FORTALEZA

Our final stage in the north east was Fortaleza. Lonely Planet speaks unpromisingly of it as a place to start from to visit the region’s beaches, however we found plenty of interest in the old centre. There is a 20th century cathedral which is rather grey and heavy and concrete-gothic-looking from outside (it was reputedly modelled on Cologne cathedral) but really works architecturally inside – Romanesque arches, light and airy with beautiful stained glass. We passed through a pleasant green park with a view over the sea, the social centre of the town 100 years ago, past an old and still functioning hospital to the “Tourist centre”. This is set in the early 19th century prison, an interesting structure in itself, which was closed down by the military dictatorship in the 60s - no doubt they needed something bigger and more modern! It contains a mass of shops selling local (or not so local) handicrafts, and a museum containing a selection of works of “popular art and culture”, some produced by or referring to ex-prisoners. There was a set of woodcuts on the life of a famous Robin Hood figure known as Lampiao, active in the 1920s and 30s until killed in an ambush in 1938. His was not the only band of Cangaçeiros (bandits) operating at the time. Next we went to the José de Alencar Theatre – he was a Brazilian writer and literary figure of the late 19th century – where we eavesdropped on a rehearsal for a concert. The theatre was built around 1910, lots of spidery cast-iron. We found a very interesting museum with an anti-establishment slant unusual in official museums. Among other things, it told the story of a self-sufficient proto-communist community set up in the 30s under a priest, José Lourenço. The local landowners and government, as well as the established church, took a dim view – no doubt they were sensitive because of the Cangaçeiros’ activities. In 1937 it was attacked, including by aerial bombardment, and destroyed. Over 400 people were killed. We then found a smart new culture centre (with free internet!) called Dragao do Mar (Sea Dragon) after a hero of the abolitionist movement – we had a good lunch in the restaurant and saw displays of modern art and folk culture but didn’t have time to see it all! Nuestra última parada en el nordeste fue en Fortaleza. Lonely Planet habla de la ciudad como punto de partida para las playas, pero encontramos varios lugares de interés en el centro. Hay un catedral del siglo 20, con aspecto exterior bastante pesado. Sin embargo el interior es realmente bello, con arcos livianos y vitrales hermosos. Pasamos por un parque, el centro social de la ciudad hace 100 años atrás, y un hospital antiguo que todavía funciona, para llegar al “Centro de Turismo”. Esto está dentro de una cárcel del siglo 19, en sí una estructura interesante, que contiene muchas tiendas de artesanías locales (o no), y un museo con una selección de obras de “arte y cultura popular”, algunas producidas por o referidas a ex-presos. Había un juego de grabados en madera sobre la vida de un famoso Cangaçeiro (bandido) llamado Lampiao, activo en los años 1920-30s, hasta que fue matado en una emboscada en 1938. No fue la única banda de Cangaçeiros que operaba en esa época. Después de eso fuimos al teatro José de Alencar – escritor brasilero de fines del siglo 19 – donde escuchamos un ensayo de concierto. El teatro fue construido alrededor de 1910, en fierro fundido. Encontramos un museo muy interesante, siendo un museo oficial del estado pero con una postura bien alternativa. Entre otros, cuenta de una comunidad proto-comunista y auto-suficiente que existía en los años 1930, bajo un cura, José Lourenço. A los fazendeiros y al gobierno les cayó mal – sin hablar de la iglesia – sin duda por las actividades de los Cangaçeiros entre otros motivos. En 1937 fue atacado, incluso por bombardeo aéreo, y destruido. Murieron más de 400 personas.

