the night before the week to come...

I was told that the night before carnival officially starts is the most important night of the week...

the streets are alive with people.  we're pushing our way through the crowds, navigating the narrow streets, avoiding the temptation to stop at that packed bar at the corner playing samba beats, or to stop and dance with that group of people over there playing dums, or to stop and listen to that animated conversation.

the salsa bar that we have been recommended sounds amazing from the street.  upstairs the music spills out of the open windows and down to us as we pay to get in.

it's small and heaving with people dancing salsa to what I suddenly realise is a live band, with a full horn section no less!

my friends from Portuguese school get the drinks in whilst I hit the dancefloor for the first time that night.  salsa has never been this good and as cheesy as it sounds, its never been this real.

the room is dark, the air is moist and the only relief from the heat that the dancing creates is on the tiny balcony on the second floor.  the air outside is still, but despite the lack of a breeze the tiny space soon becomes the second most popular place to be.  people fight for space, jostling around for a square inch to claim as their own. 

on the balcony the currency is conversation, fast and animated.  on the dancefloor the currency is dance, passionate and intense.

I flit between the dancefloor and the balcony all night.  high on the energy, dancing and conversations.  I find some amazing dance partners, and even chat to the charismatic bar owner.

I am disappointed when the music finally stops and I realise that I am one of the few left on the dancefloor.  it's time to find a cab and go home. 

may the carnival begin...

[picture courtesy of my going away card from Jo Headland]