Bryan Adams
The cars drive slowly in Colonia, Uruguay. Not, it appears, because of speed limits, but simply because their drivers are in no hurry. They stop and wait for you to cross the street if you show the slightest desire to do so. Most people drive motor scooters or mopeds rather than cars, but these, too, roll along the streets at the speed of the bicycles. Their gentle puttering is a welcome break from the sounds of bike-borne empanada delivery men, racing down the streets of Buenos Aires like angry hornets. If there had been anywhere to go, we would have rented a scooter (12 dollars/day), but the beach – whose existence took us by surprise – was only a few minutes’ walk away.
I hadn’t realized how much I missed peace and quiet until I found myself surrounded by it, strolling through the twisted streets of the historic district.
There, crossing a quiet intersection, is where we met Bryan Adams. He heard us speaking English and stopped us with “hey – are you guys Americans”? This Bryan Adams was not a rock star, but just the same “the paparazzi” had been following him through the whole country on suspicion that he was. So he had come to the quiet of Colonia more or less to hide out.
As we stood on the side of the road, listening to Brian, we started to wonder…
Once, he told us, to escape the paparazzi, he had been forced to ditch all his belongings on a bus and seek shelter in a rural whorehouse. It was expensive, leaving all his stuff behind, and then it didn't help that one of the girls stole his money (although he went back later and she gave almost all of it back). But despite his efforts the paparazzi found him there. There were two, three, maybe four of them, cameras and all.
All this misfortune befell him after an old private school prof of his (whom he met on the streets of Montevideo after an encounter with the president’s secret servicemen brought on by his having unwittingly petted the presidential dogs) decided to pull a prank on him and spread all over the airwaves the story that Bryan Adams was in town.
…unable to confer, David and I were independently analyzing the situation, trying to figure this guy out, and also wondering what the other was thinking. But after a few minutes the wondering was over: it was clear we had on our hands somebody very odd. Seeking escape, we said we thought we would be heading on toward the beach. “Ok,” he said, “I think I’ll come along.” As we walked along, he talked, and we wondered if we would be stuck with him all weekend…
His former professor, who runs an improv street theatre group that Jennifer Lopez occasionally plays with, had really messed things up for him, because - in addition to the paparazzi - he has to worry about the police now, too. Every hotel he stays in gets a call five minutes after his arrival checking up on him. It’s hard for him to find any peace at all.
But when push comes to shove, he is ok because, while wild boar hunting on a private ranch, he met the 60-year-old female head of one of New York’s Godfather-era mafia families, who has transplanted her operation to Uruguay. She gave him a letter of introduction. All he has to do is show the letter and people not only leave him alone, but give him stuff: 60-dollar meals – no charge!
We finally left Bryan at the water, saying we had to go buy swimsuits (which was true, mind you). But once free, we lived in fear of running into him again. Not only was the town small enough that we were likely to round a bend and meet him, but he was also staying in the same hostel as we were. We spent a half hour on Saturday night circling the hostel, waiting for him to clear out of the courtyard so that we could slip into our room.
previously there was You can take the boy out of the country
afterwards you have schoolyard fight
http://.../ [submitted on 13 Jan 03]
What sort of memories does a rock star have of the world, breezing in and out of a continent in 3 days, spending much of the time preparing for and giving a rock show? [submitted on 13 Jan 03]