First day in Salvador–part 4
Egads! It’s hard to do this sometimes. But it’s vital information for everyone in the world, and I must carry on. There. I’m better.
We were right in the thick of pre-Carnaval madness, right there by the sea. Carol had told me to be careful of my camera. She even advocated not carrying it in some instances, which I agreed with. However, though she said it would be okay to take it with me, her warnings rang in my head, I clutched my camera like a touchdown football wrapped in a blue waterproof duffelette bag with a drawstring that I wrapped around my hand and held tight. I must have looked like an idiot, actually. Then, when I wanted to take a picture, I had to go through an elaborate procedure to even get the camera out, much less focused. Somehow, I managed to take the 1300 pictures despite this condition.
But I wasn’t going to be “that guy” with the big camera case slung over his shoulder, gawking at the buildings while I was quietly or loudly burglarized. I wanted to “blend.”
Right. Blend. In the first place, I didn’t wear any of that quick-dry stuff that Carol had told us was so dern popular down there. Eeek! Anything that is over 1% polyester is not for me. It makes me feel like I’m in a Reynolds Browning Bag, and, quite candidly, chafes my tender nipples. This quick dry stuff is, like, 112% polyester, with the rest being a man-made “fiber” of some kind. I’m sure it will be found to cause cancer in the future.
No, I wear good old 100% cotton, which not only shows sweat, but touts it. I guess my sweaty head could have been another clue. And the pitiful thing is, none of the Brazilians would sweat at all. Neither did Robo. He was amazing. Encased in the shiniest, most water repellent fabric known to man, he managed to carry on for 18 days with nary a drop. The girls would “glisten” like any good Southern girl will.
At any rate, since we had gotten there, I had begun to drink water like a lost prospector, and could never quite quench my thirst. Hence the amplified sweating and sodden cotton shirts, And the exacerbating of the galding that really didn’t turn out to be quite as bothersome as it was funny looking. Jean managed to get a good laugh on a couple of early mornings during the trip when she witnessed the galding that was beginning to look like a clown face.
At this point, many of you may be saying “TMI! TMI!” Well, I’m sorry. There can NEVER be too much information. What I was pointing out via this ramble is that I actually bought water from one of these street vendors while clutching my camera and eyeing everybody with my rapidly rotating head. But they all looked so benign and happy that I began to think that I may be a little paranoid. I loosened up. Especially since we were heading into
Santo Antonio Fortress and Lighthouse
A nautical museum at Farol da Barra. Oldest structures date to 1500s. WOW!
We got to the gate guy, and Carol (using her flawless Portuguese again) explained that Robo was a professor, so we got a discount on our admission. By this time, I was completely at ease with my camera being there, because there were a couple of guards hanging around, and I figured that a ruffian wouldn’t pay the admission to come in and MAYBE steal something. Nope. Safety. But, quite frankly, the guards were probably about as effective as old Asa on Andy Griffith.
The museum was really good, with tons of information about how the area had been important to ships and shipping for so long, blah blah blah. It was old. It was beautiful. It was by the water. I took several shots out of the little windows. They’re kinda blurry, but cool nevertheless.
There was a wall of ships in bottles, which are amazing. Who has the time? Patience? I suppose it’d be perfect for a laid-back Bahian to have as a hobby.
By this time, it had begun to cool off a decent amount, and I had all but ceased sweating. It was nice to know that I was actually going to spend some dry time on this trip.
There was a giant promenade area outside the museum on the top floor, that allowed panoramic views of the bay and the nighttime beauty beyond. I got some cool shots, hand-held, of course. Hence the blur. I don’t care. Holding a camera for a 2 second exposure is not easy. But results are always interesting.
Here are a couple of pics of Daniel & Patricia/Robo & Pettus that I liked.
Here’s that 2-second exposure shot. Notice the tiny little cruise ship in the distance. That’s the same ship pictured earlier in part 3 and a couple of shots prior in this part.
