It’s Good to Be in Buenos Aires!

Posted on 12 November, 2015 by Dusty Sioux

Martes 17 Noviembre

I arrived here at sunset by ferry from Colonia, Uruguay.

Our boat was welcomed by a sprouting of sky scrapers. Canary Wharf springs to mind, I feel a strange comfort. I imagine being an early immigrant arriving in this new land (before the skyscrapers) fleeing adversity and seeking some fortune.

Early migrants travelled from Britain to Argentina (www.bbc.co.uk)

Early 20th century European migrants to Argentina included the Fraser family from Britain. Many moved south to try their luck in Patagonia where their heritage still exists. (source: http://www.bbc.co.uk)

Puerto Madero y a small illuminated boat.

My backpack feels huge, like I’m giving someone a piggy back. I wish it were lighter…smaller…but on this trip, with plans to head south to Patagonia just like the Fraser family, I included a tent and camping kit plus hiking boots…oh, and a 36″ hula hoop. This is the consequence 🙂

On emerging from Puerto Madero I haggle for a good taxi fare to Colegiales where Matti lives. We met through Capoeira in Salvador. I stay with him for my first few days and he helps me get organised with a Subte transport card + phone sim + phone apps to translate this matrix of calles /streets y colectivos /buses y barrios /neighbourhoods.

“Oh no” for Alfajores!

Matti also introduces me to ‘Alfajores’….oh dear, my Achilles heel twerks: they’re like a ultra-uber-mega-souped up Wagon Wheel with a smother of dulce di leche in the middle. To update you: ‘dulce di leche’ is one of the pillars on which Argentine gastronomy is rooted 🙂 A condensed milk caramel, it’s ubiquitous here and heavenly to taste. Danger!

‘A’ is for Alfajor

Euro-Vibes

I feel a distinct absence of culture shock being here in Buenos Aires. I keep reminding myself that I’m no longer in Europe but thousands of miles across an enormous expanse of ocean. According to the Portenos/ Buenos Airean locals, many profess Italian descent; the architecture here is a mixture of Italian, French and Spanish baroque as well as Art Nouveau and Deco. All in all the Euro-vibe starts to make sense.

This is a Swing City!

As always the local Swing dance scene is my faithful key, travel companion, my portal into a parallel experience. Buenos Aires is blessed with a bulging scene of daily classes and social dances. I am overjoyed and overwhelmed! Where does one triple step to first?!

Celeste and I after her super class above a bookshop in San Telmo / A pilgrimage place for Swing dancers the world over: Herrang!

Lovely Celeste meets me at a Big Band night in Belgrano, my first night on the town. She’s been non-stop all day with rehearsals for the forthcoming CAPOS (Campeonato Porteno de Swing/ Buenos Aires Swing Dance Championships). We met back in August in Sweden at the infamous Herrang Dance Camp.

Thankfully, she advises which classes to take and introduces me to two Americans who have lived here in the big Latino Smoke for the past year, Heather and Blake.

‘Baila Swing’ con Lu Salinas y Jose Zarazaga.

Swing San Telmo with Celeste y Mariano.

Swingin’ Nights at the Niceto Club. Free Entry with my Swing City membership card 🙂

Tiempo para Aprender Espanol/ Time to learn Spanish

I take the leap and enroll myself on one week of Spanish classes on Suipacha from Lunes/ Monday. I must learn the language here! no excuses. This is a valuable lesson learnt from never-quite-grasping Portuguese in Brasil to any level other than limited casual chat.

Medialuna = ‘Half moon’. Croissant cafe bakeries are everywhere in Buenos Aires.

After a couple of days of four-hour classes plus afternoon orientation tours, I’m tired but go along to Swing City dance classes nearby on Sarmiento. This is the Escuela de Baila Swing/ Swing dance school of jazz dance star Juan Villafane, Mariel Gastiarena y Manuel Bicain Goral. The mirrored studio is great, there are students a plenty, …..remarkably the Leads outnumber the Follows! and the class content is generous and challenging. !! HURRAH !!

I think I’m going to like it here 🙂

Candela Mendez y Juan Villafane.

Discovering Candomble on Itaparica, Part 1

Posted on 1 July, 2014 by Dusty Sioux

Bem vindo 🙂

Sabado 28 June

I became acquainted with some inspiring and hospitable visiting artists in residence on the island of Itaparica. Much to my extreme luck they invited me to join them at an all-night and very special Candomble ceremony.

“Candomblé is an Afro-Brazilian religion. It was born of a people who were taken from their homes in Africa and transplanted to Brazil during the slave trade. The religion is a mixture of traditional Yoruba, Fon and Bantu beliefs originating from different regions in Africa, and it has also absorbed some details from the Catholic faith over time.

The name itself means ‘dance in honour of the gods’ with music and dance being important parts of Candomblé ceremonies.”

-Quoting from http://www.akalatundedotcom.wordpress.com

Today in Bahia, the heart of Afro-Brasilian culture, Candomble is practiced with great reverence, pride and even secrecy (to nurture away from the vampiric tendency of tourism). As an anthropology geek I felt enormously privileged to gain access to this occasion.

Here’s what Happened According to my Diary:

“I have an afternoon siesta and then take an evening boat to Itaparica. The journey is a joy. Early evening, cool breeze, a quiet boat with a few locals. I take this time to think and reflect. As we get closer to Itaparica I can the see the pretty church illuminated like a beacon.

A boat bobbing in the water as my ferry arrives at Mar Grande, Itaparica. 'Negao de Ogum' = 'Denial of Ogum'

A boat bobbing in the water as my ferry arrives at Mar Grande; ‘Negao de Ogum’=’Denial of Ogum’. Wherever you wander on Itaparica you’ll notice Ile Aye references as this pretty island is the richest in Candomble heritage, preservation and practice. Ogum or Egun is the Orixa I was expecting to be in the company of that very night.

I arrive on the island and take some time to soak up the busy life of the praca by the large old church. Families and children everywhere. I love the outdoor play and social mingling in this country. I sit down next to a voluptuous Mae and her little boy having a cuddle and wish I could join them in this affection.

Food stalls, moto taxi, playground is buzzing. Lights, movement, dogs.

I imagine the Christians, colonisers and even further back, the Indians and their impression of this place on first arriving. When did time begin here? I am yet another visitor, my feet padding on to the shore, a new arrival. One of billions over the course of time.

—————————————*****————————————-

I haggle and finally agree on a taxi ride to Instituto Sacatar – sleepy rural dirt track roads, such a different vibe here, horse in the street, red earth, a tropical version of where I grew up. Humility, peace, a natural place.

We (Eun Jung, Guillermo, Cecile, Jon, Niki and Cristina) go to the meeting house together by VW Combi van. I arrive a little late and only just catch them in the dusk light.

We arrive at the Ile Aye Tumtum Olokotum hall

‘Ile Aye’ = ‘House of Life’.

It’s simple building with a corrugated iron roof surrounded by tall palm trees. As we approach the narrow dirt rack to the hall I see women in Bahian white headwrap, lace and cotton walking ahead; a sign that something’s afoot.

