Hope you guys like this new cover :) and hope everyone has a great Festive Season!
Friday 19 December 2014
Tuesday 16 December 2014
Travelling round the world 101 - On a bus to Cartagena, Colombia
Thursday, 11.45am (Colombian time) Barranquilla, Colombia
We`re driving through crowded streets filled with weary bedraggled looking donkeys pulling carts laden bursting with fruit tassels between their ears, children both young and tall running here, there and everywhere, surprisingly clean new looking modern buses that look as if they have been squashed slightly from both ends, multiple people on dirty old motorbikes, mopeds and vans, street vendors shout their wares that overflow from their stands and booths and into the street mingled with the familiar smell of empanadas (how I have missed them). Stray dogs and the occasional cat weave in and out of legs, wheels, hooves and yellow taxis that zoom which way and every way amongst it all. Horns honk and people call out, dust kicked up. Bienvenido a Colombia!
7pm, Colombia, Cartagena
Arrived safe and sound, all limbs attached etc. I don’t know what everyone was going on about when they said that Colombia was dangerous, I feel far safer here than I would in London or anywhere. Obviously certain parts are dangerous but as long as you stay out of the mountains and have a certain amount of common sense you’re all good :) I love Cartagena I could actually live here. It’s so beautiful, and has a really pretty picturesque old colonial town.
Friday, sometime around 5pm sitting outside our room in Hostel Real, Cartagena.
Feels like I have been away from home for so much longer than 4 days. England seems so far away and a world apart. I have happily slipped back into joyfully speaking Spanish again at every opportune moment, placing toilet paper in the waste paper basket (the plumbing can´t handle it), generally feeling dehydrated, showering from under a pipe (no power shower attachments here), living out of a rucksack. I know that I am still probably jet-lagged but I get very impatient with my body. It feels like rubber that has been stretched too far crossed with lead filled damp cotton wool. Groggy like I have slept for hours but have not awoken feeling refreshed. O well. I am going to drink some water. It’s funny not being able to drink it from the tap. My friend that I’m travelling with says that it feels like having one of your basic human rights taken away.
6pm
The water seems to be helping.
8.27pm
Ahh Cartagena is lovely, we have spent many a happy hour wondering around the beautiful old colonial streets, vines cascading from old wooden balconies. Everyone is so friendly here! So are so many smells and sites to take in I feel like I almost can’t turn my head fast enough.
We`re driving through crowded streets filled with weary bedraggled looking donkeys pulling carts laden bursting with fruit tassels between their ears, children both young and tall running here, there and everywhere, surprisingly clean new looking modern buses that look as if they have been squashed slightly from both ends, multiple people on dirty old motorbikes, mopeds and vans, street vendors shout their wares that overflow from their stands and booths and into the street mingled with the familiar smell of empanadas (how I have missed them). Stray dogs and the occasional cat weave in and out of legs, wheels, hooves and yellow taxis that zoom which way and every way amongst it all. Horns honk and people call out, dust kicked up. Bienvenido a Colombia!
7pm, Colombia, Cartagena
Arrived safe and sound, all limbs attached etc. I don’t know what everyone was going on about when they said that Colombia was dangerous, I feel far safer here than I would in London or anywhere. Obviously certain parts are dangerous but as long as you stay out of the mountains and have a certain amount of common sense you’re all good :) I love Cartagena I could actually live here. It’s so beautiful, and has a really pretty picturesque old colonial town.
Friday, sometime around 5pm sitting outside our room in Hostel Real, Cartagena.
Feels like I have been away from home for so much longer than 4 days. England seems so far away and a world apart. I have happily slipped back into joyfully speaking Spanish again at every opportune moment, placing toilet paper in the waste paper basket (the plumbing can´t handle it), generally feeling dehydrated, showering from under a pipe (no power shower attachments here), living out of a rucksack. I know that I am still probably jet-lagged but I get very impatient with my body. It feels like rubber that has been stretched too far crossed with lead filled damp cotton wool. Groggy like I have slept for hours but have not awoken feeling refreshed. O well. I am going to drink some water. It’s funny not being able to drink it from the tap. My friend that I’m travelling with says that it feels like having one of your basic human rights taken away.
6pm
The water seems to be helping.
8.27pm
Ahh Cartagena is lovely, we have spent many a happy hour wondering around the beautiful old colonial streets, vines cascading from old wooden balconies. Everyone is so friendly here! So are so many smells and sites to take in I feel like I almost can’t turn my head fast enough.
Thursday 11 December 2014
Hello (Schuyler Fisk) - Cover by Melissa Cantello
Facebook.com/melissacantello.
Filmed by Ade Torrent (A Torrent of Videos - https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCEXxCf6ZG5m6z0G2HVKEbiA)
Hope you like this cover I did recently of Hello by Schuyler Fisk :)
Tuesday 9 December 2014
Travelling round the world 101 - en route to Colombia
Wednesday, 01.16am
Flying over Cuba (I think) or maybe Bahamas. Somewhere over the Caribbean anyway. The sky outside the window is dark with a promise of pale on the horizon line. I don’t think you can beat the feeling of flying 800,000 ft above our pretty blue green planet watching a slice of dawn creep its way over the clouds surface. Feeling like you’re on the brink of the world and the only person awake.
01.26am
Ahh wow we’ve just flown over (and slightly through) a lightning storm. Flown a total of 7667km from Madrid so far. This is incredible! To see the clouds lit up from the inside, pearly blue white. Flashes of light illuminating the centres and tingeing the cloud´s outer edges with a smoky pale blue. Frost has formed on the outside of my window, crystallised mini frost flakes that slowly melt as we plummet towards the next destination - L´Havana, Cuba. The time is now 20.55 Cuban time, 01.55 for me. I´m feeling pretty sleepy : )
Wednesday, 12.31pm (Panamanian time)
We´re gliding along through peaks and troughs of fluffy white cloud mountains. They really do look like candy floss Simpson clouds. Wisps float overhead whilst opaque looking rounded turrets bob majestically past the window. Below faint through a creamy layer of haze I can see Colombian soil. I`ve almost arrived. My ears pop on their own accord as the plant wing dips slightly revealing shallow rolling hills, light brown earthy rock largely covered with dark green deciduous trees. Small towns begin to appear, pale roads snaking through and into the distance. Large expanses of thirsty looking fields dappled by the blobs of cloud floating above them. I pray in faith for a safe arrival.
12.46pm
A new land to explore. I´m longing to feast my eyes on every inch of this land. Touch down. A sudden roar of air through the turbines makes me jump slightly (I am seated just behind the planes wing on an exit row – extra leg room!) we’re taxiing to a stop. The air attendant informs us in fluent coherent Spanish and then rather broken English not to take off our seatbelts… and that it has been a pleasure to have us on board. We pass two men pushing a full-sized helicopter on wheels by hand into a nearby hanger. I love Latin America.
Flying over Cuba (I think) or maybe Bahamas. Somewhere over the Caribbean anyway. The sky outside the window is dark with a promise of pale on the horizon line. I don’t think you can beat the feeling of flying 800,000 ft above our pretty blue green planet watching a slice of dawn creep its way over the clouds surface. Feeling like you’re on the brink of the world and the only person awake.
01.26am
Ahh wow we’ve just flown over (and slightly through) a lightning storm. Flown a total of 7667km from Madrid so far. This is incredible! To see the clouds lit up from the inside, pearly blue white. Flashes of light illuminating the centres and tingeing the cloud´s outer edges with a smoky pale blue. Frost has formed on the outside of my window, crystallised mini frost flakes that slowly melt as we plummet towards the next destination - L´Havana, Cuba. The time is now 20.55 Cuban time, 01.55 for me. I´m feeling pretty sleepy : )
Wednesday, 12.31pm (Panamanian time)
We´re gliding along through peaks and troughs of fluffy white cloud mountains. They really do look like candy floss Simpson clouds. Wisps float overhead whilst opaque looking rounded turrets bob majestically past the window. Below faint through a creamy layer of haze I can see Colombian soil. I`ve almost arrived. My ears pop on their own accord as the plant wing dips slightly revealing shallow rolling hills, light brown earthy rock largely covered with dark green deciduous trees. Small towns begin to appear, pale roads snaking through and into the distance. Large expanses of thirsty looking fields dappled by the blobs of cloud floating above them. I pray in faith for a safe arrival.
