February 27

When we landed at 7am I didn't want to get out of the comfort of my nice warm blanket but I eventually emerged. Salvador is a big city on the Atlantic coast of Brazil and within the city are many separate districts. We chose the beach town of Barra, picked a youth hostel from the travel guide and crossed out fingers. We found the city-bus stop easy enough and whipped around down town on a fast moving bus before making it to the Barra district. When we saw the huge "Barra Shopping " mall we knew we were close and hopped off the bus. We found the beach as the morning people began to emerge to do their walking or running or biking or whatever. Our first glimpse was over a grassy burm and south down the coast to a light house. It was very beautiful for a big city beach town. The water was clear and blue and the people had a general glow of health. The book said that the hostel was near the lighthouse so we headed down the street as the sun began to turn up the heat. After only a few blocks the sweat was dripping off my nose and after a few more my shirt was as wet as if I'd just gotten out of a pool. WHEW! At the light house we began to solicit directions and continued to get fingers pointing further down the street. And then around a corner. And then up a hill. And then around another corner. And then up another hill. We were going in one big circle. 

No matter how much sleep you get on the nicest bus in the world your still sleeping off and on and the true amount of rest you get in minimal. Add that to unspeakable heat and humidity and your store of patience rapidly depletes. We felt like we were going round and round and always up. I thought people were giving us the wrong directions purposely or they misunderstood were we were asking to go. Then we came upon the only street in town without a street sign and new it had to be the one. We headed down to the address listed in the book to find another piece of disappointing misinformation. We knocked on the door but nothing. Then some morning walking ladies passed by and although we couldn't understand a word of their Portuguese it was clear there was no hostel there. I'm sure my Lonely Planet Guide Book bashing may be becoming a bit tiresome and this may be one time when the book may simply be out-dated. I gave the benefit of the doubt and checked their web page to see if there had been an up-dated. There had not, so my dissatisfaction with it continues.

Spiraling back down the hills we found our way to a modestly priced hotel right on the beach that was conveniently serving breakfast as we checked in. We try to get some rest but the strong coffee for breakfast was doing it's trick and went for a look around town, found an internet cafe and the rest of the day is history. 

February 28

It's a little more than we would like to pay but we stay another day at the Hotel Barra. The internet cafe is just a few doors up and I eagerly and hopefully head there to do a Gypsy Lounge up-date. I secretly get the appropriate software installed and working and all I have to do is transfer the info from the football (our computer) to their computer. There is a piece of tape over the floppy drive and I ask if it may be removed. "There is no possibility of using the floppy drive under any circumstances" is all I get. I plead with the owner who won't budge an inch. He speaks English and I tell him what I am attempting to do and that he is welcome to watch me but it's futile. He fears I will install a virus. How ridiculous! If I wanted to install a virus I could simply download one off the internet. I'm frustrated but move on. 

A few blocks away I find another cafe and there is no problem. I am able to install the FTP software and perform my update. It took many hours but it was finally up and I had reason to relax. I spent the rest of the day sitting on the wall in front of the hotel watching the people on the beach and watch the sun set. 

February 29

I'm excited to hear what people have to say about the up-date so I'm off to the internet-cafe. (Thank all of you who wrote, I wouldn't put as much effort into it if it wasn't for all of you). From there I spot a garage that rents motorcycles for the day and know Dan would be as fired up on the idea as I am. To make it easier on our pockets we check into a youth hostel called Pusaudo Marcos around the corner for a small savings. 

We rent Honda XR200s with Edward, a guy from San Francisco, that we met at breakfast. It was so nice to be riding north up the coast which seemed like it went on forever. The beach just kept going and going. The beautiful clear blue water was calling our names so we parked the bikes and hopped in the warm water. After trying to catch some waves for a while we swam ashore and had a seat at a table under an umbrella. A woman approached and we ordered a beer. This is my idea of a great beach! We swapped stories for a while then hit the bikes. We took the long way home but eventually rolled back into town about 5:00 pm. Edward went back to his hotel and Dan and I rested up for a spell. I couldn't rest knowing I could still be riding so I convinced Dan to head back out for another ride. This time we chose south and rode into the historic part of town. There too, they were gearing up for Carnival and traffic was being diverted down winding cobblestone streets. People looked out of their windows as we raced by passing cars on either side. We rode for hours and the sun was long gone when we thought of heading home. "Which way"? "I don't know". We were lost, but who cared, we just kept riding. We saw a freeway from a hill top and made our way down a dirt trail to get to it. Even then choosing a direction was a crap shoot but we pointed our bikes and hit the gas. As fast as that poor little motorcycle could go we flew down the road. I began to loose hope of heading in the right direction and pulled over to talk to Dan. He though he saw a sign pointing down a different road so we turned around at the next off ramp. It was my fault but we missed it again and it was getting late. What a relief it was soon after that, that we saw the sign pointing back to Salvador and were soon racing around down town. Eventually we made it back to our hostel and called it a night. 

