Morro De Sao Paolo

Morro De Sao Paolo

It's been so long since I wrote I can hardly type, much less remember what I was doing a month ago. Let's see, March 27, I was in an airport I think (Fortaleza maybe?), watching the janitors roll by on their roller blades, and the bahiana in her bustles fan herself and look bored, and then my flight was delayed and then- oh then I flew to Salvador. That's right I was flying to Salvador to meet my two friends who were coming in from Santa Cruz that very day. Only thing was I was supposed to have arrived six hours before them and got us a hotel room and been waiting by the phone to tell their taxi driver where to go. As it was, with the usual delaying of the delays, I was getting in about 15 minutes before them (hopefully) and would somehow have to intercept them in the busy Salvador airport. Once I landed, after asking about ten different people, it seemed we were to share the same baggage claim, so all I had to do was wait. Cool.

I sat down on a bench and under the suspicious eyes of various airport officials sunk into my usual lazy slouch and practiced the face I was going to make when I saw my friends for the first time in two months in a busy third world airport. Mobs of people came and went and eventually one of the people I had been asking questions of indicated that this mob was the flight I was looking for. My pulse quickened and my face got more active, I hadn't settled on one yet, but I was doing a lot of smiling to myself and the airport officials were about to give up wondering what I was doing. The whole mob came and went, thinning down to a trickle. No white girls with that fresh off the boat halo around them. Hmmm. Wait, there they were, OMG, woohoo, hey over here, wait, where are they going? They turned the corner and walked away from me. Was it them? Well one had a banjo and one was carrying my mandolin, an unlikely coincidence. They walked into the ladies room and were gone.

Oh well I'd wait some more. I walked over to a pillar in front of the girls room door, struck a pose leaning against it, and practiced my face. Someone was coming, as she walked out I looked right into her eyes and made the face I'd settled on. She did a bit of double take and looked at me funny, then kept moving. Oops, wasn't my friend. This happened about ten more times. I don't know where these ladies were coming from, I didn't see any of them walk in. It was like the clowns piling out of volkswagon beetle, except the only clown was me, lurking in front of the bathroom door leering at everybody. I must have waited ten minutes. Finally Kellie walked out of the bathroom. My face was a bit tired at this point, so its hard to be sure what it did when she walked out, but it didn't matter because she recognized me instantly and came to give me a travel weary hug. We chatted for a second until it became obvious Kellie was too tired and disoriented for small talk, and we shared a bit of smily silence waiting for Laecee. And waiting. Kellie went to tell her we'd meet her at the baggage claim, and we walked over. We all got our bags in short order, and next thing I know laecee is leaping on me and hugging me and saying, "It's him! He's here! Woohoo." Happy reunion. We packed two backpacks, one suitcase, various carry-ons, a banjo, a mandolin, a surfboard, and three travelers into a cab and headed for Salvador, a 45 minute drive.

I thought a bit of driving would be a soft way to start to acclimate, as we drove through various shanty towns and crumbling urban developments, people walking hither and yon, some just staring at the passing traffic, all from the comfort of our air conditioned cab. I was wrong. I guess I'm immune at this point, after all I took drivers training and learned to drive in Bogota, Colombia, of all places, (oh and spent a month racing a motorcycle around Bali on the left side of the road, running from cops and the rest) but the race car/demo derby maneuvers of our Salvadorian cabbie were doing anything but putting the girls at ease. They were pretty good about it but after about half an hour Laecee let out a big sigh and to Kellie in a squeeky voice, "did you see that?" See what I wanted to know. "Yeah he's been doing it the whole time" was Kellie's response. Oh well, there was going to be a lot to get used to.

We got to Salvador early evening and the cabbie was great about driving us around to different hotels as we tried to find a room. We were in the historical area, which as I've mentioned before is garanteed to give you the best and worst of Salvador. The second the cab stopped moving kids were pressed against the windows asking for change and as I got out to check on a room I immediately acquired a very strung out looking and persistent "guide". No amount of no thank you's could shake him and he followed me right into each hotel, walking up to the desk before me and asking for a room for me before I could open my mouth. I had to eventually get back in the cab to shake him. We eventually got rooms, settled in, took a few breaths, and got ready to go out. They weren't the nicest rooms, but they were cheap and well located, and we would be headed to the islands the next day, so whatever. In retrospect, the girls were great sports. We were close to the action, but we were on a dingy side street with poor light (ok all the streets have poor light), bars on windows and doors, a silent doorman who kept our door locked all night and day, small bland rooms with crumbling plaster and a common bathroom with a cold (or shocking) shower, humid, lumpy mattress and pillows. I don't think we even had fans, much less AC. The girls were going with the flow.

