Carnavel is like the Clearfield County Fair...

February 28, 2007
0830

Apologies for not having posted this sooner—I got lazy/sick/busy with schoolwork and inaction got the best of me. Brazil was amazing, another reason for the delay—I didn’t even know where to begin!

We docked in Salvador and Carnavel began the day we arrived. We went out that night and discovered the beer—Skol was real cheap… 2 reals for a pounder—no pun intended—which translates to about one US dollar. We watched Capeoira, an Afro-Brazilian martial art, which was happening in just about every square, circle and plaza. Formed for the purpose of self-defense and disguised as a dance, so that slave owners wouldn’t forbid it, the sport is very popular. The same is true of Candomble; Orixas were renamed to assimilate catholic saints into the voodoo practice. Salvador has a lot of African influence, as is apparent through not only Capeoira and Candomble, but Carnavel, too…

Carnavel is a celebration of lent, and all of the classes and races come together for the purpose of the party. The best way I can describe Carnavel is as the lovechild of Halloween and the Clearfield County Fair, amplified times ten million. The streets are blocked off and literally filled with over 2 million people—dancing, with rhythm that I’ll never know, singing and jumping around like crazed maniacs. So, obviously, I loved it. People dress up like different Orixas, in drag and just in general. Even little kids dress up like clowns, animals and Orixas. Huge trucks move at an elephants pace down the cobblestone streets, blasting music from whatever band or performer is on top of them. The areas around them—blocos—are blocked off and people with the band dance inside the ropes. If you’re lucky, you’ll get a spot just behind the rope—they tend to not be as crowded as in between two blocos. It’s amazing how the people stay out all night long—literally the party continues from noon (really picking up in early evening, at five or sixish) to seven a.m. The energy is ridiculous, when they say this is the biggest party in the world, they aren’t kidding.

If the street is too much for you to handle, there are a few options, one is don’t go out (boo), because you’ll have a panic attack. Or, you can buy tickets to a camarote, which is like a viewing booth above the street, which we did one night. Or, find a side stage, which we also did a few times—they tend to be a little less hectic—the crowd is more family oriented and in general less raunchy. Usually we would take the elevator up to Pelourinho, which is a district of Salvador, find a side stage for a few hours, drink a little, and then proceed to go out into the parade, getting trampled and groped and loving every minute of it! The camarote was fun, too. You get a bright colored shirt and have access to a bar and food court. The parade is played on a big screen as you watch it from above the street, too. There are security guards and not as many people, so you can relax a little and not worry about your money belt getting snatched from underneath your souvenir t-shirt.

Moving away from the energy of Carnavel, I went on a city tour and saw the favielas, which were amazing and in their own way so full of life. The facades of the houses are bright. There are people on the sidewalks—laughing, hanging out—listening to music as colorful as the houses, fast and loud. Each little neighborhood has its own butcher, with hunks of raw meat hanging in the doorway, its own fruit market, its own bar, its own garage. They are relatively self-sustaining, albeit crowded. Favielas are technically illegal, so after they are established the government comes in to provide sewage and water (electricity comes in sooner—private contractors). But, when they start as a small outcropping of a few families moving in from a more rural area, they are very basic. Called “invasions” by Brazilians, they are built from the inside out. The façade is the last part to be erected. There are no real roads through the favielas. Instead, there are steep and winding dirt and stone alleyways that sweep underneath clotheslines and past kids sitting on steps or playing soccer.

People migrate to the city in search of a better life—and are then reduced to living in the slums, because it’s what they can afford. And, while it looks like a destitute lifestyle, like I mentioned before, it’s actually bright and lively, they have a better life together in the slums than isolated in the countryside. The current political issue surrounding land distribution is tri-fold. Landless workers are using slash and burn techniques to clear new farm lands, decimating the Amazon, because rich landowners—30% of the farmable land is being unused—refuse to distribute their land. The other party involved is the native tribes of the Amazon, whose homes are being destroyed during the forest clearing.

I got to visit an MST settlement, to talk with the Landless Workers Movement, on a trip to Cachoeira. They have such a true sense of justice and life. For instance, the MST land pastoral states basically that every single Brazilian has the right to raise their family off of the land. No one in MST village’s goes hungry, education is mandatory, so is participation by women. When we first arrived, kids hesitantly peeked out from doorways at us, but it wasn’t soon before they were following us around handing us flowers. We were welcomed into a woman’s home—Donna Bebia, who showed us coca fruit, how she made cocoa powder and chocolate products from it. Mules, horses and cows were tied up to graze around while their owners stopped in the bar for a quick drink and some conversation. This visit provided just a quick glimpse of real life in the settlement, and then we were off.

The actual town of Cachoeira is in a steep valley, alongside the Paraguacu River. Getting to all of these places was a far-out experience in and of itself—the roads, which some of were major highways, are narrow—flanked on each side by sprawling bamboo, sugarcane and in some cases just scrub. They wind precariously through farmland and dive bravely into valleys and over hills. Cachoeira was slow—everyone was on vacation for Carnavel, so shops were closed. Likewise, because of the sweltering heat most people don’t start hopping around town until around four in the afternoon. Even the dogs wandering around town were sluggishly panting. The houses were vivid and bright as well, with spiraled wrought iron balconettes and intricately designed doors. We stopped for lunch in an old convent, and ate outside in the breezeway—at a long row of old wooden tables, with heavy chairs and beautiful white and sapphire lace table coverings.

As we arrived, driving through all of these places in a huge orange tour bus—which people could see in, I felt guilty. It is with the best intentions we want to peer inside these peoples lives. But, sometimes I just feel we are so intrusive. At one point I almost cried out of embarrassment, because some of my peers are so painfully unaware. What does it say about our views and perceptions of others when it is no big deal to snap a picture of another person without their permission, as if they exist simply and only for our viewing enjoyment, like a statue, a tree, an inanimate object? This behavior lends itself to the awful stereotype that we are.

I was unsure of what to expect of Brazil. Never being here I had only a stereotype of what it was like. Don’t make the same mistake I did, picturing in your mind an image of a beachscape in Rio, taken from a documentary on the worlds “ten best beaches” on the Travel Channel. That’s not Brazil—not that I’m proclaiming myself an expert on the state. Brazil is a huge country, with diverse cultural influences. It has farmlands and beaches; it has scrubby plateaus and the Amazon. Some people live in mud houses. Others live in the favielas, some in high-rises, still others—though just a small percentage, live in estates only to be reached by helicopter. Brazil is a country that has one of the biggest disparities between the rich and the poor. It is also a leader in environmentally friendly fuel and some social issues. There are all women’s police barracks, strong public schools. Rich culture from the days of Portuguese colonialism and emergent black pride create a distinct Brazilian culture.

In a quick conversation I shared with a Brazilian who had studied in the United States, and come back to Brazil to start a business, I had a revelation. He asked me if I liked Brazil, I told him “Yeah! I could live here!” Our cheap but polite conversation ended with him saying “You know, once you are an America, you are always an American” shaking his head in a disapproving way. I danced off into the crowd, moving on to a fast paced night. In reflection, though, I beg to differ and dare to think. I am not “stuck” with any limits but those which I place on myself. What I think he was saying is that Americans have a distinctly American way of seeing the world—a paradigm influenced by our world-order-top-dog status. I have realized, and can appreciate, being on top is not the best. In so many different ways being “below” (what I’ve been socialized to think is the standard) opens many more possibilities for exploration.

South Africa in 2 days.

Peace Love.