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...