I try to imagine for a moment the frame of mind of a local Camdomble follower in the lead up to a ceremony. I only have childhood Church to compare it with…feeling bored with a resigned sense of obligation. But this is a faith that has survived the test of time…displacement…cruelty. It’s a time capsule. A fundamental root. A family. I sense excitement!

———————————*****———————————-

Red Axes and White Cotton

We go inside the hall full of local people in their Candomble best. Women, men and children of all ages, amazing colourful clothes, arms and legs covered in respect, floral prints of every variation in lucious fabrics I feel I could be at a wedding. There’s a pleasant hub-bub. We are welcomed as guests and as women, given long skirts to wear.

There are red axe shaped decorations and big palm branches on the walls…, ..lots of long red and white bunting hangs from the entire ceiling. We wander further up to find a place to sit and see the most wonderful axe shape of fresh green leaves there on the concrete floor. An altar? It’s about 3 metres square.

The kitchen, just off the area of worship, is busy.

Communicating with Spirits

We are introduced to the priest and he explains, “when the ceremony begins Spirits of the Dead are invited into this sanctified place. As newcomers this can leave our own spirit vulnerable to possession and so, we are instructed:

“Don’t look at or touch Egun. Don’t speak to him. Don’t use your cell phone”

As a second course of protection he guides us to wash our eyes three times from a small dish of water. He wears a bright red voluimous tunic + white floppy hat. He looks amazing.

We admit a great sense of anticipation.

Eun Jung notices a rooster in the corner bound and moving helplessly.

Teenage boys practise drumming beforehand, warming up. Hip clothes – skinny jeans and baseball cap on top of their heads. In contrast to other men and young lads in regal traditional African garb. They are handsome and striking. Their drums wrapped in beautiful pink patterned fabric bows and of three different sizes.

Scribblings from my raggedy notebook. Rightfully so, cameras and cell phones were forbidden but no one seemed to mind me making notes and the occasional drawing.

And so Part One of the ceremony began.

The door of the hall is locked to keep the spirits inside and everyone safe.

The congregation is divided according to gender with men and women sitting in two separate camps.

The priest sings and calls out. Different sequences of rhythms. The drums are very loud. Metal percussion instruments. A band of boys and men.

As the singing and drumming begin a group of about thirty women get up and circle the axe of leaves. They sway, dance in simple symbolic movements and sing their hearts out. They sing and clap around the AXE.

One of the dancers wears a Hello Kitty t-shirt with her long floral skirt. This makes me smile. 21st century Candomble.

Bronte dresses from 1830 + Tropicalia colour.

Bronte sibling fashion from 1830 + Tropicalia colour (image refs: L, Antonella Delvecchio, Bottom R, revistacriativa)

Step forward, step back, arms swaying. Turn and repeat. Hips and elbows swaying to and fro to the rhythm.

Ankle length skirts, like 18C Bronte sisters meets Tropicalia. A shimmying wave, pulse of floral prints with ribbon trim at the bottom.

A man arrives wearing a cool cream crochet beret, French style, beatnik. He’s also wearing a white and silver embroidered tunic, white trousers and matching white brogue slip-ons. Such a dandy!! He about 60 years old. As he bellows out a song with everyone else I notice his two front teeth are missing which only adds to his charm.

The Dandy is full of humour and play. Calling out to specific women who smile and sing back a response.

———————————-*****——————————–

Several sequences are danced and sung out, calling up the Spirits of the Dead. …Different rhythms, different songs….. Part One comes to a close as the women convoy down the hall in a grand finale free flowing dancing queue and then back up to circle around the axe leaf altar.

Catholicism and Candomble

Small Orixa statues in the corner? A candle is lit to acknowledge them. I look later to discover that they are Catholic saints.

It’s midnight when Part Two begins…..

Discovering Candomble on Itaparica, Part 2

Posted on 1 July, 2014 by Dusty Sioux

A Sacrifice

A group of men take up long bamboo canes and take their turn to circle the leaf Axe. They bob up and down, singing and calling, striking their canes to the floor to keep the Spirits of the Dead at bay.

A goat is brought to the centre of the circle from a side room. She wears a white and red cloth across her back, covered in axe symbols. …..A sacrifice?

I feel sick and wish I hadn’t eaten the pre-ceremony welcome of coffee and salgados.

Questions, struggles rise up in my mind regarding my own beliefs, morals and being predominantly vegetarian other than occasional fish, my comfort zones, …how open minded am I really…..?!!

A Feast Worthy of the Gods

Beyond the Axe centrepiece woven mats are lay out and a feast to honour the Orixa is set: three massive clay dishes of offal and chicken feet, live birds – the rooster, a dove…. More vessels of food and drink that I can’t discern…. The men pick up a vessel each or flapping bird and carry as they continue to circle the Axe.

Everyone singing now, calling, clapping. I glance a very old lady singing her heart out, she has a toothy grin. Her frame is tiny, she is in full white lace regalia. Another vision of beauty to me.

Lights flicker. Hanging bulbs. Film noir.

I naturally make these associations:

Singing out = Hymns

Place of worship, a long cool humble interior, corregated roof = The village halls I know from tea dances in rural Norfolk.

Waft of leaf and palm = evokes memory of Christmas tree pine

A cloaked figure appears from the side room

Literally a walking blanket of dark grey with a skull embroidered in red at the natural height of a face. The figure swaggers and sways in a dance. A spooky swaying square. The theatrical effect is incredible!

The feet are covered by trousers that hang to the floor. Again: simple illusion so this figure looks even more other wordly.

Our human protectors huddle together and crack their canes towards the ‘spirit’ as if defending themselves from a predatory animal.

Egun Arrives

A second figure comes into the room – a beautiful Darlik. Is this Egun ,the Orixa who communes with the Dead? He is clothed in a wonderful decorative garment: head dress, face covered with a fringe of swinging beads, long cloak of ties & godets – contrasting fabric, the outer of mirrored shapes and seashells reminding me of a Rajastani textile.

He swings and sways and grunts in a low non-threatening voice ….like Yoda! a vaguely human sound.

His costume carries with it a symbol.

As the Orixa approaches us, the audience, the men rabble around and use their canes to maintain a safe distance. One or two women sat next to Eun Jung and I whisper, and remind us not to risk looking up at him with a direct gaze! It’s so hard not to gaze directly at something you find beautiful. Like a dancing Christmas tree.

This is a marvelling mixture of theatre, threat and the awe of discovering a new species or alien.

The dancing, twirling, convulsions continue. This bird of paradise is in full movement, momentum and MAGIC are the result. When Egun finally leaves the room the session pauses to break.

I’m tired and bewitched. It’s 2a.m.

WOW! WOW! WOW!!! This – is – AMAZING!!

We eat a tasy supper of rice and vegetables. Everyone else, with chicken. The people here are warm and hospitable.

Cecile, Cristina and I talk over our impressions, our inspiration. Cecile tells me about Pierre Verger and Roger Bastide. Two French authors and anthropologist experts of Candomble.

Clockwise from Top L: Pierre Verger, 1952 / His photograph of Candomble priestess / Roger Bastide / One of several books he wrote about Afro-Brasilian culture.

The bamboo canes cast shadows against the wall.

Row of 13 chairs, each unique and regal in appearance. They are covered in folkloric detail. A long winding serpent, plants, flowers and symbols carved into their wooden surface. Some have metal detail, other upholstered with pretty textile. Most are old and very rustic, humble. They are magical.