12.46pm
A new land to explore. I´m longing to feast my eyes on every inch of this land. Touch down. A sudden roar of air through the turbines makes me jump slightly (I am seated just behind the planes wing on an exit row – extra leg room!) we’re taxiing to a stop. The air attendant informs us in fluent coherent Spanish and then rather broken English not to take off our seatbelts… and that it has been a pleasure to have us on board. We pass two men pushing a full-sized helicopter on wheels by hand into a nearby hanger. I love Latin America.
Monday 1 December 2014
New guitar and amp!!! Faith Natural Series Venus Electro Acoustic Guitar and Fender Passport Mini Amp
I'm really happy with both purchases, the solid wood Faith electro-acoustic has a full bodied warm tone and feels comfortable when I play it. The other contender was an Epiphone Dove Pro (http://www.epiphone.com/Products/Acoustic-Electric/Dove-PRO.aspx), but on sound quality the Faith Venus won hands down - which isn't surprising give the price difference!
The Fender Passport Mini Amp seemed like a good choice given the presets/sound quality and the size and the weight (it is surprisingly light and great for someone like me who relies on public transport!
I'll be posting videos on me playing both soon :)
Here's what Faith say about Faith Natural Guitars
The Natural Series from Faith Guitars feature Solid Mahogany back and sides to give a warm, clean and natural sounding acoustic sound. The design of the guitars is uncluttered and the grain of the wood is nicely on show. Available in 5 body types the Natural range offers a guitar shape/style for all players. If your style is natural, warm, clean sounds then the Faith Natural range is for you. Mahogany and spruce combining to create one of the most beautiful and natural instruments you’ll ever hold.
MORE ABOUT PASSPORT® MINI
Passport® mini offers convenient amplification for any instrument or microphone. It's perfect for performances by street musicians and students, as well as a basic public address system for events and presentations. It goes anywhere thanks to its dual AC- or Battery-powered capabilities. It can even be used as a music media playback system or computer recording interface.
What Good is Love (live) - Schuyler Fisk (Cover by Melissa Cantello)
I sang this with Calum Carlyle a few years ago in Scotland. We really enjoyed playing this :)
Tuesday 25 November 2014
Surrounded - Minusblue feat. Melissa Cantello (original)
Hope you're having a good Tuesday. Please like and share if you like the song :)
You can also subscribe to my YouTube channel by clicking on
the link above to keep up-to-date with all my latest videos
Monday 17 November 2014
Souvenir - Minusblue feat. Melissa Cantello
Please like and share if you like the song :)
You can also subscribe to my YouTube channel by clicking on the link to keep up-to-date with all my latest videos :)
Friday 14 November 2014
The Desire to be Famous?
I always have found this topic to be quite interesting. Whilst many people all over the world seem to have the desire to see their name in bright twinkling lights, I do not share the same opinion. Don't get me wrong, I would like to be well known as a singer/songwriter but the thought of having no privacy, to the extent where you can't even go to the shops by yourself does not appeal to me in the slightest. Of course, everyone would like to make a decent amount of money from making music. In the current climate that is becoming harder and harder to do. Artists or celebrities who make decent money tend to do so through well designed commercial videos, endorsements, increased synergy across various social media platforms, adverts for various mechanise and large sell-out concerts. In order to get oneself there, an awful lot of carefully contrived marketing has to be done. Also the knowledge that, especially if you have become a celebrity from an early age, that you are unable to tell who is wanting to spend time with you for you, and who is attracted the fame, (potential) fortune and everything that goes with it.
Thought for the day :)
Thought for the day :)
Thursday 13 November 2014
Some time before Carnival, Salvador travel blog
I went to Pelourinho this morning (well middayish), waiting over half an hour in the scorching hot sun before finally catching an omnibus to Praça de Se, one of Pelourinho´s main squares. It was a relief to reach the cool shade thrown by the tall colonial style buildings. The afternoon sun cast golden hues on the warm honeysuckle and pastel tones of the buildings the delicate ornate carvings set into the stone creating intricate shadows. Gazing round the square there was an interesting mix of Brasileros and foreigners (otherwise known as gringos). Hordes of white middle aged tourists trotted neatly after their brightly smiling tour guide like obedient sheep. Dusty beggars and small children skirted the edge of the group looking for small change. They, in turn, rather resembled sheepdogs in that they caused the group to press tightly together and move more quickly in the direction of their Sheppard – sorry :p I mean tour guide.
A few heavily armed camo suited military police stand guard in front of the ´Elevador´ that takes anyone who wishes the 100m down to the port far below. The police look thoroughly bored as if surely there could be a far better use of their time than babysitting silly tourists who keep flashing their valuables around. Not to mention very hot.
Having drunk my fill for the moment, I round a corner, duck through and archway to find myself gazing upon the old Gothic Cathedral. It has a very curiously flat unassuming façade done up in various shades of vaguely decaying grey. I didn't venture inside as I'm saving the many churches, museums and galleries that the historic centre (Pelourinho) has to offer for a rainy day – i.e. supposedly later in the month.
I wonder amicably down a side street, just because I fancy it. The delicious smell of frying !!!! reaches my nostrils, my stomach rumbles appreciatively and I promise myself I'll come back for some later. Further down the street a bright creamy sunflower yellow building catches my eye. From the outside it looks like a grand old colonial house, bedecked with dark wood balconies protruding in from of the many painted shuttered windows. I slip round the side of the building to find an open doorway. My mouth drops open in surprise as I step inside. I have walked into the most beautifully decorated ornate Catholic style church I have seen in a long time, white marble cloaks the floors and elongated up into far-reaching elegant pillars at regular intervals throughout the church. The pews are spacious and made of dark rich mahogany. The altar and front wall of the church are resplendent in a mix of fine paintings, gold ornate carvings and of course a large statue of Christ, crucified. Mass is obviously about to start, the church is about half full and a tiny little wrinkled old woman begins to hand out prayer books. I sit near the back for a good ten minutes allowing the cool peaceful silence wash over me, and then slip out quietly the way I came.
I meander my way back to the square that houses the Cathedral, blinking in the bright sunshine. Capoeira rhythms catch my ears and I speed up slightly. Sure enough, a roda has started up in front of the Cathedral steps. I buy an iced Maracuja drink (passionfruit) from a nearby stand and sit down in the shade of a large palm tree to watch the gracefully whirling limbs. The juice feels deliciously cold and sharp against my tongue.
The sun is sinking lower and I feel a sudden desire to go the beach to watch the sunset breaking over the horizon. After locating the right bus, I sit in the surprisingly comfy padded seat with my face pressed against the glass watching the world go by, feeling sated and happy.
An hour later…. There is a really really high today. There was hardly any beach left so I sought some sunbathing space on the cliff top in front of the black and white candy striped lighthouse. All I can see is ocean and sky. Great big thunderhead waves crash below me sending their spray high into the air, turning the rippled facade of the ocean buttery seafoam white. The hissing roar of the breakers as they roll under, collapsing in on themselves, takes me back to sitting on my two favourite beaches in the world. The first being Coldingham bay just south of the eastern coast of Scotland where I spent many happy summers growing up, and the second, Manuel Antonio Beach, Costa Rica. They may not be the most spectacular or visually stunning beaches I've seen but they both hold some of the best beach memories I have to date.
Both these, my favourite two beaches, have several things in common; fine golden sand (I'm not such a massive fan of white sand, it doesn´t feel real enough, too superficial), creamy turquoise to deep clear blue waters, dark brown black jagged sea-carved rocks that protrude at both ends of the beach providing rock pools captured at low tide and places to watch the waves crash and spray. Or simply a place to sit on and watch the sunset. What I love most about these beaches is the absolute feeling of peace I get even after sitting there for only a few minutes. I always feel grounded and at one with the world when I'm by the ocean, and today is no different. In my opinion, if everyone tool just 10 minutes out of their day to sit and simply contemplate the ocean, or failing that the sunset, the world would be a much better place.
