Living Large

So one of the Bahia Boys is about to turn 21. Fortunately, his host family has a beach house on an island that's only a short ferry ride away from Salvador. What is even more fortunate, is the fact that his family is throwing him a party on this island oasis this weekend....stay tuned for the inevitable deluge of great stories.

In other news, would you believe O Chefao if he told you that we spent last Friday at the Miss Bahia pageant, and then spent all Saturday afternoon at the beach with two of the contestants? Well, if you have seen O Atrevido's recently updated facebook photo album, "Brasil," you probably do. And if you don't believe...shame on you. Just because your imagination is stifled by a humdrum North American existence, don't doubt the Bahia Boys.

But the story of our weekend with Bahian beauties should really be told by Atrevido. It was all his doing. And he has all the pictures. He's really moving up in the world. He may not admit that he's on Vince Young, or Reggie Bush status, but Atrevido is now undoubtedly a first round draft pick.

Real Drama

I have been told that you cannot understand Brazil unless you at least watch a few of the novelas. So yes, in an effort to better understand the local culture, I have indeed been watching Brazilian soap operas. Now let me inform you about TV here. Most people don’t have cable. The vast majority of households here, mine included, have access to two, maybe three, channels. And here’s how the schedule goes: early afternoon and late night are dominated by American movies dubbed in Portuguese (except one of the channels seems to always be showing the American TV series “Lost”). Besides that, most of the rest of the day is split between news, the biggest soccer match going on at the time, your typical Latin American afternoon variety/game show, and Big Brother Brazil (and I thought reality TV back home was bad…) But primetime is dedicated to novelas. They are basically soap operas, but each episode is a chapter, and they only last for three to six months. Everyone in the country watches them. But unlike in the US, where we have sitcoms, dramas, and different types of shows, novelas are it here…and therefore, they’re a bit more diverse than your typical As the World Turns, or Bold and the Beautiful. They have novelas about everything. One, called JK, is about Joselino Kubicek, the President of Brazil responsible for constructing the city of Brasilia, the country’s current capital, during the 1950s. There’s actually a new novela that just started this week. I missed the first two chapters, but finally caught it tonight. Guess what…it’s about slaves. I kid you not. A soap opera about slaves….only in Brazil. Maybe it will be just like Roots... I remember my Dad told me about when he saw Roots. It was actually back in Nigeria in the 70s. He saw it at the national theatre on the big screen. He told me how after it was finished, everyone was really amped, just waiting to get their hands on one of those damned “white oppressors,” and enact some revenge on behalf of brotha Kunta. Fortunately, there basically are no white people in Nigeria, so no one got hurt.

Speaking of enacting revenge…we all went to a meeting for the Steve Biko Cultural Institute last night. It was very interesting…basically a lot of folks that are active in the black movement and the fight for affirmative action here in Salvador. There were some presentations and speakers, one of which especially interested me. His speech actually wasn’t that interesting. It had been a fairly long night, and the room was very full, and very hot. This guy’s speech had been going on for awhile, and to be honest, I was getting pretty tired of hearing Portuguese. So I was really only half listening, probably picking out about 20% of what he was actually saying. But in what I assumed to be his closing he started to get a bit more dramatic. There was some fist waving and his demeanor started to take on that of a fiery black nationalist. To me it was all still just a lot of loud Portuguese, but at the very end of his speech, as he got really energetic I understood him crystal clearly when he, still in Portuguese, said, “We’re going to kill racism. We’re going to kill the racists!” which of course was followed by raucous applause and a standing ovation. I looked over at Tudo Bem (both of us were already standing in the back of the auditorium) to confirm that my Portuguese did not fail me and that he did indeed say “We’re going to kill the racists!” He gave me a nod of affirmation, but was clearly taken aback by this momentary call to arms. Fortunately, the night did not end with a massive horde of black people searching the streets in an effort to forcefully exterminate racism and its adherents. I think the speech’s ending was more a moment of overzealous rhetoric than anything else. But you never know…

