bombs you can take home and the festival of São João
This past Saturday was the festival of São João, which is a pretty big deal around here (yes, kind of like me), to some people even bigger than Christmas. The kids have this week off of school, and the only work anybody did this past weekend was to lift the 10oz beer glass from the plastic luncheonette table to their mouths.
Before going out to Camaçari to sit and stand in the rain and listen to mediocre Bahian country bands for 5 hours, I went with my neighbor/boss and his wife and 3 kids (aged 6 months to 10 years) to go and purchase the largest “arsenal” (Ivanildo’s word) of fireworks I have ever laid my hands on. Where the hell was this s* when I was 10? Prohibited by the government, as it should have been. Thanks to modern technology and surprisingly poor judgement on the part of the population, it is more easy to blow your hand off in Bahia than it’s ever been before.
Rather than go into the details of every little type of explosive whatever that we bought, I think it’s probably sufficient to just post a picture of the aforementioned arsenal and describe maybe the most interesting piece of equipment we got our hands on. We drove out to a place near the airport where there were a bunch of equally-sized shacks reminiscient of the kind set up at a fair where you go to lose your money shooting a water pistol into a little hole, for one of those rediculous pookie dolls or whatever they’re called. This is one of the few places in South America where I’ve seen a very prominent NO SMOKING sign. We looked around a few different of the shacks before settling on one where we got all of our arsenal. We spent a good 15 minutes deciding what to get, in between desperate shrieks on the part of Ivanildo’s kids to “Get this! Get that!” as you would expect. Towards the end there was a conversation between Ivanildo and the saleswoman that I didn’t understand, but he asked me to give him half of the R$20 or so was required for another woman to leave the shack and go behind it to some stash. Apparently that’s where they keep the fireworks that are too dangerous to keep in the shack, illegal, or both. My guess is that it was both. She came back with 5 of what looked like rolled-up 25 cent pieces with wicks on the ends of them.
After dinner we lit a little fire (not my idea) to light all of the stuff from, and commenced blowing s*it up. I fried my hand pretty good on a couple of large bottle-rocket type things, which I didn’t know you were supposed to throw in the air after you lit them. To be honest I don’t know if the original designed called for lighting them while holding them in your hand. Shouldn’t we stick them in the ground? I asked Ivanildo, but he gave me the kind of look you get from your friends in high school who have already gotten laid and you’re still a virgin.
I
let him light the first one of the what we later called “hand grenades.” Not only was it loud enough that it send everyone running and covering their ears once it was lit, but you could feel the blast from 20 yards away *in the air*, which was something I’ve never experienced before. Ivanildo verbalized exactly what I was thinking when he said, “Imagine what a * real hand grenade* feels like.”
If you are a redneck and you would like to meet rednecks from other cultures, then you should come here for this holiday. On Saturday night around 10pm Ivanildo drove me and 4 women to the nearby city of Camaçari to go to what I’d call a massive public dance party / concert. It’s the kind of place that if you drive 10 miles further you will be in a cornfield surrounded by confused-looking donkeys with a rope around their neck that isn’t tied to anything. Camaçari was *packed*, primarily in an enclosed area that was in front of a stage and surrounded by people in tents selling food and drinks at insane prices. We got there before the first band played, and it was crowded enough that we weren’t necessarily elbow-to-elbow with people but it was unavoidable to brush against people, sometimes a little roughly. A woman (I hope it was a woman) in a train of maybe 10 or so 20s or younger women pinched my ass so hard that I turned around quick as lightning to see who it was and may have even let out a girlish yelp. She of course was gone by that time so I didn’t get to see if I should be flattered or disgusted. Damn.
A forró band came on first. I thought they were all right but everyone else said they sucked. Then after a 30 minute or so intermission a Bahian country singer came on, and I didn’t have to ask because it was *clear* that he sucked. But everyone knew all the songs, which was a little scary. Because it sounded a hell of a lot like American country music. Suddenly I realized that there were a hell of a lot of people wearing straw hats, and everyone was wearing jeans. What the hell is going on here?!!? These people are, like, hicks! The evidence had been there for some time but it took the country music for me to see it. I’m normally the type to try to enjoy myself as much as anybody (i.e., dance despite my clear lack of coordination, eat pigs feet, etc.) but this was too much. While everyone danced around having the time of their lives and singing the lyrics to all the songs, I stood there frowning with my arms folded, at least until my feet hurt so much that I sort of rocked back and forth just to try to give each one a break. It didn’t work too well.
