Bullets in Bahia
The Linger Loco!
Chapter 18: Bullets in Bahia
Through blurry eyes I see Chris storming towards me
across the ticket hall. He looks horrified and slaps me
around the back of the head.
‘Cover yourself up, boy!’ he shouts.
‘Hey, what was that for?’
‘Your left testicle is hanging out of your shorts. Everyone
can see!’
I catch a pretty girl sat on a bench close by quickly look
away.
‘You’re an embarrassment that’s what you are, an embarrassment
to the British.’
‘Fuck you!’ I cry, whipping my testicle back inside my
shorts. ‘How was I supposed to know? I’m not some kind
of fucking magician or mind freak like Derren Brown. I’m
an average Joe, who just happened to have fallen asleep in
Rio de Janeiro bus station with a testicle exposed.’
‘You look like a tramp.’
‘We’ve been up all night – it’s not my fault!’
Mortified, I grab my wash kit and decide to take a shower.
Quickly freshening up, I brush my teeth and change my Tshirt
and boxer shorts. Returning from the toilet block
with a skip in my step, I see Chris sat propped up against
the wall studying the guidebook.
‘The bus leaves for Vitoria in an hour,’ he grins, looking
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up from a page, ‘which means we should make it in time
to catch a connecting night bus to Porto Seguro.’
‘Are you sure leaving Rio is the right thing to do?’
‘Definitely.’
‘But we’re skint! What’s the point travelling two thousand
kilometres north, when our flight is from Buenos
Aires two thousand kilometres south of here?’
‘Si, you heard what Franco said. Carnival in Olinda isn’t
just any Carnival.’
‘Well, maybe Franco was talking out of his arsehole! It’s
probably changed. We’ve travelled fucking miles over
mountains and through thick jungle to get here. Shouldn’t
we just relax now and get on with the party?’
Chris shakes his head. ‘No chance! I’ve got a funny feeling
about Olinda. Why stop here?’
‘Because it’s four thousand kilometres out of our way,
that’s why! Shouldn’t we spend the money on seeing more
in Rio instead? Be pretty mad to see that parade in the
Sambodromo with loads of near-naked girls in glittery costumes.’
Chris looks up and holds this image for a second. ‘You’re
right, why are we leaving again?’
I laugh and shrug my shoulders. ‘I don’t know?’
‘No, fuck it, Si, we know why we’re leaving,’ he smiles,
springing to his feet. ‘It’s all very well seeing a fancy
parade, but what’s the point if you have to watch it sitting
down.’
‘Sitting down?’
‘Yeah, you get given a seat number and how much you
spend depends on how close you get. Pay shit loads and
you’ll get a seat in the front row. Pay shag all and you’ll be
standing at the back with the cleaner.’
‘You can’t just join in for free with the locals?’
‘Nope, you have to go into the streets to do that.’
‘Well, can’t we do that, then?’
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‘That’s exactly what we’re going do in Olinda! Look Si,
Brazil is huge! Let’s leave Rio for the five-day tourists. We
partied in the street all last night; we’ve seen the Christ
Redeemer up-close and checked out Santa Teresa. It’s time
to go somewhere new – it’s time to go in search of the real
Carnival!’
We arrive in the coastal town of Porto Seguro around 7am,
and before we know it we’re in a taxi and flying towards
the magnificent blue ocean. The streets of Porto Seguro are
lined with colourful buildings, which are no more than
two stories high, giving the place a tranquil village feel.
The cab pulls up outside a hostel on a road running parallel
with the ocean. We pay the driver and step inside.
