Salvador, Day 34

Arrived in Salvador when we were supposed to, another textbook coach journey. Fortune has found us yet again as Joanna says we can all stay in her apartment for nothing. Said goodbye to the German guys and trooped on to Joanna's, where other than booking our flight to Rio (pretty much), and scouring local streets, we spent most of the rest of the day.

Flights cost R$230 but we didn't book them straight away, as sometimes bargains turn up in unexpected places. In the end it was a fruitless search and we used the original agent, a friend of Joanna. He actually only confirmed the deal later that night during the town party, where he drunkenly explained that we only had to pay him the next day. The difference in attitude between here and home never fails to stagger me: he essentially lent three people he didn't know about three hundred pound because we said we knew somebody.

On first impressions Salvador lives up to the reputation we have been told about, both in terms of how much passion and character it has but also the darker element to the city. In the old town there are, Sao Luis style, cobbed and lined with picturesque but crumbling colonial buildings. Unlike the other colonial towns we have seen, though, Salvador has a distinctive, strong black influence that carries right the way through the city, from the colour of its inhabitants to the capoeira that pop up all over.

Last night there was a huge, free reggae party on one massive flight of steps in the centre of the town. In Brazil the whole town parties at once, everywhere. Here as well the African and Caribbean influence on the culture was especially noticeable, in the music, the idiosyncratic art of Bahia and the thick, cannabis-filled, pluming smoke. Ended up getting a bit too drunk, really, but some things still stick in my mind.

First we walked to a different part of the Pelourino (historical centre) with Leandro, a friend of Joanna, to another couple of parties. One reggae bar was pretty much empty and quite forgettable but in the other we were treated to an amazing, lively samba band. Bright, bouncy and brassy they pounded away, entertaining everyone. There was so much going on at once, for free, in just a few streets of the city. The atmosphere this created was electric.

Unfortunately for us, though, the night was marred by two small late incidents. A few young boys tried to pick my pocket, I saw them and felt a hand trying to lift my watch, which I keep out of view in the left one. I grabbed the kid and had a go at him, but got the wrong one and instead grabbed a scar on his friend's neck, which I think he'd recently had from surgery or something, so that didn't go down too well. In all honestly it must have been a pretty ugly scene, not one which I want to repeat.

One of the kids stole Alex's small diary, an entirely worthless personal item, just with his addresses in. Pointless and really sad for Al, who'll struggle to get a lot of them back. This and the scuffle that broke out in the street, the tangibly threatening atmosphere at the end, left a bit of a bad taste. In the last few weeks I've found it difficult to precisely describe the small differences between places; nuances in the sights, smells, people. I suppose identity is different worldwide to every town, city, village. In Brazil, though, it is especially prominent I think. Salvador and Bahia is full of character, passion and individuality. However at the same time lies a distinctly sinister undercurrent that matches its reputation.