Welcome to the Jungle… or Dengue Fever

 Last Saturday morning, I woke up with what I assumed was a headache earned the old-fashioned way. A little too much wine the night before. A rookie mistake. Except…that explanation didn’t really hold water. Over the years, I’ve built up a fairly respectable tolerance, and this felt different.

By midday, it became clear that I hadn’t overdone it. What followed was a seven-day odyssey that I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but will absolutely write about.

Enter dengue fever.

Thanks to the truly life-saving dipirona (which I am now convinced is the greatest medication ever invented and, naturally, illegal in the United States), my days became a strange cycle. High fever. Then, suddenly, I’d turn into a walking swimming pool as the medication kicked in. Add in joint pain that made me feel 30 years older, dizziness, tinnitus, bloodshot eyes, and the general sense that my body and I were no longer on speaking terms.

And then, just as mysteriously as it arrived, it left.

At approximately noon this past Friday, the fever broke, and the symptoms vanished almost instantly. One moment I was bargaining with the universe, the next I was sitting there thinking, Well, that was something.

Fast forward to the very next evening.

Carnival activities have already begun at my condo. Music. Energy. Movement. In Salvador, Carnaval doesn’t really “start"; it just slowly turns the volume knob until it’s impossible to ignore. Officially, it begins next Thursday and runs straight through Ash Wednesday. Unofficially? The city has been warming up all year.

And yes, I’ve been warned.

Everyone, literally everyone, has given me advice. Do this. Don’t do that. Wear this. Don’t carry that. Stay hydrated. Most people suggest that this particular gringo ease in gently. “One or two days,” they say.

Naturally, I have something planned for all six.

Three days in a Camarote, one day in a Bloco, and the rest filled in with Pipoca.

If those words mean nothing to you, don’t worry, they didn’t to me either. In short:

A Camarote is the slightly more civilized Carnaval experience. Elevated viewing areas, food, drinks, bathrooms, and a bit of breathing room while the parade rolls by below.

A Bloco is organized chaos at its best. You buy in, follow a specific band or artist, and become part of a moving sea of people dancing through the streets.

And Pipoca? That’s the wild card. No ropes, no tickets, no barriers, just you, the crowd, and the music. Free, unpredictable, and very Salvador.

I’ve been told Pipoca builds character.

So yes, I survived dengue fever. Barely missed Carnaval. And somehow managed to schedule myself for all of it anyway.

More to come. Stay tuned.