I wander outside, against the advice given: now dead have been called up it’s unsafe to venture beyond the blessed retreat of the hall.

The night air is quite something.

Inside it’s humid and heavy, outside is fresh and calm.

Tall silhouetted palm trees and cicadas.

A huge glowing fire, embers floating up to the sky, crackles.

A huge tree stands by the fire and entrance to Ile Aye, like a Tree of Knowledge.

Ley lines / Nasca lines / a Power Place

The same red & white bunting from inside spans large areas outside, tied from tree to tree around the hall. As if the colourful orb is spider webbing out from that magical axe of leaves inside, a aura, a configuration on the earth big enough to be seen from space by spirits floating by.

I think of the Nasca lines in Peru. I imagine the colour, the channelled energy of the people, the ‘magic’ of this sacred interior extending and belting out rays of energy.

High up on my list of places to visit: The Nazca Lines in Peru

High up on my list of places to visit are The Nazca Lines in Peru. This mysterious pattern of desert geoglyphs can only be appreciated from an aircraft and are dated at over 2000 years old.

A spiderweb formation of bunting spanning out from this Ile Aye

A spiderweb constellation of bunting spanning out from the Ile Aye.

The final instalment of this Candomble ceremony begins with more surprises to come 🙂

Strange Brew – Ayahuasca

Posted on 30 June, 2014 by Dusty Sioux

I find an amazing place to live on Morrão Sereia.

This name means ‘Mermaid Hill’ and Yemanja graffiti is everywhere. She’s the Orixa of the sea and the protector of fishermen. In fact, as an extremely old port, Yemanja’s name and image is woven into the very mindset of Salvador…..in shop signage, advertising, hotel names, street names.

My bedroom view 🙂

Yemanja on the side of a hotel in Rio Vermelho and more mosaic in the Morrao.

A series of serendipitous events lead me to meet Suzy who has a spare room to rent. I’m taken to a magical place right on the seashore where the waves crash right below the concrete patio. Her house is like a brightly coloured cave.

Bare concrete walls decorated with mosaic murals.

Gorgeous young cachorros / dogs that would greet and follow like affectionate children. This little troupe would sleep outside our door, on the window ledges, by the gate. Lots of wagging tails.

Life on the Morrao is unique. A labyrinth of alleys and tumbledown dwellings; windows and doorways at all different levels, narrow winding steps. These former fishermens’ cottages are part of an urban enclave completely disguised from the main road, like a tropical Narnia; a combination of favela, termite hill and jewel with mosaic, decorative tile and coloured glass here and there.

Two chatty women passing the time of day o my regular cell phone ‘credito e coisas’ errand.

Young lads playing dominoes in the L’Argo do Morrao/ the Square.

Quilombo

I joke one evening expressing my pleasure at discovering the doorway to this camouflaged world. Salvador is an intense city and this place provides some much needed respite. Suzy goes on to tell me about the Quilombos: fugitive slaves who formed a secret community here centuries before and in other secluded places like the Morrão.

Picture of Zumbi monument

Ayahuasca ‘plant medicine’

One evening I am invited to take part in an Ayahuasca ceremony. I’ve heard much about this hallucinogenic brew or ‘plant medicine’ and I’m really curious. I don’t intend to ‘imbibe’ but the invitation still stands and I join eight others at a nearby hovel, beautifully cosy inside.

Etiquette is shared and the ritual begins. Our host addresses us with words of devotion of the medicine that will take each of us on a personal journey to commune with the spirits of nature herself. He pours a measure per person and we take it in turn to enter the circle and drink – in my case, a half measure.

Divine Luz Universal / Divine Universal Light

Santo Daime

Members of our circle play drums, flute, tambourine. They are amazing accomplished local musicians. We all sing ‘hinarios’ from a little hymn book of Santo Daime songs.

This is a relaxing colourful and charming place to be.

The lyrics leap off the page. They are bursting with beauty and describe with humility an adoration of the natural world. The language is simple and overall easy to understand; I feel a surge of inspiration and make discreet notes.

After another measure of the sacred brew I only feel content and relaxed, no strong affects. Others are ‘flying’ interspersed with visits to the banheiro to purge.

Weeks later, when I reach a peaceful rural retreat near Itacare, I paint some of these rich and poetic words. They’ve been living in my imagination since that long evening, roots have grown and they blossom into some paintings:

Grande Mae se Manifesta / Great Mother Manifests

Santo Daime is a religion founded in the 1930s by Mestre Raimundo Irineu Serra, the son of former slaves. It was during work on rubber plantation that he came into contact with people who taught him how to use Ayahuasca. In these early experiences he encountered the Virgin Mary (the Queen of the Forest) and began receiving spiritual guidance which developed into organised worship Santo Daime.

What evolved was a fascinating amalgamation of religious and spiritual threads: a Christian core is combined with other elements, such as an emphasis on self awareness and personal development, an Animist appreciation of nature, such as the Sun, Moon and Stars, as well as the totemic symbol of the ‘beija flor’, the hummingbird. Links with Shamanism can also be made.

Divine Luz Ilumina os meus Caminhos / Divine Light Illuminates my Ways

Inflorescencia / Inflorescence

Na Bencao do Beija Flor / The Blessing of the Hummingbird

‘Must Grow!’ My own words on spending time in the wilderness near Itacare.

Bahia Calling

Posted on 20 June, 2014 by Dusty Sioux

Casa de Yemanja. A meeting house for local fishermen and home to a shrine for this Sea Orixa (goddess) who is celebrated EVERYWHERE here!

Oh handsome land, I’m pleased to meet you!

I’ve arrived in ‘Little Africa’ as my Manchester pal Nuradin calls it. The bountiful fruit basket of Brasil. Archetypal images of Brasil depict Bahia first and foremost – palm trees along big white sand beaches, seafood, colourful sweet fruit, hibiscus flowers, lush jungle and beija flors (hummingbirds), statuesque people with black skin and green eyes.

Even Brasilians go all misty eyed upon mention of this region which is thirty hours by road north easterly or a three hour flight.

Back in Sao Paulo, Bahian Ayume played me this music video by Salvadoran superstar Creole. The imagery says it all 🙂

The City of Salvador

Perhaps it because I’m finally in the swing of my travels, stringing together the lingo, feeling less like a stiff European but there seems SO much to explore here. I’m over-excitedly-whelmed – there are good vibrations on the Baiano breeze – it’s a melange that I looking forward to truffling my snout through.

I Couchsurfed with Luciano and his kind family in Salvador during my first week. Their apartment, a stone’s throw from Praia (beach) de Piata is where I walked the family pug and ran across the sand into the sea.

Formerly known as: São Salvador da Bahia de Todos os Santos meaning City of the Holy Saviour of the Bay of all Saints this historic hotpot of a cidade was the first colonial capital of Brasil and the city is one of the oldest in the New World (founded in 1549 by Portuguese settlers). It was also the first slave market on the continent, with slaves arriving to work on the sugar plantations from Angola, Benin, Nigeria.

Mosaic is also everywhere here. And graffitti. All in all: a visual feast.

