My mother was born in Santa Ana do Livramento, Brazil, right at the border with Rivera, Uruguay. Both cities are amalgamated in one. A broad street with a line on the middle, divides the countries. You can literally put a foot in Uruguay and the other in Brazil. As a kid, that concept was pure magic for me. One day, when I was seven years old, at siesta time, I took my bike and without asking permission, I crossed the border into Brazil. My heart was pounding fast while I was pedaling at full speed, fascinated with the idea that every meter I was deeper and deeper into a foreign territory. I only stopped when my legs hurt. I rode past the city. Only a long road of dark red dirt was in front of me. Lost.  But instead of being afraid of the unknown, that day my awe for traveling was born.

I lived in Montevideo until I was 25 years old. Then I hit the road: Rio of Janeiro, Barcelona, Madrid, Puerto Rico, Buenos Aires, Los Angeles, New York and then Moscow, but without leaving New York. Moscow – New York – Moscow. Back and forth. Like Doctor Yuri Zhivago, in love with both Antonina and Larisa, unable to decide where to go. 

While seeing the world, I worked as a copywriter and creative director in DDB, Saatchi & Saatchi, and Slogan, a successful agency in Madrid. I became partner. I quit, afraid of being too comfortable. I went to New York to study Filmmaking in NYU. I won awards in global advertising festivals, some were deserved and others undeserved. In 2014, I became a Film Director. Or at least it’s what it says on the opening credits. I co-wrote and directed a feature film, Fragments of Love, that ended up winning the Glauber Rocha award in the Montreal Film Festival. But believe or not, I never counted my awards. Once a project is completed, I move on to the next one. 

LIKE WATER BETWEEN MY FINGERS.

It was my first project in Moscow. The sound of Russian language delighted me like listening to music, since I didn’t understand a word. The night of my second day. I went out for a walk. Alone. Without a translator, verbal communication with anyone was impossible. Frustrated, I rushed back to the hotel and asked the concierge to find me a Russian teacher. I decided to stay ten more days after I delivered the project. Sasha was my driver, hired by the production house. “Sasha, from tomorrow on, I’ll pay you for the rides, okay?” The man replied okay, but I was uncertain  if he understood. His English was weak. “I go to Kiev in train arrival” he told me once. It took me some time to realize that “train arrival” was his word for train.

Sasha, Alexander, how I called him, showed me areas of Moscow that I’d never discovered as a normal tourist. Every morning I entered his car, showed him the subway map and pointed a destination. Altuf’evo. Khovrino. Liublino. Lukhmanosvskaya. Usually, the last stop of the line, or a station with a name hard to pronounce. “Ne nado tuda!” (Don’t go there!) he usually said, smiling, knowing that we’d go anyway. In each of these places Sasha would show me uncommon, curious places. Little marvels for my eyes. Flea markets crammed with treasures. Shoe repairs surrounded by mannequins dressed like hunters. Kvas trucks tanks. Amusement parks with melancholic aesthetics, playing popular, catchy music. Attractive, exotic faces from the far East. Restaurants serving delicious meals for the prize of a latte in the center.  

We laughed a lot, we connected quite well, despite the language barrier. But something was worrying me. At the end of every day, at the hotel entrance, still in the car, I’d ask: “Alexander, how much?” – “Tomorrow, tomorrow”, was his unwavering answer, holding the wheel, ready to leave. The fourth or fifth day I stayed in the car. “You must tell me a price. It’s your car, your time, your job”. He remained silent for long seconds. Then he extended one hand palm up, and with the other hand, he slid fingers between his fingers. In broken English and body language he said something that was fully understood: “if you give me money, it will slip like water through my fingers. But friendship lasts forever”.