After Cocobambu had completed their pass, we began to mill around the terrace, take the trip upstairs, watch people sing along to the music, watch everybody dance, and absorb a blanket of smiles. Our time in the street was coming in an hour or so, and we had to be ready, steady, and full of stamina.

I never left my camera down on the terrace, and kept it with me at all times, even though it was in relaxed Duffel position 2. So when I wasn’t taking pictures, I took it up to the condo. Therefore, I made a ton of trips back and forth, and each time in the company of genial revelers.  Carol had reminded me that blahblahblah, the really famous singer, was coming next. I went to get my camera and got back to the terrace in time to see the beginning of Ivete Sangalo’s bloco, Cerveja & Cia.

This thing was heavily sponsored, as were the others, but even more so. Vivo, a telephone network in Brazil, was a big hitter, and they even began the parade with a Vivo mascot balloon. The Vivo mascot looks just like a Gummy person, and was not only omnipresent around Salvador, but had a way of growing on you.

There were even 4 colorful-wigged Vivo guys leading the bloco.

The picture taking was totally different since I had the camera down less than an hour earlier. The night was beautiful, and the colors seemed even more intense under the streetlights. I began to hear the singing from the trio, still down the street. I thought it was supposed to be a woman!

When the trio came into view, I realized that it was, indeed, a woman. And WHAT a woman! A contralto-belting Brazilian beauty with long black hair and Herculean thighs was energetically holding court on top of the truck. EGADS!  THIS was Ivete Sangalo. Carol said she was probably the biggest female singing star in Brazil.

She was not only incredible looking, her resemblance to Charisma Carpenter was striking! Oh, here you go with the “Ben, you idiot, you think everybody looks like somebody else. Show me, for Pete’s sake!”  Yeah. Doubt me THIS TIME!

Rowrrrrr! (Roy Orbison growl). Ivete is quite the dish, eh? The people on top of her trio were probably the cream of the cream of Salvadoran humanity.

Ivete not only sang like a bird, she danced like a sexy crazy person. Carol said she was approaching 40, and had been doing this for years. I’m sure at that point she said something about her coming out of Banda Eva, the group that Patricia and Daniel had paraded with. I just couldn’t take it all in. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Obviously Ivete was the pro-est of pros. Her stage presence was such that you wanted to not only go home with her, but go to a party with her as well. And have her sing to you the whole time. Ivete is also the one act that I saw that completely worked both sides of the trio. There would be long periods when she would be playing to the people that lined the water–the ones in the free seats. None of the other acts were quite so democratic with their performances. Most bands were set up facing us. Well, duh! Of course they would. All along the parade route on our side were viewing stations, a relatively new thing to Carnaval. Many of the stars had their own viewing places, and for a pricey admission, you could see it all in the comfort of their station, mingle with the star (possibly), and have an indoor bathroom. There was no word about whether you could flush toilet paper or not.

During Ivete’s performance, I heard three songs that I later was able to identify by CDs I bought: “Abalou,” obviously a huge hit, which I think from my limited Portuguese, is a song about a girl’s world being rocked by a guy, either in a good way or a bad way, I’m not sure. “Abalou” translates to “it rocked”. Another one of her hits that I heard was “Não me conte seus problemas,” which I think translates to roughly: “don’t tell me your problems,” like she was telling a cheating lover to not bother her with whether or not he had enough quick-dry fabrics for the week, after the way he treated her. Since listening to the stuff I bought, I’ve begun to hear tons of stuff that is native to not only Carnaval, but Brazilan culture in general.

The entertainers all had one thing in common: they would yell to the crowd in the middle of songs, in the most rhythmic way, all kinds of exhortatiions to put their hands up (levante suas mãos!) and jump up an down (sai do chão!). I may have spelled the “sai” word wrong, but Carol will correct me. Anyway, sai do chão was our favorite by a landslide. It literally translates “leave the ground,” and is pronounced kinda like “sigh doo shaon,” with the “aon” sound one of the most prevalent and hardest to duplicate in the Portuguese language. You have to kind of swallow the “n”, and you barely say it at all. Could that be because the “enyay” symbol (~) is over the “a” instead of the “n” like in Spanish? Oh hell, who knows? You’re probably irritated with my armchair Portuguese. I hope the Brazilians weren’t.

I DO know that we were hollering sai do chão! all night, and all throughout the trip. It was a miracle that any of my traveling companions could get it right. Pettus in particular, had to ask me “What is it again?” “Sai do chão,” I’d tell her. Listening to her and Jean try to pronounce it was a real trip.

The cool thing about Brazilian music is the prevalent repeating of their favorite themes, and “sai do chão” is one of them. I’ll tell you more later! Meanwhile, marvel at the near-40-year-old thighs of Ms. Ivete Sangalo, beloved by all Brazilians, and one Birminghamian in particular.
Smart woman, she. Carol told me that she had wisely gone into production and breaking new bands herself. Pretty, smart, talented. And Brazilian. I wish I knew what she was saying.