A Very Lucky Escape

Monday 12 March

It was very difficult to get out of bed this morning, and it was only the call of breakfast for Colin, that persuaded us to rise. The buffet breakfast was laid out in the formal dining room adjoining the pool, but everyone sat outside under the colonnade. The sky had been grey and threatening, when we sat down, and within five minutes the heavens opened and torrential rain fell, a drenching curtain between us and the pool. It rained the whole time we were eating – and it took some time for breakfast again today as Colin sampled the huge range of cereals, fruit, eggs and bacon, bread and French pastries, before finally finishing with yogurt. By 09.00 we were ready and waiting for Maria. But she didn’t arrive until almost 09.30 due to the dire traffic conditions outside following the stormy downpour. She had decided to reverse the tour, so that we would visit the old Historical Centre first, in case of more rain later (this area had looked very blue on the weather forecast map on BBC World this morning). Amazingly, this is the first rain we have encountered since some heavy rain in the middle of December in the Cook Islands. It has rained during the night, or before we have arrived at a destination, but hasn’t affected us at all in South America. The only other rain we have seen was a day in New Zealand at the Franz Joseph glacier and the hourly downpours each day while we were in Koh Samui. I understand now how some people can view rain as a novelty.

Maria explained that the debris in the first cloister - wood wrapped in a white plastic coating – was from the huge marquee that had been set up covering the entire cloister for one of Brazil’s top singer’s wedding on Thursday last week – looking at the arched planks it would have been very impressive, with the trees and fountains playing within. This is probably the wedding Sarah referred to when she made our booking last year and they told us the hotel was full for last night – except for a penthouse suite costing megabucks which we had booked (!) - only everyone had left by the time we arrived and we could have a normal standard room.

The convent was built at the top of one of the many steep hills that make up Salvador, with the Historical Centre of the city spreading out over the next hill. We had seen from the plane as we circled overhead, lots of hills with houses and buildings covering them like tablecloths, with dark grey roads in the valleys between. We drove to the bottom of the hill and started walking up the other side, which is a pedestrianised area (not so easy as the weather was now very warm and humid and the road steep). The streets all around were roughly cobbled with chunks of stones and rocks, in all shapes and sizes that once may have been held together with some sort of mortar, but now were separated by grass and weeds. They have become very uneven over the years as they have been pounded, first by horses and then motorized traffic, which has caused some subsidence to add to the unevenness of the surface. We paused for breath only a few yards up the hill and looked at a wide fronted church (a bit like a plain fronted Notre Dame) with two bell towers. The doors stood open and we heard sounds of someone singing inside. We peered in, and could see a service taking place with a small congregation of mainly African women, while the men seemed to be standing or sitting all around near the back. The church took the African slaves100 years to build from1704 while they were engaged in the construction of the church and convent of St Francis at the top of the hill. They were not allowed to worship with the wealthy citizens of Salvador, so decided to build their own church at the bottom. It was dedicated to Our Lady of the Rosary and shows evidence of the “rococo style” popular amongst the gentry at that time, but is much plainer than most of the other churches around – just some statues and a simple altar. In keeping with the tradition, there was a second doorway just inside the main doors – acting like a screen, and prevented those outside seeing the priest. This was painted in deep blue and green. The two tall towers were still complete with bells, and the windows and doors decorated with simple plaster architraving. The outside walls were now painted pale ice blue with cream decorations, while inside was painted white, so that it had a light and airy feeling.

We continued up the hill, peering into shops - large gaping holes beneath the balconied windows of the old colonial buildings. Most now sold souvenir goods particularly paintings (the most common being canvasses showing row upon row of the terraced houses of Salvador in a multitude of colours or large black ladies in their gaudy lacy dresses billowing around them like meringues and “Carmen Miranda” headdresses) and ethnic jewellery, African style clothes and musical instruments. Today 90% of the population in Salvador has their origins in Africa, and this is reflected heavily in modern day living - houses that have been renovated around the main square are now painted in dazzling yellows, turquoises and pale pinks and lots of the clothing here is patterned with tribal and cultural patterns .

