Oh, Bahia!

12 january, 9.25 pm

I’m all sweaty because I’ve just come back from the dance party that is the Pelourinho section of Salvador da Bahia, in the north of Brazil. To all of my friends who dance (this better be all of you!): this is the ultimate!

The plane rides were long, turbulent, and dizzying. Three layovers in three countries over two days to get to one place now feels like way too many. Buenos Aires experienced a late-night thunderstorm, which leaked into the airport in many, many places. Buckets did nothing! But at least the sound of the torrent and the flashes of lightening kept me alert enough not to get on a 3:20am flight to Rome accidently (I was close!). Sao Paolo layover was fully uneventful, and then I finally arrived in Salvador. Lush palms, low, green mountains, verdant fields, and no one who speaks English! Fala ingles? Fala ingles? Finally someone did, and explained how to take a bus from the airport to the city. Cab would have been $99 reals, the bus was $4. And it was air-conditioned and smooth, if not a little slow. But it was a great introduction to this place. At first, it looked like other Latin American places, with dirt-covered car repair stations, chincy clothing stores, and, predictably, Havainas ads everywhere. And then I saw a McDonald’s with a Brazilian flag over it! Somehow this change to the familiar is what triggered the notion that I really was in Brazil. Other details started to emerge, like intricate but modern tile work on facades, hand-inlaid stones on the walkways, and the ubiquitously precarious urban architecture that characterizes Brazilian cities. Driving along Avenida Oceanica was wonderful. People on beaches…always a different take on how to live the good life by the ocean! There is a stone walkway along much of it here in the city, and every half mile or mile is a set of thatch-roofed huts that sell “refreshments,” behind dozens and dozens of yellow or orange umbrellas, which look available for public use. Where there were waves, they were small and gentle, and young boys were paddling for them (I saw two make it). The bus then drove through the historic part of town, which consists of a million street vendors selling clothes, shoes, sarongs, fabric, street food, phone cards, hair cuts… all below a canopy of old, old trees whose branches meet in the middle. It never seemed to end, and looking at all the colors and Portuguese words in flashy colors started to make me dizzy! The last stop on the bus was in Pelourinho, the colonial part of town, where my hostel is. I got out onto a town square with brightly colored colonial buildings with iron-work balconies, and rounded church-like rooftops with crosses on top (Jules, Three Caballeros is completely accurate). I somehow walked right to my hostel with the conspicuous pack on my back, which I was completely sick of after being with it in airports and busses for three days straight. Luckily, the receptionists speak at least a little English. That has been fairly challenging so far. Turns out the little Spanish I know is close to fluency compared to my Portuguese skills! But my pronunciation isn’t too bad, and I can feel some of that New School Portuguese summer class I took coming back to me already. I remembered how to count to 100, say the A-B-Cs, and say “excuse me” and “I'm sorry” (which I'm saying a little more frequently than the alphabet!). I got to my dorm (females only, 15 beds but only 3 in use), and spent a long time unpacking and making my bed. The room is kind-of old, but there is a tiny balcony that looks out over many buildings, and picks up a really nice breeze that’s about 6 degrees cooler than the 90 degree heat. Even now, at 10pm, its 80. I took a little nap listening to the distant sounds of drums and horns floating into my window, and then met up with a lovely woman from Spain, who is going around the world solo in one year. We decided to check out a capoeira/drumming show I heard about, and headed out together. We walked to the main square, where there was an impromptu capoeira session taking place. We grabbed unbelievably delicious $5 real kebob and vegetable platter and watched the dancers. We walked to find the show I had read about, but found it to be a small ensemble of capoeristas drumming on a side street. So we walked. And then I heard it. Soft at first, but like a siren it gave no choice but to seek it out. It sounded like a low, driving drum beat, a few blocks away. I was headed there so fast I think I almost pulled Marieta’s arm off! Louder and louder it got, more and more complex the rhythms became, and fuller and fuller with bodies were the streets. We soon realized we were following the sound, and soon we saw that it was about 20 girls, all dancing and playing drums of varying shapes, sizes, and tones. There were arranged in some kind of hierarchy, with girls playing big drums one beat at a time in the back, driving snares in the middle, and women playing whatever they wanted on hand drums in the front. There was a leader telling them what to play, and they did not stop for over an hour. They danced, marching up and down the narrow, cobble-stoned streets of Pelourinho, gathering followers—observers, dancers, and beer vendors alike—of all shapes and colors. Some dancers emerged as leaders, and organized evolved-Macarena style dances for anyone to partake it (of course I did!). At one point, they were stopped in a little square on top of a hill, and fireworks started going off in the sky behind them, silhouetted by colored colonial buildings stacked on top of each other. Magic! When they stopped, others started. And actually, a huge troupe just walked by the hostel. There are prolly two hundred people dancing behind the drums! I thought I was in for the night but I guess I was wrong…. Best dance party ever!