New Years

The crowd walks by, all dressed in white for new years, holding half empty bottles of liquor over their heads, singing to a song played by the guitarist on the corner. The song is sad and soft and smooth. He plays songs by the Tribalistas, a kind of Brazilian super group made up of several of the most popular musicians of the day. They are walking en masse, mostly in bare feet or flip-flops, Havianas the brand of choice. There is the odor of humanity as they flow past, the crowd moving in one direction, down, towards the second beach where the huge party will be held. The women are carrying flowers to throw into the water, yellow for money, red for love, and white for peace. Only the women throw the flowers. The girls in our group had gone to get some. The red flowers were sold out. There’s probably something telling in that.

There are little lizards climbing on the walls, the people smile and greet each other warmly. Tonight many are strangers, in a few hours they may be intimate. This is a party for young singles of child-bearing years. The morals here are… different. People openly have sex on the beach under the moonlight. They make a slight pretense of going some distance off, or hiding behind a rock or something, but it happens regardless. All that is later of course. First comes the festas, and the dancing, and the rituals in the water. It’s seven hops over seven little waves. And a wish for each one. People wear white to celebrate rebirth in the new year, and enter the water. The flowers are thrown to the water goddess. The sex comes later. All vestiges of the African traditions that are now firmly rooted in the modern Brazilian culture.

Such beauty: the moon, the fireworks, the whole crowd moving together to the music blaring from the huge speakers placed on the beach. Happy 2007.

posted by goat hill dreamer @ 9:03 AM