of the mansion. Will, however, was lost in a sea of selfie requests coming thick and fast from both the athletes and the local invitees. Sophie Hall, Will's wife and manager of MTA Records (the label founded by the group back in 2009), told me that Saul Milton—"Chase" in the duo—was not actually here, but off in some corner of Europe doing another show.

All it took was for the producer to step onto the stage at the far end of the swimming pool for the real craziness to set in. Some of the athletes—who until that point had been sticking to the tamer drinks—began to knock back shots of vodka and cachaça (Brazil's most popular spirit, a liquor distilled from fermented sugarcane) liberally distributed by the bartenders. By this time, there was no shadow of a doubt that we were in for a party. Chase & Status' mannered sound might have seemed too bass-heavy for the Cariocas to get excited yet, but it was bumping enough for the athletes to be able to let go of all their pent-up tension from months of unrelenting training and competition.

But it wasn't until the German-born hardcore producer MC Rage hopped on the stage during Status's set that the athletes hit the dance floor en masse, shaking their booties to the floor in a world-class demonstration of their newly acquired Brazilian-style dance moves. The rugby boys proved by far the most raucous group on the dancefloor, patting each other on the back and palling around like real house lads.

The green color of the athletes' lanyards was the only thing that singled them out from the rest of the crowd, and as blood alcohol levels increased amongst the athletes, their official accreditations began to disappear, in an apparent attempt to be a bit more anonymous. "I don't want to be exposed," deadpanned one athlete. "I'm already exposed," he added with a friendly laugh, returning to his circle of friends. Olly Robinson, from the same team, shot me a helpless expression as he witnessed the swift retreat of the majority of the athletes at my sluggish approach, as soon as I presented myself as an on-duty reporter.

Further celebrations of Britain's great cultural exports/Photo by Nina Pennick

I realized that journalists' prying eyes weren't really welcome on the dancefloor anymore, so I escaped to the bar and bumped into one of the English cyclists, who asked that she not be named for this piece. We spent some time discussing the press's obsession with digging up dirt on the Olympic athletes, with journalists desperate to pin a sex scandal or epic drinking binge on them somehow. She mentions the recent tragic episode of a reporter from The Daily Beast who endangered a half dozen gay athletes for the sake of an article about the use of Grindr in the Olympic Village. I tell her the incident left most journalist with integrity around the planet ashamed. She nods her head in relief as I explain that my objectives that night are far from his.

It turns out athletes enjoying a party are exactly like…normal people enjoying a party. Yes, there's no denying that the performance by the English duo practically brought the house down and the athletes were going crazy for it. There was drinking of biblical proportions, flirting, make-out sessions, and a high-octane atmosphere fueling an electric dancefloor. But that's just like any decent party in full swing.

Around 2 AM, the organizers from the British committee made it known that the night needed to come to an end due to the time limits of the venue. But the energy levels of some of the guests wouldn't let them retire to their Olympic bunks just yet. "Do you know about any other parties still going on around here?" one of the athletes asks me. I gave her a few pointers about one or two after-parties that should still be happening in Rio. She called an Uber and nobly carried on, a true Olympic nightlife champion.