campina grande: a hot mess of beats, bugs, and bad decisions

it's 2am and i'm sitting in this tiny hostel room in campina grande, wondering why i thought coming here during june festival season was a good idea. the numbers 3398904 and 1076692421 keep flashing in my head like some weird code i'm supposed to crack, but i'm pretty sure they're just my brain overheating from the 24.04°c heat that feels like 24.85°c anyway. humidity's at 90% and i'm pretty sure i've grown roots into this plastic chair.

the forró music from the street festival is still blasting through my window even though it's technically tomorrow already. i met this guy at a bar who said he's been coming to campina grande's são joão celebrations for 15 years straight. "you either love it or you lose your mind," he told me, which seemed like solid life advice until he tried to sell me a "lucky rabbit's foot" that was definitely from a cat.someone told me that the best food in campina grande is actually at the gas stations, which sounded like drunk advice until i tried the coxinha at a posto and nearly cried. the pressure here's 1011 and the ground level pressure is 1003, which means absolutely nothing to me but sounds impressive when i say it out loud to other confused tourists.i just checked and it's hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk right now, hope you like that kind of thing. if you get bored, joão pessoa and recife are just a short drive away, though after three caipirinhas i'm not sure i trust myself to navigate anywhere that isn't immediately in front of me.the reviews for this hostel were all five stars on tripadvisor, but i'm starting to think those were written by the owner's cousins. there's a rooster outside that's been crowing since 2am and i'm pretty sure it's just confused about what year it is. i heard that the street vendors here will sell you anything from traditional crafts to what they claim is "prescription medication" but is probably just glitter and hope.check out the local forró scene on yelp if you're into dancing with strangers who will absolutely try to teach you moves your knees can't handle. also, the coffee at cafe do centro is apparently life-changing, though after 36 hours of no sleep everything tastes like angels singing.i keep thinking about those numbers again - 3398904 and 1076692421. maybe they're coordinates to somewhere better? or maybe they're just the exact number of times i've questioned my life choices in the past 24 hours. either way, campina grande is exactly the kind of beautiful, chaotic mess i needed to remind myself that sometimes the worst trips make the best stories.

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