Brazil Part IV: Beachside Burlesque

We were now in Itacare, a beautiful hippie surf town. Joined by a friend, we found ourselves staying in a Pousada completely occupied by Dutch tourists. In fact the whole town seemed to be filled with local Brazilians or the Dutch. My first night, I cruised the main street looking for a place to grab a drink and write. After making one pass down the street, I decided on an outdoor bar that blasted old school reggae. I sipped on my tropical beverage and began to write while Jimmy Cliff was singing. I was soon approached by one of the guests in my Pousada who asked if he could join me. I pointed at the chair next to me and remarked that my friend would be arriving soon as well. We ordered a round of Caipirinhas and spoke of our lives back at home.

After several rounds, the tempo had changed to Cypress Hill. We decided to locate a party we had heard of at the beach. Stumbling over the cobblestones, we made our way down the road to the beach. As we got closer, it was clear there was no party. All we heard were the bats, the night birds and the sounds of the sea. The water was aglow with the reflection of the near full moon and the twinkling of stars. In an attempt to break the silence, my friend exclaimed that I am a burlesque performer to our new Dutch friend. He turned to me and asked “what is burlesque?” I began to give my usual discourse which includes the history of burlesque and the rise of the neo-burlesque movement. Before getting to the 1900s, I paused. I am not sure if it was the alcohol or the site of the calm water that inspired me, but I suggested that rather than run through my verbiage I would coach him through a striptease. Before he responded, I also suggested that my friend would also take the “course” with him. My friend shot me a look while giggling nervously and before she could respond, he said yes.

The three of us were now standing on the beach. I began to explain the importance of movement and connection to the audience. We ran through a series of movements which included belt removal, pants removal, and shirt removal. Laughing through this process we redressed and repeated each step. My friend complained she couldn’t take off her pants since she was going “commando” that night. And Dutchboy began to complain, that he was looking like a “sissy”, so I suggested he should demonstrate what he learned for us and add his own “macho” touches. He whined that there was no music, to which I responded I would hum “the big strip” for him.

My friend and I sat down on the sand and debated over whether we should sing Sir Mixalot’s “Baby Got Back” or the more traditional “Big Strip”. And although we both knew the lyrics, Dutchboy preferred the more traditional striptease song. As I began to sing, he whipped off his belt and slapped it against his thigh. The subsequent wince gave away the fact he had just injured himself. He slowly unbuttoned the top of his shorts and dropped them down to his ankles. He stopped and posed and then began to pull of his shirt. When his shirt had barely made it over his head, I stopped singing. I told him he needed to redress and start over. He was not connecting to his “audience”. My friend nodded enthusiastically emphasizing the words “no connection”. He redressed and began once my humming resumed. He tripped taking off his shorts, so I made him start again. I began to giggle after the 4th attempt. I was amused by my ability to get this man to take off his clothes and redress. He started to catch on and demanded that someone else needs to take a turn. My friend looked at me and reminded us she wasn’t wearing any underwear, she couldn’t possibly strip. As they became more engaged with deciding how she could do a striptease without revealing “too much” I had already taken off everything and jumped in the ocean.