Parnaiba to Viçosa

From Sao Luis we took an overnight bus which did a loop inland and back to the coast again at Parnaiba, once an important port exporting local products such as carnauba wax, but now fairly sleepy as the river mouth has silted up. This forms an extensive delta on which we took a boat trip. There were more sand dunes and mangroves, and a good lunch. Then we headed down to the Ubajara National Park. This is set in an enclave of tropical forest in quite a high range of hills (up to around 900 masl) well inland. It rained. We stayed just outside the park in a pousada run by a German, Herbert Klein, who has been there for nearly 30 years. We slept in a fairly basic “chalet” and ate a very good breakfast – brought on a wheelbarrow – in a sort of gazebo. The park was a bit disappointing. It has a couple of trails but because of overprotective Brazilian legislation they are closed “for safety reasons” whenever it rains – which it frequently does. We were reduced to descending to the limestone caves – the park’s main attraction – in the cable car. The caves are not particularly spectacular but have some interesting formations. We took a couple of walks outside the park, through forest and a little village. We saw monkeys and other wildlife, but no snakes – unlike another couple who booked in and paid, went up to settle into their chalet, and when they came out met a 3 m long boa on the path. They simply packed up and left! We took a trip (30 km) with Herbert in his car to a local waterfall which was quite a bit more exciting than the national park! The river has water in it, despite the drought, because it is downstream of a reservoir belonging to an American company which produces, processes and packs fruit. They are required to keep the river flowing as it supplies a town further down. We walked down to the river and then followed its course down a series of small falls to the main waterfall, about 10 m high, with a cave behind it. At first the path just had a bit of scrambling, slippery in places, but nothing to write about. However the last two climbs down were by trees and were quite testing! We went with a Brazilian family of four. The mother and 20-something year old son dropped out very early but the father and daughter (at university) made it to the bottom and back! Our last night in the hills was spent at Viçosa, further north in the same range. The rain continued. It is a well-kept little town with a pleasant atmosphere, although it did not rate a mention in our Lonely Planet! (2005) De Sao Luis tomamos un bus nocturno a Parnaiba, antiguamente un puerto importante para la exportación de productos locales como la cera de carnauba. La desembocadura dejó de ser navegable, y la ciudad se quedó dormida… Salimos en lancha por el estuario, que forma una delta, con mangles y dunas. De ahí fuimos al Parque Nacional Ubajara. Está ubicado en selva tropical en una sierra que llega a cerca de 900 m de altura, lejos del mar. Llovió. Alojamos afuera del parque en la posada de un alemán, Herbert Klein, que lleva casi 30 años en Brasil. Dormimos en un “chalet” bastante básico, y disfrutamos de un buen desayuno, traido en caretilla. El parque es un poco decepcionante. Hay un par de senderos, pero – resultado de la sobre-protección brasilera – los cierran, “por seguridad” cuando llueve, lo que ocurre a menudo. Tuvimos que bajar a las cavernas – principal atractivo del parque – por teleférico. Las cavernas no son espectaculares, aunque contienen unas formaciones interesantes. Fuimos a caminar por los alrededores, en la selva y el campiño. Vimos monos y aves, pero ninguna serpiente – a diferencia de una pareja que llegó, pagó, y fue a instalarse en su chalet. Al salir se encontraron con una boa de 3 m de largo – agarraron las maletas y se fueron! Fuimos con Herbert en su auto (ver foto) 30 km a una cascada, un poco más emocionante que el parque nacional! El río lleva agua, a pesar de la sequía, porque está río abajo de un embalse, propiedad de una empresa norteamericana que produce, procesa y enlata fruta. Están obligados a mantener el flujo del río porque éste suministra una pequeña ciudad. Bajamos al río y seguimos su curso por una serie de cascadas pequeñas hasta la principal, que tenía como 10 m de altura, con una caverna. El descenso en un inicio no era muy difícil, sólo un poco resbaloso a veces. Sin embargo al final tuvimos que bajar por dos árboles! Nos acompañaba una familia brasilera – la madre y el hijo (de 20 y tantos años) quedaron atrás muy temprano, pero el padre y la hija llegaron hasta el final! Pasamos la última noche en la sierra un poco más al norte, en Viçosa. La lluvia seguía… Es una pequeña ciudad muy bonita y bien cuidada, que no figuraba en nuestro Lonely Planet! (2005)

