There was some jazz in a museum. There was a concert in the street, a show in an amphitheater just off the street. There are popular bars in the right parts of town. In the little week I stopped in Salvador I found a culture. I started to recognize some faces, understand where people go, what people do, and cravinho. I found shrimp in half the food, OK with me. Often accompanied by fresh juice.
I started to recognize some human truths. Man is afraid. Man is afraid of man. In Salvador, man is afraid of being assaulted, or robbed. In the US, man is afraid of terrorists. Man is afraid of tourists. Yet in the end, man assaults, terrorizes, and tours.
I question where the cackadores fit in society. The homeless, the addicts, crack, glue, beggars, boozers. Man is addict. Some give away future, home, and purpose to pursue such addictions. Salvador hosts quite a display for the traveller. At a street event: drink a beer, drop the can, the can disappears; snatched away. Look a little further to observe the never satisfied glue sniffer filling his desire, holding your can, right under the kook in all camouflage with binoculars perusing for things to binocule. Walk down the street to be harassed for a penny by cachaça breath or the children cachaça bred.
I question what bridges 'the other'. After the we show drink some beer with the can collector and his dad, also a can collector. We stand there not discussing much, but proclaiming amizade none the less, for we are sharing beer. What makes friends friends? I have a suspicion that the human rituals of sharing time, food, drink, and dance are all there really needs to be.
I started to recognize some human truths. Man is afraid. Man is afraid of man. In Salvador, man is afraid of being assaulted, or robbed. In the US, man is afraid of terrorists. Man is afraid of tourists. Yet in the end, man assaults, terrorizes, and tours.
I question where the cackadores fit in society. The homeless, the addicts, crack, glue, beggars, boozers. Man is addict. Some give away future, home, and purpose to pursue such addictions. Salvador hosts quite a display for the traveller. At a street event: drink a beer, drop the can, the can disappears; snatched away. Look a little further to observe the never satisfied glue sniffer filling his desire, holding your can, right under the kook in all camouflage with binoculars perusing for things to binocule. Walk down the street to be harassed for a penny by cachaça breath or the children cachaça bred.
I question what bridges 'the other'. After the we show drink some beer with the can collector and his dad, also a can collector. We stand there not discussing much, but proclaiming amizade none the less, for we are sharing beer. What makes friends friends? I have a suspicion that the human rituals of sharing time, food, drink, and dance are all there really needs to be.
 |
| Fear through windows of a favela |
 |
| São Paulo |
