|
|
Carnival in Salvador de Bahia
Chang Noi: Letter from Bahia:
Paris January 21
I've had enough of Europe. I need to put some ocean between me and the Big
Black Hole. I want to holiday in a land unknown to me, whose language and habits
are strange. Brazil, the Carnival Salvador de Bahia. I feel nervous. What awaits
me in the new world?
Recife, the 23rd of January
After a 9 hour flight I arrive at 8:30am local time in Recife.
"Primera vez an Brasio!?"
The man behind the information desk orders me a taxi. Straight afterwards he
sticks his thumb up, which is a hand movement that turns out to be the most
important element of Brazilian body language, as it signifies "Everything's
alright!" ("todo bem"). It leaves nothing untold.
The taxi driver is driving me along the coastal road of Recife. Plastic waste,
jogger. Badly dressed, dirty people sleep on the footpath. Are they recovering
from their inebriation, cos it's definitely warm enough, or are they actually
homeless?
Central Recife: Old dilapidated colonial buildings rub shoulders with crappy
new ones. In front of these the real homeless sleep. As we drive through
their living room some of them wake up. At the next red light, my taxi driver
locks all the doors. A young guy is lying in the middle of the street, with
an extremely dirty sheet pulled over his head, his torso drenched with dried
blood, his abcess covered legs twisted obscurely. Is he alive?
"Palacio de Justicia" says the taxi driver.
"Or injusticia" I reply. His thumb is comes forth promptly.
How about a cigarette?
We are the only vehicle on the street. The people on the side of the road scrutinize
me: On this beautiful Sunday morning a cheesy gringo loaded with Dollares is
taking a tour of the city in an impenetrable taxi. I am certain that if I was
standing on the street with my suitcase in my hand, they would slaughter
me immediately and then they'd slice me into portions, no matter how tired they
were.
My taxi brings me to Olinda, a really classy small town, directly outside of
Recife. Hotel Quatro Cantos. A nice room with fan and a view of the garden.
My whole body is covered with sweat. It would have to be 35 degrees at least.
I allow my body to fall on the bed. A feeling overcomes me - this sweat-hot
instant-horn which is only at home in the tropics. My body is working overtime.
Churning jealousy breaks out and grips my neck tightly. I'm going crazy... she
is in love and has somebody to fuck . I lie alone on my narrow bed beneath
the border of the equator and have to play the five-against-one game.
I wake up in darkness. I'm stuck to the bed sheets. My skin burns and the air
in my room is warm and humid. I get up, have a shower and get out! Outside it's
hot and humid. I wander down into the garden. What I really want to do is walk
through the streets, visit the people, but the exit is locked. The girl at the reception desk forbids
me to leave the hotel.
"Nao seguro"
They were firing shots out there,
and the Polizia Militar are about to arrive.
Oh well, I don't have to learn everything on my first day, so I obey.
I choose to go out on the terrace and watch
the proceedings from afar.
I can see a number of groups, tight huddles, of a few hundred totally uninhibited
people. They laugh, sing, dance and seem unaffected by the shooting. Directly
below me a circle has formed, and in the middle two black lads are performing a
Capoeira. They make fast movements from left to right, back and forth, their naked torsoes
rocking in rhythm to music which is performed by the musicians who surround
the dancers. They each pound with sticks on instruments consisting of tightly stretched strings
(something like a bow
and arrow type arrangement), which are connected on one end to pumpkin shells which act
as resonance bodies. Others simply clap their hands and watch the ongoing performance.
The dancers cartwheel towards eachother. With speedy actions they spin their bodies
around which causes a leg to swing against the head of their partner, who
dodges it in turn, and then reacts accordingly. This happens very quickly. Alcohol,
clumsiness and bad intentions unfortunately ensure that accidents start to occur,
and I notice the seemingly harmless fun of the last half hour slowly transforming. Apparently
the brawl has begun, and the crowd has obliged to assist. Whooping and
shouting, they are enjoying the fight, some of them beating people who are already
down. But if one duel gets too messy, the people try to separate it in order
to create space for the next show.
All the participants are dressed in loose clothing. The men cover their genitals
with shorts and the women keep their breasts safe with small bustiers. Other than
that I notice a young woman, she, apparently indifferent to the goings on, leans
on the wall near the entrance to the bar. She has a headband under her hair,
which progressively becomes small bunches of hair which falls attractively on
to her shoulders. This gives an added beauty to her lovely sculptured face. She
looks like a mixture of African, Indian and European blood. Nobody that she might
attempt to contact would be able to resist her in any way.
Bloody hell - open the door. The little elephant wants to get his trunk wet
on the inside, and everybody's gotta die sometime. Now there are a damn large
amount of police outside. They look ugly. Without a doubt they are killing machines in camouflage,
and they all wear automatic weapons.
From a cart a few amigos sell pinga (schnapps) and cerveja (beer).
"Cigarro por favor" - "Obrigado" - "De nada."
I start talking to Tania who is hanging out with her mother. They both hate
the carnival: too many people, too much noise, the violence, the stench.They
want to go to Fortaleza tomorrow, and won't come back until the freak show
is over. Despite their grievances, here in Olinda the carnival is quite intimate,
unlike Rio where hundreds of people murder eachother and violently rush to sort out old debts.
The next day I visit a fiesta on the beach. A group of drummers and horn players
set demanding, crazy vibrations free. Maracutu! I'm totally knocked out from
the stomping rhythm and the ability of the people to devote themselves to the
cause. Quickly identified as an outsider, they attempt to teach me the basic
steps and movements. My pitiful reproductions are a subject of scorn and laughter.
The next day I take the bus to Salvador/Bahia.
more
|
|
|
|