Deep Thoughts

O Chefao has been absent for awhile, but his absence was indeed eventful. Trust - the Bahia Boys have been busy this past weekend: Long nights spent overindulging in every aspect of Salvador’s night life, finally starting to really get in touch with the local university population here, attending birthday party, after birthday party, after birthday party, and juggling all sorts of new “friendships” - all of which has resulted in a trail of broken hearts (mostly Brazilian) from Pelourinho to Rio Vermelho, back along the coast past Barra and up through Campo Grande. But alas, this post is not about the recent adventures in awkwardness that have defined my social life and that of my compatriots. I haven’t blogged for a couple of days, so I’m going to take it slowly. Instead of dramatic encounters with the opposite sex and the subsequent amorous exchanges (or lack thereof) that have been taking place here in Salvador, I want to explore a much more mundane topic: drug trafficking, urban warfare, and the militarization of the streets that the news may or may not be telling you is going on right now in the sunny tropical paradise that is Brazil.

Fortunately, these phenomena have not yet hit us here in Salvador; although we have had a surprisingly high number of encounters with the military police so far. But, in Rio de Janeiro, home of Ipanema, Copacabana, and supermodels that wear string bikinis to the supermarket, tanks are blockading the streets, and military forces with high caliber weapons have their sites set on the hillside favelas and slums that exist throughout the city. This all began after a government military installation was stormed and looted of arms and weaponry in Rio last week. The assailants are assumed to have fled to the favelas where they are now hiding out…and it is almost universally accepted here that the attack was an inside job. A friend of mine here told me that if the armed forces really want to find the most dangerous assailants, they should blockade the military barracks instead of putting the millions of innocent people that reside in the cities favelas in danger during their aggressive invasions of their communities. The situation here really is crazy, and it is evident here in Salvador as well. A country so physically and culturally blessed is home to problems that legitimately put the solidarity of the state, the central administrative polity, in jeopardy. This instability is worrisome, but also creates an environment where social movement is dynamic and ever present. Unfortunately, drug dealers in the favelas of Rio are not exactly positive social transformers. Please excuse O Chefao while he goes into academic mode. You can take the man away from Harvard…but apparently that academic mentality may never die completely. But if you do have the interest/patience to continue reading…comments, criticism, and your thoughts are definitely welcome and appreciated. Enjoy:

The vast economic inequity and class repression that characterizes Brazil has apparently troubled historically conservative observers. In their study published in 2001, the World Bank warns that "The practice of social exclusion, clearly linked to poverty and to poverty-stricken groups within Brazil, will soon become more of a liability than an asset to the elite. Thanks to globalization, one of the region's main assets, its huge pool of cheap, unskilled labor, is fast becoming a liability." Eerily, it appears that this liability has turned into a fearsome reality in Rio de Janeiro. In September 2002, Comando Vermelho, a drug syndicate based in a local favela, brought the entire city to a halt through threats of violence and intimidation. Their authority, previously limited to the poor hillside communities of the favelas, has now spilled into mainstream Brazilian society, seemingly breaking the rules of firmly regulated geographic class separation and hierarchy. “Spray-painted slogans on the city’s walls left no doubt about the drug traffickers message: days before the shutdown in 2002, the slogan ‘Parallel power’ appeared on two downtown buildings.” Since then, the syndicate has continually used this threat as a means of interrupting life in this city of six million people. Utilizing traditional methods of patronage backed by a monopoly of armed force, Comando Vermelho has created a de facto claim of autonomy in the favela and boldly demonstrates its power by implementing periodic extensions of coercive force and intimidation into the lives of the middle-class and rich residents of Rio de Janeiro.