MARANHAO 2

In the interlude between our stays in São Luis we went to a national park, Lençois Maranhenses, (‘Lençois’ means ‘bedsheets’), where we stayed in the small town of Barreirinhas on the well-named Preguiços (slothful) river! The park is a vast area of sand dunes (which incidentally form a wide belt along long stretches of Brazil’s north coast from Maranhao to Fortaleza and beyond). Here the area of dunes is over 50 km wide, representing no doubt a build-up over many millions of years, and the very white sand is said to look like sheets draped across the landscape. The current runs westwards along this coast so the sand must come from erosion further south east. This area has become particularly famous because lakes form in the sand during the wet season. Last year there was very little rain, so the water in many places has not been replenished, however we took a trip to a pair of lakes – an hour’s drive along a sand track (sand, not sandy!) in a 4WD vehicle. The dunes are in constant motion and are invading the lakes, burying trees in their path. The following day we took a boat trip to the river mouth, seeing (semi-tame) golden monkeys at a little settlement; and scarlet ibis – feeding on the familiar red crabs – on the river banks. Back in Sao Luis we took the ferry across the estuary to Alcantara, once the residence of rich merchants and cotton barons but now seriously deteriorated, despite being declared a national heritage. A few of the fine eighteenth century buildings are preserved, and two of the three churches – the Carmelite church (which had a convent attached, now in ruins) and the smaller slaves’ church at the other end of the village. The main square with the ruined Matriz church was invaded by a carnival show with huge banks of speakers, which contrasted oddly with the well-preserved whipping post for slaves – conveniently located outside the church. I hope the image shocks you as it did me. We stayed in a pousada (Bela Vista – recommended) run by Danilo and his mother. She is very creative and decorated most of the pousada with fabric stuck to the walls instead of wallpaper and a variety of recycled materials. The food was delicious! There were some great characters, including Luizinho, who owns a valuable piece of land near the village centre which a drunk Brazilian was trying to persuade him to sell. Magdalena made friends with the organizer of a Carnival party for OAPS to which we were invited! Desde São Luis fuimos a un parque nacional, Lençois Maranhenses, (‘Lençois’ son sábanas); alojamos en la pequeña ciudad de Barreirinhas, a orlas del Río Preguiços (perezoso)! El parque es un área inmensa de dunas, que se extienden más de 50 km hacia el interior y se parecen a sábanas blancas tendidas sobre el paisaje. La zona se ha hecho famosa por los lagos que se forman entre las dunas en la época de lluvias, pero el año pasado no llovió, así que muchos han desaparecido. Fuimos a un par de lagos, una hora en 4x4 por la arena… Las dunas se mueven en forma constante – están invadiendo los lagos, enterrando árboles enteros. El día siguiente fuimos en barco a la desembocadura del río. Vimos monos (medio domesticados) en un pequeño asentamiento; y en el borde del río unos ibis colorados, que comen los cangrejos rojos. En Sao Luis tomamos una lancha para cruzar el estuario a la ciudad de Alcantara, una vez habitada por ricos mercantes y barones del algodón, pero ahora muy deteriorada, a pesar de haber sido declarada como patrimonio nacional. Algunas de las hermosas casas del siglo XVIII están preservadas, y dos de las tres iglesias – la del Carmo (que tenía un convento) y la de los esclavos (más pequeña) en la otra punta del pueblo. La plaza principal, con la iglesia Matriz en ruinas, había sido invadida por una fiesta para el carnaval con bancas de altoparlantes. Hicieron un contraste chocante con el pelourinho (donde castigaban a los esclavos) frente a la iglesia. Alojamos en una posada (Bela Vista – recomendado), que pertenece a Danilo y su madre. Ella es muy creativa y ha decorado la posada con telas pegadas en las paredes en vez de papel, y una variedad de materiales reciclados. La comida era deliciosa! Conocimos – entre otros personajes locales – a Luizinho, dueño de un terreno valioso cerca del centro, que un tipo borracho quería comprarle. Magdalena se hizo amiga de una señora que estaba organizando una Fiesta de Carnaval para la tercera edad, y nos invitó!