We walked around the old district and I showed the girls the sights, including history lessons and orientation. Thankfully, the mobs of summer and carnaval were long gone, and the area was somewhat peaceful. The aggressive street kids, panhandlers, and hawkers were still there, but in smaller numbers and several notches less aggressive in their tactics. The girls just smiled at everyone, while I explained our lack of interest or whatever. We stopped for drinks at a bar I liked, where there is often live music. We sat outside to watch the scene and enjoy the breeze. Laecee and Kellie are addicted to tequila, specifically Cazadores. That's really all there is for them. I had warned them that tequila is rare in Brazil, and if you find it it is always Jose Cuervo, which as we all know is horrid. It was time for their first Caipirinha.

Pinga, or cachaça, is the state drink of Brazil. It is made of sugar cane and the readily available varieties are mostly unfiltered, very strong, and after about three are guaranteed to have you teaching samba lessons and begging for mercy the next morning. I don't drink it. A Caipirinha is a delicious way to forget you are drinking cachaça. Lime juice, cane sugar, ice, and cachaça. It goes down smooth. Once again, I don't drink them. I decided to have mercy on the girls and ordered them Caipiroskas, basically the same drink but with vodka instead. They loved them and were quickly forgetting the 36 hour journey they just came off of and were looking around and really seeing Brazil. I think we had a couple rounds, can't remmeber (I'm going to leave that typo).

We walked some more, saw more sights, then realized we were starved. We stopped for a small meal at a restaurant some may know called Cantina Da Lua, a buffet type place with typical Bahian cuisine and a view of the square. As I explained to the girls, there is not one food item in Brazil that tastes like any food item in the States, except Coke. Even when it looks familiar, it wont be. Even the pizza comes with a very thin crust, usually no tomato sauce, and mayonaisse and ketchup on the side. Laecee, a very picky eater, found something to pick at and just kept smiling.

I could see they were tired, but I knew this was their one time to see Salvador, and I was going to show them everyting. We left the restarant and after visiting the Elevador de Lacerda, and a history lesson on the Mercado Modelo and the Forte, and the night time view of the harbor from the cliff, jumped in a cab for Barra. The other tourist destination in Salvador, Barra is the beach district. We got out at Porto Da Barra, my favorite beach and the place where they sometimes have shows on the beach, and near where I lived with Theresa, Kevin and crew in 2004. My idea was we'd walk along the beach for a ways, towards Ondina, and have a seaside drink at Barra Vento. Laecee had other plans. She needed to touch that water. While these areas are fairly safe in the early evening, there are tons of folks lurking about, some of them not smiling, and its usually when you step onto the sand that they approach you, so I stay off the sand at night. Oh well whatever. Laecee slipped off her sandals and got her feet wet, making happy girly sounds and expressing amazement at the warmth. Kellie laughed at Laecee, and I smiled because I couldn't help it, but kept my eyes on the dark edges of the sand and the boardwalk above, where we had the full attention of about a hundred local Barra lurkers.

Eventually I got our train back in motion and we moved on towards Barra Vento. It had been dark for hours, but the girls were marveling at the warmth and the warm moist breeze
blowing off the ocean. We must have stopped for a drink, though I remember nothing of it. Barra Vento is the only establishment on the beach side of the beach road, and consists primarily of a couple of huge and artistic canvas coverings draped, pulled and bound over an expansive multi-level deck with about a hundred tables on it. Great spot for a sunset drink, though we missed sunset by about four hours. Barra was quiet, and I was restless, so I was voting for a cab back to the Pelou, where hopefully the night life was heating up and we could do some sweaty bar hopping before bed.

As it turned out, monday night is just not the night for music in March in Salvador. Most of my usual haunts were shut down, but the upstairs salsa bar had some forro pumping, so we went up. It was perfect. The building was old and tastefully decorated, bare brick showing on the walls, lights low and reddish. Because of the small cover there were no shady characters or agressive men around, just couples getting down on the floor and folks chatting at the bar. I ended up talking to a semi psycho drunk italian and his very down to earth friendly salvadorian friend, while the girls watched the dancing and fell in love with a gypsy looking girl who had moves. We walked up stairs and enjoyed a peaceful and expansive nighttime view of the colonial buildings of the old district, and watched the street characters move below us like ants. Somehow we made it home, for a sweaty nights sleep before catching our boat the next day.