Approaching the wooden reception desk, we check in and
a young guy shows us to a room with a private balcony and
a hammock. It’s perfect! We open the window shutters and
chill out. The balcony looks out over a small garden, and
swinging in the hammock for a while I watch a bottlegreen
humming bird feeding on the nectar of a tropical
flower. We decide to explore and head up the hill to the
historic town. Colourful old buildings and a church stand
on the hilltop, and we quickly discover Porto Seguro is
one of the first places where the Portuguese landed in
1500. The explorer Pedro Álvares Cabral was en route to
India when he could smell gold and accidentally drifted
thousands of kilometres across the Atlantic Ocean towards
Brazil. I try to imagine the ships on the horizon heading
this way to a new tropical land – a tropical land owned by
the Tupi tribe, who were naked cannibals that lived on the
Brazilian coast. For Pedro Álvares Cabral and his men this
must have been a lovely surprise.
After a quick siesta and a shower back at the hostel, we
feel re-energised and ready to experience what Porto
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Seguro has to offer. I stand on the balcony dressed-toimpress
and smoke a Lucky Strike. For the first time in
weeks I feel completely relaxed. It’s hot, and I feel wiser
for our journey across South America and kissed by the
sun. Chris locks the door and we head out into the street.
A night market has appeared in front of our hostel and
hoards of tourists dressed in bright clothes wander by at a
leisurely pace. We turn right and walk along Passarela do
Alcool (Alcohol Walkway) and pass a long line of stalls
selling fruit cocktails. Restaurant touts mob us and tempt
us with their menus, but we manage to resist and sit on
stools at one of the small outside bars. A lady beams
behind a mountain of fruit and bottles of alcohol. We
study the menu and decide to test out the capeta (a vodka
and guarana laced cocktail). It has the desired effect and
we pay the woman and leave with big smiles across our
faces. There’s an awesome atmosphere in the town, and
with a skip in our step we poke our heads around a huge
wooden stand that has been constructed for the Carnival
festivities. Ready for another drink, we pass a bar further
up the street with tables outside. An attractive waitress in
tight white trousers and a colourful T-shirt hands us a
menu, and Chris orders the caipirinhas. Watching the
hoards of beautiful Brazilian and Portuguese holidaymakers
march by, we sip our drinks and smoke the odd cigarette.
A girl sitting on the table behind taps Chris on the shoulder
and asks for a light. He smiles and whips a lighter out of
his pocket. Sparking a flame, he attempts to communicate
with her in basic Spanish with the odd Portuguese word
he’s picked up thrown in. She seems interested to learn
we’re from England and explains that she works in a bikini
shop close by. Chris moves his seat closer and smiles, paying
full attention. I decide to leave them to it and head to the
toilet inside the bar. The interior has been interestingly
designed, with photos on the walls of Hollywood movie
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stars from the Sixties and there’s a large screen over the bar
projecting surreal swirling patterns. I use the toilet and get
chatting to the owner at the bar. He speaks English and I
quickly learn he is from Lisbon in Portugal.
Complementing him on his interesting choice of décor, he
seems genuinely pleased to meet an Englishman and joins
our table for a few drinks. He knows the girls sitting on the
table outside, and introduces us to his beautiful Brazilian
girlfriend. The street begins to fill with people, and seeing
an enormous truck approaching with flashing lights on the
top, I decide to go for a wander by myself and check it out.
Squeezing through the crowd of smiling faces, I buy a
drink from a street stall and stand on the pavement with
hundreds of excited revellers. The people around me look
quite raw and very Brazilian. Many of the guys have their
tops off and their dark skin is covered in sweat, while the
girls giggle and dance together with their arms and legs covered
in luminous paint. There seems to be quite a lot of
military police about, who are dressed in body armour and
have batons and handguns strapped around their waists,
but their presence doesn’t appear to stop the fun.
Hearing the music getting louder, the atmosphere takes
hold of me and I find I’m unable to resist having a dance
to the axe, an insane fusion of samba, pop, rock, reggae
and Caribbean music, blasting from the enormous wall of
speakers along the length of the approaching truck. I stand
back and look in awe at the beautiful girl singing into a
microphone on the top of the truck. She shakes her curly
blonde hair and leads the crowd with power and confidence.
As the truck passes by everyone around goes crazy.