MARANHAO

Well, we flew from Brasilia to São Luis de Maranhão… It is the capital of the state of Maranhão, founded by the French (1612) and quickly taken (back) by the Portuguese. It is famed for the old colonial centre, where the cobbled streets are lined with houses decorated with blue Portuguese tiles, and has been declared a Unesco world heritage site. However it is badly in need of a facelift and there are dark rumours that money provided by Unesco never reached the right places. In the build-up to carnival the bands are practicing and some of the streets are already decorated. Various museums and culture centres show carnival costumes, and also those associated with a festival which occurs in June, Bumba-meu-boi, associated with a local legend in which a pregnant girl persuades her husband to cut out the tongue of the local landowner’s best bull to satisfy her craving. He gets caught, but a miracle restores the bull and it all ends happily... In the evening we went out to eat in the street. The little square where the nearest bars were boasted two sources of music – a rather tired blond guitarist at one end and a very noisy Brazilian at the other. We picked a table half way between the two, outside the Yellow Parrot. A sleepy girl took our order of beer and soup – the beer arrived quickly, Magda’s favourite sweet stout called Malzbier. The musicians played on, the noisy one being joined by three friends – an Argentinean, and Italian and a Colombian (sorry if it sounds like a prep-school joke!), who started on a Round Latin America musical tour. After 20 minutes we enquired after the soup and were assured that it was coming. At that point a shoe-shine boy materialised out of the dark, he spotted that I was wearing leather shoes, and I was captured. He had a curious high voice and chatted merrily away as he polished my shoes, not to a major general’s inspection shine but quite decently! When he had finished and gone, and still no soup, we paid for the beers and went down the street to a kiosk selling “tapioca” – not the nursery pudding we all remember but mandioca (cassava) root ground to a coarse flour which is fried to form a sort of slightly rubbery pancake. This is folded in half and one of a variety of fillings ladled in (ours was seafood, and very good too) and eaten out of a napkin. Fast-forward four days to Friday, the first night of Carnival, when we returned from an excursion, and the scene had changed! The tables were all full and the girl from the Yellow Parrot was awake and looking rather flurried. The end of the square opens diagonally to another open space where a stage had been set up. The open area in front of it had become the showplace for the masque bands. As each formed up and moved into the space, its music group took possession of the stage and played the band’s song – or series of songs, as each band had about 15 minutes to show off its costumes. In reality the musicians were there not much more than to provide background music. The main sound was the batucada (drumming routine) of the band itself, which resounded furiously between the high walls. The costumes were pretty much what one might expect, lots of feathers and bright colours, although one band was in black and white and silver. This visual spectacle was complemented by the curious fauna among the crowd. Moving among the spectators were the free-lance masqueraders, mainly clowns wearing the traditional baggy harlequin suit and varying masks – ghoulish, pretty or amusing. We did not see much “clowning” – they were just there for the fun of dressing up. Blond-dyed hair was very popular (not to the exclusion of other colours).

BRASILIA

Brazil’s capital since 1960, the city was built out of nothing on the central plateau near the geographical centre of the country in the late 1950s. As early as the 1823, a proposal was made to build an inland capital to harness Brazil’s economic potential. In 1883 it was predicted by an Italian priest, Giovanni Bosco, and such a capital was written into the 1891 constitution. The modern city however really owes its existence to four men. First and foremost president Juscelino Kubitschek (JK) who – partly for political motives – decided to bring the dream true at last; secondly urban planner Luis Costa; thirdly landscape architect Burle Marx; and fourth and most famously architect Oscar Niemeyer. Imagine a city planned to look like a huge aeroplane flying eastwards! The fuselage – or “Monumental Axis” – contains all the civic and parliamentary buildings, congress,

law courts, ministries etc., mostly designed by Niemeyer,

standing north and south of a grassy space several kilometres long.

The back-curved wings, north and south, contain residential areas organized into “super-blocks” with shopping areas and services. Where they meet are zones for banks, hotels, commerce and culture (the cathedral,

the national theatre, etc.), and there is also an embassies zone. Round the east end is a huge artificial lake crossed by an award-winning bridge,

as well as parkland containing the official residences of the president and vice president.

There is also a public park covering 400 ha. where we went for a walk in the morning. As the city was designed for 500,000 inhabitants and now holds 2 million, satellite cities have sprung up to the north-east, served by metro. We also visited a museum devoted to the indigenous peoples and ended the evening pigging out on prawns! _____________________________________________________ Capital de Brasil desde 1960, la ciudad fue construida en el altiplano central cerca del centro geográfico del país en la década de los 1950. Ya en 1823 hubo una propuesta de construir un capital en el interior para aprovechar el potencial económico del país. En 1883 su existencia fue predicha por un cura italiano, Juan Bosco, y un capital en el interior fue prescrito en la constitución de 1891. Sin embargo la ciudad actual debe su existencia a cuatro hombres: primero, presidente Juscelino Kubitschek (JK) quien – por motivos en parte políticos – decidió finalmente de realizar el sueño; segundo, urbanista Luis Costa; tercero, paisajista Burle Marx; y finalmente el famoso arquitecto Oscar Niemeyer. Imaginen una ciudad con un diseño que se parece a un enorme avión que vuela hacia el oriente! El cuerpo – “Eje Monumental” – contiene los edificios cívicos y parlamentarios, el congreso, tribunales, ministerios etc., en su mayoría diseñados por Niemeyer, al norte y al sur de una zona de pasto largo de varios kilómetros. Las alas norte y sur contienen zonas residenciales organizadas en “super-cuadras”, con tiendas y otros servicios. En el cruce hay zonas bancarias, hoteleras, de comercio y de cultura, además de una para las embajadas. En la punta oriente hay una lago artificial enorme, cruzado por un puente premiado, además de parques con los palacios del presidente y vicepresidente. Hay también un parque enorme (400 ha.) para uso de los ciudadanos, donde fuimos a caminar en la mañana. Ya que la ciudad fue diseñada para 500 mil habitantes, y ahora tiene 2 millones, existen ciudades satélites en las afueras, servidas por el metro. También conocimos un museo dedicado a los pueblos indígenas, y terminamos el día comiendo abundancia de camarones!

