Friday Night Forró

Learning the local dances was top of my to do list in Brazil. So when I was invited to go to Kangalha – the home of forró on Friday nights in Fortaleza, I was more than keen to give it a go. Little did I know that it would be one of the richest cultural experiences of my trip so far...

As we approached the entrance I was astounded at the throng of people jostling to get in. Everyone seemed to have been waiting all week for this moment – girls looked glam in shorts and high heels; men looked fresh in crisp shirts and smart shoes. As we passed through the wooden turnstiles we found ourselves in a huge open air arena, already alive with revellers. Barmen carried plastic tables above their head and set them down randomly to accommodate new arrivals. Chairs were not necessary; everyone was already on their feet. The first band was already playing on the stage, filling the air with the unmistakable rhythm of forró.

At first, I was content to watch as the place filled up, in awe of the couples already in full swing, stepping from side to side, their bodies fused tightly together, swaying their hips the way only Brazilians can. I wanted to learn to feel the beat the way they did… but I had no idea how to, I might as well have been carrying a watermelon.

After meeting up with our group of friends and a few large shots of cachaça, I was ready to give it a go. The place was now packed and the crowd was undulating to the beat, singing at the tops of their voices. Everyone was drunk on forró, the atmosphere was electric. Leandro, a self confessed forrozero and the friend who had extended the invitation was my first teacher – the basic side to side movement wasn´t hard to master, but making my hips move in the right direction was! Once I had started I didn´t want to stop and was soon dancing with all and sundry, loosening up, learning to turn… often getting my arms in a muddle… but loving every minute all the same.

The music went on and on, but I didn´t notice the hours pass. The bands got louder, the crowd got livelier and the dancing got wilder. The edges of the arena were lined with food stalls, clay pots steamed with crème de galinha, arroz and feijão. The girls loos were chaos – there was no room for privacy – doors opened and shut with urgency, girls climbed over each other to reach the mirrors and soap, all eager to get back outside to the party.

The sky above the area was gradually getting lighter when we decided to head home. My feet were black, my legs were aching, my head was spinning, and I had had an amazing time. I truly felt like I had been slap bang in the middle of North Eastern culture and will be going back for more very soon.