‘Futebol’

The beach is buzzing early in the morning when local people are there enjoying the cool air. Men and boys play football right up and down the beach. The ball bounces towards the sea, they tackle in the waves. Some teams are more ’official’/organised that others with coloured bibs.

Lots of beach dogs, laying spread eagle or randomly barking. Their seem to hang out with the fishermen who, like others live on the beach as far as I can tell. Simple homes can be seen in amongst some of the ‘coqueiros’ (palm trees). I’m reminded of the equivalent fishermen huts on the Black Shore in Southwold, Suffolk where I’ve wandered since childhood.

Discovering Pelourinho and Santo Antonio

I take the bus to the Centro Historico and meet Monika in Pelourinho. It’s a happy coincidence that we’re both in Salvador at the same time. We worked together in Rio and became firm friends.

And oh—oh—OH! —this is a stunning place. I feel as though I’m suddenly in renaissance Europe,…..Italy or Portugal. This is one of the best preserved old towns in Brasil and it really does take your breath away.

Decorative features at every turn and a sweet shop palette of colour to boot. Is this place real?!

The name Pelourinho meaning Pillory, comes from the central whipping post “where slaves received punishment for various infractions, as well as for disciplinary purposes” (- Wikipedia). Crikey, this place is STEEPED in history and poignancy. It’s both an awe inspiring and thought provoking place to be.

Monika and I wander the cobbled streets through this neighbourhood on to the sleepier more residential yet equally colourful Sao Antonio. Sipping a couple of 4R$ (£1) cans of Schin beer the two of us perch in a Praca outside an old church with children playing and local families relaxing all around. Dreamy!

“The Hills are Alive!” in Chapada Diamantina

Posted on 7 June, 2014 by Dusty Sioux

A happy twist of Fate

After a failed hitch hiking attempt from Arembepe, Monika and I bought the last two seats on a late bus to Lencois. We were on a mission to get to the big green spaces of Chapada Diamantina, one of Brasil’s national parks.

Feeling gun-ho and on very low budgets we were heading out into the night on this seven hour journey with no accommodation arranged for our arrival. Well, in this climate, a park bench could always be an option.

In spite of our gaul, we began chatting to Samuel, our neighbour on the bus who promptly offered us a place to stay.

‘Diamantina’ refers to diamond mining here during the mid 19th century – One of many Morros – Jungle cactus family flora.

And……..?!

…..Sam turned out to be the most amazing and wonderful person!

We alighted with him in Palmerias – a sleepy town, exactly like that from a classic Western film. He fired up his safari style Land Rover Defender and the three of us went speeding off. —–As fast as you can along the very bumpy red dirt track—- into the starry night to Capao.

A Brasilian one horse town with buildings dating from the late 1800s. I kept imagining life back then…how the locals might’ve have dressed, exchanged daily conversation, slang, gossip, comings and goings….

The Secret Communidade of Capao

The next morning we awoke cradled in Sam’s jungle dwelling surrounded by bush and mountains. The smell of locally grown coffee, pina fruit and warm buttered ‘integral’ bread rolls wafted up to our mezzanine level.

Sam sleeps in a big hammock on the ground floor.

After ‘café do manha’ we ventured through the labyrintine tracks, lined with abundant green foliage and hibiscus flowers to a nearby waterfall. We swan starkers, dozed in the sunshine and drank from the fast flowing streams we passed….

Blossom and colour everywhere.

All of this following a previous day of sketchy plans and a chance meeting. Hurrah for Magic! Serendipity/ Coincidence/ Intuition/ Care-less-free-ness!

Over the two weeks that followed Monika and I had the most idyllic time getting to know Capao: a very small town with an alternative vibrant community of families, a local circus, lots of vegetarian food, random horses in the street.

The local Moto Taxi point, school gates and circus. ‘Criancinhas’ = Small children.

In search of Aguas Claras e Morro Tabor

This is trekking territory and most days we had a destination cashoeira (waterfall) in mind. We got to know Steffa, another solo backpacker from Hawaii. The three of us went camping out into the wilderness.

Here are some words from my notebook:-

“Red dirt tracks, motorbikes, trucks, dust clouds….turned into insects, cicadas, wild flora, cactus, pink rock, sloping green hills and mountains.

We reach Aguas Claras and pitch up.

Enormous bats come out at night where we camp; the sound of frogs calling to each other throughout the night is like a relentless and eventually relaxing car alarm.

The next day – dappled light and shadow over the land. It’s only us – there’s no one else in sight. No alien sounds. We climb the mountain, skipping up like mountain goats initially. Then scramble.”

Steffa, Monika and I, some big country to explore and ‘Space flowers’ with white bobble blossom, very sci-fi to us and once endangered.

“I wonder how many other feet have trodden on these boulders, stones, wedged their fore feet into the nooks between plants and rocks?

Small universes exist at every level, nestled into the mountainside. Like a favela and skyscraper of nature. Spiderwebs span space between rocks: imagine being a spider living here – looking out each morning on this panorama?!

We continue to climb…figuring out our way as we clamber and hug the mountainside.—- – looking for hand holds and gaps for toes to pull ourselves up. You look back over your shoulder and see the drop – the space – the beauty!”

Gringas/ Hobbits on the uncertain path to Mordor….er-hum!…I mean: Morro Tabor.

“As we reach the top the terrain flattens. ‘chapada’=plateau: a wonderful Eden up here! Lots of tropical plants, like a garden, lush and green but succulent-like too, prickily.

I ponder —–these plants have all been born here and reproduce, -up here-, away from the towns and cities, away from people…..growing, evolving, with their insect companions….this world, one that doesn’t need the help or attention of anyone or anything…..enjoying and feeding from the daily sunshine, rain, wind…..

And the insects, flying here and there amongst this plant kingdom and then off the edge of this magnificent peak, dipping in and out of the ‘villages’ on the side of this huge entity.”

Half way up the magnificent Morro Tabor. As big hilly lumps fare this one was a beauty.

A Space flower up close!

A Little Town called Lencois

Monika and I camped in a mango orchard in Lencois over a long weekend. This sounds quite charming but mango trees are vast in size and the swollen fruit would fall at random from branches on high with a loud *thunk!* on the ground. We both escaped ‘death by mango’ unscathed.

The town was gorgeous. Small enough to be relaxing and big enough to have a buzz of activity. Old buildings, cobbled streets – unassuming – humble – the gateway to more of Chapadaaaaaaaa.

Home in a Mango Orchard.

. Banks of the river, Lencois.

“Went for a hike to a waterfall and got waylaid in a kind of heaven: a lunar landscape of pink rock and several rock pools of orange water. The water is apparently full of iron hence the colour.

Families hang out, bathe and wash their clothes, The rocks are strewn with brightly coloured clothing, all smacked, stretched, clean and spread out in the sun to dry – like patchwork, big colourful squares glued to the contours of the rocky terrain.”

Laundry day by the river.

These women had no idea how pretty the results of their labour looked to us.

“Such a relaxed intimate place, we decide to stay and wallow too.

Warm sun, a cloudy sky….an aeroplane streaks across the sky in the far distance; it looks like a shooting star – ‘Estrela Cadente’. Children yelp and call….play…and easy adventure…jumping in and out of the cool golden water. Like mermaid people: “mer-folk.”