ARRAIAL – BRASILIA

Here we are in the eccentric capital of Brazil, in the hospitable flat of Marina. But getting here was an adventure… The first drama was on Monday when I tried to draw some money, only to find that the bank computer had decided that my brand new card was damaged. It was therefore cancelled, and the replacement is waiting for me in Chile (the story is actually a bit longer, as my original card was swallowed by a machine in Sao Paulo airport, but I will not bore you with details!) That problem more or less solved through the kindness of friends, we said our farewells and yesterday morning (Thursday) set off to catch our bus from Arraial to Brasilia, a journey of some 22 and a half hours. The bus was due to leave from Porto Seguro at 10.00, the other side of the river which is crossed by a balsa (ferry) so we left at 8.30 to allow plenty of time. At the bus stop we met a friend, Marco, who announced that the balsa was on strike! However, as he was also headed for P. Seguro, we boarded a bus regardless. On the way, the strike was confirmed by shouts from drivers going the other way and we started to worry. Arrived at the river, the gates were closed and the balsas were all anchored. Magda however remembered that the hotel on the point has its own launch and managed to talk her way in, so we crossed and arrived as planned. The journey took us virtually due west with a loop north via Vitoria da Conquista and Bom Jesus de Lapa, right across the state of Bahia. We headed inland though green, more or less hilly country, towards a dramatic distant mountain.

This is cattle country, all lanky Brahmin cattle.

We passed through sleepy villages,

stopping in the most unlikely places while disregarding some larger towns. The land flattened out when we reached the plateau, and at dusk we arrived at Vitoria da Conquista for supper – a huge sprawling city. It was dark when we left and in the city outskirts the driver suddenly braked violently. At the same time a loud blast on a hooter announced the presence of a train, which passed the level crossing right under our noses. Another few feet and we would have been mincemeat... Despite that, we soon fell asleep – although with the air-conditioning we were too cold to sleep well. Dawn found us rolling across a huge flat plain in Brazil’s central plateau, sown principally with soya and other types of beans. By now we were heading south towards the state border between Bahia and Goiás, where we stopped for a cup of sweet coffee. Immediately after the border, the road dipped into more broken, less cultivated land, with a lot of standing water (they have had a lot of rain recently in much of Brazil). I saw ducks and geese, grebes and even a cormorant. Suddenly smoke started coming out from just below our window, and the bus ground to a halt. A shredded tyre! So we spent the next hour watching the unfortunate driver changing the wheel – passengers are not allowed to help! At last we were rolling again and finally reached Brasilia, rather late, under threatening clouds.

The city is amazing and I will write more after we have seen it tomorrow! We arrived safely – if rather late – at Marina’s flat to a delicious lunch…