We next visited the church of St Francis to compare it with the slaves’ church – we turned off the main square, already containing the cathedral and a massive Pentecostal church on opposite sides, down a small side street, where the “Church of Gold” blocked our way. We entered via an enormous porch, built between 1749 and 1755 and decorated with blue and white tiles around the lower half of the walls that were specially brought over from Portugal – they resembled the Dutch delft style but told the story of St Francis with a Latin inscription. Above were eight large wood panels on the walls representing scenes from the Franciscan order. The ceiling was famous for its perspective of the Virgin Mary, which seemed to move as you walked across the room. The walls of the cloisters were decorated with similar tiles, but of an earlier period, and thirty seven mosaics made up the floor. The church itself was extremely ornate, decorated in “baroc” style, with the carvings over all the walls which were covered with glittering gold leaf. It was overwhelming. Side chapels held statues of saints – men on one side and women on the other. There were two pulpits and an extravagant altar with paintings, statues and crosses of solid silver and gold, intricately carved. Balconies surrounded the walls high up where the dignitaries of the city would sit – the higher the person sat the more important he was. To each side at the back of the church, were plain whitewashed areas - a stark contrast to the rich decoration of the main church - where the rich and influential could bring their household slaves to listen to the preachings, whilst not being able to actually see the priest and the congregation. We visited the Sacristy, decorated with heavy wood paneling framing frescoes on both the walls and ceiling. The scarlet and white robes of the present day choir added a splash of colour. Salvador brags that there are 365 churches in the city, but Maria told us it was more like 148. The majority of these are Catholic, as the Africans weren’t allowed to follow their religion. They therefore built statues of their own gods and covered them to look like Catholic saints.

The warm air hit you as we stepped back into the road, after the cool gloom inside the church. The sky was still overcast, but at least it hadn’t rained again yet. We walked down the hill exploring side streets and looking at more shops and some of the restaurants Maria had recommend for lunch or dinner. We arrived back in the main square and turned off to the left to find ourselves in another time – a huge modern style plaza, with singing fountains – unfortunately being maintained at present so we couldn’t hear the bell like tunes of the water – and 1960’s style buildings of shops, banks and offices. It was a bit of a shock – the speedy change from old style colonial to bright and gaudy to clean lined stone edifices in the space of a couple of footsteps. In the road at the far end of the square, there was a two storey building, looking like a column lying on its side with white sailcloth screens or flaps covering the windows, which could be lifted or lowered like shutters. This was the new town hall, and probably the most hideous building in the world I have yet come across - how anyone thought this design was worthy of creating, I don’t know. At the far end was a white tiled area that represented the site of the first church in Salvador, which was built in 1522 and removed in 1933 to allow a tram system to be installed – which had already been removed as it was uneconomical. Two large interconnecting concrete crosses on their sides, had been erected to mark the site of the original altar. From this point you could look down the sheer face of the cliff to the “lower city”, a 1960’s concrete jungle of high rise offices, mixed with the fabulous facades of preserved buildings – with no interiors – from colonial times. We could see the marina, yacht club and port and one side of the bay.

We took the elevator (a tall oblong structure, considered one of the sights of Salvador!) down to the market on the quayside below. We wandered around the hundreds of stalls undercover in a large stone building, selling clothes, household linens and souvenirs, and wondered how on earth these people made a living – there was so much choice while all around the outside of the building street sellers were accosting visitors to buy beaded necklaces displayed up their arms or more souvenirs. There was also a greasy spoon style café, with a small team beating drums and playing a saxophone, to which other men were cavorting in a series of cartwheels, and high kicks, supposedly depicting the hard lives of the slaves (?), which I took a photo of, before being accosted by one of the sentries, who pointed to a sign high up in the roof, saying that payment was required for any photography – no way – they weren’t even as good as some of the buskers we see at home.

Maria called the driver to bring the huge people carrier (seated ten just for the two us) to collect us as it had started to drizzle lightly. The outlook over the bay was gloomy – we could only see a few container ships waiting their turn to get into port to unload their cargo – and a ghostly outline of an island off the coast – there are apparently forty eight islands in the bay, sadly not visible today. From here we rode to one of the seventeen forts that protect the bay – it is the second largest bay in the world to one in Canada – built by the Portuguese in the 16th century. Today it boasts a lighthouse, standing tall and stripy from its vantage point on a peninsula separating a couple of the coves. We could only walk around the outside and see the octagonal lookout stations hanging like lanterns from the corners of the fort. It had once been used as a military prison after Brazilian independence. As it was still just about raining much of the view was obscured so we didn’t stay long. We did see a bingo hall, advertised in huge blue letters, opposite – it somehow seemed out of place here.

