An Inconvenient Two

Look. Salvador, it’s a beautiful place. From the emerald sway of the palm trees that line the All Saints Bay, to the soft pastel colored churches that fill the Pelourinho—Salvador is a city of light, a place infused with the energy of a Northeastern sun. As you sit at Porto do Barra sipping a chilled coconut with your feet tucked in the sand, the light breaking through a clear and honest blue sky will change you, inspire you, lead you to move, to dance, to sing. It is a place of escaping energy, where the people become a creative machine, filtering the weekend sun into movement, and bright eyed Portuguese that seems to float in the air. It is the land of the morena, her full lips and dark smile, an allure drawn out in the samba, as she sways, her braids flying through the air. What a place this is, its colors, its cobblestone streets, lighthouses, and walkways by the sea. Bela, ela, this city, what a place to be.

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Look. Salvador, it’s an ugly place. From the dark stains of sewage that line the All Saint’s Bay, to the prostitutes, thieves, and wicked intentions that fill the Pelourinho—Salvador is a city of darkness, a place dried and cracked by a Northeastern sun. As you sit in Rio Vermelho, sipping a chilled beer with your feet stuck to the pavement, the night breaking through a dim and dishonest sky will change you, strike fear into you, lead you to watch, to cringe, to cling. It is a place of unrealized dreams, where the ex-slaves scrape to survive, of political misalignment, where the whites build their walls, smiling, eating their sushi from behind. It is the land of the branquinho, his thin lips and snide smile, a power drawn from generations, he plays, sharp cracks of a whip flying through the air. What a place this is, its colors, its trash filled streets, potholes, and corruption by the sea. Feio ele, this city, what a place to flee.