Work trips are often lonely. Being alone in a bar or restaurant is common — and then we take the opportunity to observe the conversations and learn a little more about where we are.
At that table by the window, for example, the couple converses with a certain animation. He talks a lot, and it’s mostly about cinema, while she counterpoints him with references to the books she’s been reading.
In the last century, the environment would have been clouded by transparent clouds of tobacco and both would be inhaling cigarettes even between mouthfuls. What remains unchanged is that in the conversation there is an intellectual enthusiasm that vibrates in the surrounding atmosphere and that the girl, simply dressed, manages to make herself elegant with almost nothing — a discreet red lipstick, a delicate scarf played with an apparent one (only apparent ) carelessness in the neck, as you only see in Paris.
At a more central table, four friends speak in rally volume. They are not disaffected, but use opposing arguments and debate with an enthusiasm that borders on fanaticism. The language, and especially the local accent, has the drama that also permeates typical music, a tragic ineluctability that seems to come from the cradle.
They are intense, they are politicized as civility would demand of all peoples, although they seem to be unwilling to be convinced of something, however blunt their friends’ arguments: convictions are as bloody as the raw material of the “asado” that divides in this parrilla of Buenos Aires.
Loud talking is not unique to you. Outside, on the terrace, a larger group roars happily over glasses of wine. The subject is not the hardships of politics, it is the joys of life. Seductive glances flicker across the table to young men and women who welcome them naturally (flirtation is not necessarily harassment, they know).
Memorable travel souvenirs and plans for the ones to come are the menu items, celebrated with expressive gestures. The loud voices don’t bother us because, as already said, they occupy tables on the sidewalks, where they drink, eat and socialize, looking out over the ancient square of the many that decorate Rome.
Loud laughter also emanates from the table with a dozen people, but something doesn’t seem to convey real joy. It’s the end of the shift, co-workers fraternize over many glasses. From formal attire, the ties have already slipped into the pockets of the jackets, which in turn rest sloppily on the chairs.
The ethylic level rises quickly, but accompanied by attractive snacks, even sophisticated for a bar. It’s a small relief for the group, who actually laugh on demand: they were invited by the boss to drink and, in local tradition, no one says no to the superior. Even in Japan, where the food is so good and so revered, there are tense moments like these in a Tokyo izakaya near the firm.
In contrast to the false joy of a tense people, at another table there is tense conversation despite a joyful people.
Light everyday conversations or friendly soccer fights lose ground to growing bitterness. Nonconformity sours beer: “But the guy is a doctor and postpones the children’s vaccinations, how can he?”; “whoever directs the anti-racism entity is an avowed racist!”; “the guy is the face of the militiamen that his family protects, how do we let him become president?” Someone repeats, “Enough of politics, let’s have fun”, everyone agrees, but before the next round, the subject returns.
Even the joy of the pub we Brazilians are losing. But the year ends this Friday, and here comes 2022. Will a new year in Brazil finally be Friday?
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