Upon introduction to Sao Paolo, the first word that comes to mind: overwhelming. This place is gigantic. Sprawling and gorgeous in a fucked up, haphazard way. Just how I like it. Diane and I look at each other here and have already said, many times, in hushed tones: “We’re in Brazil….” We’re ecstatic and we’re looking forwared to the Iguatemi Filmefashion Festival to get started. Oh…should I just say “gallons of champagne” at a beautifully designed opening party. I don’t have the clarity at the moment to post pictures of the space, but Diane will probably beat me to that. (Big props to the production designer of the party….it looked hot.)
Back to SP, our first date….The architecture: a schizophrenic, multicultural / multi-era patchwork. Our hosts: lovely, fun and beyond accomodating. The traffic: bonkers. The skyline: endless, dense and often like a romantic, feature film backdrop.
I feel very well taken care of here — like when one is being minded by an ample-breasted waitress named “Flo” or “Barb” at a roadside diner in the middle of nowhere. Flo / Barb would wear lightly-tinted sunglasses while taking your order, keeping your coffee cup filled while always addressing you as “Hon'” or “Sweetheart.” She’s recommend the pork chops and the fried chicken and would offer the tip: “You’re gonna want ice cream with your pie, Sweetheart.”
So far, the people here, regardless of langauge barriers that we might have with them, are uniformly cool and warm and always down for a laugh. (That said, I haven’t been mugged or stabbed or had my awkwardly-designed facial features re-arranged, which sounds to be a rather common occurence according to guidebooks and the WWW. Today, I think I inspired a potentially incendiary moment by egging on a local downtown homie to show off his big Wu-Tang belly tattoo to Rigo….but whatever. I let him have his moment of “I’ll cut you” (after showing off his belly) as I turned my attention to the sizzling hot Brazilan wieners….being fried with peppers and onions on a tray at a nearby cart. I’d rather die than not interact with people.) El Mercado Municipal, in El Centro, is stunning. It pushes my infinite love for Tijuana into overdrive.
These photographs are not of the Wu-fanatic, or of Rigo, Diane, or any of our hosts. Just some guy taking a snooze in a concrete channel.
Rigo and I tried to get Diane to come with us on a nocturnal spree of the man-on-man / SP dinge-scene, but she was having no part of it. (Maybe tomorrow….)
X yr fingers for us.
DD
P.S. Big thanks to our hosts: Producers Beto & Pedro, Curator Alexandra and dammit, Helena, without you, we’d be starving and I wouldn’t have any clothes to wear. Obrigado! And Beto, we loved meeting your super cool Mom.