I can feel the salt tasting my skin, the freshness that is only brought by a sea breeze lifting my hair as it swirls round my face. The sun is directly ahead of me, changing the ocean into a shimmering liquid mass that almost seems alive as each wavelet catches the sun’s rays reflecting a thousand glistening shards back to the forget me not blue brilliance. Mmmm.
A few heavily armed camo suited military police stand guard in front of the ´Elevador´ that takes anyone who wishes the 100m down to the port far below. The police look thoroughly bored as if surely there could be a far better use of their time than babysitting silly tourists who keep flashing their valuables around. Not to mention very hot.
Having drunk my fill for the moment, I round a corner, duck through and archway to find myself gazing upon the old Gothic Cathedral. It has a very curiously flat unassuming façade done up in various shades of vaguely decaying grey. I didn't venture inside as I'm saving the many churches, museums and galleries that the historic centre (Pelourinho) has to offer for a rainy day – i.e. supposedly later in the month.
I wonder amicably down a side street, just because I fancy it. The delicious smell of frying !!!! reaches my nostrils, my stomach rumbles appreciatively and I promise myself I'll come back for some later. Further down the street a bright creamy sunflower yellow building catches my eye. From the outside it looks like a grand old colonial house, bedecked with dark wood balconies protruding in from of the many painted shuttered windows. I slip round the side of the building to find an open doorway. My mouth drops open in surprise as I step inside. I have walked into the most beautifully decorated ornate Catholic style church I have seen in a long time, white marble cloaks the floors and elongated up into far-reaching elegant pillars at regular intervals throughout the church. The pews are spacious and made of dark rich mahogany. The altar and front wall of the church are resplendent in a mix of fine paintings, gold ornate carvings and of course a large statue of Christ, crucified. Mass is obviously about to start, the church is about half full and a tiny little wrinkled old woman begins to hand out prayer books. I sit near the back for a good ten minutes allowing the cool peaceful silence wash over me, and then slip out quietly the way I came.
I meander my way back to the square that houses the Cathedral, blinking in the bright sunshine. Capoeira rhythms catch my ears and I speed up slightly. Sure enough, a roda has started up in front of the Cathedral steps. I buy an iced Maracuja drink (passionfruit) from a nearby stand and sit down in the shade of a large palm tree to watch the gracefully whirling limbs. The juice feels deliciously cold and sharp against my tongue.
The sun is sinking lower and I feel a sudden desire to go the beach to watch the sunset breaking over the horizon. After locating the right bus, I sit in the surprisingly comfy padded seat with my face pressed against the glass watching the world go by, feeling sated and happy.
An hour later…. There is a really really high today. There was hardly any beach left so I sought some sunbathing space on the cliff top in front of the black and white candy striped lighthouse. All I can see is ocean and sky. Great big thunderhead waves crash below me sending their spray high into the air, turning the rippled facade of the ocean buttery seafoam white. The hissing roar of the breakers as they roll under, collapsing in on themselves, takes me back to sitting on my two favourite beaches in the world. The first being Coldingham bay just south of the eastern coast of Scotland where I spent many happy summers growing up, and the second, Manuel Antonio Beach, Costa Rica. They may not be the most spectacular or visually stunning beaches I've seen but they both hold some of the best beach memories I have to date.
Both these, my favourite two beaches, have several things in common; fine golden sand (I'm not such a massive fan of white sand, it doesn´t feel real enough, too superficial), creamy turquoise to deep clear blue waters, dark brown black jagged sea-carved rocks that protrude at both ends of the beach providing rock pools captured at low tide and places to watch the waves crash and spray. Or simply a place to sit on and watch the sunset. What I love most about these beaches is the absolute feeling of peace I get even after sitting there for only a few minutes. I always feel grounded and at one with the world when I'm by the ocean, and today is no different. In my opinion, if everyone tool just 10 minutes out of their day to sit and simply contemplate the ocean, or failing that the sunset, the world would be a much better place.
I can feel the salt tasting my skin, the freshness that is only brought by a sea breeze lifting my hair as it swirls round my face. The sun is directly ahead of me, changing the ocean into a shimmering liquid mass that almost seems alive as each wavelet catches the sun’s rays reflecting a thousand glistening shards back to the forget me not blue brilliance. Mmmm.
Guide to surviving Salvadorian Carnival
2. Get a decent pair of trainers - i.e. running trainers - when you’ve been dancing for 11 straight hours you’ll thank me! :p
3. Do not wear anything shiny! i.e. no jewellery or bling – I’ve seen necklaces been ripped from necks, or earrings from ears
4. Wear shorts or trousers – not skirts as the guys can be pretty umm friendly? Use your imagination…With the men women, you have to be really firm, they will grab your hand and try and kiss you or whatever, you have to keep saying no forcefully and if necessary shove them away
5. Eat a protein bar about half an hour before you head out and drink a Garanja or similar energy drink as you’ve walking to wherever – it helps!! Once you´re out I´d def advise trying a SIRIGUELA – it’s a local small orange fruit and quite frankly yummy as
6. Bring various carnival esque masks or festival type clothes etc, n maybe a whistle?
7. Drink a lot of water throughout, not just beer however tempting!
8. Only carry exactly what you need – ladies money in bra, ditto mobile if you’re carrying one. Try not to have anything in your pockets because in the jam packed crowded areas people can try and go into them
9. Try to meet up with whoever you’re going out with beforehand – as it’s impossible to hear anyone on the phone once yr actually in a carnival area BECAUSE THERE IS SO MUCH NOISE!
10. Eat well throughout carnival week, lots of pasta, fruit, fish n chicken! N plan in a good solid days of sleep n doing very little once it’s all over :)
10b. if you see a line of police coming – get out of the way – seriously. Or they´ll push you
11. If you take a camera just be smart about it – I did on several nights and didn’t have any problems
12. Personally I wouldn’t bother spending money before hand on blocos or anything, you can get it cheap the day before or very cheap v last minute. Personally I wouldn’t even pay for a bloco – all it gives you is a t shirt and the privilege of being inside a roped off area behind the truck. You can be the other side of the rope n still have a really good time – plus save yourself 100quid or so!
12b. In terms of camarote (areas where you can watch the parade from a high safe vantage point) again maybe do it for one night so you can get some decent pictures– look online there are always discounts on the day itself (seehttp://www.ofertax.com.br/cidades/salvador) But again, I didn´t bother as they were all quite expensive and I still had a really great time!
13. Dance your socks off!
14. I personally preferred carnival in Pelourinho as there was much more culture, better music, samba, capoeira etc – whereas carnival in Barra is much much more commercial. Campo Grande is also great, but if you don´t like rammed crowds then I’d stay clear as it can get a bit hectic – still well worth a visit tho!
15. Really enjoy yourself! It is a brilliant place to come, people are generally really friendly and the energy that a crowd of Brazilians give off is absolutely incredible :)
Viagem de Violao, Brasil
I was waking down my favourite route to the beach today when a small brown dove swooped down onto the path in front of me. It looked rather like an English Turtle dove, same head and body shape and with the same soft grey plumage covering its head and neck. The rest of its plumage was a rich mahogany brown with curious markings on the wings making the wings literally look like the bark of a tree. Peculiar. Or - the wonder of nature? The dove tilted its head calmly to one side and we surveyed each other for a few minutes until the dove set off at a leisurely waddle across the path to duck under a large gate when it shortly disappeared from view.
I continued walking, soaking up the fresh but heavy smell of new pollen after a heavy rain fall. The sky was a perfect shade of blue, little candy floss wisps eddied unhurriedly across the great upturned bowl of endless blue. I’d brought my guitar with me, the black case swinging against my back as I walked. After a short meander, dodging various speeding cars, politely refusing several offers of chewing gum, peanuts and bright pink hair grip (?!) from several street vendors, I reached my destination, a small hill with a larger than life white marble statue of Christo overlooking the long sweeping golden sanded bay, over seen at the far end by the humbug black and white striped picture postcard lighthouse set astride a similarly sized hilltop.
It’s a pretty blustery today, so the hill is almost empty of people. At last, my guitar bought safely all the way across the wide expanse of the Atlantic Ocean (12 pounds 59 – courtesy of Ebay ;)) was out of its case, balanced safely across my knee as I fine-tuned the strings humming a little under my breath. A few experimental strums later and I was pretty much satisfied. I proceeded to play for just under two hours, reveling in the sensation of the salt saturated breeze fresh on my face, gently tugging at my hair, freeing a few strands to swirl round my head in a continuous updraft. I thought about my uncle Graham, and Aunt Kym as I played, as my uncle is having an operation today, and I sent a prayer up that everything would go smoothly and that he's be back to fighting fit as soon as possible.