According to R. Ben Penglase, these new displays of force from the favelas are symbolic of the emergence of a new social landscape where “new forms of power are being constructed, and a new type of war being conducted, at the very moment when there is a deep, region-wide disenchantment with democracy, and when the role of the state as the central economic and political actor is increasingly being called into question.” However, the example here of Comando Vermelho is not proposed as a viable alternative to government rule. To many residents of the favela, accustomed to police brutality and the lack of public services and protection from the government, drug syndicates are simply seen as the lesser of two evils. Though they can create stability in favelas through systems of patronage and reciprocal protection, they enforce rules and regulations in the community to which they do not have to abide. Their authority is based on fear, periodically creates new cycles of violence, and does not lend itself to open dialogue and the development of democratic institutions within the community. However, the emergence of power within the drug-syndicates represents a tangible threat to state authority, and may possibly compel the state into a greater willingness to listen to the demands of social movements based in these impoverished communities. The show of force and coercive tactics of Comando Vermelho may shift the monopoly of power in a way that could potential create new space and opportunity for discursive dialogue between citizens of the favelas and the Brazilian municipal, state, and federal authorities. The potential for increased violence emanating from poor, neglected communities throughout the country, may compel the government to take the demands of poor communities, and the legitimate non-violent social movements they create, more seriously. At the very least, this development signifies a moment in Brazilian history where the current socio-economic status-quo, and the marginalization of the largely non-white under classes appears to be increasingly unacceptable and unsustainable.

How to Get a Girl When You´re a Baiano

Moving away from my experience with Evander Holyfield´s brother, I want to talk a bit about the dynamic between girls and guys here. First and foremost, I want to reiterate the sentiment behind O Chefao’s earlier post: I have definitely been impressed with the way in which women here have learned to “survive” the Carnaval experience. However, to fully understand how impressive a feat this, I feel that there needs to be more attention paid to the tactics of the Baiano. Now I will be honest; in the years since I realized that girls actually don’t have “kooties” and that I am attracted to many of them, I have done alright in my relations with them. However, coming here and witnessing, with my own two eyes, the hunting practices of the Baiano, has blown my best “game” out of the water. In fact, I have been so impressed with these tactics, especially during Carnaval, that I took some notes. Though Carnaval may indeed be one of the greatest parties on earth, I am a student of excellence, and must acknowledge and study this excellence wherever I find it. Below are a couple of observations of Carnaval as well as the days leading up to it.

2.19.06 (O Chefao´s perspective)
We set out with a number of female members in the group to a party a couple towns away…walking through the crowd I saw what appeared to be a young Baiano take notice of a young lady in our group. Walking past him, I noticed his eyes fixated intently on this young woman. I watched as he calculated, waiting for the right moment. Then FLASH, he was gone, snaking adeptly through the crowd towards her, unwavering in his intention. And then at the precise moment he slid up to her, left arm circling her waist, bring her body towards him. I was frozen in awe by this young man’s calculation and determination. Fortunately, this young lady was able to evade this man’s persistence without a kiss, though I am not sure she would have been as fortunate on her own...

2.21.06
The scene: a club in the state of Bahia, just outside of Salvador. Carnaval is close, you can feel the energy in the air. I have once again been floored by the abilities of the Baiano. As the music in the club played, I sat with my compatriots, drinking a cold beverage that may or may not have been a beer. As we talked our conversation was immediately cut short as a beautiful woman walked by. The whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion. As she walked by, on her way to the bathroom, I saw a Baiano standing on the wall take notice of her as well. I did not think much of it until I saw her emerge from the bathroom. Like a lion who has stalked his prey, this man pounced, surprising this ‘gastoza’ with an arm around the waist, his head moving in for a kiss. Catching her by surprise, he landed the kiss, but only for a couple seconds before she shoved him away. Serves him right I thought. Unfortunately this thought was quite foolish. Keeping her firmly in his grasp he whispered in her ear for about fifteen seconds. As he pulled away I saw her expression turn from anger to one of contemplation. Then right before my eyes he went again for a kiss, and this time, instead of resisting, she met him halfway. After about two minutes of making out they left the area together, holding hands. Now if that isn’t game, I don’t know what the hell is...