March 1

We woke up late a little sore from being in the saddle all the previous day and went to the big Barra Mall for breakfast. It wasn't the cheapest place in town to eat but you could be sure of what you are eating. 12 o'clock was rolling up on us and it was soon time to turn in the motorcycles. We tried to rationalized keeping them for the week but that made no sense. A little beboping around town in the afternoon then back to the mall to catch a flick. Belize Americana (American Beauty) was the only thing playing so we went in. Wow! what a great movie, a nice surprise. 

A little Italian dinner then bed.

March 2 Thursday

Crews rushed to finish constructing scaffolding and platforms and didn't stop until the first blocko came down the street. I'll do my best to describe Carnival in Salvador now. It first starts at the malls and on certain street corners weeks before were there are kiosks that you sign up to be in a blocko. Each kiosk represents a different Samba School and charge according to their popularity to participate in their blocko. Prices range depending on both popularity and how many parades they will be in but seemed to be between $200 and $350 as an average but a few went way up There you are told were and when to pick up your uniform generally consisting of a colorful jersey and a pair of shorts. What they call a blocko is a precession of people and normally two huge custom trucks that form a parade going down the street. Around the whole thing is a rope carried by rope handlers right next to one another that keep the samba school participants on the inside and the ruffians out. Atop the first brightly lit up truck is a band and dancers and a popular Brazilian singer and more speakers than a Kiss concert. The second has a rolling bar, bathroom, first aid station, and platform atop for revelers to rest. The whole thing started a block from us but rolled at least two miles down the street. All the while people not willing or without means to pay the large ticket follow along their favorite blocko dancing, singing along and jumping around. All of these people were squeezed into the few feet on either side of the passing blocko and the stationary observers lining the streets. While all this was going on anyone with a Styrofoam cooler was selling 50¢ beers up and down the streets. $10 at that rate feels like a ton of bricks falling off the back of the bus that just ran you over and landing on your head in the morning.

The first blocko that rolled past the hostel had the singer from from the band Men at Work and sang some of that bands songs before going into the most popular samba songs. I danced and sang along while I stood on the wall across from our hostel splashing a little beer here and there as I tried to maintain my balance. When the music truck was right in front of us it felt like the music could knock you down. The base was so strong you could feel the hair on your arms pulsate to the rhythm. It made it easy for white guys like us to keep the beat, just move when a blast of music hits you. I didn't stop dancing until 12:30am when I had to take a break. Dan kept it up and said he followed  one of the blockos about a mile down the street. This party didn't ease up for a minute and at 3:30am I rallied and hit the street until the sun came up.

March 3 Friday

Another late breakfast at the mall. Hoping to have an egg McMuffin but found no breakfast on the menu at McDonalds. (No one eats breakfast in South America. It's one of the things I miss most. They put eggs on everything except the side of a plate with hot sauce and potatoes. You get eggs on your burgers, sandwiches, even on top of your fried chicken. They love eggs but not for breakfast.) After having a poor substitute for a breakfast we exited the mall and found the parades had already started. These were the family versions, full of kids, clowns, and aerosol spray foam that flew through the air everywhere. The kids had a great time spraying it all over themselves and everyone else. Despite having it's family theme and being 11:00 am everyone was getting well into their beer. And so did we. 

By 4:00pm our eyes got heavy and we went into the hostel to try to get some sleep. Our hostel being located right on the main street of Carnival presented a challenge to sleep but I soon enough drifted off to the Samba rhythm. A few hours latter the pounding base of the big boy blockos was in my ear and it was time to get my Carnival head on. Dan was sitting on the wall right across the street which had become our regular observation point. I waited for the current blocko to pass and went across to meet him. He had a beer waiting for me and night two of Carnival began. More huge trucks, more samba beats, and at least a couple more beers. We did a little walking around on the outside of the blockos and found out why we were warned not to go along the outside. As the night got on fights began to break out every couple minutes. The streets were so packed from one side to the other you were forced body to body to get anywhere. When a fight would break out the military police would rush to the scene pushing everyone out of the way and pummel whoever they caught. We threw  caution to the wind and did a little dancing in-between blockos in the streets. Probably very lucky, we had no problems the whole night but saw many who were not so lucky. At three it was time to lay down so we called it a night.

March 4 Saturday

Another late morning and another breakfast at the mall. The parades had already started as we made out way to the mall. The same kids and parents and clowns and music and... and I asked, "Do you want to go to Rio?" Dan says "Sure!"

So, we caught the next plane to Rio de Janeiro.