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The streets of Salvador smelled of piss and happiness. 2.5 million revelers who knew every word and melody of every song. The Bahian Carnaval blared on as Barra-Ondina shook to drunken rhythms. Unlike my million new friends, I had no roots. These tunes did not catapult me back into my childhood joys and pains. I was an alien who could never penetrate the truth behind the thumping bass of Pagode and its infinite innuendos. On the first night of Carnaval, we chased after Trio Elétricos - giant trucks that blasted insanely loud music. We were human bumper cars, shoulder to shoulder with people we would never meet again. Poor, rich, lost and found. Police would jump in like army ants, breaking up fights. We ran. We bumped. We shook. The rains fell, and we danced. Tonight, I would party like King Momo, ruler of Carnaval. I was invited to an all-inclusive Camarote where I could eat, drink and dance to my heart's content. All because I could pay to play. I thought it would be a tame, middle-class sham. The night before, I had experienced Ilê Aiyê's bloco afro in Liberdade - celebrating African roots in the largest Afro-descendant neighborhood in all of Brazil. Over 80% of Salvador claims African descent. I was at the heart of Africa in the Americas, marching to the drums. "The show's starting!" My friend said, knocking me out of my daydream. She led us up a ramp, ascending toward heaven. The sultry night air carried the rapid strumming of the Cavaquinho Brasileiro, Brazil's small, magical guitar. My feet started grooving. I'd been partying on-and-off for 8 days. I'd climbed two mountains, walked six hours a day, and I'd visited sanctuary after sanctuary of Brazilian musical culture. I picked up speed. I was so tired. All thoughts flew out the window. I wanted to fly. I remembered to breathe. My Samba teacher's advice flowed through my blood - relax. Stay light on your feet. Have fun. I looked up. A man danced, smiled at me and gestured me over. My feet couldn't say no. In a moment, I was surrounded. Three women came, hips swaying, and then another man. They formed a circle around me. My feet moved of their own accord. No time to think. We danced in and out of the circle. Sometimes watching, sometimes in the center. Everything flowed into one dance. Countless songs, never stopping. Another one and then another one. We challenged each other and played games through our movements. All conversation flowed from the balls of our feet to the shaking of our shoulders. Our bodies were too loud for our mouths to catch up. How my calves burned! But my spirit burned deeper. I was caught in the timelessness of forever. Yesterday, the origins of Brazilian Carnaval and Samba, tracing back to the horrors and perseverance of Afro-Brazilians during the 300 year Atlantic slave trade. The simple joy of dancing in a circle, sharing energy. I wonder if this is how the first Samba de Roda started. Living life, sharing energy and dancing through harder times than I could ever fathom. Hours flew by. I can't remember anything else. Just sheer joy and freedom. I left my heart in Brazil.