_______________________________________________ Aquí estamos en el capital excéntrico de Brasil, donde nuestra amiga Marina. Sin embargo llegar fue toda una aventura… El primer dramón ocurrió el lunes, cuando traté de sacar dinero del banco, y encontré que el computador de mi banco había decidido que mi tarjeta nueva estaba dañada. Fue eliminada del sistema, y el remplazo está esperándonos en Chile (en realidad es más complejo, porque una máquina en el aeropuerto de Sao Paulo tragó la tarjeta original!) Una vez solucionado ese problema, gracias a unos amigos, nos despedimos y ayer (jueves) fuimos a tomar el bus de Arraial a Brasilia, un viaje de unas 22 horas y media. El bus debía salir de Porto Seguro a las 10.00, del terminal al otro lado del río que se cruza en balsa, así que salimos a las 08.30 por si acaso. En el paradero nos encontramos con un amigo, Marco, quien nos anunció que la balsa estaba en paro! Sin embargo, él también tenía que llegar a P. Seguro, así que subimos a un bus con los dedos cruzados. En el camino, otros chóferes confirmaron el paro, y cuando llegamos al río los portones estaban cerrados y las balsas ancladas. Pero Magda se acordó que el hotel en la punta tiene lancha propia y logró hacernos pasar a los tres. Todo bien hasta ahí… Desde P. Seguro, viajamos casi directamente hacia el oeste, con un desvío hacia el norte vía Vitoria da Conquista y Bom Jesus de Lapa, cruzando todo el estado de Bahia. El paisaje estaba verde con montañas bajas. Es una zona ganadera, con vacas de la raza Bramita. Pasamos por pueblos dormidos, parando a veces, no necesariamente en los más grandes... Al pasar las montañas llegamos al altiplano, y el terreno se volvió más plano; al atardecer llegamos a Vitoria da Conquista para comer – una ciudad grande y extendida. Cuando salimos ya era de noche, y en las afueras de la ciudad el chofer frenó en forma abrupta. Al mismo tiempo un tremendo bocinazo anunció la presencia de un tren, que pasó por un paso nivel a pocos metros – unos segundos más y no estaríamos aquí... A pesar de eso no tardamos en dormirnos, aunque con el aire condicionado hacía mucho frío y no dormimos bien. Al alba estábamos cruzando una planicie enorme del altiplano central del Brasil, centenares de hectáreas con siembras de porotes de varios tipos. Ya íbamos rumbo al sur hacia el límite estatal entre Bahia y Goiás, donde paramos para tomar una taza de café azucarado. A continuación, el camino descendió por paisaje más irregular y menos trabajado, con mucha agua – ha llovido mucho últimamente. De repente salió humo debajo del vidrio a nuestro lado, y el bus paró. Un neumático reventado! Así que pasamos una hora mirando al pobre chofer que cambiaba la rueda – los pasajeros están prohibidos de ayudar! Finalmente pudimos retomar el viaje y llegamos – atrasados – a Brasilia, bajo unas nubes amenazadoras. La ciudad es impresionante, y voy a escribir más después de conocerla mañana! Llegamos bien para un almuerzo delicioso donde la Marina …

IN ARRAIAL AGAIN

We are back in Brazil and have decided to reactivate the blog! We came in December to spend a week circle dancing in Piracanga, just north of Ilheus, and have spent Christmas, New Year and January back in Arraial d’Ajuda. We have rediscovered old friends and made new ones, and my Portuguese is recovering. I am working throughout January – view from my office!

