There are certain nights in my life that I wonder, how the hell I find myself witnessing these surreal stories, which when one tells others, there is a high probability that the listener doubts the legitimacy.
Last night was one of those.
Corina came yesterday. This is her first visit to Montevideo and we were both so happy to be able to hang out again, after so long.
The plan for the weekend is to have fun, so I decided to give a call to the "photographer"--who turn out to be a 20-year old wannabe music producer/agent--thinking it could be fun for Corina to listen to the band he was talking about last time I saw him. He was super excited to hear from me, and told us that they recently finished a video clip, and invited us to see the video and hang out while the band jams in one of the member’s house in Carrasco (a neighborhood of upper-class Montevideanos, reminds me of West Palm Beach, with big houses, and even malls, and mall rats).
We schlepped our fabulous asses with public transportation all the way to a mall, where they met us and took us with a car to the house. (First advice to pendejos (boys): never make chicks take the bus to go see you if you have a car. They probably will never come back, if she is wise.) The house was exactly how I imagined, an American town house, with 3 cars in the garage, a dog, color coordinated living room, with little--and unfortunately ugly--souvenirs from countries visited, scented soaps and matching towels and tiles in the bathroom, etc.
The band was there, all dressed up. Cori and I entered, and as soon as we saw them, we knew they were not more than a bunch of twenty-year-old dorks who think they discovered the rock music by copying the RS songs, and sin pena! The host of the house and the soloist, who looked like he was no more than 12 years old and 5' 3"(I am being generous), was wearing a t-shirt that said: Keith Richards! The guitarist had a baseball cap made out of leopard print velour, the drummer looked like the Scooby Doo, and the manager with this Buddy Holiday glasses, thought he was the shit.
Cori and I did not look at each other for a while, because we knew we would laugh immediately. The real comedy came when the director was screening proudly his work, the first video of Limousine! As soon as it started I tried to think of something bad (Inside my head: Something bad happened, something bad happened) so that I would not laugh as hard as I should have. It was sooo trucho(I have seen many student movies in my life, and even the worst one was not this bad), so amateur, so tasteless, that made me feel bad. Of course I told them my opinion, which they wanted to hear so badly, I was harsh; Corina tried to be nicer by appreciating the effort. Then they wanted us to see all five (and as horrible as the first one) versions, back to back. I could not take it anymore, we left soon after. Our hosts did not want to leave their house; they tried to be nice to us by offering the approximate cab fare, which we "kindly" refused.
The night began asi...
We decided to erase the memories of the horrible video by going to a boliche in the old city, where people were a bit older and the music was much original. After having a drink, and realizing that we were too tired, we asked for the check and came to realize that we were 10% short of the amount we need to pay! Que verguenza...I talked to the manager to see if it was ok with him, he said yes, and said they have a lot of dishes back there! I smiled and told him it was not a funny joke. Really, it was not.
Walking home from the old town, we heard this loud salsa rhythm from a pub called Lido, located inside a shopping strip. We had to enter, in order to complete our surreal Friday night. Lido club reminded me of those kitsch Latin joints in Brooklyn, consisted of a couple of tables with red-green tablecloth and a small dance floor, yet lacked the Latin heat for some reason. Cori and I were the best dancing couple there. We left the place after one dance, when I sensed that dudes were about to make a move to ask us to dance with them. As we were running out, I heard somebody say something like "tortilleras" (a vulgar way of calling lesbians in Spanish), we laughed and ran home to a good night sleep.
But there was still one more stop we had to make: the weird bar around the corner from my apartment. As we were approaching to my place, we heard loud argentinian rock coming from my street. Once again there was a weird party at the corner (it is not a bar, but every once in a while the owner throws these cool parties for his friends). We wondered as we own the place, and danced to the familiar rythms of Fabulosos Cadillacs and Bersuit, and others, using the last bit of energy we had before we crashed and went to our separete neverneverlands.
Saturday was the day of Mercado de Puerto of course. I had to wake up really early and work at the office for a bit, which sucked. As soon as I was done, picked up Cori and Mauro and we were on our way to Cori's first time at the Mercado. Mercado de Puerto is an old frigorifico (a refrigerated warehouse) in the old city, by the port; in the old days all the meat to be exported would go there and from there would be shipped to Europe. Now it is a big complex of restaurants, parillas mostly, very loud and colorful place Montevideanos spend Saturday afternoons feasting on meat and Medio Medio (a semi-sweet sparkling white wine). It is definitely my favorite activity in this city.
We had 6 bottles of Medio Medio and some asado (cow's chops, delish), and left the place half-baked, without smoking! The hours following the lunch, we had ice cream on the ice-cold Pocitos shore, crashed a major league football game (well I did, they got caught at the door) and went to Nico's neighborhood and dance for hours with the local candombe (Uruguayan folk music made with drums) group. When it finally ended, it was 8 pm, and we went to Nico's house and had a long nap, before going out again!
I think we had so much fun earlier that we should not even try to go out have even more fun, but we tried, we went to a bar in old city, but called the night around 3 am, thank god.
The last image I have of the night is the Nuevo Machu Pichu club (an underground version of Lido) we passed by on the way home.
Sleeping in his arms was all I could think of....I dreamt of someone singing me Mi Carmelito by Bersuit Vergabarat.
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