Text & Photos: Julie Schwietert Collazo
Additional Photos: Brayan Collazo
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“Cerrado por posible derrumbe”– “Closed due to possible collapse”– was the sign hanging from a rusty chain that was blocking the entrance to the history museum in Mariel, Cuba.

Say “Cuba” and crumbling buildings are as likely to come to mind as rum and the Buena Vista Social Club. Francisco’s son, Brayan, is a photographer whose portfolio has plenty of decayed building shots:

But if you’re really paying attention to your surroundings, there are places falling down all around you.

This, then, is the first installment in another occasional series– “Cerrado por Posible Derrumbe”–which documents decay in the Americas, insisting that these places are important, even as they’re falling apart.

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This trio part of a group of photos I’ve taken of closed movie theaters in Mexico City.

Although movies remain an important part of Mexican culture, the movie houses of old–dramatic and beautiful, if not on the outside, then on the inside–now sit on prime pieces of real estate, slowly falling apart.

This first photo is of the “taquilla,” or ticket booth, at the Cine Latino, a massive building on one the city’s principal avenues, Avenida Reforma. A metal gate keeps the curious from poking around inside (the door to the theater is actually open), but through the holes in the gate, you can see an enormous mural painted on the lobby wall. (You can’t, however, get clear shots through the holes.)

This is the front exterior of the Cine Latino. All around the cinema, new retail developments have sprung up in the past two years. Given its location, it’s hard to imagine that the abandoned theater will be here much longer.

This is the old El Patio Cinema. Its sign is still intact, but as you can see, the theater is presenting… nothing. The cinema sits across the street from a police precinct in a neighborhood that’s a little down and out right now, but which is likely to be the next gentrified zone in Mexico City.

Text & Photos: Julie Schwietert Collazo
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Since returning home from celebrating Carnaval in three of Brazil’s cities, I’ve written about Carnaval Beyond Rio and the darker side of this national celebration.

One of my favorite Carnaval memories, though, is of the kids of Pelourinho.

In Pelourinho, the Carnaval celebrations are by the people and for the people, and kids are an important part of the party.

It seems like they get started early!

I could have spent the whole afternoon watching and photographing these precious, precocious toddlers.

Parents may not be wearing costumes, but, like Halloween in the U.S., they take the time to dress their little ones in special outfits.

Some of the costumes I saw were Indians, clowns, queens, princesses, pirates, witches.

So many of the kids seemed naturally photogenic, not yet touched by self-consciousness that creeps into all of us at some point, no matter where we were born. When I aimed the camera at the little boy above, he reached into his pouch and pulled out a handful of confetti…extending his hand towards me.

The kids would dance with each other or alone, with music or without. Later, I’d notice many of them asleep on the shoulders of their parents, exhausted from the day’s fun.

Text & Photos: Julie Schwietert Collazo

There’s a reason I wasn’t born Brazilian, I realized last night in my sleep and food-deprived delirium:

I simply do not have the constitution to spend six days partying frenetically without stopping.

Hard-core Carnaval goers (read: Brazilians) would likely scoff that I haven’t had the “true” Carnaval experience, and they’re right. I’m not on the street at 10 AM, dancing non-stop until 4 AM. I just don’t have what it takes.

While “Carnaval lite” is pushing me to my limits, I can’t imagine what it would be like to perform in Carnaval.

Singers and dancers who give it their all atop moving platforms 20 feet above the street for hours on end amaze me. I’d be good for about 30 minutes… then I’d throw the microphone down, pull the platform heels off, collapse in a sweating heap, and declare myself spent.

There are so many other observations to make regarding Carnaval– and I’ll get to them… after I’ve recovered from a week of Carnaval in Recife and Salvador, Brazil.

Text & Photos: Julie Schwietert Collazo

A few weeks before I arrived in Brazil, Francisco and I watched a fantastic short documentary, “The Obama Samba*.”

From the synopsis of the documentary:

“At least eight candidates across [Brazil] have chosen to identify themselves with the U.S. presidential hopeful. Using names that sound like welterweight champions, there is the “Brazilian Obama,” and the “Obama of the Savannah.” Outside of Rio, in the region known as the Baixada, or “Lowlands,” there is Claudio Henrique, also known as the ‘Obama of the Baixada.’

Hoping to become the first black mayor of his hometown of Belford Roxo, Henrique sees the senator from Illinois as an inspiration, who has been able to break boundaries and overcome obstacles — many of which stand in Henrique’s way.”

I won’t ruin the fascinating story by telling you how it ends– you’ve got to see it yourself.

What I will say is that I can now confirm first-hand just how profound an impression President Obama has made on many Brazilians.

There are some, like artist Francisco Brennand, who display their political admiration proudly even though they couldn’t vote for Obama.

This banner hangs on the old ceramic factory Brennand bought in 1971 and which now serves as a repository and museum for the vast collection of his own ceramics. I took the photo today while visiting with Brennand.

And then there are entrepreneurs who see the value of Brand Obama… this is the second bar I’ve seen sporting a new name. Formerly “Bar Brahma” (named after one of Brazil’s beers), Brazilians can now down a cold one at “BARack OBrAhMA.”

*(the producer of “The Obama Samba” also co-produced the compelling documentary “The Judge and the General,” which is a must-see for anyone interested in Chilean history, human rights, and social justice.)

“The one thing Americans just can’t understand,” I said to my British and Brazilian colleagues as we sat on the beach in Porto de Gallinhas this morning, “is how obese women can wear bikinis.”

Granted, it wasn’t the most professional conversation we could have been having, but after sitting alone on the beach and watching bags while they all took a dip, I’d had plenty of time to ponder this matter, and I really wanted some help working through it.

“Really?” said one of the Brazilians, completely surprised. “You have a problem with bikinis? You Americans are so funny!”

But it was the Brit who decoded it all:

“People in the US and UK think women here are vain for being large and choosing to wear bikinis. But really, vanity is what keeps them from trying a bikini. I actually think that if a big woman is wearing a bikini, she clearly feels confident about herself.”

We pondered this in silence for a bit. I was looking for the beautiful people, the ones who appear in the glossy pages of Brazil’s travel brochures. But Alex was right. No one on the beach seemed to care less about who was wearing a bikini or what size anyone was.

Not that that makes me want to try on a bikini….