Magda is doing Pilates classes both as teacher and pupil. February will be spent travelling – watch this space... What has triggered my enthusiasm was a visit to the Festival of Saint Sebastian in the neighbouring village of Trancoso (for photo see 30 Sept 2007!) on 20th January. Trancoso, is an hour’s bus-ride from Arraial. There are no photos of this visit, because the festival tends to draw crowds and one has to take some precautions in these latitudes; furthermore, rain was threatening. The festival is celebrated every year to replace the flagpole on which Saint Sebastian’s flag flutters in front of the church. This dates from the late 16th century, a whitewashed stone building which stands at the end of the “Square” a large, open, grassy space bordered by low fishermen’s houses painted in bright colours. This old village centre has been well preserved, modern intrusions are of good quality but have not imposed their sophistication. There are a couple of hotels, but you do not realise that they are there because they have used the old houses, keeping the hotel infrastructure in the background. All you see are the traditional houses. There are a few restaurants and shops, and in between live villagers. The festival starts with dancing on the night of the 19th, and gets going again with a communal lunch on the 20th – originally served by the villagers to those who worked to prepare and set up the flagpole. We only arrived after lunch, at about 3.30. As we stepped off the bus, a few drops started to fall, and as we approached the square we met a number of tourists coming away! But the rain was not that heavy, so we went on. The first festive scene we found was a woman standing under a tree, handing out slices of an immense chocolate cake – which covered the entire table – to all and sundry. “Ah,” we thought, “the end of the comunal lunch!” But no – it was her birthday! So she made the cake to celebrate and share – the same must happen every year. Meanwhile the rain was falling more heavily and Magda opened our borrowed umbrella. Crack! The handle broke – luckily right at the bottom so it was still usable… People were taking refuge in shops and restaurants, so we too entered a crowded doorway. It turned out to be a private house, but that doesn’t matter in Bahia! The owner, dona María, came to chat and join the party, and introduced us to two of her eleven grandchildren. A little old man, slightly the worse for beer, went in and out shaking everybody by the hand – rather more warmly in the case of the girls… Outside, another festive sort with a silver hat was dancing alone under the pouring rain. Opposite us, across the square, the temporary stage set up for a show in the evening was full of people, not to mention a dog, sheltering under the plastic sheet which served as a roof. The rain eased off after some 20 minutes. We went to inspect the flagpole, which was receiving its finishing touches – a tree-trunk some 25 cm in diameter at the base, 10 m long, all painted with geometrical designs in black and white and red. The old pole had already been felled, and was lying not far away. Close by is the flagpole of Saint Bras, which will be changed in a similar festival on 3 February. The “flag” is an oil painting of the village, some 80 x 50 cm, on a wooden frame and with a cloth “tail”. The people who had taken shelter from the rain in the church were coming out, so we went in. It is quite low, painted blue and white, and decorated with flowers and ribbons for the festival. To fill the hour remaining until the raising of the flagpole we walked to the beach. The village was built on a hill, like all the old villages of the “Discovery coast”, to make it easier to defend against the indians - or more probably other European colonists. Both Duthc and French took a strong interest in Brazil in the 16th and 17th centuries. We descended a slippery path, and then crossed a strip of mangrove where little crabs between 3 and 10 cm across – some black with white claws, others yellow or brown with fiery red claws and legs – scurried between the mangrove roots from hole to hole in the black mud. The sea was calm, the sky to the north was black. More rain was on the way. Back in the square, a procession was approaching the church bearing a couple of red banners and a little statue of Saint Sebastian. It started to rain again and the procession hurried into the church, which filled with a crowd of all stripes. Outside, a tall blonde model, with 10 cm high heels, was taking advantage of the festival to swell her portfolio with photographs taken in this folkloric setting. The problem was the drunk in the silver hat – clearly in love – who would not shift from her side (he scarcely reached her shoulder, hat and all!), making serious photography impossible. In the church, the piped religious music gave way to a couple of prayers, and the priest walked down the aisle and back sprinkling us with holy water – scarcely necessary as the Almighty had already seen to it that everyone was soaked to the skin. A man wearing swimming trunks and a pair of misted-up glasses weaved his way in with a can of beer in hand – he was quickly given a seat. Outside, thunder rolled… and they were tying a rope to the flagpole for the culminating moment. There was a metre-deep hole awaiting the base of the pole, the flag was in place. The young and strong gathered round the pole, the batucada (drum music) began, accompanied by enthusiastic singing, and everyone else grabbed the rope wherever there was a gap. The silver hat shone at the end of the rope – the blonde had disappeared, frightened off by the rain no doubt. Our umbrella still provided symbolic shelter, but no more. The batucada rose to fever pitch, the singing and shouting likewise, as the pole slowly jerked upright then dropped into the hole. There was a sudden burst of fireworks, competing with the thunder and lightning. Once the earth was stamped in round the pole, the procession set off once more. Now the real party could start! ---------------- Estamos de vuelta en Brasil, y hemos decidido reactivar el blog! Llegamos en