Salvador

After spending five days living it lazy, we caught a flight to nearby Salvador for our next dose of urban sprawl.  After we grabbed lunch from a nearby café, I took it upon myself to figure out how to get some of our clothes laundered.  It's a cheap time to be a Brit in Brazil, but hotel laundry service still costs the indentured servitude of future offspring.  I found a laundry not too far away that was notionally self-service, but you had to buy tokens. After my exceptional impression of a babbling moron, the lady there did most of it for me.  I've taken to brandishing the 'thumbs up' gesture at every social interaction that results with a vaguely positive outcome or successful communication.  I look like a demented Paul McCartney. This trip will probably result in me being hanged when I inevitably stumble upon a people to whom that is a profane insult to their ancestors.  But on this occasion: clean clothes. Yay.

Felipe, the chef at The Butterfly House, trained with a Spanish guy who owns a restaurant in Salvador. It's a small place (but well renowned, it turns out) but he phoned ahead and greased the skids for us to pop in when we were in town.  It's run by the Spanish chap's Brazilian wife, who we WhatsApp'ed (is that verb? Bollocks to this decade) when we were in town and arranged to drop in later in the evening.  It was exceptional. I'm not one to Instagram or blog my food -unless it's funny or weird- but we have been taking pictures as we go along so we remember where we were and what we had. Have a gander.

The following day we had a tour guide drive us around town, giving us the history of the city and the country in general.  Apparently the Spanish and the Dutch ran the place on occasion, but it didn't stick.  They were eventually a republic, had the occasional coup and military dictatorship, and then they grew out of it.  The various town squares are haunted by the big black ladies in the traditional garb and flexible youths putting on mediocre capoeira displays. I have no photographs of any of that because they all want paying for posing, and I seldom had a note smaller than 50 groats on me - which no one ever had change for, what with it being a whole £9 and all.

The church and monastery of St Francis is the single most elaborately decorated house of God I have ever seen, and we've seen a few.  Historically, the tithes paid to the church took the form of gold rather than cash (as the locally mined gold was exported by way of Salvador) so they used it to gild everything that was nailed down.  It was ridiculous.  The black slave artisans of the time (whose African religion was suppressed by the Portuguese) took the opportunity to make the various cherubs and Portuguese representations overly stupid-looking and mocking.   The Portuguese just thought they weren't very good at representing white people.

Herp derp 

Salvador, like the other major cities in Brazil, has favelas dotted about its hillsides, housing its least affluent.  We had a chat about the favelas on the way back to the hotel.  Evidently there are strata of favela ranging from wriggly tin lean-tos in the first generation of houses, to crudely built brick homes with running water, power and satellite TV in the later generations.  None of the houses in the favelas exist on any deeds or land registry, but as the population of the city grows (along with its demand for middle-class housing), the ancillary space on hillsides next to the city in which the favelas were established starts to look more like viable real estate. The owners of the houses frequently get bought out by developers - at a government regulated fair price, which is about double what the 'market' value is- and often set themselves up in a legitimate home in the suburbs.  The government is very keen to turn people who exist off the radar into legitimate taxpayers and grateful voters.  Choose your squat wisely.  

I can't remember what the dancing water bints are bringing to the party

 There are always the stalwarts who won't budge, though. To be fair, they often have a nice view.

It's the typhoid that makes it so homey

We rounded off with another ridiculously good meal at a place the guide suggested. I'll save you the food-shots save for the dessert.

Brigadeiro doesn't judge you; Brigadeiro likes you just as you are.

I tried the brigadeiro, which Jamie Oliver made the terminal error of insulting on national television, the fat-tongued twathorse.   It's an early grave in a cup but it's also a beloved comfort food and broadly as moreish as meth.

So that was the last city visit in Brazil.  Contrary to expectations we remain un-mugged and keen to return.

Kurzfassung auf Deutsch: Ich denke, dass ich die letzte zusammenfass vergessen. Wir haben diese Mal in Salvador verbrachten. Wir haben die Altstadt besucht und wir haben die verschiedenen Fototermine mit den Einheimischen vermieden, weil sie wollen immer gezahlt werden, und ich habe nie klein genug Geld gehabt.
Das Essen war immer sehr lecker. Brasilien hat uns gut behandelt.