Continental Drift #9: Bombs and Beats on a Brazilian Beach - Jericoacoara, Brazil

Digg this page

Save This Page

Stumble It!

Is it morbid to revel in the wake of war? Masses celebrate with Molotov cocktails as they hit the streets in protest, storming embassies and adding terror to tension, while others run for cover from "not-so smart" bombs. But in some places, people ignore events they have no control over and live their lives to the fullest.

I happened to be in an idyllic beach spot in northern Brazil the day the bombs started falling over Baghdad, so instead of sulking in my hammock, I decided to do my part in displaying the triumph of the human spirit. I would not let the brutalities bring me down and I would not admit defeat. No, instead, I would prove that though war may be a reality in a country thousands of miles away, humanity is not defined by these conflicts. I was determined to not only attend the festivities the night had to offer, but actually dictate and improve the party scene. I felt an added responsibility as an American to help dispel some of the negativity the world felt towards my people and my country, as I was determined to see people of every background reach a euphoria that would overcome the negativity being expounded on the other side of the globe.

"Love, not war" may be a clich�, but on this fine Friday night, it was the theme that seemed to infuse the festivities. After a wonderful day strolling virgin beaches, I bought twenty live crabs and a kilo of shrimp from a fisherman, and with the help of my cross-continental comrade Laz, and a few Brazilian female friends, soon had three huge pots of fresh crab brewing. We followed this hearty appetizer with a local favorite recipe, the spicy shrimp moqueca and a few bottles of vinho tinto. From there, we strolled to the local hot-spot, the Planeta Jeri Bar, located (where else?) right on the beach. Strolling in at midnight, we passed through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with all our friends, whose professions range from bartender, pizza twirler, waitress and yes of course my buddy, the local cop, who entered in full uniform, gun at his side and beer in hand, ready to patrol the serene sandy streets of Jericoacoara.

The moon was towering high above, the palms were swaying gently in the tropical breeze and the waves caressed the silvery shore. The crowd was in place, there was a plethora of bikinis, tropical drinks and a great energy in the air. As I passed through the harbor of happy humanity, I let everyone know I was deejaying, as I wanted them to stick around for what I guaranteed would be a lovely party. Armed with fifteen minidisks and forty CD's, I stepped to the reins and let spill forth a magical mix of musical melodies. I started off with the quintessential music of peace and tolerance: reggae. Bob Marley sang songs of protest, Alpha Blondy (French-African reggae star) praised the multi-religious ethic and Burning Spear (Jamaican reggae legend) preached world harmony. Itamar, the extremely-friendly gay bar owner handed me my first abacaxiroska, which is a mouth-watering m�lange of fresh pineapple, condensed milk and the local Orloff Vodka. Soon, I changed tracks from the Caribbean to Europe, as I dallied with some English trip-hop and a little Air (French electronic group) maintaining the positive vibe for the international scene that was starting to crowd the dancefloor. I had a few requests for the ever-popular blond-haired rapper Eminem, so I switched to hip-hop mode, throwing down some Mos Def (New Yorker) and Roots Manuva (Londoner). By now, the floor was full of vibrating bodies and the scene was set for some smooth house music. My police pal approached me, but instead of telling me to turn the volume down, he urged me to keep up the great tunes as he recounted a recent three-day beach rave, most of which he insists he can't remember. Ahh, Brazil...

Once the electronic music kicked in, a Brazilian girl requested some music in Portugese. "Listen," I told her politely in my rapidly-improving Portugese, "I realize this music is not Brazilian, but do me a favor, just sit back and listen - this is universal music that crosses the boundaries of languages and borders and I am sure that you will soon come to like it." Though she agreed in principle, I could tell she still preferred me to play some of the over-played Brazilian hits of the day, but she at least accepted my answer and left me to spin my tunes in peace. As the smooth house music started to build momentum, it was obvious that the buzz of the crowd was also rising in intensity. An Israeli praised my choice of music, a few Swedes danced with big smiles, French girls danced with Argentine guys, Australian guys danced with Brazilian girls and Itamar danced with whatever guy he could get his hands on. As the electronic music hit crescendos, it became obvious from the exultant dancers that a blissful mood had taken control.

I looked up from the controls to see people dancing ecstatically on the bar and in between a girl from Angola and a guy from Denmark, I spotted the Brazilian girl who had complained about the music not an hour earlier. I took a break to grab a drink at the bar and in the process asked the doubter if the music was to her liking. With her arms raised in the air and her sweet ass shaking to the beat, all she could answer was "Sim, querido." Yes, my love. At this moment, I toasted my police pal and shook hands with many of the people that had been giving me smiles and approving nods throughout the night. The fact that the party continued until the sun started to rise over the silver sea is not important � in fact, it is a mere triviality. What is important is that one this night, as bombs rained over the heads of innocents, a group of world citizens were able to unite in spirit, proof that governments may define a country, but they do not define a people.

It is moments such as these that display the triumph of human spirit. Sure, this may have been a small-scale get-together on a beach in northern Brazil, but isn't that where it all starts? On this day my government was dropping bombs in the name of some catch word, this American was dropping tunes and shedding stereotypes in the name of tolerance and love. Would Donald Rumsfeld have developed into such an aggressor, would Zimbabwe's Mugabe have become so racist, would Saddam have become such a tyrant if they had been lucky enough to be a part of this love-filled scene, if they had witnessed the way people of every imaginable background are able to put aside their differences and bask in each other's company?

I am not setting forth a treatise proposing more open-air beach parties for the world's leaders (though it does raise an interesting model of international relations), but the point is that cross-cultural exchanges, no matter how informal, are integral in opening the eyes and minds of the citizens of the world. I saw an advertisement here for a Brazilian liquor that asks, "Mister Bush, why don't you just try a Papary?" People around the world seem to feel that we need leaders that would just lighten up a bit; sure, we do not live in an ideal world, but a little tolerance goes a long way.

So, as I greet the morning from the serenity of the Brazilian coast, I think about my cousin Paul, who watches the sunset over the Persian Gulf. I am sure his view of the orange sun dipping into the vast blue sea from the deck of the USS Kittyhawk is a pleasant one and I hope he is able to admire such wonders amidst such military might. Though I admire him deeply for serving his country, my friends and I would be much happier if he was here sharing the love with us under the stars.


Digg this page | Save This Page | Stumble It!