Before going out to Camaçari to sit and stand in the rain and listen to mediocre Bahian country bands for 5 hours, I went with my neighbor/boss and his wife and 3 kids (aged 6 months to 10 years) to go and purchase the largest “arsenal” (Ivanildo’s word) of fireworks I have ever laid my hands on. Where the hell was this s* when I was 10? Prohibited by the government, as it should have been. Thanks to modern technology and surprisingly poor judgement on the part of the population, it is more easy to blow your hand off in Bahia than it’s ever been before.
Rather than go into the details of every little type of explosive whatever that we bought, I think it’s probably sufficient to just post a picture of the aforementioned arsenal and describe maybe the most interesting piece of equipment we got our hands on. We drove out to a place near the airport where there were a bunch of equally-sized shacks reminiscient of the kind set up at a fair where you go to lose your money shooting a water pistol into a little hole, for one of those rediculous pookie dolls or whatever they’re called. This is one of the few places in South America where I’ve seen a very prominent NO SMOKING sign. We looked around a few different of the shacks before settling on one where we got all of our arsenal. We spent a good 15 minutes deciding what to get, in between desperate shrieks on the part of Ivanildo’s kids to “Get this! Get that!” as you would expect. Towards the end there was a conversation between Ivanildo and the saleswoman that I didn’t understand, but he asked me to give him half of the R$20 or so was required for another woman to leave the shack and go behind it to some stash. Apparently that’s where they keep the fireworks that are too dangerous to keep in the shack, illegal, or both. My guess is that it was both. She came back with 5 of what looked like rolled-up 25 cent pieces with wicks on the ends of them.
After dinner we lit a little fire (not my idea) to light all of the stuff from, and commenced blowing s*it up. I fried my hand pretty good on a couple of large bottle-rocket type things, which I didn’t know you were supposed to throw in the air after you lit them. To be honest I don’t know if the original designed called for lighting them while holding them in your hand. Shouldn’t we stick them in the ground? I asked Ivanildo, but he gave me the kind of look you get from your friends in high school who have already gotten laid and you’re still a virgin.I
let him light the first one of the what we later called “hand grenades.” Not only was it loud enough that it send everyone running and covering their ears once it was lit, but you could feel the blast from 20 yards away *in the air*, which was something I’ve never experienced before. Ivanildo verbalized exactly what I was thinking when he said, “Imagine what a * real hand grenade* feels like.”If you are a redneck and you would like to meet rednecks from other cultures, then you should come here for this holiday. On Saturday night around 10pm Ivanildo drove me and 4 women to the nearby city of Camaçari to go to what I’d call a massive public dance party / concert. It’s the kind of place that if you drive 10 miles further you will be in a cornfield surrounded by confused-looking donkeys with a rope around their neck that isn’t tied to anything. Camaçari was *packed*, primarily in an enclosed area that was in front of a stage and surrounded by people in tents selling food and drinks at insane prices. We got there before the first band played, and it was crowded enough that we weren’t necessarily elbow-to-elbow with people but it was unavoidable to brush against people, sometimes a little roughly. A woman (I hope it was a woman) in a train of maybe 10 or so 20s or younger women pinched my ass so hard that I turned around quick as lightning to see who it was and may have even let out a girlish yelp. She of course was gone by that time so I didn’t get to see if I should be flattered or disgusted. Damn.
A forró band came on first. I thought they were all right but everyone else said they sucked. Then after a 30 minute or so intermission a Bahian country singer came on, and I didn’t have to ask because it was *clear* that he sucked. But everyone knew all the songs, which was a little scary. Because it sounded a hell of a lot like American country music. Suddenly I realized that there were a hell of a lot of people wearing straw hats, and everyone was wearing jeans. What the hell is going on here?!!? These people are, like, hicks! The evidence had been there for some time but it took the country music for me to see it. I’m normally the type to try to enjoy myself as much as anybody (i.e., dance despite my clear lack of coordination, eat pigs feet, etc.) but this was too much. While everyone danced around having the time of their lives and singing the lyrics to all the songs, I stood there frowning with my arms folded, at least until my feet hurt so much that I sort of rocked back and forth just to try to give each one a break. It didn’t work too well.
posted by n10471 at 12:24 PM
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