diciembre para asistir a un festival de danzas circulares en Piracanga, al norte de Ilheus, y pasamos la navidad y el año nuevo en Arraial d’Ajuda. Hemos reencontrado amigos antiguos, y encontrado nuevos, y estoy recuperando mi portugués. Estoy trabajando durante enero ¡la foto arriba es la vista desde mi oficina! Magda está dando y recibiendo clases de Pilates. En febrero estaremos de viaje – habrán más blogs. Decidí empezar el blog después de una visita a la Fiesta de San Sebastián en Trancoso (hay foto de la iglesia en el blog del 30 de sept de 2007!), varios disfrutaron de mi pequeño relato… Domingo 20 de enero fuimos a la fiesta de San Sebastián en Troncoso, un pueblito a una hora en bus de Arraial. No tenemos fotos porque suele ir mucha gente y hay que cuidarse en estas latitudes, además, amenazaba con llover. La fiesta se celebra todos los años para cambiar el mástil donde flamea la bandera de San Sebastián frente a la iglesia. Esta estructura de piedra blanqueada, de fines del siglo 16, se levanta al final de la plaza – conocida como el “Quadrado” – un espacio abierto cubierto de pasto y bordeado de casitas de pescadores pintadas de distintos colores. Este centro antiguo del pueblo se ha conservado muy bonito, con cosas de buena calidad sin hacerse sofisticado. Hay un par de hoteles, pero no se notan porque han ocupado las casas antiguas y la infraestructura hotelera queda alejada de la plaza, se ven solamente las casas tradicionales. Hay unos restoranes y tiendas, y entremedio vive todavía gente del pueblo. La fiesta comienza con baile la noche del 19, y retoma con un almuerzo comunal el día 20 – antiguamente ofrecido por los vecinos a los trabajadores que preparan y levantan el mástil. Nosotros fuimos después del almuerzo, llegando como a las tres y media. Cuando bajamos del bus, empezaban a caer unas pocas gotas, y a medida que nos acercábamos a la plaza, encontrábamos una fila de turistas que se alejaban! Pero era poco, e insistimos hasta llegar a la plaza. Lo primero que encontramos era una mujer atrás de una mesa grande, debajo de un árbol, con un inmenso “bolo” (queque) de chocolate, del cual regalaba a todos los que se acercaran. “Ah” pensamos, “el resto del almuerzo comunal”. Pero nada: era su cumpleaños e hizo el bolo para celebrar y compartir – por supuesto que le toca la misma fiesta todos los años! En esto llovía cada vez más fuerte, y Magda abrió nuestro paraguas prestado. Crac! Se partió la manga – bien abajo, de manera que podíamos seguir usándolo… La gente se refugiaba en las tiendas, los restoranes, y nosotros también nos metimos a una puerta, con varias personas más. Resultó ser una casa privada, pero no hubo problema; la dueña, dona María, vino a conversar y compartir la fiesta, y nos presentó a dos de sus 11 nietos. Un viejito borracho entraba y salía, dando la mano a todos, en especial a las mujeres… Afuera, otro borrachito de sombrero plateado bailaba solo bajo la lluvia. Frente a nosotros, al otro lado del Quadrado, el escenario donde debía haber un espectáculo en la noche estaba lleno de gente – y hasta un perro – que aprovechaba su techo de nailon. Después de unos 20 minutos amainó la lluvia. Fuimos a ver el mástil, que estaban terminando aun – un tronco de 25 cm de diámetro a la base, y 10 m de largo, todo pintado de diseños geométricos en blanco, negro y rojo. Ya habían sacado el palo viejo, que estaba botado no muy lejos. Al lado está el mástil de San Bras, que se cambiará en una fiesta parecida el 3 de febrero. La “bandera” es una pintura en oleo del pueblo, de unos 80 x 50 cm, enmarcada con madera y con una “cola” de trapo. La gente que había entrado a la iglesia para refugiarse de la lluvia iba saliendo, así que entramos. Es bajita, pintada de azul y blanco, y decorada con flores y cintas por la fiesta. Para pasar la hora que faltaba para el acto de levantar el mástil, fuimos a dar una vuelta a la playa. El pueblo está construido en altura, como todos los pueblos antiguos de la Costa del Descubrimiento, para facilitar su defensa contra los indios. Bajamos por un sendero resbaloso y cruzamos una franja de mangle donde cangrejos de 3 a 10 cm de ancho, algunos negros con pinzas blancas, otros amarillos o color café con pinzas y patas rojas, corrían entre las raíces de un hoyo a otro en el barro negro. El mar estaba calmo, el cielo hacia el norte, gris oscuro. Venía más lluvia. De vuelta en el Quadrado, una procesión se acercaba a la iglesia con un par de banderas rojas y una pequeña estatua de san Sebastián. Empezaba a chispear, y apuramos el paso hacia la iglesia, que se llenó de gente de toda índole. Afuera una modelo rubia, alta, con tacos de 10 cm, estaba aprovechando la fiesta para abultar su portafolio con fotos en este marco folclórico. El problema era el borrachito de sombrero plateado, manifiestamente apasionado, que no se alejaba de su lado (le llegaba apenas al hombro, con sombrero y todo!), imposibilitando la toma de fotos. En la iglesia, la música grabada fue remplazada por un par de oraciones, y el cura pasó por la nave dispensando agua bendita – un poco redundante, ya que el señor ya se había encargado de mojarnos hasta los huesos. Un tipo en traje de baño entró titubeando, una lata de cerveza en la mano – rápidamente le hicieron sentarse antes que causara escándalo. Afuera tronaba… y estaban amarrando una cuerda al mástil para el momento culminante. El hoyo de un metro de hondo esperaba la base del palo, la bandera estaba puesta. Los jóvenes fuertes se agrupaban alrededor del palo, la batucada empezaba con cantos de alegría, y los demás agarraban la cuerda como pudieran. El sombrero plateado estaba en la punta de la cuerda; la rubia había desaparecido, asustada por la lluvia que caía nuevamente a cántaros. Nuestro paraguas resistía aun, pero en realidad el efecto era mínimo. La batucada se duplicó, los gritos y cantos aumentaron, y el palo se levantaba en forma esporádica, luego cayó parado en el hoyo. Soltaron fuegos artificiales, que apenas hacían competencia con los truenos y relámpagos. Una vez afirmado el mástil, partimos todos de nuevo en procesión. Ahora sí que empieza la fiesta!