It began in a most Othmanesque of fashions. But let's start at the beginning. Friday December 12 at 8 am I leave Buenos Aires with a flight to São Paulo, from where I will make a connection to Salvador, to spend 5 days with my friend Be Moraes and her family during Carnaval. This means I have a total of 2 flights. Given I had to arrive at the airport at 6 am I decided to just pull an all-nighter and not sleep at all. What I did NOT know was that the second flight, starting in São Paulo towards Salvador, was stopping in Porto Seguro. Given my lack of sleep and general incomprehension (scratch that, oblivion) of the Portuguese language, I naturally got out of the plane as soon as it kindly stopped. Which was at Porto Seguro. 715 km away from Salvadore (my destination). At 7 pm. :D. In a village with a population of 20 that closes most of the airport for dinner. Lovely, innit?
And in my jubilation at finally having reached Zion I didn't care that the airport of the 3rd largest city was the size of a small supermarket, or that its name didn't fit, or that Beatriz's mom who was supposed to come pick me up was an hour and 30 minutes left. That meant nothing to me; the important thing was I was finally in Brazil. Zion.
So imagine my joy at finding out, after speaking to Be, that I was at the other end of the state, 10h away by bus, at a cost of Reals 1440 (approximatelt $800). AND THAT'S THE PRICE OF A 10H BUS RIDE! Immediately seized by a most nervous of laughters, cackling like a mad witch high on helium, I searched for a ticket booth to buy a ticket out of there: CLOSED! I then tried calling every person I knew that might be able to purchase me a ticket online, only to find out that my Moroccan phone on roaming wasn't calling Morocco, and my Argentine phone was out of credit! With what joy I reached Aida (as well as Val in NY, Hicham in San Francisco, and Dea in London) as she had access to a computer. But as soon as she logged on to the TAM airline we were dreadfully met by a website entirely in Portuguese. Finally a good 10 minutes later Be called to valiantly announce that her mom had indeed found a ticket for me. My flight out was at 3 am. I had 8h to kill in the middle of Porto Seguro Aeropuerto Internacionão, where I was the only representative of the internacionão contingent.
Finally at 4 am I arrived at Salvador and was met by Be, who had stayed awake to pick me up. After that it just went from good to great; swimming in the Atlantic with a water so warm even I could melt into it without problem, drinking and making caipirinhas, eating pão queijo, fruits I didn't know existed, guarana coming out of my ears, etc...
And then we arrived at the carnaval. The carnaval is a 6/7 day feast to prepare for the advent of Lent, where Catholics need to give up something for 40 days. In this world there is feasting, and there is Brazilian feasting. Imagine a city of 3 million whose population doubles for a week. Imagine two massive avenues totaling 10km filled with people following super trucks with more speakers EACH than all the clubs in Philadelphia put together, singing along, dancing, shouting, and partying, basically 24h a day. Everyone knowing all the lyrics, united by the the music, blacks and whites together. I know it sounds cliché, but I'm only 24 and I'd never seen this. I'd known music capable of working wonders, but we're talking divine miracles here. 6 million beings crying and singing together like their lives depend on it is beyond me.
So this morning I left Zion, most definitely against my will. Two nights ago I begged Be's mom to please adopt me so that I could become Brazilian. She laughed but didn't say "yes" (she didn't say "no" either). I'll become Brazilian one day or another. Brasileiros are the only people I've met in this world that truly remind me of Moroccans without having anything to do with them. Yes of course we are similar to other Maghrebins, but then we really are the same. Moroccans, Algerians, Tunisians... it really is the same thing. But why would a Brazilian and I have anything in common? Yet there's something in that lightness of being, that happy laid-back musical football-loving modest attitude that is very similar. How many times was I walking down the street smelling the same smell of fried food (sfenj), faces exactly similar, colours exactly similar... It was really like being home away from home.
Anyways, now I'm back.
Best,
FOT
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