I'd highly recommend anyone who plays or sings to try and do it on a sun soaked, windswept hilltop overlooking the ocean, I cannot think of anything more soul satisfying. Also useful for people who may be occasionally tone deaf as the wind sweeps you song away! When my girly lil fingers were about to fall off (I need to toughen up my fingertips – they're not used to played acoustic steel strings). I walked along the entire length of the bay towards the lighthouse, the sky and ocean seemingly welded together in a vast stretch of vacant blue. Sunset was approaching by the time I reached the lighthouse, and I joined the group of locals gathered on the crest of the hill to watch the suns final descent below the horizon line. O porto do sol was exceptionally spectacular today, just a few fluffy ´the Simpsons'-like clouds, their bellies catching the crimson pink glow of the setting sun from beneath, warming the entire cloud water mass. Shortly the entire sky was ablaze with fiery crimson offshoots as the great orange yellow ball of the setting sun slowly made its way beneath the horizon. As if by pre spoken agreement all the Bahianos around me broke into appreciative applause. There was a nice collective pause as if everyone was holding their breath as the sun finally sank out of sight dimming the sky as it went. It felt peaceful.
I continued walking, soaking up the fresh but heavy smell of new pollen after a heavy rain fall. The sky was a perfect shade of blue, little candy floss wisps eddied unhurriedly across the great upturned bowl of endless blue. I’d brought my guitar with me, the black case swinging against my back as I walked. After a short meander, dodging various speeding cars, politely refusing several offers of chewing gum, peanuts and bright pink hair grip (?!) from several street vendors, I reached my destination, a small hill with a larger than life white marble statue of Christo overlooking the long sweeping golden sanded bay, over seen at the far end by the humbug black and white striped picture postcard lighthouse set astride a similarly sized hilltop.
It’s a pretty blustery today, so the hill is almost empty of people. At last, my guitar bought safely all the way across the wide expanse of the Atlantic Ocean (12 pounds 59 – courtesy of Ebay ;)) was out of its case, balanced safely across my knee as I fine-tuned the strings humming a little under my breath. A few experimental strums later and I was pretty much satisfied. I proceeded to play for just under two hours, reveling in the sensation of the salt saturated breeze fresh on my face, gently tugging at my hair, freeing a few strands to swirl round my head in a continuous updraft. I thought about my uncle Graham, and Aunt Kym as I played, as my uncle is having an operation today, and I sent a prayer up that everything would go smoothly and that he's be back to fighting fit as soon as possible.
I'd highly recommend anyone who plays or sings to try and do it on a sun soaked, windswept hilltop overlooking the ocean, I cannot think of anything more soul satisfying. Also useful for people who may be occasionally tone deaf as the wind sweeps you song away! When my girly lil fingers were about to fall off (I need to toughen up my fingertips – they're not used to played acoustic steel strings). I walked along the entire length of the bay towards the lighthouse, the sky and ocean seemingly welded together in a vast stretch of vacant blue. Sunset was approaching by the time I reached the lighthouse, and I joined the group of locals gathered on the crest of the hill to watch the suns final descent below the horizon line. O porto do sol was exceptionally spectacular today, just a few fluffy ´the Simpsons'-like clouds, their bellies catching the crimson pink glow of the setting sun from beneath, warming the entire cloud water mass. Shortly the entire sky was ablaze with fiery crimson offshoots as the great orange yellow ball of the setting sun slowly made its way beneath the horizon. As if by pre spoken agreement all the Bahianos around me broke into appreciative applause. There was a nice collective pause as if everyone was holding their breath as the sun finally sank out of sight dimming the sky as it went. It felt peaceful.
Salvador de Bahia O Carnaval!
A blinding whirlwind kaleidoscope of bright colours lights and sound. The city’s streets teeter groaning under the weight of several hundred thousand feet (whoever said that there were 12,000 people on the streets was making a serious underestimate!) Four days into carnival the ruas seem to be spinning ever faster, the colours and sounds merge until the samba rhythms are seeped into our very skin, vibrating the very ground upon which we walk. Everywhere you look there is dancing, noise, flashes of extravagance, more dancing, drinking, laugher and general revelry.
On Saturday I was lucky enough to be able to join a friend’s bloco for free as they were playing in the samba band. I arrived at 7:30 having been told to arrive at 6 ish and I still arrived 15 mins before my friends (Brazilian time is even worse than Cuban!) we arrived at the bloco and were given camisas (T-shirts) that distinguish each bloco from the next. The name of ours was Ouro Negro (Black Gold). It took me about half an hour why so many people where staring at me - I was the only white person there. And in fact on the entire street. It´s funny I hadn´t even noticed…but then it´s easy for me to say that isn´t it – I'm white.
Soon, well after about three hours of milling about chatting, the samba band started up and so, in turn, did the capoeira. The regional style is more upright and some say more aggressive than in other regions. This style certainly looks much more like a martial art as opposed to a dance form. The blur of whirling synchronized limbs is almost hypnotic and I find myself having to remember to blink. I was then asked would I like to go up on top of the float, I was like errr is that a serious question:!! So there I was on top of a bloco electronico along with the musicians, a professional dancer in trad African costume (I won´t hazard a guess as to which country she was representing), about seven other Brazilians and myself all sambaing away as the float began to steadily move forwards – furious at myself for not bringing my camera!
Seeing carnival from such a vantage point was really quite something. The samba, the dancers, the capoeirstas, fellow bloco members and general crowd filled every square inch of road, fading out into a blur in every direction. An ocean of vaguely coordinated colour reaching out into the distance. Think Nottinghill but 10 times as big, 3 times as loud and lot more exuberant! The energy that the Brazilians possess is quite simply phenomenal. Yesterday carnival started at midday in the blazing relentless sun and 30C heat and went on until about 4,5 am! The news showed literal acres of ceaseless waving arms and dancing feet. The Rio carnival started last night and the family and myself watched quite a bit on TV after we´d finished off a big family lunch. Even though the costumes are mind boggling beautiful and intricate, the parades dazzling to the eye, one has much more of a passive ´carnival´ experience as to watch the floats in Rio you´re just sitting high up on raised seats. In Salvador, you can do this too, but most people tend to choose to be on the streets – in the thick of the action. That is certainly much more my idea of carnival.
For six long days o Salvador puts its best face on for the world, reflected in the carefully prepared costumes, beautifully decorated blocos electronicos (big floats) and a veritable sea of upturned smiling faces. The city council (!) does its best to keep up appearances too, overnight…or should I say in the early morning…. as if by magic the torrent of squashed beer cans, plastic cups, straws, ripped camisas and general discardment are swept up by an army of blood red uniformed street sweepers.
There is, however, a darker side to carnival too. Troops of army camo bullet proof vested and helmeted military police patrol the streets in groups of five, their riot gear cutting wide paths through the seemingly jam packed crowds who melt away at their alligator formation approach. The police thankfully don´t carry guns but they do carry almost meter long jet black truncheons as thick as my wrist. Just the other night I witnessed several of them beating a young boy of about 14 about the neck; they had mistakenly thought he had been fighting. A woman, who I presumed to be his mother, rushed up to try and pull them off as she shouted an explanation. They then did so, but by this point the boy was lying on the floor quite motionless his hands still up in surrender.
There is, however, a darker side to carnival too. Troops of army camo bullet proof vested and helmeted military police patrol the streets in groups of five, their riot gear cutting wide paths through the seemingly jam packed crowds who melt away at their alligator formation approach. The police thankfully don´t carry guns but they do carry almost meter long jet black truncheons as thick as my wrist. Just the other night I witnessed several of them beating a young boy of about 14 about the neck; they had mistakenly thought he had been fighting. A woman, who I presumed to be his mother, rushed up to try and pull them off as she shouted an explanation. They then did so, but by this point the boy was lying on the floor quite motionless his hands still up in surrender.