Fighting to Survive Carnaval...Literally

Over the past couple of days I have gone back and forth about whether this is a story that I want to share. This morning I finally decided that I would write it, more because I think the more I write about it, the easier it becomes to deal with, though I also want to give you all as true an account of what has been going on here in Salvador as possible. That being said, before I begin, as I have done a few times now in telling this story, I would like to assure all of you that I am doing well, in great physical health and somewhat decent emotional health.

The last day of Carnaval was finally here, and though completely exhausted from the week’s events, I was definitely anticipating a strong finish. In previous days we had watched the different blocaos pass from pipoca, taking special note of which ones seemed to be the most fun. Of all of them, it was clear to most of us (in the group was myself and several friends from the program, including my two compatriots, O Chefao and Atrevido) which was the best. Filhos de Gandhi is the largest blocao during Carnaval with somewhere in the neighborhood of 16,000 participants. Dressed in blue and white robes with a turban, the first thought is that these guys look absolutely ridiculous. But that thought is quickly cast aside when you see the effect that these costumes (in Carnaval vocabulary know as ‘fantasias’) have on women. While members of other blocaos used all sorts of savage techniques to get girls, the members of Filhos de Ghandi made the whole thing look easy. Way too easy. In fact, women were flocking to these guys and even if they weren’t bagging (which, a great deal of the time they were) at the very least they were getting a lot of love in the streets. As we watched the Filhos de Ghandi in action, we knew that being a part of this blocao would be the proper conclusion to Carnaval.
The difficult part was finding a fantasia for only one day. Especially with the Filhos de Ghandi, the fantasias usually sold out pretty early before Carnaval even began, so one could imagine how difficult it would be to obtain one in the middle of Carnaval. Nonetheless, we tried. Our search took me and a friend to Pelourinho, a historic tourist area of the city known for its beautiful view, small shops and pick-pocketers. We ventured here because it was the only place where one could find Filhos de Ghandi fantasias for the last day of Carnaval. We searched and searched, asking anyone who had on a Filhos costume if they knew where we could find a fantasia for the last day. To our (or at least my) surprise, just about everyone we talked to was very helpful. If they didn’t know off the bat they would walk with us for a little while, asking people along the way if they knew. It is times like these that really allow you to have faith in the kindness of people. None of these guys had any stake in us finding a fantasia, but they were all very willing to be helpful in our quest….
Unfortunately, even with all the help from people along the way we continued to hit dead ends. To be honest, I had expected this type of outcome, considering how popular the Filhos de Gandhi are and that we were looking for fantasias on the last day of Carnaval. But just as my hope and patience were wearing thin we found hope. I ran into a guy on the street who was willing to sell his fantasia for a reasonable price. He had found a nice British girl, he explained, and really had no use for the fantasia. With a newfound sense of hope I called over to my friend to explain the deal. The guy selling the fantasia was a bit smaller than me, so my friend bought the fantasia, donning the robe and turban on the spot. Now with some energy in our walk we searched for a second, hoping that we could find one quickly and make it out to the blocao before it got too late. Like before, however, we kept running into dead ends and as the sun began to set so did my hopes of finding a fantasia. I figured, worst case scenario, that my friend would roll in the blocao and I would get a chance to watch from the outside. We had just followed another helpful guy in a Filhos de Gandhi fantasia to a dead end and I was just about ready to call it quits. As we walked we saw a table of six guys drinking beer, all wearing Filhos fantasias. I was pretty much tired of approaching random guys and asking them the same questions, but my friend and I agreed that this would be the last one. We approached the table and explained our situation. To our surprise, they were receptive, and in fact many were willing to sell their own fantasias, though the price was too high. We negotiated back and forth until finally we had reached something that in my mind was somewhat reasonable. During this time I was negotiating with a guy on the far side of the table. However, when we reached the price, to my surprise, a guy sitting on the near side of the table (from my perspective) got up and said that he would make the deal with me. We walked a little ways away from the table to make the exchange and, being cautious, I called my friend over to watch my back. A friend of this guy came over too, so now it was four of us in the group. I tried on the turban to make sure that it fit and seeing that it did, decided to go ahead with the deal. Right before this however, I went over to my friend, discreetly giving him the money so as to make sure that it would be protected while I tried on the fantasia. I walked over to the guy and he began to take off the fantasia. I turned my head for a second (I still cannot remember why) but as I turned it back I felt the first punch hit me squarely on the right side of my face. The second was landed as fast and unexpectedly as the first and I felt myself falling back. As I fell he hit me one or two more times in the face and as I caught myself from falling I felt him grab me in an attempt to put me in a headlock. Completely defensive, I hit him--slipping out of his grasp--and stumbled over to where my friend was standing. Righting myself I heard him say something (though I can’t remember