Feeling my age while others are sowing their oats
At most Mardi Gras celebrations, women collect sparkling beaded necklaces. At Salvador Carnaval, men collect kisses and passionate embraces from women, except for the gay men who left us alone and found a stubbly face to smooch instead. As the night progressed, many of the men we passed caught one look at Maggie and zeroed in like mosquitoes. It was hilarious to watch, like a predator steadily approaching its prey. Maggie only relented to the cute ones, and I had to drag her away from one particularly bulky hunk. The older guy who took a stab at me didn’t attempt to kiss me right off the bat and instead tried to soften me up by buying both Maggie and I some beer. When he forced a second one on me, I grabbed the beer in one hand, Maggie in the other and escaped into the crowd. He gave me a slight frown but still waved as we scooted away. |
Carnaval crowd-control: walking a fine line
When dancing or walking along the parade route, you had to jump out of their way as they charged through. I watched a police officer jab one inattentive man in the ribs to make a path. A large posse all dressed in black with what looked like bullet-proof vests but no helmets stormed through the crowds a few times.
Every so often a group of five marched single file with a chagrinned young man, his arms twisted behind his back by a grimacing cop. At one point a squadron confronted one of the line guys as he held up the thick rope separating the bloco from the spectators. I had no idea what provoked the encounter. The man raised his hands cautiously as they frisked him. Keeping a respectful distance, the line manager approached to ask after his employee. After rousting the man, searching his fanny pack and reviewing his paper documents, the cops released their hold and marched off. The line guy celebrated with a touchdown dance. Like many countries, Brazil has a record of police brutality. www.amnesty.org
Los Filhos de Ghandy: blocos with class
The men dress in flowing white cotton robes and white terrycloth turbans over their heads with accents of blue throughout, and of course, strands upon strands of blue and white beads. So if a filho de Ghandy spies a woman he wants to kiss, he graciously offers her a strand of beads and places it over her head while scooching closer to her for a kiss. Maggie had many offers and accepted a few. She even got a strand of beads from one she didn’t even kiss. It was after midnight, and the crowd much more inebriated before I got a strand from a man who kissed me without really giving me time to say “Nao!” but I whipped the strand of beads off his head as my payment.
But we couldn't join that bloco, so we paid for another
Second night provides me with a near-death experience
I had absolutely no control where I moved. The crowd outside the ropes pushed against the outer rope handlers, who leaned into the manic dancing bloco revelers, who were in turn pushed back by the interior rope handlers who maintain a space around the moving truck. And our bloco was mostly big guys. My mind screamed: “This is how people die in a crowd, they get squished to death!” Fortunately, we were packed so tight there was no way to fall to the ground and get trampled. I yelled at Maggie that we were in trouble and we fought to get out of the roped-in mass of bodies. We finally pushed our way through and outside of the rope and made it to the street in front of the bloco where there was more space. Someone had kicked or stomped on Maggie's foot and broke one of her toenails. She also had my iPhone in her hands as she had tried to take pictures before the bloco imploded and grew alarmed as people in the crowd tried to claw it from her hands. However, she held fast and except for her toe and my peace of mind, all was well. But never again will I waste money on a Carnaval bloco. Especially popular ones filled with large, strong men who have no respect for women. We spent 300 Brazilian Reals per jersey, approximately $100 US. The only reason I paid that much was I thought we’d have access to the top of the bus following the performer.
Third night at Carnaval was a charm
Mao, one of the men she engaged in her antics, found a seat next to us and started buying Maggie and I beer. Mao would not let me buy one for him. I knew sitting and drinking beer is not a good combination for me, so we all jumped off the wall and joined the dancers in the street. Another friend of Mao’s and Angela’s joined us. She tried to teach me how to merengue, which I could do slowly, but as soon as I tried to speed it up to match her pace, my knees howled. Then Angela abandoned her post behind her drink cooler and joined us. I liked dancing with her the best, as we twirled each other across the pavement. Mao preferred close partner dancing, but he was an older gentleman and maintained a respectful distance. He even danced salsa with Maggie, and I was impressed with her style. A young jewelry vendor, enamored with Maggie of course, watched us for awhile before presenting, at no charge, beaded necklaces for both of us.
We all danced for quite some time as the musicians on the bus blasted away. Angela had to return to her beer stand. The bus had stopped for an unusually long pause. I looked up the parade route and couldn’t see the leading bus in front, just wall to wall people as far as you could see. Around me, everyone was dancing or meandering in the streets. Occasionally a police patrol would march past and once Angela grabbed my wrist and hauled me out of their path. Then police sirens wailed and several motorcycle cops zoomed through the crowd, clearing a path for a massive tow truck. Seems the bus had stalled and needed towing for the remainder of the route.