This the best playground ever.

“A young girl has her hair combed, washed, groomed, tugged,…she sits there frowning. Babies are dunked, rubbed and rinsed.

This is a kind of Eden. An effortless paraiso.

Daily routines/chores/tasks are carried out here. To the locals this is not a big deal, but to me this is a special place.

Dogs are washed, soaped up and rinsed. Held still so they don’t run dirty soap suds all over the clean laundry. They rub their heads against the stone afterwards, to find a new natural scent.

Large reptilian spiders cling spread eagle on the edge of the rock near the water’s edge, soaking up the sun’s warmth – recharging, like eight legged batteries. They are pink brown in colour, well evolved in this landscape – gecko-like with a furry brown body; their black eyes glisten like caviar baubles, *alert* . I am fascinated.

Earlier in the day we see two bright green parrots calling as they chase across the sky. They are a happy surprise to us. There is beauty everywhere.

Like a Turkish bath from another century – a scene from a classical painting – and yet this is Bahia…on the banks of the river in a small sleepy town in 21^st century Brasil.”

A Pit Stop in Sao Paulo

Posted on 22 May, 2014 by Dusty Sioux

“Whoosh! I’ve just left Sao Paulo and am reflecting on what a wonderful time I had there. Already, I’m planning my return” – Domingo 20 Abril

My very first impressions were ace: I passed through the city on my way to the Hopaholics Lindy hop dance camp back in February. That evening three skateboarders came whizzing down a main road against the flow of busy downtown traffic. How dashing – how daring! My teenage ninja heros!

Some Sao Paulo graffiti.

My impressions on returning to Sao Paulo after Rio were not so good: oh crikey, what an UGLY place! Grey concrete high rises, scruffy graffiti and lots of street poverty. Last time I’d seen Sao Paulo at night and I think swooning over guerilla skateboarders had given me rose-tinted ‘oculos’.

However, over the mere two weeks that I spent within one of Planet Earth’s biggest urban jungles I began to glimpse something bright beyond the grey. Social slands of ´respite, light and delight’. Gem-like hives of rich creative activity that I devoured.

Let me tell you how it happened…..

Sweet graffiti Virgin Mary by the bus stop in Butanta.

Couchsurfing and Contemporary Dance

Tercafeira 8 – I decided to get into the swing of Couchsurfing following Soyeon’s recommendation and my first hosts Amanda and Ayume couldn’t have been better.

Amanda had just returned home from a Contemporary dance class. Ooooh, interesting! We compared our experiences of flinging our bodies about, all in the name of creative freedom and self expression.

The following day Ayume and I cycled to the USP campus nearby. She´s a film student there and was still buzzing following a recent masterclass with Jean Pierre Jeunet, the maker of Amelie! We chattered about our favourite films as we pedalled around this clean organised green space full of handsome contemporary buildings. For a moment I felt that I was back at the equally zen UEA campus in Norwich, a favourite haunt of mine.

Needless to say: I love university campuses!

Varying banners of Political Protest at the cantina - USP Campus, Sao Paulo.

A political hoe down at the cantina – USP Campus, Sao Paulo.

That evening we took the Metro to Santa Cecilia to meet some of Ayume’s pals.

We sipped the most sour wine we’d ever tasted! but their company was fabulous: Luis, an actor and rising star, Fernanda a film maker of dance and Andre, a contemporary dancer who tours the globe. By the end of the night I felt thoroughly inspired.

They too seemed admiring of the attitude of a gal who leaves the comfort of home for a backpacking adventure with no set plan.

Performances at Pinacoteca

Sabado 12 – On to the weekend and Amanda and I ambled over to Pinacoteca, one of the best public art galleries in the city. There, a cool installation of ceramic objects by Laertes Ramos filled the red brick atrium space. Wow, it was beautiful! and I couldn’t help but think what an excellent name Laertes is too 🙂

Casamata (Bunker) – Laertes Ramos

Upstairs we found work by Tino Sehgal in the form of two dancers, a singer and an actor who animated the historic collection through roaming performance and reciting the words of the artist, ‘This is Propaganda’. As my interest in performance grows ever stronger this piece of work was a happy discovery.

Voodoo Hopping at Teatro Oficina

That night I went to meet Fernanda at the infamous Teatro Oficina. Tonight was a Voodoo Hop party and I was told to expect a Dionysian fiesta.

Teatro Oficina is uber avant-garde; their performances last several hours, include plenty of nudity, real sex and orgies, defecating on stage, blood, vomit……the whole shebbang! I couldn’t help but feel curious….

A strange ginger Brasilian man I met in the Banhero Feminino – Fellow party-goers including a ‘Gringa’ from Mumbai, India – Projections inside the club.

On entering there was a barefoot policy so I left my shoes in the cloakroom. The interior was catherdral-like: clad with a tall industrial scaffold structure from which bodies writhed, part gymnast/part pole dancers. Behind a vast glass wall was a huge tropical garden. Andy Warhol’s Factory came to mind: communal, free, experimental.

I arrived late so missed the naked Flamenco dancer and other crazy business but played with a ‘bambole’ (hula hoop), watched lots of clothed love-making with a degree of English awkwardness and saw a Condomble infused performance that made me smile.

Condomble rhythms and men dressed as Wombles wearing hairpieces of Loofers(!) A refreshingly barmy performance at Teatro Oficina.

Skateboarders at the Museu Afro Brasil

Domingo 13 – A Manchester friend put me in touch with his pal Lowri Evans. She’s a performance artist living between England and Sao Paulo. We met on Paulista last week and I quickly decided that she was one of the sincerely warmest people I’d met in a long time.

Lowri has been working on a year long performance project about the life and letters of social activist Roza Luxemburg with Sao Paulo based artists. Her Brasilian partner Rodolfo is also that way inclined as a founding member of alternative theatre company Grupo XIX.

Lowri Evans 🙂

I bobbed over to the gigante Parque do Ibirapuera and went to the Museu Afro Brasil with Lowri, Rodolfo and another Inglesa, Alison. The museum is brilliant, go if you’re ever in Sao Paulo!

Afterwards, I filmed the resident skateboarders. They totally enhance the Niemeyer designed walk way that leads from the museum to the park.

David Bowie Is…..Cool

Tercafeira 15 – A V&A show I missed in London has toured to Sao Paulo: David Bowie Is. I caught it at the Museu Da Imagem e Do Som (Museum of Moving Image & Sound) before it closed on 24^th April. As a lover of fashion, alter egos and gender blending I left the show totally in love with this humble English creature (who turned into a butterfly).

The man sporting some wonderful heeled boots and high waisted trousers. Swoooon!

Beautiful brilliant Bowie baby!….on English TV show, Tops of the Pops.

Opening performance of ROZA

Sextafeira 18 – Following a week of rehearsals Lowri’s ROZA ‘espectaculo’ was opening that night. I was really excited to see it having heard snippets from behind the scenes.

This multi-layered multimedia masterpiece began with an intro by the Roza Band before launching into an improvised script, using an innovative stage arrangement, projections, film, theatre, !!passion!! (as was Roza Luxemburg’s character), and more music.