From here we drove back up to the higher city, from where we should have had more spectacular sights over the bay, and we also had the option to visit a jewellery manufacturing house, but Colin thought that might be a bit dangerous as I might be tempted to buy – and we had seen several on our way round the world - so we declined.

Maria showed us where she first lived in Salvador when she arrived two years ago – she shared a room in an apartment with another girl, and bathroom facilities with the family who owned the property. She paid 300 reals per month – about 75GBP – when the average wage is only 700 – 800 reals per month. She now shares a house with two other friends and only pays 250 reals per month including gas, electric and services, so she feels she has a good deal.

We drove around the city – through some shopping areas which looked none too salubrious and not the sort of high street shopping we would be used to. We saw many dark and dingy side streets, full of African people congregating to pass the time of day – sitting on the kerbside like we had seen in Mombassa, on chairs in groups, playing dominos, or just lounging against the walls. Arriving back at the hotel, we saw a group of Brazilian government workers sitting in the street, scraping out the weeds from between the stones, chatting nineteen to the dozen in the sun that had at last managed to shine. It provided more employment that spreading weedkiller. We had drinks and a snack at the bar before spending the afternoon sitting around in the cloisters, blogging and puzzling, and being well served by the bar staff!

We had decided to visit one of Maria’s options for dinner – an Italian restaurant, just a few hundred metres down the hill in the opposite direction to the Historic Centre. Having tottered over the cobbles on the hill, we entered the terraced building up some very steep steps, where an elderly man (who we later decided was the owner) pointed us to a staircase leading to the first floor. This was set out with pale cream cane chairs and white tablecloths covering about ten tables, with a few tea-lights casting a warm glow. To one side a long lean African quietly played his guitar and sung haunting slow ballads and more stirring ethnic songs. We sat at a table in the corner at the back – there were only a couple of other tables taken, and struggled with the menu written in Portuguese. We had just managed to decipher what most of the dishes were, when the waiter came and offered an English version – how boring, but at least we were sure of what we were ordering – pasta with prawns for Colin and steak with pepper sauce for me. We waited some time for the food, supping our wine and listening to the guitarist strumming gently in the background, and when it came it was worth the wait. There was another sudden downpour while we eating, but this had finished by the time we were ready to leave. A really relaxing evening – till we came to pay the bill! I tried to use my credit card, but once again, after about six goes, it failed to register. Luckily Colin had his card on him, although it took three tries before it was successful. At least we weren’t washing up.

When we got back to the hotel, I checked my account on the computer and decided to contact the credit card company as I couldn’t see any problems with the account, but could find no email address for them, only a telephone number. Being in the middle of the night in London – it was almost midnight here – I decided to chance a phone call and spoke with an obliging, but very correct, young man. After going through loads of security questions, such as last transactions, mother’s maiden name, my date of birth, etc, - he said he understood we were on a long distance call - he explained that a security stop had been placed on my account on Saturday 10 March, because of the “unusual activity”! He explained that a purchase had been made for 168 GBP which had been allowed, and then two others, both for over 200GBP had been attempted but stopped. In fact, I could see the 168 GBP on the statement on the screen and as we had been dealing in reals for the past couple of weeks, I hadn’t grasped this was pounds sterling when I had seen it earlier! (using so many currencies does get confusing – converting from reals to GBP and US dollars). I could now see the purchase was made in Rio, and the man told me it was for women’s clothing. Whoa!! We had left Rio a week before, and the purchase definitely wasn’t mine, nor had I attempted to make the other two sales. So instead of being cross by the embarrassment caused by my card not being accepted, I was now very pleased, and will not be criticizing the security of the banking system again! The fraud department now have to look into the purchase and I will have to wait till I get home to find out the result.

Colin was a little concerned about his credit card as he had had to use it twice and we had no way of checking if it too had been cloned. So he phoned his credit card company – different to mine – and set up internet banking on his card too – so at least we could check the transactions.

By now it was after 01.00. It was a god job we weren’t committed to anything in the morning.