I had a great Fuzuê experience on Saturday so, naturally, I thought I was ready for Furdunço on Sunday.

This sentence makes much more sense if you’re fluent in Salvador Carnival Portuguese. I’m not, so just like with Fuzuê, I did some research—easy enough, Furdunço is basically a parade on the same Ondina-Barra circuit.

However, this time, the party included trios elétricos, the massive sound trucks/stages that rock the city.

Around 1 p.m., I walked to the gathering point to take a look. All the trucks were parked along the street, and dozens of musicians, sound technicians and other Carnival pros were getting ready. Most trios elétricos are huge, five or six metres tall on average. They are massive and loud too, that’s the entire point of it.

The full program included 60 sound trucks, quite a few big stars like Olodum and Daniela Mercury, and 1,300 members of the Polícia Militar to keep everything safe enough.

And I was standing there at 2 p.m., under the sun, still wondering how it was going to be.

I walked the circuit back and forth. Furdunço started with smaller trucks and smaller bands. The street was basically one big bloco but it wasn’t super crowded. It looked like any sunny Sunday in Brazil—fun and chaotic with seemingly hundreds of thousands outside for no other reason than enjoying the day.

And then at one point, I went back to my Airbnb to take a break, a coffee and a quick shower. Then I walked back to the Farol for sunset, half expecting that Furdunço was over. I was okay with it. I mean, this is just pré-Carnaval, after all, the real deal hasn’t even started yet.

This time, two blocks from my Airbnb, the Military Police had set up a checkpoint. The queue to get through was massive. I joined it, expecting it wouldn’t take long—few people bring anything but a few reais and a phone to Carnival events.

But it was taking forever, and the queue wasn’t moving. I wondered how Brazilians would react—this was an interesting cultural moment.

A few Argentinians in front of me were discussing the best way to cut in line.

“Can we pretend our hotel is over there?”

“Forget it, guys,” I told them in Spanish. “There are checkpoints are both ends of Barra, the police won’t let you through just because.”

The Brazilians were stoic but at one point, they started to chant “rápido! Rápido!”

The French would have chanted “Tout le monde déteste la police” (Everybody hates the police). How polite of them! Just kidding, the police are awesome during Carnival. It really helps keep the party safe and no, I’m not being sarcastic.

One minute later, Carnival sponsors showed up, showered the queue with confetti and handed each one of us two (plastic) bottles of flavoured vodka. Then came the cigarette guys. I know, terribly irresponsible, North Americans would have fainted.

But this is how you keep people happy to queue in Brazil during Carnival.

Twenty minutes later, I was back in Barra where I had an “oh…” gringa moment.

Furdunço wasn’t over at all, it was just getting started. It turns out that it takes forever for 60 giant trucks with a sea of revellers dancing behind to drive three kilometres.

The sun set, gorgeous as usual.

And I had my first Carnival mosh pit experience with the Olodum trio elétrico. It’s both absolutely terrifying and exhilarating to see a giant truck drive straight towards you and get engulfed by a tidal wave of so many people. Suddenly, the biggest street feel very small. There’s no escape, you can’t hear anything but the music, and you can’t help dancing as well.

Furdunço was a bit more intense than I had thought.

“Everybody resting tomorrow?” I asked the lovely group I was chatting with, shouting over the music.

“Best Monday in the world!”

“I’m… sure it will be.”

“No, that’s pré-Carnival, it’s gonna be the best Monday in the world!”

Let me sleep and Google it. I have the feeling I’m about to learn something new again.