At this point, the musicians gave it a rest and after I had to turn down another beer from Mao, I decided it was a good time to turn in. We hugged our new Carnaval friends goodbye and made it home for our showers and to bed by 12:30. And that night's party wasn't even halfway over.
Travel Tips Despite frequent complaints to the contrary, all our flights were on time and we made every connection throughout this leg of the trip, returning from El Calafate, Argentina, to Buenos Aires AEP airport before transferring to EZE for Salvador, Brazil, via Sao Paulo GRU. We took a taxi from Buenos Aires AEP to EZE for only $425 pesos with a company other than Manuel Tienda Leon, so ignore all advice that MTL is the cheapest, ask around. However, the curmudgeon who delivered us to EZE dropped us off at the wrong terminal. Despite Maggie's insistence that he needed to drive us to Terminal A for our international flight, the jerk removed our luggage from his trunk while arguing with Maggie and stuck us with a short hike from Terminal C. Our lodging in Salvador arranged our airport shuttle, so a man with my name handwritten onto a piece of paper met us at Salvador SSA at 2 a.m. Sunday, February 15. We arrived at Barra Guesthouse on Rua Recife after weaving in and out of Carnaval revelers. Our private room had a musty smell, the bathroom emitted a dank odor and the fan creaked and wobbled so badly Maggie worried it would break off, plummet from the ceiling and smash onto us during the night. But the AC worked perfectly, cooling us to a comfortable room temperature. I plugged my ears and swallowed an Advil P.M. and crashed until 11:30 a.m., at which time I stumbled down the steps to discover the women putting away all the breakfast items. They’d stopped serving at 11:03. I guess the owner noted my dejected expression (Maggie said I looked pissed) and advised the women to retrieve everything for me. Coffee never tasted so good! From then on we set the alarm for 10:30 a.m. and the next day I even showed up before breakfast was officially available at 9:03. That first day we wandered the streets looking for a safe ATM to withdraw Brazilian Reals to pay the balance of our hostel stay. Many ATMs in Brazil are rigged to steal your money, so finding a secure ATM created additional dinero drama for me. And despite my phone calls, verbal and e-mailed instructions, in-person meetings in Columbia, MO, with multiple US Bank employees, US Bank denied my debit card at the ATM in Salvador. It was Sunday, the hostel would not let me use their phone to dial the bank’s international collect call number (“It doesn’t dial out.”), the wifi beyond spotty, and 24-hours later despite repeated e-mails to my bank when wifi worked temporarily, nothing had changed except that it appeared the bank had removed my ATM card from my list of accounts. I contemplated the possibility that Maggie and I would be sleeping on the streets that night, or maybe the beach. Maggie and I hit a nearby restaurant for happy hour and my credit card worked. SHOUT OUT to CHASE! Right then it was all we had except for about $42 Brazilian Reals, about $25 bucks, that a fellow student traveller gave Maggie before she left Mendoza, Argentina. The Happy Hour turned into two hours. I’ve never waited so long for a drink, appetizer, and the credit card machine. We were warned never to let go of the credit card; in Brazil the waiter should bring the machine to your table so your card is never out of your sight. For Carnaval in Salvador, most of the banks, many businesses and most restaurants are closed except for the small grocery stores, as the food vendors fill the streets. Most every open business requires cash. Few accessible, secure ATMs are available. We lucked out with the two nearby restaurants that did take my Visa and a reportedly safe ATM a short walk away. The neighboring mall, Shopping Barra, was closed, but the restaurants inside on the first floor were open during the day and probably taking credit cards as well. Our first night of Carnaval, we ate a late dinner at a Subway that took credit cards, as all the restaurants had closed earlier. The next morning, after multiple attempts with “free” iPhone apps, computer Skype accounts, searches for appropriate passwords to access said apps and accounts, all complicated by the hostel’s lousy wifi, Maggie’s cuteness scored us another hosteler’s phone and data plan at no charge. When I finally made contact with US Bank using their international collect call number, I was continually disconnected. Finally, my fourth call took and yes, they’d received my frantic e-mails. After I provided three very basic pieces of personal information that I have given out to a half-billion people across the globe already, the US Bank representative said he would authorize the use of my debit card. I explained for the ten-hundredth time that I planned to travel through South America until June and would use and depend on it and to please, pretty please not block it again. He said he couldn’t promise me they wouldn’t restrict it again. And they could not reinstate the card via e-mail -- I had to make a telephone call. All telephone calls in South America cost money by the second when using a cell phone, although a handful of people and businesses still have land-lines that would allow a collect call. Since US Bank would repeatedly disconnect me or leave me on hold forever, a phone call would be expensive. Finding a functioning, safe ATM is not always a breeze