Ja Rule in Rio, Carnaval in Salvador

They say that laughter in life allows you to live longer and that boozin' and partying till the break of dawn shortens it. If I add up the experiences I have had over the past three weeks in Brasil, I'd say I came out even, if not a little ahead, as far as my life is concerne, thanks to the crazy Israelis I hung out with in Salvador.

I flew into Rio from Santiago because I found out I could actually make the last practice parade for Carnaval at the world famous Sambadrome. Besides, any longer in Santiago, and I really would have applied for the Websense gig in Chile.

Since I was going to Salvador for Carnaval (about two hours north of Rio via plane) this was my only chance to see the worlds' most famous party for myself. As a sidenote, while I was planning my trip around the world, there were only about three things I really HAD to do-- drink a pint of Guinness in Dublin, Oktoberfest in Munich, and Carnaval in Brasil. I chose to go to Salvador's Carnaval early on because I heard that it was much less expensive to participate in the "bloco," or the street parade, and that you can purchase tickets to join the party the day of, instead of months ahead for the Carnaval in Rio. Given my schedule, it was obvious which one made more sense. Besides, I can't do EVERYTHING on this trip-- gotta save something for later, right?

The practice parade was ok-- but understandably so. The Sambadrome was still packed (it was free, after all) and it was just incredible to see everybody's ability to samba! Little kids, grandmas, old men, you name it-- they got it down. I learned a very simple step but just didn't quite feel right with how my "bunda" (ass) was shakin. A few beers took care of that problem.

After the practice samba that night, I went to the "favela" of Rocinho, infamously known as "South America's biggest slum" with two French Canadadians (Frank and Francois, I know, what are the odds!!??) I met from the hostel to see Ja Rule and Fat Joe perform. Many locals in Rio would never even step foot in these places, but I figured nothing really crazy (like the common gunfights between cops and the drug lords) would happen that night with a couple of famous American rappers in the 'hood. As I have discovered over my trip, whether it be looking for a hotel room in the middle of the night in Cairo, or walking down unlit streets in Bulgaria, -- there really is not THAT much of a reason to be concerned. Either I get robbed of my material possessions, or I don't. Perhaps I'm just really lucky, or just completely stupid. Or both. Either way, my friends and I came out of that concert unscathed, although the teenage boys with pistols in their pants was a strange sight to see at 7am in the morning, when the concert ended. Shouldn't they be watching cartoons during that time????

The following day, I went to see Cristo Redontor (Christ the Redeemer) with my friends, even though I went a few years ago the last time I was in Rio. You can never see Jesus too many times in your life, right? Besides, I had to "redeem" myself because the first time I went, I actually did not realize "He" was Jesus Christ until one of my friends told me after. That story will be served up at a later time, hopefully never...

I flew out to Salvador to meet up with some Israeli friends I met back in Calafate, Argentina. I was having beers with them one night back at the hostel, and realized they were pretty funny dudes, and figured it would be a blast to hang with them over Carnaval. Allow me to introduce the cast of characters, as it will serve to be an interesting backdrop to our 10 day stay in Salvador:

Doron, aka "The Terrorist," (since that is what his mother calls him) He is half Afghani, half Iraqi, born in Israel and convinced he will never get a visa to visit America. I concur. He is the living embodiment of Rodney Dangerfield's famous line, "If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all." Case in point: He was jailed in Ireland for one week amongst rapists, murderers, and a Palestinian for (get this) overstaying his visa for two days. When I asked him why wasn't the Israeli embassy involved, and he replied, "They did, that's why I stayed a week." Apparently, the Israeli embassy bungled some paperwork and Doron ended up staying longer than necessary.

Ben, half Yemen, half Polish, but more like Danny DeVito, if he were black. One morning, after a heavy night of drinking, he was lying in bed and was moaning something about, "I am going to die.... I can't get up...arggggghhh...." Knowing his Kryptonite, I asked him, "Wanna go eat?" Without skipping a beat, he responded, "Ok." Ben was always one step ahead of everybody with the perfect self-deprecating punchline.