I hang onto the rope that’s held in a rectangular shape
behind the truck and dance along with the bloco. All of the
people inside the rope are wearing the same bright green
vests with the name of the bloco written on it, Axe-Mai,
and they dance, drink and sing together as they’re dragged
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along by the slowly moving truck. I grab hands and kiss
girls as they glide by, and racing around to the end of the
bloco, I follow the truck on the other side of the pavement
and pause to buy another can of beer. An old lady collecting
aluminium cans in a sack asks for my empty beer and
throwing it inside her bag, I impulsively grab her hand and
we begin to dance together. I find the rhythm of the
Brazilian beats quite natural, and with a smile I spin her
around. Laughing, she kisses me on the cheek and returns
to collecting cans off the ground. Full of energy, I race
ahead of the truck and dance between the stands that have
been built for the crowds in the style of a mini Rio
Sambodromo. Squeezing past a group of guys, a fight suddenly
breaks out. A circle forms around them, and I watch
in shock as one of the psychotic kids with a large tattoo of
an eagle on his back whips out a handmade gun and fires
it in the air. He runs off into the crowd before the police
arrive, and I’m reminded where I am and the harsh reality
of life in Brazil. Feeling a little freaked out I return to the bar.
* * *
Dipping my white buttocks into the warm ocean creates a
tingling sensation behind my ears. There’s nothing like
skinny dipping at night with a beautiful girl to get your
cockles cockling. Gatty squeals and bobs up and down in
the shallows, her breasts sparkling in the bright moonlight.
‘This is so much fun!’ I laugh, feeling my penis shrink to
the size of an acorn.
Gatty frowns. ‘Que?’
‘Ah, I’m sorry I’ll try and speak Portuguese so you understand.
It’s respect, right? I mean, I am in Brazil after all.’
She frowns again. ‘Que?’
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It was whilst drinking a caipirinha that I came up with
the idea of swimming naked in the sea with Gatty. It had
worked for me once before during a road trip with Si
across the States. I had gone skinny dipping with a girl
called Jess in the neighbour’s pool at a house party in
Montana. Although, on that particular occasion it had
turned into a bit of a nightmare, as her psychotic brother
had caught me in the back of the van with his little sister
and proceeded to attack me with his bullwhip. Gatty pulls
her black hair back into a ponytail, and smiles. I grab her
around the waist and we kiss and dunk each other under
the water. Feeling refreshed we decide to dry off and have
a race out of the water. We laugh and spin each other
around in circles before falling onto the sand. I can hear
the faint sound of the Carnival music in the distance, and
can see people silhouetted along the top of the beach. It’s
dark where we are so no one can see us, which is good
because if the police spot my white ass we’re in big trouble.
Feeling slightly paranoid, I look up the beach and see
shadows moving around between the palm trees. I cover
my crotch and crouch down. Gatty stops spinning around
and looks at me with a puzzled face. She grabs my arm and
drags me to my feet. We dance around and slap each
other’s butt cheeks for a while, before kissing each other
on the lips. All of a sudden I see an orange light from a
torch skimming towards us across the sand. I grab Gatty’s
hand and we sprint a few metres away and squat down
behind a bush. The light gets brighter, and my heart starts
to beat rapidly inside my chest when I see three guys
approaching our clothes. The lads pause in front of them
and scan the area with the torch. We dip our heads behind
the bush and watch as they rummage through our pockets
- stealing my money and a full packet of cigarettes. One of
the guys even tries on my favourite T-shirt, and another
holds up my jeans in front of him. Why the hell am I cow-
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ering behind this bush when I’m being robbed right in
front of my very eyes? OK, so I’m naked, so what! Gatty
covers my mouth in the nick of time as I release a muffled
cry. The guys glance over their shoulders and run off down
the beach in fits of laughter. We crouch behind the bush
for a while longer until they’re out of sight. Scurrying over
to our clothes, Gatty quickly slips on her skirt and skimpy
top, while I look around in horror as I realise they’ve
nicked my jeans and T-shirt. I scan the sand for my boxers,
and then remember I wasn’t wearing any. We still hadn’t
managed to do any washing since arriving in Brazil, so
tonight I’d decided to go commando style. Gatty looks at
me and begins to laugh. I cover my privates with my hands
and feel suddenly very naked now she’s dressed.
