Atop a mobile stage, percussionists pound drums. Guitarists throw their bodies into each strum of the strings. Vibrant voices pierce the tropical air. On the streets, sweat–slicked revelers rhythmically jump within a hairbreadth of each other, kicking their legs front and back, wildly swinging their arms overhead. Onlookers cramming sidewalks and balconies gyrate their hips to the beat.

This is Brazilian Carnival — Salvador, Bahia-style.

Ever since this joyous celebration captivated me when I worked in this northeastern city as a Peace Corps Volunteer, I've yearned to experience its euphoria again. Finally, 25 years later, I'm back.

The first official night of revelry, friends invite my husband — a Carnival initiate — and me to a private party in a second–story, open–air restaurant. For $35 each, we get to wear obscene T–shirts, drink limitless beer and enjoy a bird's–eye view of the beach–side parade route.

Hundreds of young revelers organized into Carnival groups, or blocos, wildly dance in the street below, awakening my memories. Much is the same. They sport colorful — though skimpier — costumes, dance well–honed routines and rollick with boundless energy.

The difference is decibels. These participants romp around trio–elétricos — semi–truck trailers housing high–tech sound systems. On the rooftop stages, popular bands play electronically enhanced tunes. It's MTV live.

In the restaurant, we watch the action from above the maddening crowd and jump to the music without risking trounced toes. Eventually we muster the courage to rub elbows (and just about every other body part) with throngs of strangers and venture onto the street.

From this vantage point, the sight of masses of people dancing shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip is mesmerizing. One group's routine sensually flows back and forth like the nearby ocean waves. As each bloco pulsates by, the costumes' vivid, tropical colors whirl and effervesce. Each time vocalists sing a top hit, the crowd explodes into song.

At 4 a.m., the partying is still going strong. Carnival has just begun. Until dawn on Ash Wednesday, five days from now, the celebration will reverberate throughout the city.

Another evening, newfound friends — a couple and their 10–year–old daughter — invite us to join them for Carnival festivities in Pelourinho, the historic district. At 10 p.m., we drive to the harbor, then board Lacerda Elevator, housed in a vertical, concrete structure beside Salvador's escarpment, to ride to the upper city.

Colonial houses painted deep blues, golds and pinks line the cobblestone streets. When the Portuguese cultivated sugar in Bahia, slave traders held auctions in this section of town. Thus the name, Pelourinho — pillory.

Twenty–five years ago, I would not have dared to enter this area. Crime ruled. Nowadays, though, couples with young children safely stroll its streets.

Restoration transformed the district into a charming UNESCO World Heritage Site showcasing art galleries, theaters and historic churches. Diverse restaurants and boutiques entice visitors to linger. In the evenings, musicians perform in three squares.

Tonight they play Carnival tunes ranging from classical to pop. Although packed together like chicks in a coop, the five of us exuberantly jump and swirl. Words to old songs soon leap from my memory to my lips.

On the narrow streets, costumed groups of 50 or so people dance to the beat of amateur ensembles. A cluster of middle–aged revelers sports blue T–shirts boasting two decades of parading together. Attired in Portuguese colonial costumes, another troupe winds brilliant red, yellow and green ribbons around a tall pole. We follow along, lilting to the rhythm of their festive melody.

Characters representing the clown Chaquinha (Brazil's Clarabelle), a politician and a hippie bop about the main plaza, entertaining children still wide awake despite the wee hour. Food vendors sell skewers of grilled beef. Tots suck on chunks of sugar cane. Tantalizing aromas of manioc fritters deep–frying in coconut oil waft through the humid air. Easing into chairs, we chat and people-watch until our friends' daughter nods off.

The final day of Carnival, Tuesday, we squeeze through multitudes of people to the parade's starting point in Campo Grande, a large city park, and settle into a viewing box to watch the festive procession from early afternoon until dawn. Only short walks back to our friends' condo for snacks and catnaps pull us away.

A succession of Carnival groups streams past. Among the first is Gray Power. Elderly women attired in dainty lace and satin dresses sweetly sing and toss kisses. Close behind them, The Girls Band bangs drums and squeals guitars atop a trio–elétrico surrounded by hundreds of effervescent young people. Next, dozens of paunchy men wobble by on high heels, more preoccupied with adjusting their bikini tops and wigs than keeping step with the music. Waving white cowboy hats, another group whoops and dances to country music.