This, unfortunately, is not a rare occurrence. Mercifully he did then get up and seemed to be ok physically, although obviously very shaken. All the scuffles and fights I have witnessed seem to be between boys aged 12-18. I have also only seen boys of around that age being searched by the police. The ones who are stopped and searched are nearly all black.
I will try to explain to you the sheer size and scope of Salvadorian carnival. Imagine a wide dual carriage way completely rammed with people as far as the eye can see in every direction. This endless moving mass of humanity stenches on for literally miles, winding its way through different paths through the city, only interrupted by the enormous bloco tucks and their immense sound systems – a lot of which have speakers along each side as big as Odeon cinema screens. If one is walking at the side of a float the sheer noise coming out of them is enough to almost make you step back. The noise is like a living physical thing blasting out so forcibly you can feel the sound waves smashing into you, the base reverberating the ground under your feet. Preceding each bloco are the dance troops in various costumes and of course the requisite samba bands. Surrounding them are people in the bloco´s t-shirts, who have paid to join the bloco for the day, and of course, the rest of the crowd. There are also the occasional group of capoirestas who start a roda whenever the procession pauses – which is quite often due to the utter volume of people.
I will try to explain to you the sheer size and scope of Salvadorian carnival. Imagine a wide dual carriage way completely rammed with people as far as the eye can see in every direction. This endless moving mass of humanity stenches on for literally miles, winding its way through different paths through the city, only interrupted by the enormous bloco tucks and their immense sound systems – a lot of which have speakers along each side as big as Odeon cinema screens. If one is walking at the side of a float the sheer noise coming out of them is enough to almost make you step back. The noise is like a living physical thing blasting out so forcibly you can feel the sound waves smashing into you, the base reverberating the ground under your feet. Preceding each bloco are the dance troops in various costumes and of course the requisite samba bands. Surrounding them are people in the bloco´s t-shirts, who have paid to join the bloco for the day, and of course, the rest of the crowd. There are also the occasional group of capoirestas who start a roda whenever the procession pauses – which is quite often due to the utter volume of people.
On Saturday I was lucky enough to be able to join a friend’s bloco for free as they were playing in the samba band. I arrived at 7:30 having been told to arrive at 6 ish and I still arrived 15 mins before my friends (Brazilian time is even worse than Cuban!) we arrived at the bloco and were given camisas (T-shirts) that distinguish each bloco from the next. The name of ours was Ouro Negro (Black Gold). It took me about half an hour why so many people where staring at me - I was the only white person there. And in fact on the entire street. It´s funny I hadn´t even noticed…but then it´s easy for me to say that isn´t it – I'm white.
Soon, well after about three hours of milling about chatting, the samba band started up and so, in turn, did the capoeira. The regional style is more upright and some say more aggressive than in other regions. This style certainly looks much more like a martial art as opposed to a dance form. The blur of whirling synchronized limbs is almost hypnotic and I find myself having to remember to blink. I was then asked would I like to go up on top of the float, I was like errr is that a serious question:!! So there I was on top of a bloco electronico along with the musicians, a professional dancer in trad African costume (I won´t hazard a guess as to which country she was representing), about seven other Brazilians and myself all sambaing away as the float began to steadily move forwards – furious at myself for not bringing my camera!
Seeing carnival from such a vantage point was really quite something. The samba, the dancers, the capoeirstas, fellow bloco members and general crowd filled every square inch of road, fading out into a blur in every direction. An ocean of vaguely coordinated colour reaching out into the distance. Think Nottinghill but 10 times as big, 3 times as loud and lot more exuberant! The energy that the Brazilians possess is quite simply phenomenal. Yesterday carnival started at midday in the blazing relentless sun and 30C heat and went on until about 4,5 am! The news showed literal acres of ceaseless waving arms and dancing feet. The Rio carnival started last night and the family and myself watched quite a bit on TV after we´d finished off a big family lunch. Even though the costumes are mind boggling beautiful and intricate, the parades dazzling to the eye, one has much more of a passive ´carnival´ experience as to watch the floats in Rio you´re just sitting high up on raised seats. In Salvador, you can do this too, but most people tend to choose to be on the streets – in the thick of the action. That is certainly much more my idea of carnival.
Salvador de Bahia Porto da Barra
I saved a girl from drowning today. Well, from potential drowning at any rate. How’s that for a dramatic first sentence?! There I was, luxuriating in the silken turquoise waters of Porto da Barra (which I steer well clear of at the weekend as it is the most popular, and therefore the touristiest, beach in the area and often ridiculously crowded) As the beach is a small bay partially protected by a long jetty wall the waves are usually almost none existent and it’s like floating in an enormous salty bathtub. Yum.
So there I was bobbing along like a good little English duck conversing with my friend about the level of corruption in Brazilian politics when a strange gurgling spluttering noise behind me made me turn around, and, about 3 meters away to my right, was a Brazilian girl with long dreads her face half under the water, her long arms waving around like a giant sea urchin out of the water. Her eyes were great pools of white, her eyeballs partially rolled back into her head as she struggled to keep her head above the water. An image of a deer that I saw last summer, its legs caught in a barbed wire fence, flashed through my mind. The deer looked just as desperate. I didn’t even think, just swam over as fast as my fastest breaststroke would allow (I seem to have unfortunately forgotten how to do front crawl for some reason over the years), hoisted her up by her waist and swam the necessary meter or so to get her back into chest level water. Lucky she was so skinny and so tall as it was pretty difficult to swim one handed whilst hoisting someone up with the other. Lucky good ol´ adrenaline kicks in when you need it too! It was all over in a few seconds but felt much longer. You may ask why my friend, who is a 6ft strapping capoeira teaching local, didn’t go to her aid. Well, firstly I was closer, and secondly he, like a surprisingly high number of beach dwelling Latin Americans doesn’t know how to swim. He later told me that he thought that the girl was messing about úma brincadiera´. Thought whether this was to cover up any embarrassment of failing of manly pride I’m not entirely sure!
Anyway, I got this girl safely back to waist deep water and she (after coughing up a lot of water) started hysterically rambling thank you, thank you, I was drowning I thought I was going to die (to which I was kinda embarrassed - I mean any decent person would have done the same right?!) I didn´t know at the time what the verb was drowning, but made an educated guess which my mini dictionary confirmed! just goes to show - every day is a school day :) The girls boyfriend then came running over, splashing through the water (also long dreaded - he must be able to sit on his - with an impressive number of intricately designed tattooes) to see if she was ok. I felt like saying he should keep a closer eye on his missus! Then without any comment on my part he said it was lucky I was there as he didn´t know how to swim either. Humph. I could have used some Rescue Remedy. Drama, drama, drama. You know that feeling when a big burst of adrenaline wears off and you feel a bit shaky as realisation of what just happened begins to sink in? Well that was me. Talk about a nice quiet day at the beach!!
Anyway, I got this girl safely back to waist deep water and she (after coughing up a lot of water) started hysterically rambling thank you, thank you, I was drowning I thought I was going to die (to which I was kinda embarrassed - I mean any decent person would have done the same right?!) I didn´t know at the time what the verb was drowning, but made an educated guess which my mini dictionary confirmed! just goes to show - every day is a school day :) The girls boyfriend then came running over, splashing through the water (also long dreaded - he must be able to sit on his - with an impressive number of intricately designed tattooes) to see if she was ok. I felt like saying he should keep a closer eye on his missus! Then without any comment on my part he said it was lucky I was there as he didn´t know how to swim either. Humph. I could have used some Rescue Remedy. Drama, drama, drama. You know that feeling when a big burst of adrenaline wears off and you feel a bit shaky as realisation of what just happened begins to sink in? Well that was me. Talk about a nice quiet day at the beach!!
