I´m starting to get the impression that everyday is samba day here

It takes 32 hours to bus it from Rio to Salvador...that sounds like a horrible journey I know, but the comfortable air-con buses mean it´s not too bad, plus we´re used to the huge distances by now. We decided to go so far north in one go for a couple of reasons...Rio state was forecast yet more bad weather, so we´re hunting sunshine, but also we realise that it´ll be Christmas in 3.5 weeks and we need to get to where we want to spend the holidays before all the hotels fill up. We think we want to be around Trancoso, which is in the state of Bahia, about 400kms south of Salvador, but there´s plenty of other places we want to stop at in between. So we´re going to spend a couple of weeks exploring Bahian beaches as we gradually head south again to ultimately end up back in Rio in January after the New Year celebrations.

So first, Salvador da Bahia, known as the African heart of Brazil; it´s residents, descended from African slaves, have preserved their cultural roots and developed a city with a rich culture of music, dance, food and religion. It has a bit of a bad reputation and we´re warned by a few people to be careful. Getting into town at about 9pm we´re exhausted but starving and go out in search of a quick meal. We keep our wits about us as we scope the place out...it definitely has an edge and there are some streets that you wouldn´t walk down at night, but it doesn´t feel anymore dangerous than Rio (although I´m not sure that´s the best benchmark!)

One thing impossible to ignore are the street hustlers selling everything from 'lucky ribbons´ which they constantly try to tie to your wrist, sculptures made from recycled ring pulls, grilled cheese on a stick, their mum...everyone has something to sell (actually some don´t, they just ask for your money for nothing). It´s a constant barrage. I get quite good at saying no thanks and being left alone (apart from the odd wide-eyed child who can sense a soft spot a mile off) but Ritch is the boy who can´t say no. Too polite to blank people, everytime he´s greeted with a shout of 'hey! my friend!' he smiles and makes the eye contact that ensures we´ll now be followed for 10 minutes as we try to convince that we really have no need for feathered earrings. By day 2 we´re all out of 'no thank yous´ and start hatching ways of out hustling the hustlers. Our favorite, responding to their approach by loudly replying 'Dad! Where´ve you been, we´ve missed you!´

The timing of our arrival in the city couldn´t have been better...on every plaza around the historic centre, stages and sound systems are being set up and large posters proclaim that today is Dia de Salsa. We knew that every Tuesday the area around the Pelourinho throws a street party, the roots of which stem from a weekly religious service which traditionally took place in the square. In true Brazilian style this has developed into a less holy celebration where thousands gather to dance to the samba drums til the early hours. Every single week. You´ve got to love that attitude.

This Tuesday is special though. We don´t know why it´s Samba Day (especially as I´m starting to get the impression that everyday is samba day here) but the city is buzzing with excitement as some of the biggest names in Brazilian music are performing tonight. There´s even a stage being built right opposite our hostel balcony. It´s quite a party, which makes Friday night in Lapa seem tame. The streets are rammed, it seems like everyone in the city is out drinking and dancing and singing along with their favorites...it´s fantastic. I´d been warned that the men in Salvador could be very rude with wandering hands and to be careful. But found that everyone we met was lovely and friendly...but not too friendly! Whenever the crush in the street got too much we could retreat to our balcony and dance to the band playing opposite, it was just perfect.

The next day when we emerge for breakfast, I´m expecting to find a hungover city slowly getting back to work, but instead the streets are clean and the banners on the stages have been replaced ready for tonight´s fastival...well it is Wednesday. I have no idea what is being celebrated this time, but on the party goes.

I can´t believe it when we hit the streets on the 3rd day. It´s Thursday morning and today´s party has already started. This time it´s a celebration of a saint that must be honoured by everyone wearing red and drinking from breakfast time...this is going to get messy. We admit defeat...by nightfall the streets are full of ridiculously drunk people and this time it does have a bit of a dangerous edge. We sit this one out and opt for an excellent fish and crab moqueca at Dona Chika-ka´s where we can watch the red shirted revellers stagger about from the peace of our restaurant balcony and wonder how we´re going to get back across the heaving streets to our hostel.

This is one hell of a city. There are constant reminders of the brutal colonial past...the building down at the port which now holds an artists´ market was, until 120 years ago, where new shipments of slaves were held awaiting auction. These auctions took place in the square of Largo do Pelourinho, translating as the Whipping Post, which tells you what else occured here. When you think about this recent history, it´s easy to understand why everyday is worthy of a party in this city that joyfully celebrates the progress made from such violence and oppression. It´s also plain to see how much further there is to go...there is much poverty on the streets and in the favelas, and when you look at the yachts in the harbour it is clear that this is still a far from equal society.

Salvador will leave quite a visual impression...the rows of brightly painted colonial buildings housing artists´studios full of even brighter painted canvases; the plazas full of buff bare-chested boys twisting and turning as they perform capoeira (a martial art developed by slaves and hidden from their masters by disguising the fighting moves with acrobatic dance); the beautiful dark-skinned girls doing their own, just as difficult, dance as they wind their waist right down to the ground; the wailing that makes you peek into a Candomblé (religion with African roots) ceremony just as someone writhes around as they enter a trance; the constant music...samba drums and reggae; the brilliant food...it all adds up to a complete assault on the senses. We´re left exhausted and head off down the coast a few hours to the remote Barra Grande for some R&R.

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