The Pretty Pelo

I finally managed to make a trip to the colonial part of Salvador, Pelourinho. I wished at the time that I could've visited outside of Carnaval since just about all buildings and monuments were boarded up. Av Sete de Setembro looked like it was a street full of character away from the ad hoc bars and food stalls.

Having walked the five-odd kilometers from Barra, I was glad to have persisted, blisters and all. All I knew of Pelourinho was that it was a relatively safer area and touristy, so I was pleased to be around such pretty old buildings and cobblestone streets. In a way, the buildings were similar to the rest of Latin America's colonial cities', with ornate wrought iron window grills and balconies, and colorful facades, but the fact that most of the buildings were taller and built on hills, made it different somehow.

As typically pretty and colonial it was, it typically couldn't escape tourism. Every building was dedicated to that industry, being an internet café, restaurant, souvenir store or artisan shop. Capoiera artists performed and posed for tourists while musicians played for a few coins. Due to some banking issues, I learned I missed the bus onwards to Rio, but that turned out to be a blessing. It was at night that the Pelo really came alive.

The Party Pelo

I stayed at Centro Cultural do Bispo, a hard to find, kind of an arty bohemian loft where people hung about in hammocks or played guitars on the vast empty social area. The dorms had quadruple bunk beds and little privacy, and you could ask for cleaner facilities. But it was friendly, cheap and right in the middle of the Pelo.

I met a Gold Coast girl, Caroline, and a sports mad Briton there, and that night, we joined a local guy who played in a jazz band. The band was having a jam session later, but in the meantime, he led us around the place, visiting different venues where live music was being played. There was something for everyone. Traditional folk in a huge restaurant courtyard, pop outside a bar, rock on the roof, an acoustic set for a crowded café... the venues ranged from places you could hear and see from the street to hidden rooms you never could tell a party was at.

When it was finally time to check out the jazz band, we were led through a musical instrument shop to the back storeroom, and behind that, there was a small group listening to the Afro drum jazz band jam! It was a mix of all kinds of drums, guiros, the occasional cowbell, sometimes a keyboard, electric guitar, trombone, vocal... whatever they felt deserved the next solo. Half the listeners were dreadlocked locals and the other half, fascinated tourists. It was an awesome night.