On Friday night, it occurred to me that I needed a plan because pré-Carnaval in Salvador could be a lot wilder than your typical opening act—it’s not for the faint of heart, that much I knew. I mean, the city get boarded up and street lights are removed.

Saturday was starting with the (or “a”?) “fuzuê” at 3 p.m.

Right. So basically a giant street party party. Gotcha. I’m familiar with them and I love them. Carnival is a celebration of life, culture, music, and more—the exact opposite of the trending political agenda up North.

But alone? In Salvador? As a gringa?

Hell, sim. As a non-Bahianese, for sure, but as a gringa who speaks Portuguese, has plenty of French protests and Carnival experience, doesn’t drink, and know Salvador pretty well, including handy side streets.

I mean, my chances of survival were at least 50%.

I did some more research online in Portuguese for a complete overview and Carnival terminology update while listening to some “axé” (popular Afro-Caribbean fusion music).

Fuzuê 2025 was going to follow the famous Barra-Ondina Carnival Circuit, a three-kilometre-long route along the seafront between Barra and Ondina. Except instead of starting at the lighthouse, as it does during Carnival, it would start in Ondina and end at the Farol.

It would be an old-style parade without trios elétricos, i.e., sound trucks.

And I would be “pipoca,” i.e., popcorn, a Carnival participant without a “camarote” or “abadá,” the branded paid t-shirt that gives entry to the roped area of the parade held by “cordeiros.”

On Saturday, I showed up at the starting point too early because, clearly, I’m not from Bahia. It was crowded but doable, just very, very hot under the sun. I followed the parade for a couple of hours, then I realized it didn’t have an end time and I’d better escape to get something for dinner. I hailed a moto-taxi to take me to a supermarket that wasn’t completely mobbed.

When I came back to the Fuzuê at 5 p.m., the blocos kept on coming, and the crowd was growing bigger and bigger. Everybody was ending up at the lighthouse, creating a lovely and lively bottleneck.

The sun set, and the party kept on going with more blocos marching down the street—capoeira, drums, Smurfs, more drums, dance, Baianas, drums…

It was not ending but I was dead.

I made my way to my Airbnb and called it a day because guess what, “Furdunço” was scheduled for Sunday at 2 p.m.—yes, it means “street party” again, this time with big stars and giant sound trucks.