Where´s the party in Santa Teresa?

We schlepped around for hours in the heat searching for the ´bustling´ centre of Santa Teresa. Needless to say, by that point we would have happily traded one another to a street hawker for a cold cerveja. This is what the town´s ostensible hub looked like when we got there:

Imagine our chagrin as reality dawned that our uphill struggle had brought us to a place with a tram but no beer. About to lose hope and rueing the people who write The Rough Guide To South America, we almost headed back from whence we came in despair. Then a sudden and voracious determination gripped us to seek out the party (and the drink) so we carried on exploring.

Fortunately for us, the Fun Fairy had waved her magic wand up the road a while, and a miraculous Samba party was just getting going.

It was only 5.30 ish, but people were already up and dancing to the Samba band. This gazebo was set up next to an amazing colonial mansion that housed a bookshop and bar (Yes! A bar!).

About an hour after this photo was taken it was virtually impossible to traverse the throngs of revellers, which had to be done in order to get to the bogs. Speaking of which, did you know that you´re not allowed to thow bog roll in the loo in most of South America? I find the very idea of keeping your used boggers in the bathroom bin most unsavoury. I digress.

Capoeira dancers gathered inside the house to wow inflexible tourists with their incredible shapes.

Completely awesome it all was.

After quite a number of local cervejas and more fags than I care to mention, it was time to leave the party. The table on the left with the blue table cloth is the one we had just vacated. Lovely, isn´t it?

It was a terrible shame to leave because the party was still going strong, but we hadn´t eaten all day, so more booze would have been very naughty indeed.

We went on to a restaurant that gives you a little disk akin to a coaster that´s red on one side and green on the other. If you want to scoff some delicious meat, you have to turn the coaster to green. Then the most remarkable thing happens. A man with a big skewer of juicy steak comes running over and carves some onto your plate. Yum! If you need a break from the boef, it´s a matter of flipping your coaster over to red. Now I´ve seen it all. I can´t remember the name of the restaurant, but have since referred to it as ´the runny-meat-man-place´. The food was obviously more appetising than the lazy nomenclature suggests...