IN
SALVADOR, BRAZIL
CARNIVAL
by Joseph Schmitt
My undergraduate program at a small college in Vermont
required that each person in my class of twenty-four students
perform an internship in a foreign country for at least
six months. Some of the other students found volunteer
assignments as far off as New Zealand, China, and Nepal.
The year was 1989 and the Berlin Wall had just come down.
Given my previous studies in Western Germany throughout
much of the mid-1980s, a return to a new and united Germany
seemed an obvious choice. There was great work to be done,
and who better to unite a country than an overly optimistic
twenty-year-old college student? Fate, it would seem,
had other plans for me. In April of 1990, I touched down
at Rio de Janeiro's Galeão airport. No, I hadn't
fortuitously boarded the wrong plane. Rather, I had received
word of an orphanage in Brazil that was interested in
my collegiate vigor. I convinced my parents this would
be a wonderful learning opportunity and a chance to help
less fortunate children. My parents weren't suckers, I'm
sure they could see Copacabana beach in the reflection
of my eyes. I assured them, “It's not like I'm going
for Carnival. I'll be home for Christmas!” Having
successfully secured my place in the South American sun
for a nine-month stay, I passed the first three months
learning Portuguese and traveling throughout Rio, São
Paulo, and Belo Horizonte. In June of that year, I finally
arrived in Salvador, Brazil's third largest city, where
I would volunteer at a small orphanage.
In Salvador I had the good fortune to meet some of the
most beautiful and gracious people, and they treated me
like a friend returning home from a very long voyage.
Soon after my arrival I noticed there was an underlying
pulse to everyone's personality, and a subtext in many
conversations. “Just wait for Carnival!” everyone
told me. “Then you will see the real Brazil. Then
you will know Salvador.” Not a day went by that I
didn't hear the word Carnival at least a dozen times.
I just didn't get it. I wasn't able to comprehend this
collective fixation on a party. While I've always been
something of a party diplomat, an ambassador of good times,
I found the standard practice of counting down the days
until the next Carnival celebration to be slightly bizarre.
I quickly learned to not tell people I would be leaving
before Carnival for fear of insulting them.
While receiving college credit for living
in Brazil had its obvious advantages, this was also
a difficult period in my life. Struggling with my sexuality,
I was a stranger to myself and a foreigner in a distant
land, and what tale of Brazil would be complete without
a love story? My first love was the most beautiful boy
I'd ever seen. His shimmering tan, wavy dark hair, and
sexy brown eyes mesmerized me. A lifeguard in his hometown
of Fortaleza, George had moved to Salvador to live with
his closeted gay cousin. The three of us honored our
shared secret, rarely venturing into the city's gay
areas. George and I avoided any public displays of affection
by always looking both ways before sneaking a kiss at
the beach or holding hands on a deserted cobblestone
street.
Unfortunately, George suffered a distinctly
Brazilian emotion called saudades (a longing or deep
missing). Unable to stand the thought of spending Carnival
without a lover, George dumped me a month before my
scheduled departure to return to his previous boyfriend.
My adoration for Brazil soured slightly, and I endured
my remaining weeks in South America cursing the moon,
avoiding the beach, and most of all, scorning that demonic
party that robbed me of my hot Brazilian boyfriend.
Each time someone inevitably mentioned Carnival, I gladly
informed them that I would not be attending their little
hedonistic soiree. “But you must stay for Carnival,”
people demanded. “It's unlike anything you will
ever see. Carnival is for lovers!” Within weeks,
I was back home in the United States where my tan faded
quickly and my heart slowly healed.
Seventeen years later I found myself
yet again in Brazil's tropical northeast. There was
a feeling of coming full circle to again be in the city
that once felt like home, and yet reminded me of my
naïve broken heart. Banishing any thought of hunting
down George, I was more interested in confronting my
nemesis, Carnival. This time around I had time, maturity,
a healed heart, and the absence of a closet on my side.
I checked into the Bahia Othon Palace Hotel in Salvador's
Ondina neighborhood the morning of the first official
day of Carnival 2007. It was time for this city, for
this nation, to pay a debt and show me what they got.
Admiring the beautiful ocean view and inhaling the fresh
morning ocean air from my ninth floor room left me emotional.
In the far distance I could see the Farol da Barra,
an historic lighthouse and symbol of the city which
doubles as a beacon to the centrally located gay beach.
Knowing from experience that Salvador is a very safe
city, with the violence often found in Rio and São
Paulo not existing here, common sense told me this time
of year is when petty thieves would find easy prey.
So before heading out, I tucked my money into my sock,
made sure my pockets were empty, took off my watch,
and strapped a camera safely across my chest. Knowing
loosely how Carnival plays out in Salvador, I was able
to resurrect my Portuguese and leaf through some official
programs in the lobby before hitting the main strip.
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Many Brazilian cities have Carnival
celebrations, but most people outside of Brazil don't
realize how much they vary by city and region. Rio de
Janeiro is synonymous with Carnival to most North Americans,
with its schools of Samba parading down the Sambodrome
and the lavish hotel parties and wild costumes.
Carnival in Salvador (the largest outdoor Carnival celebration
in the world) is also widely considered by Brazilians
to be the “real thing.” This is the Carnival
of choice for hundreds of thousands of party professionals
who flock here from all over Brazil. If this is where
Brazilians come to party, it's got to be special.
I made my way down to Avenida Oceânica,
a winding stretch of coastal road that plays host to
one of the two main Carnival circuits, referred to
as Circuito Dodô, in the Barra/Ondina neighborhood.
The large hotels that line this section of the street
had constructed complex, temporary structures on the
exterior of their property. These, it turns out, are
an integral part of the Carnival celebration called
Camarotes (in the U.S. we would call them VIP boxes
and lounges). The street was bustling with commotion.
Vendors were setting up their bars and food stalls.
Young girls smiled and flirted with me, only slightly
more forwardly than did some boys. People were already
dancing to the feverish music of Carnival and young
couples wasted no time in getting started on Carnival's
official pastime, public displays of serious affection.
I continued walking down to Barra, a neighborhood
I remembered as being rather gay. The streets had already
been blocked off to traffic, allowing room for the oncoming
hordes of people. This, I could instinctively tell,
was the calm before the storm.
Continued
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