Following the ¨happy chaos¨principle, the weekend culminated in an offer to attend Natal`s annual Carnival which just happened to coincide with our first weekend in Brazil. Foolish not to, we thought. Unlike its big brother in Rio, this carnival has only been going since 1999. Also unlike Rio, this is not so much a carnival of floats but turned out to be a full-fledged mobile rock concert - you sit or stand still and a parade of rock groups and pop stars go by you in multi-storey juggernauts surrounded by a sea of writhing, grinding Natali youth (kept carefully away from the slowly turning wheels by a team of support staff dragging a long rope cordon). We found ourselves 
with several thousand excitable teenagers on a scaffolded stand watching the stars go by at third storey eye-level. To my left there were a couple of toddlers, scarcely 18 months old, sitting on their fathers shoulders, pumping their arms up and down in happy harmony to the bass beat, the subsonics of which was doing a perfectly efficient job of dislodging a two-month bout of bronchitis inside my rib cage. Either they are getting their kids into music young these days or I`m getting too old for short ranged sonic attack (Hawkwind in-joke). The music seemed to be an enthusiastic cross between Radio Ga Ga and The Ketchup Song; at each chorus both the armies on the scaffolding and the attendant massess below would throw their hands in the air and loudly sing along. It was very difficult not to join in the spirit of the thing and have a little carefully understated British bop to it all. Our only fear was that Brazilian workmanship would not hold up to the resultant harmonics and tumble us all down to the waiting pile of empty Skol cans and other refuse that had been accumilating under the scaffolding from the last few days (the other fear of a possible conflagration from a similarly disposed cigarette was mitigated somewhat by the faint smell of urine - the supposition being that the whole lot was too soggy to catch fire. Consequently, this had to be the soberest concert I had ever been to as getting rid of the beer the traditional way was not a realistic option - I`ll never moan about English portaloos again.). The second juggernaut seemed to be the personal transport for an obviously famous Brazilian diva in true Tina Turner mode (all legs and mini skirt in case the imagination didn`t automatically jump). During a hiatus in the decibel crash there was a hysterical exchange between her and the hosting national radio company followed by a very interesting thing she did with her knees and thighs. ¨She`s just won an award¨, she the chap behind me (who spoke partial Portugese and seemed to know what was going on). I wondered what a full-blown orgasm would be like for her. All in all, five different juggernaut acts strolled by and if anything my young Brazilian co-boppers were getting more numerous and frenetic. By nine o`clock, our little British coach party were given the signal to escape (guide waving a diminutive mutli-coloured umbrella that I was sure had escaped a few hours earlier into the seething mass of people below - I still don`t know how he got it back). Earlier on our guides suggested that to stay until midnight was ¨too dangerous¨(there had already been one death the night before) but, in any case, my poor old legs were giving out and the Caiporinha Queen was getting a bit claustrophobic, shorty that she is, so we didn`t mind a strategic withdrawel really.
with several thousand excitable teenagers on a scaffolded stand watching the stars go by at third storey eye-level. To my left there were a couple of toddlers, scarcely 18 months old, sitting on their fathers shoulders, pumping their arms up and down in happy harmony to the bass beat, the subsonics of which was doing a perfectly efficient job of dislodging a two-month bout of bronchitis inside my rib cage. Either they are getting their kids into music young these days or I`m getting too old for short ranged sonic attack (Hawkwind in-joke). The music seemed to be an enthusiastic cross between Radio Ga Ga and The Ketchup Song; at each chorus both the armies on the scaffolding and the attendant massess below would throw their hands in the air and loudly sing along. It was very difficult not to join in the spirit of the thing and have a little carefully understated British bop to it all. Our only fear was that Brazilian workmanship would not hold up to the resultant harmonics and tumble us all down to the waiting pile of empty Skol cans and other refuse that had been accumilating under the scaffolding from the last few days (the other fear of a possible conflagration from a similarly disposed cigarette was mitigated somewhat by the faint smell of urine - the supposition being that the whole lot was too soggy to catch fire. Consequently, this had to be the soberest concert I had ever been to as getting rid of the beer the traditional way was not a realistic option - I`ll never moan about English portaloos again.). The second juggernaut seemed to be the personal transport for an obviously famous Brazilian diva in true Tina Turner mode (all legs and mini skirt in case the imagination didn`t automatically jump). During a hiatus in the decibel crash there was a hysterical exchange between her and the hosting national radio company followed by a very interesting thing she did with her knees and thighs. ¨She`s just won an award¨, she the chap behind me (who spoke partial Portugese and seemed to know what was going on). I wondered what a full-blown orgasm would be like for her. All in all, five different juggernaut acts strolled by and if anything my young Brazilian co-boppers were getting more numerous and frenetic. By nine o`clock, our little British coach party were given the signal to escape (guide waving a diminutive mutli-coloured umbrella that I was sure had escaped a few hours earlier into the seething mass of people below - I still don`t know how he got it back). Earlier on our guides suggested that to stay until midnight was ¨too dangerous¨(there had already been one death the night before) but, in any case, my poor old legs were giving out and the Caiporinha Queen was getting a bit claustrophobic, shorty that she is, so we didn`t mind a strategic withdrawel really.Quite an experience! I would hope that, now the weekend is over maybe this place will quieten down a bit so I can catch my breath.
3 comments:
sounded like it was a real blast (to coin a phrase) so I had quick Google (it is OK to have a quick Google if you are consenting adults) and found 3 video clips of this event (yep the very one you were at) on You Tube. I didn't spot you in the crowd though. By eck it looked chaotic and was certainly loud. Despite searching really hard I could not find your diva with the quivering thighs. Keep on rocking (in a samba sort of a way!)
Greetings, I am trying for my third appearance !! Now I have some interesting news regarding drinks. Its this,they appear to distil 2 billion litres of the stuff Cachaca of which 99% stays in country ( no rush then ). It has many names and despite not being a rum, one name caught my eye, " Cat Choker " , also the rougher the better for making the CAIPIRINHA. Last word if drinking from pitchers the balance should be kept ( ha ! ha! ). Bring me back a bottle and a bikini clad post card. Enjoy !!
At times like this when nights are long,
I yearn to be in old Hong Kong,
Or Marrakech or Timbuktu,
Or even over there with you.
Coz over here it's not much fun
When you never even see the sun.
It will get light, I know not when,
even the larks don't get up 'til ten.
And life here is so full of risks,
Since Gordon gave away those discs,
but I have found a foolproof way,
to keep those troubles all at bay.
It always works, the cost's not steep,
it's a little place called the Salmon Leap.
And Eric says coz you're not here,
he's halved the price of all the beer.
You'll miss the best of our winter times,
by jetting off to brighter climes
Just sun and sand and old mud huts,
December in Brazil - you must be nuts!
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