The Dirty Corner of Rock and Roll

Last Monday, I went to el teatro del verano in el parque rodo to celebrate las llamadas or las murgas as a part of the carnaval (end-of-summer) celebration. Las murgas are typically theatric performances or parades displaying extreme costumes, vibrant colors, and popular music. A major part of las murgas is the celebration of black peoples’ arrival into the Americas. The next day, Tuesday, was el dia internacional de las mujeres: a day celebrating women’s rights. These two events directed my attention to the countless faceless of Montevideo, Uruguay: the beggars, the thieves, the street vendors, the garbage-picking-horse-carriage drivers (for cereals), the con artists, the ice cream sellers, the bus musicians, the man selling hand knitted doilies named Paco Viejo, and the man sleeping on the corner of the street – out my window and underneath a sign reading the dirty corner of rock and roll (“the dirty corner of” in Spanish and “rock and roll” as is).

As I said, on Monday I visited el teatro verano: a huge, out-door theatre opening up to a series of concrete seats. There were three different rows of seats in the stadium; those nearest the stage were the most expensive at 200 pesos ($10), the central area a bit further back was around 150 pesos ($7.50) a seat and the furthest back were 100 pesos ($5). To be honest, I didn’t understand many of the comedy routines, songs, or skits performed on stage. For me, the stage was setting the background noise while I spent time watching the crowd and following the progress of popcorn, churro, potato chip, and cotton candy sellers as they worked their way through the crowds. I was cheap and went with the 100 peso seats a long distance off from center stage but I’m glad I did. In the 100 peso section, you find rich Montevideo businessmen intermingled with the middle class and the extreme poor. People propping up a bag of popcorn on their laps while setting the zoom feature on high powered cameras sit elbow to elbow with those who have never held a camera, who would steal one first chance they got and sell it for food.

The snack sellers typically make their way through the more expensive sections, likely in the hopes of targeting consumers who could afford more. But, these vendors had to pay the entrance price as well and many of them kept to the cheaper sections because they couldn’t afford to move about. Selling anything in Montevideo is an art. Vendors call out the name of their product in ascending and descending volume to catch the most ears while they move about. Typically they repeat a certain pattern of phrases. For example, the potato chip seller called out “Papas fritas, papas, papas, fritas, papas fritas, fritas at an incredibly fast accelerating pace, breaking off for moments to catch his breath and to move on to the next row of seating. Sometimes, the volume and energy the vendors put into their calls can make or break their sales. The man selling popcorn was calling out a halfhearted “Pop” every three to four minutes and I noticed that by the end of the show, he had sold maybe five measly bags in total. The potato chips guy, an energetic man closer to eighty years of age than to sixty had to refill his cart of chips several time. Long story short: advertising works.

The songs and skits kept continued that night from 9 pm until 1 am in the morning. Elisa and I left the theatre exhausted, backs sore, and a little dissatisfied by the performance (seeing as we didn’t understand everything) but I kept help but wonder how those snack sellers felt or how many people they were working towards supporting. I thought the same thing when, nearing our apartment in the center of the city, Elisa and I saw a few haggard looking people sitting around the curb, eyes wide but in a tired, strained sort of way. In my entire time in Montevideo, I have only ever seen maybe two homeless people sleeping during the night. The other eight or nine I’ve seen have all been sleeping during the day. I can only guess that nights are more dangerous, colder, and more of a prime time for other activities and thievery. I don’t mean to judge these people but I’m only trying to understand them. That’s also why I read the thousands of graffiti messages on walls and buildings like “The dirty corner of rock and roll,” or political messages against certain presidents, or “Get out foreigners,” and so on and so forth. My translation are likely a little off and sugar coated but they are there: messages for me and ignored by most.