I sat there and like a sponge absorbed it all until full, not understanding all the Portuguese bits but enjoying this creative bubbling brew nevertheless. It was an incredible creation.

ROZA – Lowri Evans, Martha Kiss Perone & Lucia Bronstein.
Photos by Marilia Scharlach.

After the show Lowri and I jabbered in our relaxed English tongue for a few moments before I met Celso a theatre director from Brasilia, Rita a contemporary dancer from Portgual, Edson drummer of the Roza Band and successful experimental musician along with many more friendly interesting folk.

GRUA (Gentlemen of the Street) Performance

Qunitafeira 17 – I caught a free performance by GRUA at old fashioned shopping centre Galeria Olido. Yet more inspiration. Performance and dance seems to ooze out the bricks of this city!

On this ocassion they combined Contemporary dance with Parkour and Capoeira and this, along with their gentlemanly attire woo-ed me! This is an earlier piece of work by the chaps.

Dancing on the Streets

Sextafeira 18 e Sabado 19 – After almost two weeks in Sao Paulo and many conversations and thoughts about favourite city spots I was ready to take to the streets and dance. And so was Adriana, my second generously spirited CS host.

We had lots of fun in the hot Sao Paulo sunshine. Something life affirming happens when passers-by are moved by the moment and dance along with me. Non-verbal communication: ” hello friend!”

Our final spot was Beco do Batman in Vila Madalena. It’s a back street alley covered plastered in graffiti and a dreamy location.

My favourite graffiti all in Beco de Batman.

My favourite graffiti wall down Beco do Batman/ Batman Alley.

Rockabilly for Desert 🙂

Early hours, Domingo 20 – It was my last night in Sao Paulo and despite having tired ‘corpos’ we couldn’t resist a bop at rockabilly club The Clock. This was just the ticket.

‘Muito cansado!’ became ‘muito animado!’ as soon as I heard that familiar Little Richard tune ‘Lucille’ booming from behind the entrance door. Something otherworldly came over me and I lept onto the dance floor almost immediately and bopped my socks off.

Once Upon a Carnaval

Posted on 16 March, 2014 by Dusty Sioux

Now let me tell you a colourful tale….

On the eve of Carnaval the call of relentless drumming echos all around. I’m staying in Santa Teresa, a maze of cobbled streets perched on a hill overlooking Lapa and Centro. The view from this part of the city is great – helicopters, jumbo jets and birds from the Tijuca park cruise across the panorama of blue sky day in day out.

And, in memory of Raiders of the Lost Ark, a rhythmic cacophony rises up. It’s like you’re being summoned. There’s a great feeling of ritual. Submission. A call to abandon yourself to the season of madness.

Like an enjoyable itch!

Excitable whispers are all around about which bloco? when? where? Now this really does feel like a marathon of sorts. Both locals and traveller friends all exchange advice on how to go the distance during Carnaval so you don’t burn out after 2 days

It’s Thursday night and I pop along to L’Argos des Neves. (literally: Square of the Snows, from the Catholic Maria of the Snows).

The beautiful unused church at L’Argo des Neves, surrounded by merry makers on the eve of Carnaval week.

Left – The ‘bonde’ (tram) rails lead us home with the pretty church a-glow in the background. Right: I loved this woman’s head dress. It was the first of many ambitiously crafted that I was to see.

Friday – ‘Carmelitas’, Santa Teresa

A gang of us make-up, mask-up, dress-up and walk fifteen minutes to Praca Gomez for the Carmelitas bloco. It’s thrilling. The streets are heaving with the colourful joyus rabble. It’s impossible to resist this affectionate wave of energy and camaraderie.

The fews cars daft enough to attempt access down this part of town are covered in jovial bodies. I’m squashed against a VW Beetle (engine running, driver looking pissed off, revving the motor) …by loved up revellers, my Danish, Argentinian and Canadian compadres and I being some of them. All we can do is look at each other and keep repeating the same words: “this is amazing – this is amazing – this is amazing!!!”

Essential pre-bloco warm up exercises!

Saturday – ‘Ciel na Terra’ (Heaven on Earth), Santa Teresa

Juan and I agree to rise early and catch another local bloco, Ciel na Terra. We’re there at 8am and the gorged parade is already in full swing as it actually started at 6am.

Okay, so I’m becoming accustomed by now to the Wonder Women, the men dressed as Nurses, Mario Brothers, all round eclectic fancy dress. BUT! then come the huge puppets and banners, floating along above the umpteen people beneath – WOWee!! Trumpets sound, chants are called. My bottom lip begins to quiver, my face rushes with sensation, I start to weep! This is overwhelming and wonderful!

I’m across the globe from my sleepy rural home in ye olde labyrinthine Santa Teresa; it’s early morning and all these people are absolutely fully committed to looking incredible, coming together, finding an instrument and playing it, hearing a rhythm and dancing to it, seeing a face and kissing it.

This IS the pyschedelic storm I anticipated!

Oh, how I love all this pagan wierdness!

Isn’t she beautiful?!

Never has there been a better reason to get up early and party. This bonanza of colour and delirium was a pleasurable sight for sore eyes.

The banners – the puppets – wonderful!

'Luta Bonde' - Stolen tram. By the time I arrived in Rio the quaint old yellow tram of Santa Teresa has been pulled out of action as a result of safety issues. Signs of protest against this decision are all around the neighbourhood. It's presence is missed and the World Cup is held partly to blame for it's neglect.

‘Bonde Luta’ – Tram Stolen. By the time I arrived in Rio the quaint old yellow tram of Santa Teresa has been pulled out of action as a result of safety issues. Signs of protest against this decision are all around the neighbourhood. It’s presence is missed and the World Cup is held partly to blame for it’s neglect.

Sunday – ‘Boilata’, Praca XV and Praca Tridantes

The jaded bunch.

Word on the street is that the hoe-down at Praca XV is gonna be good today.

A bunch of us head down and catch the last of it. We perk ourselves up with salgados and acai to the terrific sound of drums around us.

I bump into Marisa and leave my hungover friends to go with her to Praca Tridadentes where another bloco is underway.

The walk across this central business district is an event in itself. There are few cars around, lone skyscrapers stand. Crazed packs of Carnavalistas occupy the streets. I’m reminded of one of my favourite zombie films ‘28 Days Later’ where London is deserted.

The universal ´we´ are all walking in the same direction teasing, chasing, playing with each other, marching on to the next sound cloud somewhere in the distance.

Vendors selling popcorn, hotdogs, coconut water are here and there. Stood by their barrows, they too are happy!

The Afrika Folk Pop dancers are busting out some great moves. I’ve seen them around the city in the weeks leading up to this, busking around the city.

Afrika Folk Pop Dancers – near Praca Tiradentes, Rio de Janeiro from Dusty Sioux on Vimeo.

The quiet yet crazed streets of central Rio.

A man who could do the splits – a plump wonder woman – smiley girls in wigs – a VERY rude priest! – pink ladyboys – and some excellent drag.

More beauty: a gallant pink indian.

Lovely legs rest on a taxi.

—–H-A-P-P-Y—–!!!

A man wearing a camel – Happy Chappy – Pirates at the bus station.