what) and we started running up the street, faster than I think I’ve ever run before. I ran without looking back, more scared than I can ever remember being in my life. We ran and I realized that I couldn’t see out of my left I eye. This is when I realized I was bleeding. I wiped the blood out of my eye and spit, but all that left my mouth was thick blood. I faintly heard my friend telling me to slow down, but I couldn’t, I just kept running. We ran and ran until something told me to stop. My friend caught up with me and asked me if I was alright. I remember saying yes, but that didn’t last for long. Around the next corner these men appeared and before I could think we started running again, now in the opposite direction. My first thought was, ‘find people’ because I knew that I’d be safe in public. I ran into a crowd of people nearby, ducking and dodging, trying to run as fast as possible without knocking anyone over. It was at this time that I heard him begin yelling ‘Ladrao, ladrao!!’ (Thief, thief!!). Having seen the brutality of the police thus far I knew that I didn’t have much of a chance of an escape if I kept running. I ran and ran, looking for some sort of safety. And there in front of me it was. A group of five military police officers were on patrol, stern faced and gripping their batons. To digress for a moment, I hate the police. I had a ‘strong dislike’ for the police back in the States, but seeing how the PM (policia military) do it out here and realizing that, to an extent, we’ve got it easy back home, has turned this strong dislike into a solid hatred. I am in firm agreement with the concept of police, in theory; however, in practice I believe (and have seen and experienced I must add) where theory errs from reality. Back to the events…I knew that if I did not get help from these police officers, hearing this man calling me a thief from behind me, they would immediately take after me in pursuit as well. I made a snap decision and came to a halt in front of them, getting down on my knees and begging them to protect me. It must have been quite something for them to see. A kid, covered in blood, down on his knees asking them for protection in broken Portuguese. A moment later the man came running up yelling at me and the police in Portuguese that I only half-understood. None of it mattered for the moment; I knew that I safe and though fear still gripped me by the balls, I knew that I wouldn’t have to run anymore…
The rest of the story is as upsetting and as much an introduction to reality and as the first part, though fortunately not as violent. I was taken directly to the infirmary where my wounds were assessed: cuts on my legs and feet, cuts around my mouth, a nose that looked like it was broken, a cut under my left eye that was going to need to be stitched on the spot and swelling around my right temple where I was first hit. It took a while for me to calm down, but eventually I did, trying my best to recount the events to the nurses there as they kept telling me to be quiet. The only identification they had for me was an STA card which unfortunately was insufficient in proving to them that I was an American citizen. As I left the infirmary for the police station, one of the officers took hold of me by the back of the shirt, and as he did this I realized that they believed me to be the criminal in this situation. I found out later from my friend that they let the guy who beat me walk freely behind me.
But the breathtakingly shitty police work only began here. As we arrived at the police station, they asked for our respective information. I asked the police officer if we could do this separately, as I did not want this guy to know where I was living. It was only after I asked him several more times did he grant me this request. The entire story from here only becomes more confusing, though I will give the highlights, for entertainment’s sake. Because I did not have my passport and as a result, no valid ID, the police began to put together a story that I was actually a Bahian con-man who purposely spoke broken Portuguese and had somewhere learned perfect English. In addition, they concluded that it was impossible for this guy to have hit me, principally because he had no cuts or blood on his hands (though mysteriously, he had a large amount of my blood on his robe…hmm, that’s strange). In addition, because I explained that I was sucker punched, they concluded that I could not properly identify this man to be the man who hit me, despite the fact that he was only person standing on my right. This was after my friend positively identified him as the man who hit me. As a result of the stellar work of Salvador’s Policia Militar, the guy walked and I was feeling, well, pretty much like shit.
I’m not exactly sure where this incident has left me. Though I have suffered some pretty serious injuries playing sports, never have I been in a position where someone has literally tried to beat the shit out of me. For those who have been fortunate enough to avoid such encounters, it is something that changes your whole attitude about dealing with others and with trust. I certainly can’t say that I hate Brazil; I have not forgotten that this is life (specifically life outside of the comfort of the U.S. suburbs and universities that have brought me up) and in life shit happens. At the same time I must admit, I am not feeling nearly as adventurous or enthusiastic as before. I would hate to end this post on a sour note (though I am giving it to you guys as real as I know it to be) so I will give you two pieces of great news. 1) Despite taking a beating, I am still pretty and though I have temporarily been set back, soon fathers will again have to begin locking their daughters indoors after dark as Tudo Bem will be back on the prowl. 2) For those careful readers you will notice that I actually did NOT get robbed and therefore am still going strong in our bet. For all you who have placed your faith and money in my abilities to retain my belongings, don’t worry, I have not forgotten about you. Tudo Bem, signing off…