My first day in Montevideo, I was amazed to hear the sound of horse hooves out on the streets of Montevideo. I realize horses can be common police mounts in populated cities but, it being my first time in a new city, I thought it was part of some new and fantastical cultural trend I had never heard of; maybe an attempt at reducing carbon emissions – a cleaner way to live. I was only partially right. Excited, I asked my host brother Mauro why horse were out on the streets and he explained that they were among the many poor people of Uruguay who ride horse-bound carts through the city looking for garbage containers. I didn’t understand everything Mauro said but I have since found out that there are two types of garbage searchers: some are looking for recyclables like plastic bottles and glass while others are searching for food. The men, women, and children riding horse bound carriages are often and sadly doing both. They attach huge woven and re-stitched containers on the back side of their carriages, put blinders on the horse so they won’t be as afraid of the many cars of Montevideo, stash children old enough on precarious perches of the cart, and make their ways searching for half eaten food and beer bottles, horses coconut clapping against the pavement all the way.

Horses aren’t the only popular animal among the poor. There are also dogs almost everywhere among the crevices, parks, houses, abandoned buildings, and sidewalks. The dogs are not completely wild because they have owners but many of them are fed from the trash and left to wander in long radii near their owners. Curious, I have been doing some asking around about the popularity of canines over felines and I have since heard a popular explanation: dogs are warm. Even though Uruguay had a very temperate climate and typically stays between 55 and 80 degrees F, the wind coming off the Ocean along with the scarcity of heated units can make for cold nights. Dogs are popular among the homeless because, along with being faithful companions, they keep their owners warmer at night. I have since seen some cats but always on their own and prowling through the city trying to make a living like so many others.

Travel Tip 007: On getaway vacations and in temperate climates, limit your escape-the-world beach time. I only write this because I understand completely the temptation to spend all of one’s time at the beach soaking up rays, jumping in the water, listening to some tunes, and face down reading a good book. My advice is that if and when you do go to a beach in a culture new to you, do some people watching. Beaches, besides being great places to veg out, are the perfect places to investigate cultural traditions like those in Uruguay: pickup soccer games, pickle ball without the net, sand castles, conversations about the traffic and, of course, the walking sand vendors: some selling ice cream, others hotdogs, hats, dresses, rugs, towels, key chains, and more. These guys are the epitome of tan: dark skinned wanderers who pull refrigerated containers, carry hiking backpacks filled with odd adornments, haul a long pole on their shoulders with clothing or cloth waving in the wind and all underneath the pounding some and over relentless sand that, in my experience, gets over everything. Despite the sand, the heat, the sun, these guys walk for miles across the beaches of Uruguay only to turn around and do it all again. They do charge somewhat ridiculous prices (three dollars for a super skimpy ice cream sandwich) but I have deep respect for them.

Another faceless group, the bus vendors for which every Montevidian (my term) has a certain scorn or impassive nod reserved. Anywhere for a twenty-three year old selling his music to eighty-year-old Paco Viejo with his doilies, these guys work around the clock jumping on crowded city buses to first offer a sample of whatever they’re selling for free and then jump into a fast tirade and peso equivalence to whatever they’re selling. The musicians work a little differently and rely on the free and giving spirit of passengers but all of them have to be energetic, motivated, willing to advertise, and especially willing to accept the scorn and empty handedness of the occasional bus. I’ve been having a hard time not giving some of these people pesos because I respect that, in their own way, their working hard and getting their own street-life education.

Last Tuesday was el dia de las mujeres and, in respect to the event, President Jose Mujica had a televised speech broadcasted to the Uruguayan people in which he paid his respects to and encouraged the development of women's rights. I was reminded of the countless and faceless poor I have seen, both men, women and children, and especially one woman who, among other car-side street entertainers (another group of street vendors who wait for red light to jump out into the streets and juggle or do other tricks to win over a few pesos from the drivers), stopped in front of the bus on one of my travels and whipped multicolored socks through the air with a huge smile on her face. It was one of the worst car-side demonstrations I've seen but she kept up that smile even when most of the nearby cars refused to offer up any pesos. Even after Mujica's report finished and I was frustrated that I couldn't understand everything he had said, I thought of that girl's smile and hoped for the best.