Humidity–soaked, 90-degree heat chokes the air. An intense sun sears scalps. Yet revelers party with abandon.

When the popular band Chiclete com Banana (Chiclets with Bananas) breaks into song, viewers in the bleachers go bonkers. Decibels vibrating from the trailer-sized sound system pound against our chests and electrify the air.

Between blocos, cleaning crews dressed in brilliant yellow uniforms sweep up thousands of bits of litter. A quick hosing cools the pavement.

Next, the streets fill with dancers wearing the signature red, yellow, green and black costumes associated with the Olodum band. While the musicians vigorously drum Afro–Brazilian rhythms, partyers jump with their torsos thrust backwards as if to limbo.

Besides songs, Olodum broadcasts social messages. With TV cameras and spectators focused on him, the black lead singer shouts, "The best race is good will!" Along the route, the musicians toss yellow, two–inch–square packets bearing an AIDS–awareness inscription, "Without condoms, there's no Carnival." Inside is a condom, information about AIDS and a string to turn the packet into a necklace. Revelers and onlookers alike wear them like talismans.

In the evening, the Sons of Gandhi parade in white turbans and ankle-length white robes with royal blue designs. Eight thousand strong, they stretch like a white carpet as far as the eye can see. All men, and mostly of African heritage, they proudly stride, arms upraised, singing. Their skin tones gleam ebony, bronze, copper and gold.

Trumpets blare. Drums roll. Banners display their motto: Desire Peace. A member offers me one of their coveted blue-and-white beaded necklaces in exchange for my promise to spread good will.

Later, Bahian women in traditional garb sashay side to side, chanting and clapping. Each wears a white, tiered, full–length dress of delicate lace. Dancers in allegorical costumes leap, twist and twirl intricate movements. The stream of rhythmic, colorful groups flows and flows.

When Ash Wednesday dawns, we link arms with our friends and saunter home feeling much as I did 25 years ago — exhausted yet exhilarated by the euphoria of Carnival.

IF YOU CELEBRATE CARNIVAL:

Location: Salvador straddles All Saints Bay (Bahia de Todos os Santos) and the Atlantic Ocean in the northeastern state of Bahia. Several million people reside in this state capital. The city is a 90-minute non-stop flight from Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo.

How to Get There: American, Continental, Delta, United and the Brazilian carrier, Varig Airlines, and others fly daily from U.S. gateways to Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo. Depending on the airline, gateways include Atlanta, Chicago, Dallas, Los Angeles, Miami, Newark and New York (JFK). The Brazil Air Pass, available through your international carrier, offers the opportunity to fly throughout the country at an attractive rate. Regional options are also available.

Carnival: In 2008, Salvador's official Carnival runs from Thursday, January 31 to dawn on Ash Wednesday, February 6. Celebrations, however, start well before Thursday. Even with hundreds of thousands of revelers, the streets are remarkably safe. The city government has made safety a top priority, with numerous first aid and police stations posted along the parade routes. As in any large city or festive environment, vigilance is advisable. Do what the Brazilians do. Carry your ID (a copy of your passport) and only enough money for the outing; leave jewelry and other valuables at home (in the hotel safe).

Visa Requirement: A tourist visa is required for American citizens. Unless the traveler can apply in person at the consulate office, use of a visa service is highly recommended.

Language: Brazilians speak Portuguese. In Bahia, English is spoken in first-class hotels and at major tourist attractions but not widely elsewhere. Ask your hotel for assistance with taxis and consider joining tour groups for Carnival functions and excursions.

Currency: Brazil's currency is the real (plural is reais). For travelers from many countries, the exchange rate makes vacationing in Brazil a bargain. Calculate your current exchange rate.

Weather: Carnival occurs during tropical Bahia's summer, so temperatures run in the 80s and 90s, and humidity is high. Protect yourself by repeatedly applying sunscreen, wearing a hat and drinking lots of water.

For more information: Contact Salvador Tourism.