Salvador de Bahia - first trip to the favelas
I am on my way to Paripe, a favela suburb of Salvador, situated at the very northern end of the West coast (incidentally very near where Lulu goes on Holiday – at the Naval Base – Base Natal) to spend the day on the beach with some friends. To get there the bus passes along a road that hugs the end of the ocean where possible, through Cuidad Baixa and then on through mile after mile of favela. If you look at a map of Salvador it’s soon easy to work out that over two thirds of the city is favela. And just think how many people are crammed in together in that area. Salvador has an official population of 3.574.804, and that’s not counting the several thousand tourists who flood the city every day in high season. I don’t know why but the poverty here strikes me a lot more. It is really gut wrenching. And it’s not to say that I haven’t seen real poverty before, there are favela equivalents in Costa Rica and Cuba (despite the supposed governmental housing reforms) as well serious poverty in all the other Latin American countries that I have visited. But in Brazil the difference between the rich and poor is much more noticeable. When you are in Barra or Graca or another one of the other southern suburbs it’s easy to forget that there are people living without running water and electricity only a few short miles away. There is serious money here too. Brazil is supposedly one of the fastest growing economies in the world and it’s certainly reflected in the price of the amenities. A few days ago I went to Shopping Barra (a large up-market shopping center relatively near to where I live) and I was literally shocked at the prices. I couldn’t find a pair of shoes for under 35/40pounds and clothes were generally more expensive that that. I mean admittedly this comes from someone who doesn’t like to spend more than 20quid on a pair of shoes – but still!! Anyway enough of that.
The landscape and cityscape begins to change as the bus moves away from the south of the city, cars begin to shrink in price, luster and size, shops have boarded-up-windows broken glass, and endless graffiti. The number of churches also drastically increases; though these are often little more than concrete square blocks with roofs and crucifixes stuck on front. An endless parade of scrap metal junk yards, derelict buildings, and men and children loitering on street corners meets my eyes. Things begin to deteriorate as we pass through the real favela, infinite, stretching in every direction as far as the eye can see. A tirade of inestimable red, grey, brown and black hues broken only by the occasional flash of green from a cluster of palm trees. It was heart breaking. Dusty malnourished children sit listlessly on low walls or on the ground, their skin stretched painfully over their ribs. Women with dull glazed-over eyes trudge home, their shopping bags pitifully empty. Men stand together in groups, tensed, as if expecting an attack at any moment. I become increasingly uncomfortable of my appearance and skin colour. Even though I’d taken care to wear older looking clothes, carry a beaten looking bag and not wear any jewelry, I am still very aware of how much I stand out, and am really struck by the vast differences in our circumstances. A deep sadness presses against my chest, constricting my throat. It is the sort of sights to make you want to give up every home comfort, uproot yourself from everything you know and spend your whole life trying to combat the overwhelming tide of poverty. One of my newly acquired friends here in Salvador is an Italian who has lived here for the past two years working for an NGO. They also pay him to go home to Italy several times a year for meetings and conferences as well as a pretty decent salary. More importantly he is really making a difference. Sounds like my perfect sort of job methinks!
After about half an hour, we finally reach the outer northern suburbs of the city, still noticeably poorer than the south but with one big difference – that the people here look alive, smiling and laughing as they go about their daily business. Joie de vivre crinkling the corners of their eyes. The oppressive weight of poverty in the air is not so keenly felt here. The bus pulls into Paripe, and I disembark, admittedly very relieved to find two of my brasilero friends waiting for me. Another short minibus journey later and we are at the beach, a curved golden arc of fine sand and splashing children (it is Sunday after all). The day passes pleasurably enough and before I know it I am on the bus back to the south, travelling one more through the endless roofs and huts of the favela.
The landscape and cityscape begins to change as the bus moves away from the south of the city, cars begin to shrink in price, luster and size, shops have boarded-up-windows broken glass, and endless graffiti. The number of churches also drastically increases; though these are often little more than concrete square blocks with roofs and crucifixes stuck on front. An endless parade of scrap metal junk yards, derelict buildings, and men and children loitering on street corners meets my eyes. Things begin to deteriorate as we pass through the real favela, infinite, stretching in every direction as far as the eye can see. A tirade of inestimable red, grey, brown and black hues broken only by the occasional flash of green from a cluster of palm trees. It was heart breaking. Dusty malnourished children sit listlessly on low walls or on the ground, their skin stretched painfully over their ribs. Women with dull glazed-over eyes trudge home, their shopping bags pitifully empty. Men stand together in groups, tensed, as if expecting an attack at any moment. I become increasingly uncomfortable of my appearance and skin colour. Even though I’d taken care to wear older looking clothes, carry a beaten looking bag and not wear any jewelry, I am still very aware of how much I stand out, and am really struck by the vast differences in our circumstances. A deep sadness presses against my chest, constricting my throat. It is the sort of sights to make you want to give up every home comfort, uproot yourself from everything you know and spend your whole life trying to combat the overwhelming tide of poverty. One of my newly acquired friends here in Salvador is an Italian who has lived here for the past two years working for an NGO. They also pay him to go home to Italy several times a year for meetings and conferences as well as a pretty decent salary. More importantly he is really making a difference. Sounds like my perfect sort of job methinks!
After about half an hour, we finally reach the outer northern suburbs of the city, still noticeably poorer than the south but with one big difference – that the people here look alive, smiling and laughing as they go about their daily business. Joie de vivre crinkling the corners of their eyes. The oppressive weight of poverty in the air is not so keenly felt here. The bus pulls into Paripe, and I disembark, admittedly very relieved to find two of my brasilero friends waiting for me. Another short minibus journey later and we are at the beach, a curved golden arc of fine sand and splashing children (it is Sunday after all). The day passes pleasurably enough and before I know it I am on the bus back to the south, travelling one more through the endless roofs and huts of the favela.
Salvador de Bahia - Pelourinho – Tuesday 1st March
So. I arrived on Friday morning, spent the rest of the day, and most of Saturday in bed. The heat. Wow, I’d forgotten what its like. I stepped out of the plane into what felt like a walk of wet moisture. Que gostoso. On Sunday, the daughter, Jamilly (aged 30) took me for a drive round the vicinity to help me get my bearings, she then dropped me in front of Praia de Porto (a very busy jam packed beach on account that its very popular for swimming) so I could use the internet. I then walked home and slept. A lot. On Monday I had a little venture to the beach and then went back and chatted with the family and watched a film. So by Tuesday I was feeling pretty rested, and a bit stir crazy having gone to the beach again during the day. I mean don’t get my wrong, I loves the beach but I was beginning to crave a bit more human contact! Oh and the family have two minute poodles. One is 14 years old – that’s 98 in human years! And the other 4, who is VERY attention demanding. And loves cuddles. Well who doesn’t? the older one sounds like a squashed parrot when it tries to bark. Hoohum.
So, my friend Maria and her traveling company, Magdalena, were arriving back today from traveling around Colombia, after a quick phone conversation it was clear that they were very tired and in no fit state to go out. So. I had found out about a salsa night in Pelourinho (the old quarter) at a certain Sankofa African Bar which apparently had a live salsa band. I rang up and the woman assured me it started at 10 sharp. So I got a taxi for just before 11, I arrived…to find myself the only one in the place. Hoohum. My first lesson on Brazilian timing! However, outside was a riot of noise and colour as the city was heating up for carnival. You could almost smell the anticipation in the air. I began to wander around the streets taking in the sights, smells and sounds. The streets were already pretty busy, so was lucky that I am so tall. I am not sure why but most of the men seemed to be of the very short skinny boyish build variety, so I felt rather grand striding through the ranks. Lol.
Gangs of men and teenagers filled the streets, loitering round the beer stands, or leaning against walls, often just standing without talking, if they were immersed in conversation, this was quickly faltered if a female (of basically any age) walked past. The gender ratio was about 3 to 4 men to every female. Loud carnival/samba, funk, reggae (pronounced heh-gae) and pagoda blasted from every corner. I have noticed throughout my travels in Latin America that a sound technicians job is generally to make everything as loud as possible, especially the bass. The louder the better. The few woman that were around were generally with their boyfriends, there were small groups of younger looking women (around 14-18) but very few older. Although of course, appearance of age is very deceptive here. A boy appearing to be about 19,20 will probably be in his late 20´s.
