Last nite was my first taste of Carnaval, the party of earthly parties making Mardi Gras and Burning Man look like Mr. Roger;s neighborhood. We, the innocent American travelers of which there are very few, thought we were only getting a bite to eat and exploring a new block in Salavador. We were immediately overwhelmed by mile high puppets, absurd costumes and marching bands that bust through, squeeze through, push through the narrow streets like an optimistic clogged artery. People singing and dancing on the brick pavement, up and down hills - whoa to the pedestrian who thought they had their own agenda, like hunger. There is no personal choice of direction or conversation when it comes to the parading bands. They are stalkers, though not discreet, sneeking up and mugging you from behind.

To procure treats, I had to make change. The shop owner complied only after I agreed to marry him and we performed an impromptu though nonetheless romantic wedding ceremony (sorry about the rush, Momma!) complete with singing, berimbau instrumentation and a kiss to seal the deal. Americana loca is what they call me, pointing to my piercings. Rastafarian is what they yell down to me, leaning from their second story windows, pointing out my locks.

Finally, food. Regina, Heidi and I asked if there was an english menu only to be joined to my delight and surprise by the owner herself, a Brazilian Lebonese woman who moved to the States for seventeen years, living in yes, my very home state, Michigan, of all places. I thought her accent genuinely midwestern and her green lecttuce genuinely hydroponic - this was in sum, THE BEST mediterranian food I have ever tasted, the best salad we have gotten in south america, and the best dinner company our trio could have asked for. I kept thinking how much my grampy would be appreciating this moment. Then I would go ahead and appreciate it for myself.

There were two men sleeping in the hall outside their open door hotel room, who knows the reason for evacuation and all I can say is :here comes Carnaval!: Today I type at one of many popular internet cafes where they are djing Nirvana~s Unplugged album and I hear a Japanese accent singing every lyric from behind another screen. :I~m on my time with everyone. I have very bad posture. I sit and drink Penyroyal Tea.: AFternoons of aloe vera on this sunburn, acai indulgence, and music again proving less fallable than language.

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