I’ve always liked these little turret things. It’s quite easy to imagine some little grunt Portuguese navy guy standing in there all day or all night, watching for something he hoped he never saw.
I don’t know what the guy in the picture was doing in there, but he never would come out. I don’t think he mistook it for a bathroom, although Carol had told us that the world was the bathroom for the Bahian man, particularly during Carnaval. We witnessed it a bunch of times on the trip. It made me feel right at home, being an aficionado of the pissoir alfresco. (My own term. Sounds classy.)
The salt air had made us all hungry. Not really, I’ve just always wanted to say that. Actually the salt air HAD made a couple of us ready for a little drinky. But really, any air will do.
Carol suggested we go to Bar da Ponta / Trapiche Adelaide, a bar and restaurant located right on a pier in the bay. We were at the lowest point in Salvador, which is a very tall city. So tall, that the Lacerda Elevator was built, beginning operation in 1873. It was at the time the largest public elevator in South America. In 1907, it was electrified, and in 1930 was modernized. It is still in use today, and transports thousands of Salvadorans up the massive mountain that divides part of the city.
The bar was ultra cool. There was glass all around, with doors that actually opened onto the water. There was no deck. It was kind of crazy. I wondered if any drunks had actually taken a dive out of there. Carol made sure that they were locked and that Daniel wouldn’t fall out. Actually, she was probably afraid he would be the type to try and jump.
The menu was extensive as far as drinks went. I immediately thought I’d look for some Meyers’s Rum, my poison of choice. Naõ!
The only “dark” rum they had was Brazilian-made Bacardi’s! I drank THAT in college.
I looked on one of the back pages, and it was replete with every type of drink known to Brazil. They all contained one fresh fruit or another: passion, guava, etc. They were made with either vodka, that rum, or the Brazilian liquor, cachaca, which is in a ton of different drinks. It’s very tasty, and has a rum/tequila thing going for it. The caipirinha is the most popular drink with cachaça, and is the foundation behind a bunch of Brazilian bacchanales. Limes smashed with a wooden mortar and pestle, a few fingers of cachaça, a little sugar, and ice. WHEE! You can drink ’em FAST! And they’re like CANDY!
Nelson had joined us from work, and we ran through several rounds of several things that were delicious and heady. We really weren’t starving, per se, but managed to order a bunch of different tapas, and spent a couple of delightful hours in the beautiful lighting with beautiful company. I couldn’t tell you what we ate, but it was great. Carol might can.
The waiters were great and friendly, and I of course was beginning to try out my Portuguese. I had been pestering Carol, Patricia and Daniel since we had been there to give me instant fluency. They were falling down on the job, clearly. But a little liquor makes the language barrier nothing more than a little hill that you can merrily climb to happiness. Sort of. I suppose it was really the liquor, the hand signals, the facial expressions, and the rapid translation from Carol, Nelson or the youngsters.
Who cares! It was fun. And it was, as Carol said, the way Brazilians do a meal. They DO a meal. They sit with it, and enjoy the company of those eating with them. This is definitely not a TV-tray society.
After a great little meal, we ambled on out to the car to head home. On the way, we stopped in a gallery that had some beautiful cypress wood pieces. They would be perfect at Robo and Pettus’ house, so we went in and checked the prices. I can’t remember what they were, but they were affordable, due to the 2/1 Reais to dollar thing. I salivated for the 4 to 1 days of exchange. BAH!
We got to the gate at the house, got the cheery thumbs up from the guard, piled out of the car and spilled into the house. Of course we headed downstairs, and Carol had me bring my iPod with some of my Brazilian music on it. It was very cozy. Pettus lazed around in the hammock, Jean had a Diet Coke, Robo and Daniel played ping pong, and Patricia just hung. Notice Pettus’ funerary pose in the hammock. She told us later that she was feeling a little squeeby at that time. Imagine that.
See the painting over the ping pong table: Our Lady of the Ping Pong Table. It was a gift to Nelson from one of his sons. Carol had said that they didn’t know what to think of it, really. I told her it needed a good name. It now has one.
It was bedtime.