After about half an hour of wandering around, following a samba procession, watching a group of exceptionally good dancers,and generally soaking up the elevated fiesta type atmosphere, I happened to follow a girl of about my height with the most AMAZING afro though an archway tucked away in a side street. It opened up into a medium sized courtyard rammed with people. An 8 sq foot back stage had been erected and was filled with a 5 piece band playing a mix of Pagode and other regional Brazilian music (Pagode is a kind of slower Brazilian reggaeton meets dancehall) I danced for a while in the centre of the crowd, feeding off the endless unsurpassable energy that a crowd of Brazilians always seem to give out. A cold drink quickly became very desirable, so in heading in the direction of the nearest large SCHOL sign (a Brazilian beer) I passed the group of dancers i´d seen earlier. One purchased bebida (drink) later I made my way back to stand closeish to the group of dancers to watch. I wasn't even dancing, more concerned with the much needed refreshment. To my delight a more´latiný sounding track came on and on of the dancers suddenly grabbed me, almost spilling the rest of my drink in the process, and started dancing with me….dancing salsa! No joke. I mean to him it could have been a faster Forro (its similar in places). To me, well the big fat smile of my face said it all. It was one of those ´I feel like giving a big thumbs up to God moments´. Layan (the dancer) was pretty good at Cuban too! And surprisingly strong too (seeing as he was only 5ft 6) before I knew it I was being flung onto one hip and then the other (rocknroll styley), flipped around and then over his back, over 360¨and then dipped, before continuing dancing. I normally really don’t like people I don't know flipping me as lots of men do not know how to do it properly. However with Layan I felt surprisingly safe. Layan is a classic example of what I was talking about earlier, he has a short slim boyish build and quite baby looking face. It turned out he was 27. Humph? I was later introduced to the group and we all proceeded to dance away until about 1am when about half of us headed to Sankofa – and salsa :)
Climbing the stairs to the venue up to where the salsa band was situated was like approaching a hot and steamy shower room. Once actually on the darkened floor it was difficult to breathe it was SO hot. The room was absolutely jam packed with darkened writhing bodies. Think a bigger Cubanas with the lights off (Sheffieldonians), the Casa but with about 5 times as many people (Liverpool dwellers), or La Floradita times 10 (Londonites). The air felt thick, wet, and hard to swallow, the humidity and heat pressing in from every angle. We'd arrived in between sets so the DJ was currently spinning a mix of carnival, samba, funk, pagode and dancehall. When the band did come on about 20mins later they were actually really good and I managed to find a corner where it was actually possible to dance as opposed to grind and shuffle. At about 3am I pleaded exhaustion to my nearly found danceros, and so two of them accompanied me to the nearby taxi rank to be swiftly winged home to bed. I could feel the fatigue drenching my muscles. I believe my last conscious thought before my head hit the pillow was ´ah well, there’s salsa, I can survive in this town´. Zzzzz.
So, my friend Maria and her traveling company, Magdalena, were arriving back today from traveling around Colombia, after a quick phone conversation it was clear that they were very tired and in no fit state to go out. So. I had found out about a salsa night in Pelourinho (the old quarter) at a certain Sankofa African Bar which apparently had a live salsa band. I rang up and the woman assured me it started at 10 sharp. So I got a taxi for just before 11, I arrived…to find myself the only one in the place. Hoohum. My first lesson on Brazilian timing! However, outside was a riot of noise and colour as the city was heating up for carnival. You could almost smell the anticipation in the air. I began to wander around the streets taking in the sights, smells and sounds. The streets were already pretty busy, so was lucky that I am so tall. I am not sure why but most of the men seemed to be of the very short skinny boyish build variety, so I felt rather grand striding through the ranks. Lol.
Gangs of men and teenagers filled the streets, loitering round the beer stands, or leaning against walls, often just standing without talking, if they were immersed in conversation, this was quickly faltered if a female (of basically any age) walked past. The gender ratio was about 3 to 4 men to every female. Loud carnival/samba, funk, reggae (pronounced heh-gae) and pagoda blasted from every corner. I have noticed throughout my travels in Latin America that a sound technicians job is generally to make everything as loud as possible, especially the bass. The louder the better. The few woman that were around were generally with their boyfriends, there were small groups of younger looking women (around 14-18) but very few older. Although of course, appearance of age is very deceptive here. A boy appearing to be about 19,20 will probably be in his late 20´s.
After about half an hour of wandering around, following a samba procession, watching a group of exceptionally good dancers,and generally soaking up the elevated fiesta type atmosphere, I happened to follow a girl of about my height with the most AMAZING afro though an archway tucked away in a side street. It opened up into a medium sized courtyard rammed with people. An 8 sq foot back stage had been erected and was filled with a 5 piece band playing a mix of Pagode and other regional Brazilian music (Pagode is a kind of slower Brazilian reggaeton meets dancehall) I danced for a while in the centre of the crowd, feeding off the endless unsurpassable energy that a crowd of Brazilians always seem to give out. A cold drink quickly became very desirable, so in heading in the direction of the nearest large SCHOL sign (a Brazilian beer) I passed the group of dancers i´d seen earlier. One purchased bebida (drink) later I made my way back to stand closeish to the group of dancers to watch. I wasn't even dancing, more concerned with the much needed refreshment. To my delight a more´latiný sounding track came on and on of the dancers suddenly grabbed me, almost spilling the rest of my drink in the process, and started dancing with me….dancing salsa! No joke. I mean to him it could have been a faster Forro (its similar in places). To me, well the big fat smile of my face said it all. It was one of those ´I feel like giving a big thumbs up to God moments´. Layan (the dancer) was pretty good at Cuban too! And surprisingly strong too (seeing as he was only 5ft 6) before I knew it I was being flung onto one hip and then the other (rocknroll styley), flipped around and then over his back, over 360¨and then dipped, before continuing dancing. I normally really don’t like people I don't know flipping me as lots of men do not know how to do it properly. However with Layan I felt surprisingly safe. Layan is a classic example of what I was talking about earlier, he has a short slim boyish build and quite baby looking face. It turned out he was 27. Humph? I was later introduced to the group and we all proceeded to dance away until about 1am when about half of us headed to Sankofa – and salsa :)
Climbing the stairs to the venue up to where the salsa band was situated was like approaching a hot and steamy shower room. Once actually on the darkened floor it was difficult to breathe it was SO hot. The room was absolutely jam packed with darkened writhing bodies. Think a bigger Cubanas with the lights off (Sheffieldonians), the Casa but with about 5 times as many people (Liverpool dwellers), or La Floradita times 10 (Londonites). The air felt thick, wet, and hard to swallow, the humidity and heat pressing in from every angle. We'd arrived in between sets so the DJ was currently spinning a mix of carnival, samba, funk, pagode and dancehall. When the band did come on about 20mins later they were actually really good and I managed to find a corner where it was actually possible to dance as opposed to grind and shuffle. At about 3am I pleaded exhaustion to my nearly found danceros, and so two of them accompanied me to the nearby taxi rank to be swiftly winged home to bed. I could feel the fatigue drenching my muscles. I believe my last conscious thought before my head hit the pillow was ´ah well, there’s salsa, I can survive in this town´. Zzzzz.
Salvador de Bahia - travel blog February 2011
Salvador. A city where the streets pound with endless intermingling rhythms. Where dance is a way of life, not just a pastime. Where everything seems to have its own in built movement to it. What I love so far about this city (despite the endless overflowing music) is how multicultural it is. And I mean multicultural ignoring the hundreds of tourists that flock to the city every year, especially around the time of carnival. (apparently there are over 12,000 people on the streets every single day of carnival – n that’s just an estimate!!) There are literally every skin type under the sun here. I´ve been walking behind people thinking oh well they’re blatantly a tourist, and then snatches of very Brazilian Portuguese float over to my absorbing eardrums. Tho on the plus side, this means I can blend in much more easily (which of course is always advisable if you´re traveling on your own, especially if you´re a woman) I never understand why some tourist make themselves stand out so painfully. A typical example has just walked past me, a couple in their early thirties both with the Lonely Planet Guide to Brazil clearly on show, bling camera round their necks, walking trainers, what I like to call ´gringo pants´(those walking trousers with lots of pockets you can turn into shorts) and baseball caps. I mean you might as well stick a big sing on their back saying I´M A GRINGO PLEASE ROB ME!! (Tho as a side note, the name gringo in Brazil refers to any foreigner not just people from the States and supposedly isn´t offensive...)