Monday – ‘Sargento Pimenta’ (Sergeant Peppers), Parque do Flamengo

There’s a bloco at Flamengo today. The theme: Sargento Pimenta/ Sergeant Peppers, a samba band playing the Beatles. I have reservations about such a combination: Sambarised Beatlemania?!

The bus journey there is colourful. The holiday vibe is so normal now – the whole city is at the mercy of Carnaval! I’m in love with this.

Parque Flamengo is expansive. Peter, Juan and I join the crowds walking along. You can´t hear the music yet but the magnetic pull of the bloco draws us in to worship.

Ah-ha! As we get closer the excitable samba bateria drums call out, “…You got to admit it’s getting better, it’s getting better aaaaalllll the time….” is sounding really bloody good with the added dimension of this bossy rhythm! Oh heck! I know the words! I spent many a day as a teen gobbling my way through the Beatles back catalogue, whilst absorbed in art homework – I know ALL the words – hurrah! No more attempting to mime my though a marchinha.

Despite warnings of a potential camera snatching I clutch my prized DSLR baby and snap away in the heaving crowd. More colour – more energy – more enthusiasm – with a sassy Beatles soundtrack. YES – I think this works!

Tuesday – Final official Carnaval day

……and I wake up feeling sick. Aching body, sore throat, headache. I stay in bed and wonder if this has all been a dream. I prop myself up with herbal tea and porridge and sleep and sleep and sleep.

To conclude? it’s been brilliant fun. I’m already planning my return and a more ambitous costume for next year.

Hound dog!

Parque do Flamengo.

Cheeeesey grin.

——Y-E-A-H——-!!!!

Cupid’s Corner – Misleading Vodka Smoothies – Prisoners – Carnaval Staffy – Bunny Bears.

And yes, more beauty still….

There’s a Pyschedelic Storm a brewin’!

Posted on 14 March, 2014 by Dusty Sioux

Salgueiro Samba school parade….courtesy of The Guardian.

I’ve noticed this fragrant waft in the air ever since touchdown in Brasil. “Carnavalcarnavalcarnavalcarna….! It turns out there’s a storm a’ brewin’, a colourful one and the anticipation is palpable.

“Between New Year’s Day and Carnaval Cariocans are restless,” explains Natalia, a young lass from Santa Teresa where I’ve been living and working. “we can’t focus on work and making plans; when the party’s over, it’s then that the new year officially begins.”

Portela and Mangueira samba schools – Rio Carnaval, 2014

Gosh, it feels so different from England where I’ve grappled for a Bank Holiday Monday like a precious extra day of freedom. This country, in contrast enjoys a lot of public holidays and dancing in the street is perfectly normal.

La Diablada....The Devil's Dance, Oruro, Bolivia. Just as trippy it seems.

La Diablada….The Devil’s Dance, Oruro, Bolivia. Another psychedelic affair on my calendar!

On the grapevine they say that the season of Carnaval is like a Bacchian orgy of excess and unadulterated fun. Mayhem! A blow out! “Woooooo hooooo”, I think: “I can’t wait!”

Now, for those of you who know me (well) you’ll also know that I take my Orgies very seriously so, of course, preparations are order. Here goes :-

1. Learning Samba No Pe

Gabrielle, a swaggering Sambisto

Apparently everyone will think me -c-o-o-l- and be surprised that a ‘gringa’ (stiff, self-concious, flat-bottomed European) knows the solo Samba foot shuffle.

I join a dance class with Felipe, Flavia’s brother. This year he’s determined to master the nimble footwork and as a lindy hopper, I feel confident that I can too! We go along to the ‘espacio de danca’ of famous Cariocan dancers, Sheila Aqunio e Marcello Chocolate on Rua Bento Lisboa. Surprising to me, dance lessons of every kind are everywhere in this city – yes – another stereotype broken: some Brasilians need dance tuition.

The teacher Gabrielle tells me to keep my footsteps close to the ground, no need to bounce on my feet or swivel my legs as is the Lindy habit of my muscle memory.

Samba class

As a menina (girl) I dance on the front of my foot. As a menino (boy) Felipe on his heels. You push into the ground. “Um, dois, tres…um, dois, treeeees……pisa, pisa, pi—sa”. This all feels within my grasp until the tempo increases and then my style flies out of the dance school window.

The samba rhythm is hard to resist, “Chik-chik-a-boom-boom”. Before I know it my feet are drumming away, my inhibition begins to lessen, I imagine myself as the smiling minx in the clip above and I’m in Samba mode! A vision of what a Carnaval street party could be is conjured up in my mind.

Carnaval, Rio de Janeiro, 1964

2. Learn a Marchinha

Over breakfast one morning and in reference to my sister’s name Joy – Flavia, Felipe and their magnificent grandmother Elena try to teach me ‘Aurora’. The song is a well known ‘marchinha’ sung during Carnaval. These are the traditional songs wailed by the masses – everyone seems to know the lyrics!

Copacabana beach, 1940

Don Elena went on to recall how quiet Carnaval became during WW2 and, in turn, the most wonderful bombastic of Carnavals when the war was finally won and families were reunited. I really enjoyed hearing her tale and it set me off on a reverie of what war time Rio may have been like through the eyes of a teenage girl.

3. Acquire some Carnaval attire

Carnaval, Rio de Janeiro, 1964

As part of getting my bearings, I hop on the Rio city Metro to Uruguiana and the Mercado Populaire to do some costume browsing. It reminds me of Camden, London – somewhere I worshipped as a teenager, going to the big smoke every now and then from Suffolk, on the train.

The streets are chokka block with shops of tack, chintz, fancy dress, haberdashery, wacky glasses that glow in the dark. I coyly come away with a R$10 mask and a note taken of the best plastic flower and fruit shop I’ve ever known. Mmmmm, at the very least a Carmen Miranda hair-do is in order! If there’s ever been an occasion to dress up and dress wild then this is it.

Oh Carmen Miranda, how I love thee! ….*sigh*

4. Bloco Band Rehearsal

A couple of weeks before official ‘kick-off’ I join two friends on their way to a Bloco band rehearsal in Gloria. The Carnaval of the everyman is the umpteen block parties on every street of every neighbourhood of Rio and beyond, across the whole (vast!) country.

From sundown to moonrise the band get going – Gloria neighbourhood.

My friend, Jonathan is playing his soprano saxophone as part of the band of players. It’s all so effortless! A bunch of folk play their instruments on the street, sup ice cold beer courtesy of the beer man, children run around and locals, curious about the cheerful melody bouncing off the brick walls, trickle in to enjoy the foray from their nearby homes. As dusk settles and the moon rises the atmosphere gains momentum, foot tapping turns into hip swaying and not before long, a bloco is born!

The Carnaval fragrance grows ever stronger…..

Band rehearsal becomes a Bloco, Gloria

5. Go to a Sambadrome rehearsal

On a Saturday eve, 6 days before it all goes officially nuts and I decide to hot-foot-it to the Sambadrome to see a samba school rehearse for the parade. “How cool,” thinks I, “not a Hippodrome, but a SAMBAdrome!” It tickled me to discover this purpose-built stadium all in honour of samba and it’s not just Rio that has one.

