Josh´s take on Salvador

Salvador da Bahia Travel Blog

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OK, so after Rio, we went to Salvador via plane. This was an adventure in itself.

Firstly, trying to find the shuttle bus. Apparantly these epitome´s of modern convenience happen to travel down our street every 45 minutes or so. However, it is the "Or so" that became rather inadequete. Apparantly "Or so" can also mean "Not at all" or "Perhaps some time before the next ice age" or even "Every time the hand of God almightly himself hikes up his sleeves and sticks out his thumb for a lift."

As you may have guessed, the bus did not in fact come.

So here we are, with two fully loaded back packs on the main street of copacabanna looking like the stupidest tourist gringo´s in history.Hell, I´d probably have robbed me. We´re waiting there for about an hour and a half, constantly having minibusses, tiny cabs, bike riders and such offer us a ride (To the nearest cash machine, where we would then empty out our accounts)  Also, there were plagues of vendors trying to get us to buy random shiny beads, glass or woven bags. The irony is sickening, as this is probably exactly how my ancestors greeted the native inhabitents of the new world.

Well, at least without swords or syphillis. Probably.

So after deciding that we´re more likely to find the cure for cancer stuck to my shoe than a bus that could take us to the airport, we get a cab. This guy is deliriously happy, as the airport is a LONG way from copacaanna, and he´ll be able to afford another mistress with the money from the fare.

We get to the airport. Apparantly it´s divided into two. We have to guess which side we´re on, as the tickets are in the boot. We pick terminal side 1.

We get out, pay the driver and check our tickets. We´re supposed to be on side 2. Shit.

We get in and ask directions in our own Australian style portugeuse. By Australian style, I of course mean random actual words interspersed with nonsensical grunting and gesturing. I´m given directions. Wether they are to the 2nd terminal or a speech pathologist is yet to be determined.

We head down a long corridor with moving walkways. Despite the definite presence of the word "Moving" in that sentence, the walkways are in fact static. I shake my fist at the local spirit of Brasillian technology and resolve to brutalise the first calculator I happen upon.

At about half way, we actually pass a medical surgery. They have a speech patholigist in residence. I get nervous.

Despite that, we arrive at gate 2 and check in. We get our tickets and are told to go to gate 5. In my mistaken overestimation of the workings of an international airport, I figured we were now as good as on board the aircraft. Nope.

A voice so sexual and breathless comes over the PA. This guy has a husky whisper, hanging on to the last syllable in a velvet purr. It´s like listening to Antonio Banderas read hard core porn to a swarm of nymphomaniacal catholic schoolgirls:

"Fliiight one one four. to. Saalvadoorrrrr. haas been moved to. gate. threeee.

the rolling r´s, the breathless urgency. I start to worry about what´s happening in the control room, despite the obvious pauses in the speech that indicate it´s pre-recorded. We move to gate 3. after getting there, we hear a similiar message saying we´re at gate 1. We move again. Then to Gate 5, then 4, finally back to 1 again. By this time, I´m getting on board whatever plane is in front of me and taking my chances.

As luck would have it, we end up in Salvador.

Salvador is where most of the African slaves came into Brasil. Apparantly avout 4 million came in, with many hundreds of thousands dying on the voyage. The result is a very strong African culture. Lots of Rasta´s, Capoiera, rhythym, drums and dreads. We crash out pretty quickly.

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