The smell of beer permeates the city and sobriety was last seen five days ago.
I look at people wearing plain a t-shirt and jeans suspiciously—bunch of outcast…
I’m starting to question the traditional concept of gender and my own sexual identity.
My feet start moving every time I hear drums, even if it’s just a cellphone ring.
When I see two people close enough, opposite or same sex, I feel like shouting, “BEIJA, BEIJA!” (“Kiss, kiss!”).
I can’t remember the last time I saw someone drinking water.
Empty streets scare me.
Carnival is the new normal but it’s the last day of it—at least, until the weekend, when more blocos de rua are scheduled.
Fat Tuesday was packed with blocos. I started to make a list but it was pointless—too many of them happening at the same time. I just went to Centro and hope for the best. Mind you, crowds of hundreds of thousands aren’t terribly hard to find.
I started with Bloco da Massa Real, featuring pretty good Bahia music and a live band. Then I bumped into the feminist Bloco da Pagu with its 140 drummers, all women, of course. This bloco was so big I had to climb on top of street furniture to just… survive. I caught it again a few hours later and this time I was able to make my way closer to the drummers.
Meanwhile, the Bloco da TchaKa was starting to gather a fun crowd around the eponymous drag queen.
I ended the day on rua August, partying with the Bloco da Salete Campari and didn’t quite make it to the Airbnb before the traditional evening downpour.
Even though blocos are largely a daytime event, I need a good night’s sleep…