Av-Sharon, aka "Rain Man with Ebola." He had a persistent virus in his eye that he thought he would lose. Over the 10 days I knew him, he applied everything imaginable (besides the meds the doctors prescribed)-- eggs, teabags, cucumbers, salt, you name it. He was obessesed with applying the meds at the exact hour, down to the exact second. Normally that would not bother me except I was the only one in the group who had a watch. I still wake up in cold sweats in the middle of the night with Av-Sharon (and his diseased left eye) asking me what time it is, every hour, down to the exact second!

Avi, probably the most even-keeled guy out of the group (including myself probably), but that's like saying which guy is the the sanest in a mental ward.

On our first night, Doron, with his infinite supply of bad luck, gets detained by the police for suspicion of possessing drugs (he wasn't.) Despite this, the police officer made him put both arms out and was struck by the baton...twice!

During Carnaval, there really isn't anywhere convenient to piss. Most people just urinate in the stairwells leading down to the beach, which is pretty disgusting actually. My first night, I was so traumatized by stepping in pools of piss with my slippers on that I bought a pair of cheap shoes the next day just for Carnaval. On our second night, Doron, with his unending string of bad luck, happened to be so drunk that while walking upstairs, he fell backwards down the staircase head over heels. He's like the bad actor in those B-grade movies who falls forwards when he is shot in the chest twenty times. When I asked him how it felt to fall down a flight of stairs and land in a pool of about 8,394 guys' piss, he told me, "It was amazing. It was like I was flying!"

One night, we got a little tired of the Carnaval in Barra, the main one in Salvador, and decided to go to Pelourinho, about twenty minutes away by car. It was much more low key, and I think Avi, Ben and I were the only ones who weren't locals. My ass got grabbed a couple of times, and a huuuuge woman literally grabbed me like a ragdoll with one arm and kissed me. Well, kiss isn't really the right word, as I really thought she was just going to eat my head off. Luckily for me, she didn't like Chinese food much and spat me back out into the parade.

Many of you, including myself, will be disappointed to see I did not take too many pictures during Carnaval. The crowds in the streets are so packed that sometimes I did not even have to walk on my own. The chances of getting pickpocketed were pretty high, so I decided not to carry my camera. However, for the last night of Carnaval, I bought a disposable one-time use camera, because, well, it was the last night. I got separated from the rest of the group that night, and ended up chatting it up with a nice lovely lady. We had a beer, spoke a bit and then she kissed me! (Man, these Brasilian girls are forward, eh?) Then she wanted $25 for her, ahem, professional services. Turns out, she was a prostitute! I declined, and left to go look for my friends. She chased after me, yelling all kinds of Portuguese poetry, and I decided to sneak into another bloco to hopefully lose her, which didn't work. She started berating me and scratching my chest and right when I realized she was actually hurting me, (adrenalin and booze will do that to you) the police showed up. Remembering Doron's first day, I figured at the very least, my arms were going to get a lashing. This crazy woman could have told the police anything! Four of them were restraining her, and one took me aside to ask me what was going on. I told them in Spanish, in my best, sincerest, "I'm the good guy" look that this crazy woman was chasing after me for no apparent reason except to give her money for services not rendered. (Or maybe she just wanted me to kiss her more???) Thankfully, the cop let me go, and I found my friends back in the safety of our own bloco.

The rest of the night was actually recounted back to me by my friends, as I apparently got Daniel drunk again. Allegedly, some really famous song came out and a dance circle broke out in our bloco. I then proceeded to dance in the middle with my, ahem, signature dance move- the one where you put both of your hands on your knees, and switch them back and forth, something obviously very different than the samba. Apparently, the circle of people around me started chanting, "Jackie Chan!!! Jackie Chan!!!! Jackie Chan!!!!"

I woke up the next morning to realize that I not only sprained my ankle, (did that happen in the dance circle?) but my camera was also missing! So, I got physically and verbally abused by a prostitute, almost got my arms swatted by police, sprained my ankel, got my camera stolen, and got the locals to chant Jackie Chan to my crazy inebriated dance moves. Pretty standard stuff, eh?