Turns out this area is known for its street festivals. And, I’ve had my first taste. Every couple of months about 2 miles of water-front streets are closed down for music festivals. About a dozen bands perform on their own customized, enormous trucks (for lack of a better description) and, essentially, the trucks drive slowly down the middle of the festival with thousands of people following, dancing, partying and of course drinking. There is NO (enforced) age limit for purchasing alcohol at these festivals so if you have 2 reals (which is less than $1) you can buy yourself a beer. The party starts around 11:00PM and music was still going strong when we left at about 4:00AM. Marcos explained to me that the music is no longer as loud as it used to be years ago – but I cannot imagine anything louder. It felt like someone implanted a bass drum in the pit of my stomach. And, we haven’t even gotten to Carnival yet. Oh boy.
I have to say, though, that the only thing that stood out more than the # of police (and lack of any type of civil rights and rampant use of racial profiling) were the # of gays. And you all know how I love the gays!
At one point I grabbed Marcos to point out a jaw-droppingly gorgeous women. She had caramel-colored skin, this amazingly silky down-to-the-waist curly hair and a body like something that stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine. She had on these skimpy little shorts, a halter top and was dancing with her (not quite as pretty) girlfriends. You know where this is going right? Marcos looked at her and said “You know that’s a man, right?” I thought he misunderstood. “No, THAT ONE, dancing with all her girlfriends?” Yeah, those were men too.
The police presence was like nothing I’ve ever scene…..thousands upon thousands of local police, federal police and military police in riot gear cruising through the festival on motorcycles, horses, in SUVs, and armored trucks complete with machine guns. It turns out there is no such thing as “probable cause” here because police randomly (and violently) throw young men down to the ground and search them, ya know, just because they maybe look like punks. Maybe. The men I was with were patted down and scanned with a metal detector before even being allowed to go near the festival – but, only the men, not women. (I'll leave the implications there alone for the time being.)
From what I could tell, the only straight people in the crowd were Marcos’ family…and that’s only because all of them were not there! I saw some of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. Ever. But they were really men. It’s the real women that looked like the transgenders. Let me clarify…the actual transgenders wore beautiful clothing, understated make-up and in general, looked very classy. The only give away were the less-than-practical six-inch fuck-me pumps in size thirteen. But, let me tell you, they could walk in those things like nobody’s business! On the other hand, the real women wore clothes that were way too tight, way, way overdone makeup including heavy blue eyeshadow and (for the most part) looked far from classy. Okay, I’ll admit even the real women’s shoes were sometimes a bit impractical (more stiletto’s anyone?) but they did not look nearly as sexy.
Now, I'm no country bumpkin. I’ve worked in SoHo and Greenwich Village and I’ve seen, been friends with and worked with my share of transgenders. Sure I cold spot a man dressed as a woman. Right?
That’s it for now. Don’t know what time it is where you are or where I am, but I’m about to tuck myself into bed and try to recover from well, you know…being here.
Good night! (Boa Noche!)