Goin to the Chapel

3rd of July, Domingo
Hotel Dias, Room 470
Pouso Alegre, MG

Blacked Out in Pouso Alegre.

We made the wedding. Amazingly.

Our ten hour bus ride stretched to almost fourteen, as workers ostensibly “repaired” the road between Pouso Alegre and the west. Still, we arrived in time to shower, dress, and bounce out for the ceremony.

The wedding was a pleasant a fair, a spectacle designed almost entirely for Bianca. It was her starring role, I suppose; a big day for all Brazilian girls. The wedding was held at a ranch house just outside of town, a villa patrolled by suits with walkie talkies which gave it an awesome, mobster feel. The pristine sunset ceremony was interrupted only by the arrival of a flock of vultures coming home to roost in the looming palm trees. For some, a dark and terrible omen on such an auspicious day. Superstitions, however, are retarded, and so neither creepy vultures nor a faulty microphone could mar the occasion. Prophecy holds power only over the believer.

The rest of the wedding went well also. Speeches int he drawling, hard-R Minas accent, cake, booze. We boogied and throughout the American musical selections, we were the stars of the show. Strange to turn and see someone watching and copying me, as though a white boy from the ghetto holds all the secrets of American motion…

Heavy drinking at the wedding, but without serious effects. Foiled again by this cowardly, tropical beer.

A good time all around, especially for a wedding. I’ve come to expect marriage ceremonies to be sordid, burdensome chores, but this was far from it. No church, no Electric Slide, and plenty of mid 20’s cousins with a taste for all things American…

Things wrapped up around ten, and we headed to the hotel. Upon realizing that the night was so young, nearly a toddler, Thaís and us four American dudes headed to a club nearby. Pouso Alegre is a decent sized city with a small town feel. We were certainly outsiders in the bar, but not in a negative way, simply something very out of the ordinary.

Heavy drinking and bilingual madness until the wee hours. My recollections are hazy; some kind of passionate arguments over the merits of real grass vs. astroturf… Explanation and demonstration of the proper method to take a shot of tequila (foreigners don’t know shit about drinking tequila)…long, fruitless explanations of California slang to a pair of guys from Goias… then darkness.

Apparently I made it home ok, since I’m… home. And ok.

I am afraid to ask what craziness occurred when the lights in my eyes went out.

Madness. Who knows what esoteric customs I violated or how many locals I terrified while Under the Influence.

Tomorrow we’re on the move again. The family has dispersed, and Thaís has headed back to Brasília, leaving us once again to fend for ourselves. I finally made contact with SoCo after navigating the horrid, archaic Brazilian phone system for an hour. She was surprised to hear from us, she had probably written us off as a passing, chance encounter. She’s in some house in a place called Piracicaba, and we’ll make contact tomorrow to see if we can meet in Campinas for a 4th of July blowout before we head north for Rio.

We’re far enough south now that it actually feels like winter, at least at night.

Our objective is completed, our mission a complete success. Despite hell, high water, and several trillion kilometres of questionable jungle highways, we made the wedding. We win the prize, you bastards. One to nothing.



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