in this part of the world, adding to the headache. For Carnaval, many of the ATMs have a low maximum withdrawal limit and tend to run out of cash. If US Bank were to repeatedly block my ATM withdrawals I could wind up cash poor, stuck late at night in some crazy place unable to pay my bill. Thanks US Bank for fucking with my money and wasting way too much of my precious time! Next time I travel, I’m relying on another bank. After receiving the all clear signal, Maggie and I hightailed it to the nearest safe ATM. I punched the numbers incorrectly; Maggie sighed as she gave up on me and did it herself. I got the maximum cash allowed of 800 Brazilian Reals! Around $280 USD. I shouted and did my touchdown dance. | Hostel Hunting for Carnaval Barra Guesthouse had the perfect location for Carnaval. We walked the short distance to the parade route multiple times throughout the day and night. I felt safe walking alone during the day but usually we walked in pairs at night. I carried what I needed in my money pouch under my clothes and stuffed my hand over my camera in my pocket. I found our private room and bath spacious with everything in working order. They finally gave me a good wifi account. But overall, I’m not impressed. I would never stay here if it hadn’t been the cheapest private room close to Carnaval that reviewers had not complained "doubled as a brothel." And by cheapest, I mean over $1,000 USD for five nights. Everyone jacks up their room rates for Carnaval; I believe our room rate dropped to around $60 USD after Ash Wednesday. When I booked the room on the internet while still in the US I had to pay a 50 percent non-refundable deposit via Western Union. And I don’t get the breakfast deal. They serve breakfast from 9:03 a.m. to 1l:03 during Carnaval (I think the :03 was an attempt to be cute.) 8:30 to 10:30 otherwise, but the table is set and much of the food is sitting out by 8 a.m., milk, flies and all. Several times I showed up early and started helping myself but I got the impression that’s frowned upon as several people started to join me then returned to the communal area after checking the clock. One morning after greeting everyone in the reception area and the kitchen with “Bom Dia” (about all I can say in Portuguese) the Czech receptionist commenced to give me a stiff little lecture on how to treat the staff like family, not act like I’m a guest. What? And I can’t get a fucking cup of coffee before 9:03 according to the sign on the wall, but I’m supposed to act like a member of the family? When I was having my ATM trouble, they couldn’t even provide a phone to make a collect call to my bank. I had to use the phone of a fellow guest. And why the hell can’t they take credit cards? The merchant pays a fee, so pass the cost onto the customer. I would have paid another 10 percent for the convenience and avoid the headache of the ATM or the risk of running around with hundreds of dollars in cash during the height of pickpocket season. The restaurants and ice cream shops around here take credit cards for charges under $5 US dollars. I paid an arm and a leg for our room, but it’s got to be in cash? Barra Guesthouse has a very stiff vibe and the staff lack people skills. I witnessed several exchanges where the staff was rude to the guests. The owner is standoffish and you rarely see her. But according to the other guests, if you have a problem and demand to speak with her, she shows up and the problem is fixed. She is the only reason why I was served breakfast after 11:03 on the Sunday when we arrived at 3 a.m. But Maggie loves the hammocks and we enjoyed watching the monkeys crossing the telephone lines edging the front patio wall. The only sincerely friendly and helpful staff member was Roland. He gave me a working wifi account. He did give out some misinformation about the ATM locations, but not intentionally. I asked him what kind of monkeys scurried across the telephone lines. “I don’t know, they’re not Capuchin monkeys, I just call them cute little monkeys.” The Polish hostel staffer Magda had quite the attitude. She lounged around like a guest, rolled her eyes at some requests, fussed at anyone who came even close to behind the desk and chewed out Josh for helping himself to a bottle of glue from the desk drawer. Every time we went to get our keys from behind the desk when the reception was empty, I sheepishly looked around for her. Knowing her attitude, I cautiously started a conversation one morning at breakfast. We actually hit it off and had a terrific exchange about working vs. traveling and the dearth of companies that encourage time off for employees. I told her to start a company that guaranteed six months off a year and I would be her first employee. Then she graciously loaned me some nail polish remover as the bright red from the night before had peeled off, resembling streaks of blood. We weren't the only disgruntled campers, and on the day we left several others were seeking more conducive digs. The Australian Antonio was ready to follow us to Itapua, but could not find a vacancy at our place. Although she rarely visited the communal areas and hardly spoke to me when she did, the owner was on the porch when we were leaving. She was so gracious, unlike the way she acted when we arrived penniless. Her one piece of advice upon our leaving her lodging for the beaches of nearby Itapua, “Don’t go past the lighthouse!” she said in all seriousness. Her advice was worthless and I'm glad we ignored it. |