‘Fuck!’ I cry. ‘What am I going to do?’
‘Que?’
‘Uh, não tenho roupas.’
‘Sim,’ she giggles.
‘It’s not fucking funny!’ I shout.
She frowns. ‘Que?’
Feeling sorry for me, Gatty looks serious for a minute
and fights a smile. I squat down and bury my head in my
hands.
‘Onde hotel, Chris?’
I point up the beach. ‘Dois minutos.’
‘Vamos!’
I shake my head and look down at my meat and two veg
hanging in the darkness. ‘No way, I stay here!’
Gatty doesn’t understand and begins to become restless.
‘I go,’ she smiles, her white teeth bright in the moonlight.
‘Amiga, OK? Cinco minutos.’
‘Why? Por que?’
She jogs off up the beach.
‘Hey, por favour!’ I cry in desperation. ‘Don’t leave me!’
I close my eyes for a second and wish that I could just
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disappear, or sink into the sand. I look up at the sky and
realise that it’s beginning to get light. In less than an hour
the sun will creep up over the horizon and flood the beach
in bright orange sunlight. I hear cars roar past on the main
road with music blasting from their powerful car stereos. I
feel terrified, vulnerable – like a snail without its shell.
Looking up and down the beach and over my shoulder, I
rack my brains as I try to decide what to do. Where’s Gatty
gone? I don’t even know where she’s staying – and what
friend? How will I get back to the hotel without any
clothes? Close to tears, I try to regain some composure and
tell myself to behave like a man. So I’m naked – who cares!
These things happen in life. We’re born naked, for fuck’s
sake. It’s not my fault. Anyway, I look good naked – I’ve got
nothing to be ashamed of. But then negative thoughts
begin to plague my mind, what if the police catch me and
think I’m a pervert? I could be thrown in jail.’
Suddenly, I hear laughter coming from the road. It begins
to grow louder, and scurrying across the sand I jump
behind the safety of the bush. I hear a female voice
approaching. She giggles, and breaking into a run she
flicks sand into the air as a young guy chases her across the
beach. They pass a few feet away from where I’m hiding,
and I cover my head with my arms and pray they don’t see
me. Tackling her to the sand in front of me, the guy pins
her to the ground and they pant breathlessly. I cover my
mouth, and watch in stunned silence as they begin kissing
passionately. The guy runs his hands over her body, and
hitches up her skirt. She wriggles beneath his weight,
pushing her hips into his crotch. Their passion grows
more intense, and watching her unbuckle his belt they begin
having sex right in front of me. Waiting for their passion to
increase, I wait for the right moment and, hidden by a veil
of grunts and groans as they lose themselves in a sexual
frenzy, I disappear deeper into the undergrowth. Sprinting
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over to a second bush close to the path, I climb right inside
and bite my nails as a group of girls skip by in the street. I
can see a glow on the horizon, and I know I have less than
thirty minutes before I’m caught in the bright light of day.
People probably come down to the beach to watch the sunrise,
I’ll be exposed by hundreds of tourists as they point
and laugh at my cock and balls, which will have shriveled
up in shame and fear.
Suddenly, I see Gatty running up the path. I peer over the
bush and call out her name.
‘Gatty!’ I hiss. ‘Over here!’
She sees me and breaks into a huge grin. Throwing me
an item of clothing, I catch it in mid-air and quickly slip it
over my head. I step into the light and Gatty bursts out
laughing.
‘What the fuck’s this!’ I cry.
‘Cama roupas,’ she laughs.
Persuading myself that it’s Carnival and that I could be
mistaken for being in fancy dress costume, I sprint behind
Gatty through the streets of Porto Seguro and hold firmly
onto the hem of my pink Hello Kitty nightgown as we
disappear inside the hotel.
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