Arriving in Salvador.
The Costa Favolosa docked in Salvador early in the morning. I met Gail in the atrium bar for a coffee before our excursion. As we arrived, a band and dancers performed on the dockside, a nice idea, but once again it caused a bottleneck as everyone stopped to watch, slowing down the disembarkation.
When I boarded the coach, the guide told me there were only four English speakers and asked us to sit at the front so he could speak to us separately. This seemed reasonable at first. Gail joined me shortly after.
A Belgian man living near Los Alcázares sat beside us with a video camera on a tripod. He planned to film the entire tour, and unfortunately, the guide became completely fixated on him, giving him all the attention while ignoring the rest of us.
Endless Warnings and a Suspicious First Stop.
Before we even left the port, the guide launched into a dramatic speech about how dangerous Salvador was. He told us to remove watches, jewellery, and not to take cameras off the coach. He even claimed a tourist had been mugged and stabbed the day before.
He then changed the route, insisting we visit the market first “in case we ran out of time later.” I suspected he might have had an arrangement with the stallholders.
The market was only a 10‑minute drive away, we could have walked. I didn’t bother going inside and instead sat on a bench watching people come and go. Marcus joined me after a while. When no one else returned, he went to check the coach and discovered it had stopped on a different street entirely. The guide had taken everyone there without telling us. If Marcus hadn’t checked, we would have been left behind.
Sanctuary of Irma Dulce.
We drove through impoverished areas, but the guide had vanished to the back of the coach and was speaking so quietly we couldn’t hear a word. When we arrived at the Sanctuary of Irma Dulce, a local guide took over and explained the history, or tried to. Our tour guide kept talking over her in German, blocking views and drowning out her explanations.
The Sanctuary itself was interesting in theory, but the visit felt long and unfocused. After the tour, the guide lost more passengers and had to search for them. The man with the video camera was, once again, the last one back.
Diocese of Bonfim.
We stopped at the Diocese of Bonfim next. The guide repeated his warnings about danger, jewellery, and cameras. Because he had changed the schedule, we arrived during a mass and couldn’t go inside the church. Marcus and I took photos outside, including a large sign reading “PAZ” (peace), before returning to the coach.
The video man was, predictably, the last one back again.
Monte Serrat Fort.
As the sun began to set, we drove through another “dangerous area,” according to the guide. Many people stayed on the coach. The guide walked off immediately with the video man, leaving everyone else behind.
Marcus and I took photos around Monte Serrat Fort and watched the sunset over the sea. It was beautiful, and would have been even better with some actual information about what we were looking at.
The Historical District (Sort Of).
By the time we reached the historical district, it was dark. My knee was aching, and with only one working eye, I didn’t fancy wandering around steep, unfamiliar streets in the dark, especially after hours of being told how dangerous the city was.
I stayed on the coach. The driver checked on me, then drove to a small grocery store in a very run‑down area to buy his dinner. The shop even had an armed guard outside. After he ate, he drove me around until it was time to collect the group.
When everyone returned, Gail said the district was nice but very steep, and that I wouldn’t have managed it anyway. The guide had lost people again, and the group ended up being escorted back to the coach by police.
We returned to the ship about 40 minutes late, but thankfully the Costa Favolosa had waited. It was, without question, the worst excursion I’ve ever been on.
Back Onboard the Costa Favolosa.
Once back onboard, I showered and went to dinner. I’d missed most of the meal, so I just ordered a mango mousse. Rosa gave me the rest of her pistachio dessert, earning the title of “dessert queen.”
After dinner, Rosa and I went to complain about the excursions. Many others had the same idea. Rosa cancelled her waterfall tour for the next day; I decided to keep mine.
Later, I joined Marcus in the quiet bar, then moved to the piano bar with him. He introduced me to two German passengers who spoke English, and we chatted about football and travel.
As more Brazilians boarded the ship, a group of young, drunk men came into the piano bar asking for beer. When told only wine was served, they pointed at my pint, which I’d brought from the other bar, and complained loudly before leaving.
It was a chaotic end to a chaotic day, but at least the company was good.
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