We got back to the house from eating blackeyed pea fritters, and I chugged another couple of glasses of water. Since there was no Meyers’s Rum to be had in all of Bahia, Robo and I had settled on Bacardi Gold made in Brazil. Mixed with club soda and a bunch of lime, Meyers’s is pretty dern good. The Bacardi was a sad substitute, and drinking it kind of creeped me out sort of, with my tender gullet and all. But it became the staple drink. Kind of. At any rate, we packed it up to take with us to Carnaval.

One thing about the limes: they don’t have lemons in Brazil. Only limes. And they’re dirt cheap. They’re called limão, I think. Carol had a grocery bag full of them in the bottom of her pantry. It was like the motherlode to me, because I love limes. LOVE!!!! (exclamation marks with hearts instead of dots)

Everybody began to prepare for the trip over to Bahia Flats for our first night of Carnaval. This was going to be strictly observation, but observation is pretty great in itself. Especially when you’re shedding water at a quart an hour. I was trying to imagine what it was going to be like the next night when we actually marched in one of the parades. Aiee!!

Carol had advised me about my camera earlier, so I decided not to take it this first night, and only use it sporadically on the next night. What the HELL was I thinking listening to my cousin the gol-durned Cassandra?! Okay, she has a right to be cautious. Everyone in the family except Patricia has been robbed in one form or another, and she’s rightfully vigilant. But I just wasn’t thinking properly at that moment to relent. There was ALWAYS duffel position #1.

Bahia Flats is a condo that is right on the parade route, and overlooks the water. Carol and Nelson have a unit there that they rent out during the year, but reserve for their personal use during Carnaval. Did anyone say “cushy”? Yeah. I did. There are about 10 million people in Salvador for Carnaval, and they’re all lining the streets to watch the blocos, and bathrooms are at a premium. It’s like 2 times a New Orleans crowd, and there are two parade routes. The city is PACKED to the gills with mankind during Carnaval. At the Bahia Flats, we had an enclosed terrace that had a dead-on view of the trios elétricos, and the stars performing on top of them.

But we had to get there first.

Good grief, you absolutely should have been there to see us get to Bahia Flats. Nelson had opted out for this first night, so there were 7 in Carol’s SUV. Festivals, fairs, any kind of hullabaloo that involves traffic and parking and logistics make me extremely nervous. I hate to be in charge. But with Carol behind the wheel of the SUV, I felt like a baby in the womb. They had let me sit up front, so I had the air conditioner blowing on me, I was able to take off my Crocs and put my sock feet on the dash. I really had no idea where we were gonna park, and how we were gonna get to the condo, but I just blindly followed along.
Between she, Daniel and Patricia, they plotted a path to the Bahia Flats that involved driving through throngs of people that glutted every street. Carol was completely unfazed. She had a RIGHT to be at Bahia Flats, and had the papers to prove it. There were a couple of Checkpoint Chickies, with Brazilian military stopping cars. All she had to do was show her tax records for their condo at B.Flats, and the guys would give the thumbs up for her to plow through the throng.

Which she did, with the delicacy of somebody cooking a soufflé. People would see her coming through, and most would part with either a thumbs up or a smile. WHAT?? WHAT the HELL was THIS?? In America, the car would have been overturned and set on fire by an angry crowd at the get-go. But not here. Oh, a couple of people would slap the car and holler some
Portuguese party phrase, but I saw not one iota of malice anywhere. Was Carol freaked out? Not at all. She’s from Indiana. During our slog through the crowd, she would often turn to tell us some factoid about this or that. We passed the hospital where Patricia was born, and heard the stories of a freaked out Aunt Mollie calling from America. Ha ha!

After a 30 minute trip through what was like either some kind of birth canal, or the longest colon on record, we arrived at the vertical gate to the underground garage at Bahia Flats. That’s exactly right. We were able to park underneath, take either a well-used elevator or the stairs to the third floor, and we were at the place.

On the first floor was the front desk, lobby and terrace, replete with food, drink, and a bunch of incredibly benign-looking, happy people!

Carol took only one picture that night, and it’s of the four of us, but I’m going to illustrate this night with pictures from the next night. You really won’t mind, will you? The same people were there both nights, and they acted just the same.

Here’s the picture Carol took of the four of us.

I don’t look sick. I look deranged. It’s always bad to be on the ends of: a) a hot flash; or b) a wide angle lens. Disaster.