Zeca Camargo celebrates his 60th birthday in Paris – 04/12/2023 – Zeca Camargo

I panicked when, at the beginning of the week, I received the report of internet usage time on my cell phone and saw that it had decreased by 41%. Just while I was spending my birthday in Paris! Like this?

I should be posting wildly. After all, I was in my favorite city, with 40 dear friends and family, celebrating my 60th birthday… Where were my stories, my reels? What was happening to my feed?

So I had to resort to my memory, not always reliable, to reconstruct the week of the party. And what I remembered more or less was this:

A field of flowers at Le Doyenné, my friends scattered in it as if they were gifts from nature itself.

Tiles with images of clowns from the first dinner at the Clown Bar.

The fish we eat there.

In the Bouche, a meringue with a candle, “Happy Birthday” in French, and me blowing out the surprise that wasn’t for me, but for Claude, who has a birthday the day after me.

Notre Dame looming in an indecently blue sky after crossing a bridge over the Seine.

An olive oil ice cream, recipe by Alain Ducasse, in Rue de La Roquette.

Camila playing Martinho da Vila for us to dance in a cabaret in Pigalle, Madame Arthur.

Charly Voodoo on piano, harp and theremin, on stage at the same cabaret.

Betty and Silvia and Andre and I dancing together again at last.

Paula and Rafael arriving by surprise from London for the party on the 8th.

Dozens of bottles freezing on the balcony of the apartment where I wait for guests to arrive.

A graffiti by artist Jordane Saget materializing while we ate the best roasted chicken in town at Brutos.

Thesée, David’s four-month-old Leonberger puppy, stealing all the scenes when he appeared.

Lost eyes on a splendorous sunny day without knowing where they were looking on a roof top that opened onto the Eiffel Tower, the Grand Palais, Montmartre, 360º…

The salads that chef Alessandra Montagne Gomes made for us that day.

The ping-pong tables floating on the stage of the Bastille Opera, in the last act of “Nixon in China”.

People screaming after tasting the perfection of pork cheek from Les Enfants Rouges.

The desperation on the face of Daï Shinozuka, the chef there, when another guest arrived for lunch.

The hug from Eugenia, Clarisse, my brother Eduardo, my mother’s smile and that of my eight-month-old nephew.

Denis being applauded surrounded by affection for having faced the Herculean task of organizing all of this.

People turning to notice Gabriel’s beauty walking through the streets of the Marais.

Astrid and Faust looking proudly at him.

“Rapture”, by Blondie, played at the last volume in the exhibition about Jean-Michel Basquiat and music at the Paris Philharmonic.

Luciana, Ana, Sossô, Renata, Nunuca, Carolina, Marina, Gustavo, me, Alexandre, Tony and Herbert lined up for a photo on the dramatic façade of the Philharmonic, created by Jean Nouvel.

The security guard at the place scolding us thinking it was a fashion shoot!

Robert Gober in the Pinault collection.

Ana (another one!) enjoying the tapenade of olives and figs from the fair on Avenida Richard Lenoir.

Marina and Camila walking with glasses and bottles on the pier of La Tournelle.

I also read with a glass at the door of Chez Paul.

Maria Fernanda arriving with the best perfume in the world as a gift and Petrit with a box of cookies pretending it was delivery.

Me at the bottom of the boat looking at these wonderful happy people.

And why wasn’t I posting all of this? Because I was living.

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