He´s Alive!!!

Tudo Bem Lives!

Well, my dedicated readers, after much waiting, praying and nailbiting, I return. It has been a while, so there is a great deal that I have to tell that has transpired over the past couple of weeks. You have heard a bunch from my compatriots O Chefao and Atrevido and they have given very comprehensive accounts of what life here in Salvador has been like. But alas, there is more to tell. That being said, get a quick stretch, relax, grab a beverage perhaps, and prepare to read a bit about a night in the life and thoughts of Tudo Bem, where everything is not always, well, tudo bem…

Gandhy's Curse

So on the very last day of Carnaval, we tried something new.

The blocos were great. Three full days of high energy music, pulsating rhythms, deep drum beats, and of course, beautiful women. It was like nothing I had ever done before. And by Sunday morning...I was exhausted. Unfortunately, Carnaval here in Salavador waits for no one.

The next day we tried a camarote. It was fun, provided a much needed break from the craziness of the street party...but ultimately was a bit too bourgeois for my tastes. Now don't get me wrong, I do go to school at Harvard...and I usually have no problem with bourgeois - but who comes to Brazil to sip on drinks with the rich and snobbish while a thousand person procession is passing by directly below, clearly having a much better time than you.

Over the next few days, while we just partied in the streets in the pipoca, we witnessed a cultural phenomenon. Here this phenomenon is known as Filhos de Gandhy (Sons of Gandhi). They are the oldest, most respected Afro-bloco in Salvador. It's all male membership, which consists of over 16,000 people, take to the streets in fairly extravagant costumes. They wear blue turbans (actually fashioned out of official Filhos de Gandhy towels), and long, white, arab/indianesque robes accompanied by white sandles, gloves, and as many blue and white beads as possible. They also carry around bottles of perfume (Yes, it is as weird as it sounds. But not as weird as the guys that dress up as Wonder Woman and carry around squirt guns filled with what I really hope is just water). The bloco was created to commemerate Gandhy's philosophy of non-violence. Now, are these guys really dedicating their Carnaval to peace on earth? That's highly debatable. But, one thing they do in fact do during the festivities is pick up girls with a tenacity, relentlessness, and success rate that I have never before witnessed in my life.