So…onto the Brazilians themselves. The men strutting, lounging and jogging up and down the sea front and nearly all blocks of glistening toned muscle – most of them with pecs big enough to fill a C cup. Ahem. The women on the other hand, are much softer looking, even the very thin Brazilians I’ve seen have the appearance of curves about them, and quite often lil pot bellies. I would say its nice to know that the mad diet fads of the states haven’t yet reached Brazillian soil but that initial thought was quickly squashed when I first visited a supermarkets – which has its own AISLE of diet aids. There are also about 5 or 6 magazines I´ve seen so far, entirely devoted to dieting. Anyhoo, its still good to know that apparently Brazilians like their women looking like women – whatever the media might say.
The supermarkets were somewhat of a pleasant (! well pleasant after Cuba at any rate) surprise. I mean, I am staying in one of the wealthiest areas of the city, but you can literally buy anything – Redbull, Dove soap, apples, cakes and pastries to fill any small childs wildest fantasies, Nestle cereal, Sure deodorant, Loreal Shampoo – the list goes on. The downside is that products aren´t much cheaper than englsih supermarkets. A twin set of Dove Shampoo costs 20reals – about 7squids. So I am going to haver to watch my pennies a little closer than I thought, but thankfully the family i´m staying with are providing me with 3 effective meals a day even tho dinner is usually just some bread and a small bowl of soup. I´m only really having to buy apples, fruit juice and water.
I´m trying to be a good little traveler and try all the local delights. I can now officially say that I´m not a massive fan of caju juice (the orange fruit that grows above cashew nut pods), although it is growing on me but I do really like fresh crab – even if eating it is rather laborious!
I have to say that I thought about you all yesterday, the mum, Maria and youngest daughter, Jamilly (aged 30), took me out for am fresh seafood Sunday lunch at a beach side restaurant. I couldn´t help thinking that the cold grey drizzle of English skies felt a long way away whole I broke open my whole crabs with a little white hammer, occasionally drinking from quite possibly the most scrumptious pineapple (virgin) cocktail I´ve ever tasted in my life and allowing the ocean breeze to waft tantalizingly past my face.
So…onto the Brazilians themselves. The men strutting, lounging and jogging up and down the sea front and nearly all blocks of glistening toned muscle – most of them with pecs big enough to fill a C cup. Ahem. The women on the other hand, are much softer looking, even the very thin Brazilians I’ve seen have the appearance of curves about them, and quite often lil pot bellies. I would say its nice to know that the mad diet fads of the states haven’t yet reached Brazillian soil but that initial thought was quickly squashed when I first visited a supermarkets – which has its own AISLE of diet aids. There are also about 5 or 6 magazines I´ve seen so far, entirely devoted to dieting. Anyhoo, its still good to know that apparently Brazilians like their women looking like women – whatever the media might say.
The supermarkets were somewhat of a pleasant (! well pleasant after Cuba at any rate) surprise. I mean, I am staying in one of the wealthiest areas of the city, but you can literally buy anything – Redbull, Dove soap, apples, cakes and pastries to fill any small childs wildest fantasies, Nestle cereal, Sure deodorant, Loreal Shampoo – the list goes on. The downside is that products aren´t much cheaper than englsih supermarkets. A twin set of Dove Shampoo costs 20reals – about 7squids. So I am going to haver to watch my pennies a little closer than I thought, but thankfully the family i´m staying with are providing me with 3 effective meals a day even tho dinner is usually just some bread and a small bowl of soup. I´m only really having to buy apples, fruit juice and water.
I´m trying to be a good little traveler and try all the local delights. I can now officially say that I´m not a massive fan of caju juice (the orange fruit that grows above cashew nut pods), although it is growing on me but I do really like fresh crab – even if eating it is rather laborious!
I have to say that I thought about you all yesterday, the mum, Maria and youngest daughter, Jamilly (aged 30), took me out for am fresh seafood Sunday lunch at a beach side restaurant. I couldn´t help thinking that the cold grey drizzle of English skies felt a long way away whole I broke open my whole crabs with a little white hammer, occasionally drinking from quite possibly the most scrumptious pineapple (virgin) cocktail I´ve ever tasted in my life and allowing the ocean breeze to waft tantalizingly past my face.
New songs to learn on the guitar?
I have been using the time at home (I've recently fractured my ankle) to try and learn various songs on my guitar, which has been overdue by about 10 years. So far I've done Fever (Elvis), Songbird (Eva Cassidy), More than a Melody (Anna Nalick), Hallelujah, Little House (Amanda Seyfried), Paperweight and Hello (Schuyler Fisk), The Streets of London, Sunrise (Norah Jones), Nothings Real but Love (Rebecca Ferguson) and several that I've written myself.
Has anyone else got any suggestions of songs I can add? I'm thinking of maybe starting with, Leaving on a Jet Plane? Thanks :)
Wednesday 12 November 2014
Monday 3 November 2014
Monday morning ness
Monday mornings. Most people's least favourite part of the week - the go back to work, organise the kids/dogs/other half day. Today greeted me with grey skies and drizzle, the clouds hanging heavy in the sky with water vapour, ready to burst forth into rain at any given point.
I have the day off today so am using it to finish off all those little things one puts off until they have an opportune time (such as this). However, I am a world class procrastinator when it comes to getting round to jobs such as search for new saving accounts with better interest rates. But, gotta be done :)
Hope everyone has a productive day
I have the day off today so am using it to finish off all those little things one puts off until they have an opportune time (such as this). However, I am a world class procrastinator when it comes to getting round to jobs such as search for new saving accounts with better interest rates. But, gotta be done :)
Hope everyone has a productive day
Sunday 2 November 2014
Songwriting Sunday
Do you ever just get the urge to put pen to paper and write, almost for the sake of it? Today's weather has been fierce and unfriendly, encouraging me to stay in and give my guitar some much needed attention. I found myself constantly wanting to reach for a pad of paper and write down lyrics and stray thoughts.
I always feel that if you're in the zone, creatively, you should seize the opportunity to the best of your advantage.
I always feel that if you're in the zone, creatively, you should seize the opportunity to the best of your advantage.
All Wrapped Up in You - Original Song by Melissa Cantello and Calum Carlyle
Another song I wrote a few years ago with a great songwriter/musician from Edinburgh, Calum Carlyle
All Wrapped Up in You - Original Song by Melissa Cantello and Calum Carlyle
All Wrapped Up in You - Original Song by Melissa Cantello and Calum Carlyle
Biography
Melissa Cantello (formerly known as Emma Saville) is a singer/songwriter who has worked extensively throughout the UK and internationally.
Melissa Cantello sings soul, Latin, jazz, blues, gospel, house, and chillout. Melissa also plays the piano, guitar and clarinet.
Melissa wrote several successful tracks on the first album ‘Clear Blue Eyes’ (https://itunes.apple.com/gb/album/clear-blue-eyes/id529526799) she wrote in collaboration with Minus Bluewww.myspace.com/minusblue/ https://soundcloud.com/mustard-music-publishing/sets/minus-blue-clear-blue-eyes (Leigh Devlin, the producer behind Minus Blue).
Be as One https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Czd9eOA919ohttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iAiEawx_sNQ
Ocean Sky - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KYT_AEV2YkU
Watching The Sky Together (Seamless Recordings)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CmzvRBUBzrY&list=PLS3pCGNN5xgMDVXlXR1KmlWHbuqKggQ0J
Melissa has worked with various different producers and musicians worldwide for over 10 years, which has sustained a keen sense of client and customer focus. She has developed and maintained a wide range of contacts and customers to work productively.
Melissa wrote several successful tracks on the first album ‘Clear Blue Eyes’ (https://itunes.apple.com/gb/album/clear-blue-eyes/id529526799) she wrote in collaboration with Minus Bluewww.myspace.com/minusblue/ https://soundcloud.com/mustard-music-publishing/sets/minus-blue-clear-blue-eyes (Leigh Devlin, the producer behind Minus Blue).
Be as One https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Czd9eOA919ohttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iAiEawx_sNQ
Ocean Sky - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KYT_AEV2YkU
Watching The Sky Together (Seamless Recordings)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CmzvRBUBzrY&list=PLS3pCGNN5xgMDVXlXR1KmlWHbuqKggQ0J
Melissa has worked with various different producers and musicians worldwide for over 10 years, which has sustained a keen sense of client and customer focus. She has developed and maintained a wide range of contacts and customers to work productively.
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