As luck would have it, I wangle a part time job within a week of my arrival at a guest house overlooking this beast of a stadium. To get in the mood for this ‘season of meat’ (carne=meat, eval=farewell to) I scurry along on a rainy night. Giddy supporters of the school beckon me over, thrust a plastic cup of beer in my hand, duck under my umbrella and proceed to teach me the Beija Flor (Hummingbird) samba school chant.

“Beija Flor – me escola – me vida – me amor!”

“Beija Flor – my school – my life – my love!”

Beija Flor samba school sashay down the runway in the drizzle – full of gusto, big smiles and big costume.

6. My first Bloco – Feira das Yabas

It’s Sunday, 5 days and counting. I go along to Oswaldo Cruz in Zona Norte (North Zone) with Marisa, a cool lady I met at a local party at L’Argos des Neves just around the corner from where I live.

We take the train there and every carriage is full of revellers practising their chant. She tells me that Oswaldo Cruz is the original home of Samba and all the best dancers and schools originate from here.

We’re here for ‘Feira das Yabas’, an originally traditional do but essentially a warm-up bloco to the official Carnaval week. The word refers to Yaba Yemanja, a feminine deity. The ‘Yaba’ or matriarchs of the community cook delicious grub that is typical African within Brasilian culture.

A posse of us bundle off the train and walk through an unassuming residential area to the main street. There before us is the action – like a crazed mob from a zombie invasion – music, people and creative colourful head wear is a-plenty. The music is coming from a large float with singers aboard, gazing down from on high.

The Crooners at Feira das Yabas.

They serenade the heaving crowd who gaze back in adoration, arms outstretched, smiling and singing straight back. I’m told some of these singers are of cult status in Rio – Carnaval celebrities.

We enter the jolly crowd and my feet begin to shuffle on the ground, along with everyone else. Beer, smiles and ‘abracos’ (hugs) are all around.

Love is in the air!

Farewell Blighty – Oi Brasil!

Posted on 22 February, 2014 by Dusty Sioux

My feet on Cariocan soil…

I arrived here in Rio at the end of January and had the pleasure of staying with a local Lindy dancer Flavia, in Laranjeiras, a leafy part of Rio’s Zona Sud (South Zone). Lucky me I thought.

The idea was to orientate myself around this tropical metropolis and adapt to the climate, lingo, geograpghy and etiquette in the five weeks leading up to the thronging mayhem of Carnaval.

Bazaar Laranjeiras on Rua de Laranjeiras!

Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer) - a local resident of nearby Cosme Velho.

Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer) – a local resident of Laranjeiras.

The Rio Hoppers.

From England I contacted Cinthia from the Rio Hoppers and she put Flavia and I in touch. Travel anywhere in the world and if there’s a swing dance scene, you’ll generally have a instant posse of pals….I might just test that theory!

Flavia is a 24 year old dentist who has long loved dancing – such is the stereotype of a Brasilian. She began Lindy three years ago with the local Hoppers and she’s a great Samba de Gafieira dancer too according to her brother Felipe.

(I know nothing about this dance form…yet….but judging by this clip he’s completely right. I love the smooth footwork, spins and hip action!)

Flavia, swingin’ right out! – BSOE 2013

Hopping in “Hio”

We go to Lindy na Lapa on Thursday evening and I meet the some of the movers & shakers of this city. Santi, Luana, Jorge and Cinthia are full of beans, talent and vintage charm. They launch themselves into a lesson of the Tranky Doo and the class of mixed abilities follow like a bunch of young pups. It’s so good to hear this music in Rio! and I feel instantly at home.

Cinthia & Jorge

A couple more regular Lindy Thursdays later and I’m getting to know Nico from Argentina (who misses the Buenos Aires scene); Gabriella who first tasted Lindy hop in Leeds during a year of study there; Luiz, Joy, Thais, Gido – a vivacious dancer if ever I’ve known one! – and Ana, who’s sporting some super high waisted shorts (like Hen’s teeth to find in Rio, grrrr…!).

I also meet Paolo who tells me bluntly that I need to wear more deodorant, ha! Pretending not to care I blush, and take heed, oh goodness!

Nico & Thais

(L-R) Luiz, Joy, Pedro & Gabriella

The core Hoppers meet weekly to compose and practise choreographed routines. They treat Rio to flash-mobbery every now as well as regularly performing at Manie Dansante, a roaming club night of vintage delight led by the best Latin American electro swing DJs.

Manie Dansante – Rio’s alternative den with a vintage flavour

Santi & Gabi – Manie Dansante

The Shim Sham – BSOE 2013

From small coconuts big palm trees grow!

As the days turn into weeks I learn, through hearing tales from the gang, how Lindy hop has found fertile soil here in Rio. A Carioca, Flavia and American student, Ese started a class…from which grew a troupe…fast forward to 2011 when the Brasil Swing Out Extravaganza was born – yeah!

Alternately shared between Rio and Sao Paulo as host cities, BSOE is an annual Lindy festival of non-stop dancing. Now in it’s fourth year, they bring in international teachers (Kevin St.Laurent and Jo Hoffberg in 2013) and last year Lindy veteran and performer, Dawn Hampton – wearing some really cool shoes.

Save the date! BSOE 2014

A Jack & Jill contest – BSOE 2013

Dawn Hampton’s bedecked golden feet – BSOE 2013

Leme beach, early evening.

Tiki heaven

It’s Sunday and I travel across the city to Leme, near Copacabana for Lindy na Praia – Lindy by the Beach. Woweee – this is a tiki style heaven.

It’s early evening and the beach is cooling down, families all warm & sleepy from the hot sabbath sun. I sip ‘agua de coco’ and enjoy ukulele music from the Digga Digga Duo. Some wear 1940s style swimsuits that go against the grain of the ‘Almighty (and extremely small!) Brasilian Bikini’.

Nico tells me I have to work on my swing out. It’s all a humbling experience being here – speaking baby Portuguese and, as it turns out, having my bad dancing habits revealed to me. I remind myself: this what I was looking for. A step out of my comfort zone and to see how Lindy hop is evolving beyond the shores of England.

Afterwards we go for ‘choppis’ (draught beer) and fritas Portuguese. I meet Paola, whose first priority on moving to Santiago, Chile in a few days was to check out the Lindy scene.

I learn about Passinho, an incredible dance evolved from the favelas, via Jorge.

Together we compare stories of our first Lindy hop memories and that same familiar bright-eyed expression of wonder bounces across our faces like a Mexican (Brasilian?!) wave! If ever there were a healthy addiction then this is surely it.

Passinho

Indie Lindy

Feeling a little deflated due to ‘social dance withdrawal syndrome’ I receive a word-up from Gabriella about Indie Lindy. She must be psychic!

She and other Lindy lovers in the city want to dance more (yes!) share and practice together more (yes!) and all for FREE (yes please! says my meagre backpacker budget).

So I go along to the first of many a regular Wednesday night in a mirrored studio in her apartment block. A small group of us dance, laugh, offer a critical eye when needed and end our evening taking away new moves. Such delight!

We round off a happy night with Acai cremosas (a mildly sweet berry slushie – serious heaven and unique to Brasil) on our way to a bar where we banter until the early hours under the light of a starry urban sky.

Indie Lindy saves the day!

The Dance Tourist

An Anthropological Dance Marathon around South America

Category Archives: slideshow