Yes, the sons of Gandhy are in fact the utmost of savages when it comes to the ladies. Their perfume is wielded as a powerful aphrodisiac that breaks down the inhibitions of unknowing women (even though it really just makes the city smell like a big barbershop...c'mon, you know that smell...) And they lure their feminine targets with the promise of beads and the pleasure of contact with an authentic Filho.

Now, this is not simply rumor and hearsay...we witnessed the power of the turban for ourselves. One evening, while partying in the pipoca, in the general crowd, we of course were attempting to talk with all the cute females we saw in the crowd. Despite our American charm and wit we were quite unsuccessful. Brazil girls, accustmoted to fighting off the aggressive advances of the local menfolk seem perplexed by our more polite, subtle, I'll-actually-ask-for-your-name-before-simply-trying-to-make-out-with-you approach. Anyways, despite our frustration we were still having a good time. We saw the Filhos from a distance and decided to watch their procession. It truly was a sight to behold. Thousands of guys dressed in the costumes, blaring African-like chants, and decorated trucks with interesting, exotic paraphernalia. But as the last of the Filhos passed, we knew somethign was amiss. We felt alarmingly lonely. Every single woman, without exception, that had been dancing near us earlier, was nowhere to be seen. They had all either been taken away in the arms of a Filho or had followed along in their footsteps.

Abandoned and ashamed, we made a pact. If becoming Filhos was what one had to do to get girls during Carnaval, so be it. We were going to become Filhos. And obviously, that decision, made hastily in a state of momentary irrationality, was a bad one...especially for our dear comrade, Tudo Bem...

Girls be warned

As O Atrevido mentioned, everyone says that Carnaval is all about kissing. But unfortunately, much of this kisssing is basically, if not completely, forced. At about 2am on the second night of Carnaval, I found myself accompanying a group of three random Brazilian girls who I didn´t know but were somehow connected to a friend of my host brother (and no, I didn´t force any of them into anything they didn´t want to do). I was walking with them through the pipoca (if you don´t know the terminology see: Carnaval 101) for about an hour. I was behind three of them, holding the girls hand in front of me while we followed her friends. She basically got a free pass for the night. There´s a certain level of unspoken respect between guys during the festival. If you appear to be with a girl, or are atleast holding her hand, they can all look, but they don´t dare touch. Any other girls however...it´s one big meat market.

The two girls in front of us faced a virtual obstacle course filled with Brazilian men and assorted tourists trying to get a piece. Compared to the States, rules regarding sexual harassment here are pretty lenient throughout the year. During Carnaval, I don´t think they exist. Making eye contact is basically the same as telling a dude you want to sleep with them. And, once a guy thinks that his advances have gotten the slightest form of positive feedback (and "positive" is a very flexible term), it takes a relative miracle to escape the situation without atleast giving up a kiss, if not more.

So I´m with the girls, trying to provide as much help as I can, brushing off dudes that have grabbed one of the girl´s arms, karating chopping some guys who don´t take the hint and hold on for too long, and just kindof looking on in disgust at some of the guys who simply go for a slight, yet extremely pervented, stroke of the hair.

At one point, one girl actually got corralled by a guy using a string of beads (kinda like Mardis Gras, but beads are traded for kisses and hookups rather than getting flashed). It appeared to be a pretty perilous situation, but my momentary worry was quickly transformed into a kind of awe. Even though the guy with the beads attacked from behind, the girl immediately, if not pre-emptively employed a Matrix-esque spin move/dip, escaped the well planned, predatory advance, and kept moving...all in one motion, while not breaking stride, nor changing the stone-cold demeanor on her face. I was impressed indeed.

So, although I am far from any sort of feminist (and in some ways pride myself on that fact)...women of the world, I give you much respect. And although I just provided a harrowing image of Carnaval in Salvador, don´t be fooled, it´s still great. You just have to know what you´re doing.

