Dude,...
Trip Start
May 23, 2005
1
7
36
Trip End
Mar 25, 2006
Sao paulo,
Brazil
Friday, June 24, 2005
Dude, He Dropped The "Cougar" From His Name
I bet you didn't see this one coming. In the hit song "Cherry Bomb," John "Cougar" Mellencamp confronts the following apparent paradox through song: "The winter days, they lasted forever, but the weekends went by so quick."
I would have to disagree with him however, at least about the winter days. It is winter down here, and the days don't last forever; the sun is set by 5:30pm, and through some cruel twist of fate, doesn't rise again till the next morning. I can't complain too much because this is the tropics so the temperature averaged between 75 and 80 Fahrenheit everyday for the first three weeks I was here. Did I also mention that I didn't see a cloud during this period? Well. As for the weekends, though, "Cougar," if that is your real name, I do concur. They go by so darn quick. And so as not to bore you with any of the details of what I am really here to do in São Paulo (hint: I'm working on a project that has to do with an STD that rhymes with the word"MAIDS"), I will skip to the next weekend. I reiterate that the city of Sao Paulo is the breadbasket of the Brazilian nightlife. It is unreal. The word they use here for the concept of going out at midnight and coming home as the sun rises is Balada. I am now a regular participant in the Balada. The first weekend I found myself in amongst company of Sao Paulo who are what I would refer to in America as "trust fund babies". The group I had met in my first few days in Sao Paulo and had decided to spend a night out with, happened to be some of Sao Paulo's many privileged 20-somethings, who live with their parents until married, but at the moment are married only to daddy's credit card. Now, I am not passing judgment here - looking at a cross-section of American financially elite, you would fine the same thing, the one difference being that daddy would have bought a separate house for son or daughter to live in. It's just that I didn't last very long (actually not even the first night) with this financially sophisticated crew. One example: A girl I met told me a story about her recent trip to Florida. Her dad gave her a credit card to use for emergencies while she was there. At one point during the trip she decided to go shopping. At the mall she had an "emergency." You see, she had never seen so many fantastic designer merchandise outlets all in one location. She ended up spending $3000 on her dad's card. Apparently, he was perturbed and told her not to do it again.
See, You Can't Just Be Seeing The Scene, You Gotta Be Seen In The Scene
Of course, not everybody I come across here has this kind of wealth. My host family, complete with single mother, lives extremely modestly. They have meager possessions, hardly any appliances which they unplug when they are not being used; they waste absolutely nothing, reuse tinfoil, etc. Heck, I think they are hardly paying rent anymore, with my share added in. But most of the urban check-writers I was with this night live in a district south of downtown called Itaim Bibi. This area, and another district of nightclubs nearby called Vila Olimpia, helps explain why Sao Paulo is called "The New York of Brasil." (Do you think New York is ever called "The Sao Paulo of the US?" No.) Cover charges range from a measly 30 reais ($12) to 150 reais ($60) I think is the highest I have heard. But since I was here, I thought I might give it a shot at least once. My host brother Pedro, I and others arrived by car at about 1:30am to our first stop, a new club which is supposedly the emerging cool spot. The line was wrapped a good portion of the way around the building. But in Sao Paulo, much like some parts of LA, a "line" is really more of just an outdoor social club where patrons can display their sophisticated tastes in clothing and jewelry. After waiting in line for 45 minutes we realized we weren't going to enter anytime soon so the decision was made to drive across town with our tour hosts. Pedro and I had a secret meeting and decided that we weren't going to put up with driving around and waiting in lines much longer-we could find a cheap place to go out in our neighborhood. But just then I learned about another Sao Paulo tradition: traffic during the witching hour. Because this area of town is so busy late at night, traffic comes to a standstill. After about an hour of sitting in this mess, my tour guide, Renata, found out that the club we were headed to had been shut down for whatever reason. So we tried a third place. At 3am we parked her car valet and finally entered a club in Vila Olimpia.
Is That A Pistol Or...
I was having all sorts of problems at this point. One was that I couldn't understand anybody because the music was incredibly loud. Oh yeah, and because I don't speak Portuguese. Another problem was the 15 dollar cover charge. Ouch!! Next was that I found out here in Brasil you don't pay for your drinks upfront. They give you a card that the bartenders mark on (you also don't tip bartenders!) and you pay at the end. Lose your card and lose your bank account. After trying to pay the bouncers for my drink card and having them look me straight in the eye to see what drug I must be on, trying to pay them, I felt a little out of my league. But the ultimate humiliation came just after that, when the next suit, sunglasses and head-set wearing bouncer I passed in the lane of velvet ropes leaned in to pat me down for weapons. For an instant I thought he was just a friendly Brazilian (remember that I had just been to the Gay Parade) and going in for a hug. So I leaned in just a little bit and he gave me a similar look to what the other bouncers had given me. But this look seemed more awkward to me at the time because his hands were in my crotch (checking for weapons, I hope).
