...from Morro to the Forro.
Freaky Brazilian transvestite midget warbler.
Picture if you will a cross between the wee one outta the Crankies and Chucky, then spawned from Amy Wine-merchants womb. Got it? Well it don't come close to this. Priceless bit of Brazilian telly. Scarier than Pamela Ballentine coming at yee with a strap-on...
Enough random rambling. We're back in Rio after our 2 week Bahian 'cultural' field-trip up north. From the Russ Abbot'esque atmosphere of the Forro party to the 'air of menace' on the streets of Salvador we really can say the craic has been around the 90 mark. Last night was pure A-Team, with no milk for the big man, just tequila. First flight I don't remember. Any other country woulda slung us reet oot the door tae fook! (Our soda-holes could not handle another 23hr bus journey.)
Can't get that slaphead Phil Collins' track about not being able to dance outta my scone either. In addition to lowering the tone of the Argentinian Milonga, our shameless spazzy dancing has now graced a few floors out here too. Holy bayjaysus! We. Cannot. Dance. That plan for the first dance at our wedding reception rapidly evaporating... Remember? That Tango idea? Uh-Oh... Though I've been Youtubing instructional videos for the 'Running Man'. Seriously.
Anyway, we made it. The final countdown now begins. We touchdown in Blighty on the 22nd July - then straight onto an Ireland de Norte connection. Right now though it just feels really comfortable being back in Rio. We're loving Ipanema - walking the streets, watching the people (from the corner cafe or the Chopp joint) it's all good baby, yeah. Err, apart from the budget...
So now it's all about us. No plan for the blog. No idea how it will end. With a bang? A wimper? Does anyone really care? Do any more nationalities/cultures need insulted? Dealing with the 'known knowns' (gotta love that Rumsfeld quote) we're getting ourselves chilled to 11 (a la Spinal Tap) and cranking up the loaf to maximum velocity, probably at the expense of keeping this place on the pulse. So there. C'est la Vie baby.
We're off out now to hit the streets. As mentioned previously, so much beachwear wrongness to spot here, so little time. We're also continuing our little pastime of spotting the best gay magazine titles at the kiosks - just spotted 'Sexboys', though our favourite* is the Argentinian 'Gaucho'. As in cowboy. Belter so it is like.
So au revoir comrades, until the next time...
Stop. Hammer time. Sorry. Pics...
Go team Bahia! Us, Matt and Laura. Caipirinha in hand. (How's that hangover guys? Damn those bloody tequilas last night!)
The surf-mobile! Matt, you get an invoice for that remote yet? He He. And yes, it was an almighty pain in the arse to drive.
You remember we mentioned a Spanish 'lesson' received at the footy game in Argentina? Where we learnt to swear like the locals at the Ecuador fans. Well Concha means shell in Spanish (and Portuguese too by the looks of it), but in South-American Spanish it's really quite the rude word - you know, that 'C' one (quite popular in Mockney gangster flicks). Maybe I'm the only one who found this funny, but that beach is called James Blunt. Ok, so it was only me then...
No, not rampant man-love. A Capoeira lesson on the beach at Itacare. Groin still fakked.
Forro band. Itacare. Unusually no accordian player this night. Folk music with a cracking rhythm backbone. Good to get your move on to. Though the high standard of dance (reminiscent in a way of Tango to us) meant the Gringos (us) hid at the back.
Main square, Morro De Sao Paulo. No cars on Tinhare island, transport options being donkey or wheelbarrow. Great to get back to a place like this, full-on tropical 'Manyana' attitude pervading every aspect of life, roosters waking you up in the morning...
...and a main street that's sand. You can almost touch both sides at some points with outstretched arms. This place would be awesome around carnival. By all accounts Bahia is the area to be, not Rio.
There's the taxi. Loving places where the beach forms a large part of the transport network. No, the dudes head ain't stuck in that horses arse.
EDIT: In our last post we incorrectly referred to Morro De Sao Paulo as an island, when actually it's a village on the island of Tinhare, just off the coast from Valenca (& 2 hours by catamaran from Salvador - thank JHC we didn't have breakfast before taking that bad-bwoy).
Rua Da Fonte Grand, Morro De Sao Paulo. Archway a remnant of colonial past. Our wee Pousada just off to the left. (Pousada Passarte - Mario your breakfasts rawk hombre!) We'll miss our little room there, with hummingbirds feeding outside, and bats swooping around the banana trees at night...
Leatherback turtle. Sanctuary at Praia Do Forte. These things are huuuge!
(Speaking of the 'Manyana' attitude on Morro, we have never witnessed so much overt Cheech and Chong activity anywhere, as we have in Brazil. That piney bud smell is everywhere. Witnessed a cleaner in Itacare mopping up the floor with a fat one in her gob. Quality!)
Any of you happy-clappers know what this is? A doddery old women gave us this last night. Motioned to pray with it between our hands. Gotta be a RC thing, yeah? L.L.B. you any ideas?
Guarana drinks. Real popular here. Damn nice too, think they've knocked the Incan colas off our taste top spot.
::Loving about Brazil::
-The racial mix. Described by a Brazilian we spoke to as the 'biggest milkshake in the world'.
-The sabores. Especially the drinks. Agua de coco, the guarana and of course the caipirinha. And how can we forget the Acai fruit?
-The music & dance. What's not to love about the Forro?
::Not loving about Brazil::
-The perceived 'danger'. Real or what? We've only felt something tangible in Salvador (hence no pics - really frustrating because the colonial architecture there is really beautiful). Just read that 1% of the people own 50% of the land in Brazil. Holee sheet!
-The economy. Not good for two skint travellers.
-The per-kilo restaurants. Always eat too bloody much!
-The language. A head-melt getting to grips with, after being in so many Spanish speaking places.
PS: Dave, sorry we missed you over the twelth 'festive' period. We'll try and shoot up to Belo Horizonte and grab that pint with you & the missus. A stand off with the Brazilian filth woulda been nice on Saturday. He He. Get us prepped for our Norn Iron return. Oh yeah, and you certainly put a different slant on the fireworks activity here...
PPS: Dallas, where are you?
- Bloody American spell-check on my Mac keeps flagging this up! Here's me fakking whaa?!! It's NOT fakking 'favorite' you concha!