And for all those of you who are worried about Tudo Bem´s recent lack of posts, don´t worry. He´s absolutely fine...for the most part.

Carnaval 101

For an entire week, a city of well over 2 million stops. Droves of people from Salvador, the state of Bahia, and all throughout Brazil flock to the city's center ready to party and/or profit off of the festivities. It is nothing like Rio de Janeiro or Sao Paulo, known for their famous parading Samba schools. Carnaval in Salvador is an entirely participatory event. It is a popular music fest, a true seven day street party that brings in all Bahia's most popular performers. It is really something that cannot be described by words - but what kind of blogger would I be if I didn't atleast try.

Just to try and give my American audience a more informed perspective, lets imagine that due to odd historical circumstances and cultural machinations, Carnaval was actually an American phenomenon, and imagine it centered in Atlanta. And lets just say that instead of Axe (Bahian pop music), samba reggae, and other Brazilian music, Atlanta's Carnaval was all about rap from the dirty south (Carnaval here is a celebration of local, homegrown music). What you would end up with is seven days of non-stop musical parades, known in Brazil as folias. Twenty or so trucks rigged with incredibly enormous speakers would travel slowly down the largest boulevards in the city. And, on top of each truck would be a performer or band. Here in Salvador, these trucks are referred to as trio-electricos. Imagine one truck being dedicated to Outkast, and thirty minutes later he would be followed by Li'l John, and then Three Six Mafia, then Ludacris. Gucci Mane or Young Geezy might roll through later on in the afternoon along with anybody else currently popular.

But this is not just any normal parade. Like I said, Carnaval here is not just a spectator sport. Some people do stay perched above the streets in the buildings that look over the Avenidas on which Carnaval passes. These arrangements are called camarotes, and are mostly limited to bourgeois folks who aren't really down to party in true Brazilian fashion. A lot of people, for a fair, but significant fee, pay to be in blocos. Around every trio-electrico is a designated space roped off for bloco-members, partiers that travel along with the trucks on the street for the entire circuit, which lasts for a couple hours. The blocos are crazy and extremely fun, and after a day or two, exhausting.

For the adventurous tourist, and for those that just don't have the money to spend (the majority of people in Salvador), there is the pipoca. The pipoca is simply the street and consists of everyone else in the city who is enjoying the music, and partying, but just doing so outside of the ropes (and security) of the bloco. Pipoca is fun, but it's also home to a good deal of pickpocketers, can get rowdy (especially in stretches of the road where the Avenidas get narrow), and is kinda tough for girls who aren't accustomed to hordes of men constantly grabbing and trying to makeout with them.

Now,Carnaval is not in Atlanta, so there's no Li'l Jon and the Eastside Boys. The vast majority of the trios carry Axe singers. Axe is nice, but not particularly complex. Fortunately, if you spend a bit of time in Salvador, you hear it all the time and it definitely grows on you. It is percussion heavy and very high energy, and all the performers sing the most successful songs of the past few years, so everyone catches on to the rhythms and lyrics of the popular songs pretty quickly. Fortunately though, there are alternatives to the regular trios. Salvador here has afro-blocos which were created to create and raise African/black consciousness and cultural awareness in the region and bring a totally different feel to the table. They are trios as well but play different types of music and the members of the blocos are usually dressed up particular themes and are accompanied by african drumss, and other performers. There are also blocos that consist entirely of men dressed as wonderwoman, predominately gay blocos, and basically anything else you could think of.

Anyways, this post has been long enough. I just wanted to provide a brief intro to put all of our subsequent Carnaval stories in context. Because of course, the Bahia Boys, being as adventurous as we are, tried out all the aspects of Carnaval; blocos, camarote, and pipoca and had a great time/almost died/are now involved in weird love triangles.

You really don't want to miss the next few posts.