A Classless Guy Wonders About Some Classy People
So after that embarrassment I was free to enjoy the overpriced, seven dollar drinks and terrible music. Unfortunately, the bouncers didn't think I was too drunk from my shenanigans and kick me out. Because as 4am approached, some of the ladies I was with implored me to have a dance with them. At this point in the night I hadn't had many words with the locals, outside of the crew we arrived with. Most of them were beautiful blonde model types and looked like they belonged on a runway somewhere. And without knowing the culture too well I might go as far as to say many of the patrons of this Vila Olimpia club I would consider to be just a bit snobby. Some less-well-to-do Paulistanos have since confirmed my notions. A word on snobiness: In some ways I can sympathize with the way the upper class act in Latin American countries. It is disheartening to see the extreme division in their society between the few incomprehensibly wealthy so rich they can't find ways to spend all their money and the millions of poor so destitute they dig through trash to make a living. And it is sometimes appalling to see how the more fortunate ignore or mistreat those without a cent to their names. But the cultural context has to be applied here. It seems to me that-despite the cliché-in the US it is possible to start with hardly anything and progress to a level of comfort within a lifetime. Just look at second generation immigrants across the US. Many have become fairly well to do. I also think that it is not too difficult to eek out a living in the US doing something menial such as cleaning houses, building fences or driving trucks. People earn decent wages, and over the course of a career, can increase their wealth without too much other than hard work. Many times it doesn't take anything extraordinary to live a comfortable life in the US. But I don't believe the same applies in Brasil. I think there are only two ways to become part of the economically elite here. One is to be born into it. The other is to have something very special, skills or aptitude above and beyond the average person who might compete with you for a spot in the university or a job. If a person can't perform very well, he will struggle to live a comfortable life by American standards. And while "just getting by" in the US might mean owning a small home and a car, here it might mean living in the street or the favela with no electricity or running water. Therefore, I think the attitudes of the Brazilians whom I may consider to be snobby are either due to the fact that they come from a lot of money or that they have worked very hard to get where they are. Either way, they definitely want to be separated from the rest of the clutter of humanity, and they want to be perceived as upper class by their socio-economic equivalents. They want to be defined by the nice clothes they wear and by paying extremely high prices for drinks. So be it. You say snob, I say...snob.
Was I just Defending The Elite? What's Wrong With Me?
Just a few more complaints about this bar. The women we came to the club with were very excited about the style of music which was playing-they called it Flashback, and they were showing their excitement in the form of hot, Brazilian dance moves. After listening to some flashback, I was more excited to hide in one of the bathroom stalls the rest of the night. Flashback is the following: A DJ, somehow, from somewhere on earth (or possible hell), digs up the most absolutely worthless and annoying pop songs from the 80's and early 90's (think Rick Astley, think Gloria Estefan, think Toto and Boy George and Bon Jovi played one after another until you aren't sure which way is up or what good music is anymore), speeds the tempo up and adds a straight, pounding, monotonous, headache-inducing beat.
After a few hours of this nonsense Pedro and I snuck out of the bar, called it an early night (5am), and found a way home. Since that weekend I haven't returned to Vila Olimpia and the money I spent hasn't returned to my wallet.
I Paid 30 Bucks And All I Got Was This Retro Atari T-Shirt, And Some Compliments On It, And Some Beer Spilled On It, And I Wish I Wouldn't Have Told My Friends About My Favorite Retro Store Because We All Showed Up With The Same Atari T-Shirt On So Now I can Never Wear It Again, But It's Really Cool
The Balada has gotten better since then. I have had more inexpensive nights out at the Botecos, which are the cheap bars with the plastic tables. And I have met some new people who are less into being in a scene and more into listening to original-sounding music. Last Saturday I moved to the beats of my first Samba. At a private party, a DJ from Rio was spinning all this really old, classic samba from the 50's and 60's. Around 1am a band from northern Brasil brought their style to the stage; their music was a mix of the popular rural Brazilian music forro and rock 'n' friggin' roll. By the time everything wound down that night, 8am had come and gone. And last night my friend took me to a rock and roll club called Vegas. Inside the club was a bar area with a stage and live band, a lounge and a downstairs concrete basement area where the DJs were spinning garage bands, old school hip hop, and dance music. Most of the clientele were scenesters. Everyone looked too "kool" and too skinny to be anywhere but at an Interpol concert. I definitely could have been in the US. Jet black hair, tattoos and piercings, and 80's retro clothing dominated. You know the kind of clothes that look like they should have been bought at the Salvation Army in the late 80's/early 90's but were actually purchased last week at an expensive retro-boutique? A pink, striped, pre-ripped t-shirt that says "Party Girl" on it that costs 40 dollars. I think it is called "trying extremely hard to look like you didn't try" or maybe just "trying too hard." Something like that. But the music was sensational. Old Prince, Devo, Air, and a lot of indie music from around the US. I even heard a song by Sleater Kinney from Olympia! In summary, (some) music is good, people are rich, fashion is funny, and my money's no good here. The end?
