I will tell you this. It is the halfway point of my trip and I have achieved penetration into a world that I believe has heretofore been experienced by very gringoes. This, my amigos, is the world of very high mongering and this was the objective of my trip.
Ever since I first read about Casa W (actually this is a misnomer as it is called Restaurante W--more later)a few months ago, I have become completely obsessed; I could not read enough, I could not ask enough questions, I just could not stop thinking about the place. The idea of a "tony" restaurante filled with a bevy of low mileage comely young women from southern Brazil somehow captured and took hold of my imagination.
Despite very long and generous responses by both AC and Raimundo to my multiple, complex and sometimes repetitive questions, I still could not get a clear picture --and I desperately wanted to learn more.The intelligence on this board indicated that there were three "W"s; restaurantes located at Rua Alvorada, 550 and Alameda Irae, 37 and a "house" on which virtually no information existed (even on the Brazilian boards). This was the case up to a couple of months ago, tops.I arrived in Rio on Sexta Feira, hung around GIG for an hour an a half--by the way, the ATMs on the third floor do not work for north american credit cards despite having the "Cirrus" logo emblazoned thereon--and then boarded a TAM airlines aviao to Congonghas Airport (CGH--the local airport) in Sao Paolo. The flight was a very short 40 minutes and cost with taxes and fedex delivery was $198USD.
As has been noted in other posts, if you are headed into SP on a mongering trip, you are going to want to arrive at CGH (the local airport) and not the International A/P (name escapes me at the moment as 20 year old blond garota from Porto Alegre who has been in the business ONE WEEK just tied me up, forced me to smoke marijuana have sex with her which has has not only left me feeling defiled but has caused some temporary memory lapses as well as a pretty bad case of the munchies).
I agonized over which hotel. Should I go lower end and have a bigger garota budget? Should I go higher end and have a better place to showcase to the long procession of garotas I was intending to have as guests? Should I stay in a familiar american chain hotel? Should I take a chance at one of the more comfortable Brazilian chain hotels? In which neighborhood (or Bairro) should I stay? Should I do a combination of any of the above?
After an exceedingly long deliberation and help from members of this board I decided to initially stay in the Bairro of Moema and to spend the first few days in a hotel called the Blue Tree Convention Ibirapuera. It is a relatively new hotel(maybe a year or two old), it is located next door to Shop Ibirapuera, a large shopping mall and it has a very good central location--2,7 km to Cafe Photo, 1,52 km to W on Alameda Irae, 3,28 km to W on Alvorada, 1,49 km to Bahamas, 8,82 km to Bomboas. Cost was R117 per night including tax. Hotel was clean and modern. I have since move to the Renaissance (another story( which is probably the nicest hotel in town but cost literally more than seven times that of the Blue Tree. Both hotels have been excellent choices for me.
Back to the "W"s. After a management split the W on Alameda Irae is owned separately. I have not been there but I will go probably on Thursday. What is left of W is the Restaurante on Alvorada and a house, which is actually more of a collection of structures or a compound, located in Centro on a street called Alameda Guitai (or something like that -- I haven't a clue as I was picked up at my hotel by the owner is his bulletproof Mercedes Benz 600S and I was not paying much attention). The house, which is known as the "big house" is not open to the public--it is available by invitation only and its existence is not advertised.
But, I am getting ahead of myself. On Sexta Feira (Friday), I landed at CGH at 1:30 pm and was in my hotel room by 2:07 (distance was 3 km, but I had to wait for my luggage for 15 minutes). E depois, I managed to unpack without any major calamities and then, pressing my luck, engaged in a vigorous workout in the more than adequate Blue Tree gym.I had decided that primero on my agenda was a visit to Restaurante W which I hoped would be the gateway to the high end Sao Paolo mongering scene--a scene I was determined to infiltrate. Restaurante W is open Monday to Friday as sete da tarde (7 pm) to whenever. It is closed on Sabado e Domingo. However, my intelligence indicated that one should not arrive at W before 9:30 or so, but by 6:45 I was so full of anticipation, I couldn't stand it. I boarded a cab and less than 12 minutes later I was standing outside of W.
W is in what seems to be an industrial area in the neighborhood of Vila Olympia. Externally it looks a little like a reasonably upscale Mexican restaurant with terra cotta tiles on the roof and a largely brick exterior. The property has a small parking area (I noticed a Ferrari, a BMW 850 and the previously mentioned bulletproof Mercedes S600). Standing in the parking area were four beefy security types with earpieces and ill-fitting suits. One (I kid you not) was a dead ringer for Luca Brasi (from the Godfather movie).
Slightly intimidated, I moved towards the entrance and walked through the door, which was being held open by Mr. Brasi. In seconds, I was greeted by a tall, slim, curvy brunette. The hostess (she has an odd name that I simply cannot remember right now). She presented the side of her face to my lips and instructed me to "kiss her." I hesitated for a moment, looked back apprehensively at Luca, and laid one on each side of her cabesa. Then she asked me if I understood that this was a ----(hesitating while trying to search for the right words)--"gentlemen's club." I assured her that I understood where I was.
My hesitancy was based on an earlier report which stated that the hostess, a beautiful woman, was really a man. However, I can say with absolute certainty, or my name is not Rodrigo Barnes and I AM a homo, that THIS particular hostess was beautiful AND was not a MAN. Although, I must admit, it did take me a few days (during which time I endured some moments of sexual ambiguity) before I was able to have the confidence in my foregoing statement that I have just exhibited.
The interior or Restaurante W is tastefully done but not uncomfortably formal--main dining area has wood paneled cathedral ceiling--and there are two patio areas with tables allowing customers to sit outside.I was the only customer in the Restaurante at 7:01. I looked around and my eyes took in maybe 15 sexily dressed college type young women. Not stunningly gorgeous (at least none jumped out at me as such upon my initial perusal), mind you, probably of Centaurus quality.
I spotted the manager, Edson, who I recognized from a description I had read on one of the Brazilian boards--I do my homework boys--and immediately approached him in handshake position. Edson was a little surprised that I knew him by name but he was friendly, affable and invited me to drink, eat and partake of any of the beautiful women that I desired.
I sat at a table contiguous to the bar near the corner of the main dining room near the entrance and reflexively folded my arms across my chest, hugging myself.Sensing my slight discomfort, the beautiful hostess, looking slightly uncomfortable herself under my intense gaze (me trying to ascertain whether she could possibly be a he), presented Solange, a brunette who did not immediately ring my chimes.
"Solange, she speak a very good a ingles," said the hostess.I nodded politely and turned my head. The other girls were congregating around two tables near the center of the main dining area. There still were no customers or maybe a few seated outside.
My choice was basically to talk to Solange or to make my way--naked so to speak--armed not even with the ability to communicate as my Portuguese skills had diminished since my last Brazil trip in Setember-- into a gaggle of young females probably tired after a long week, probably anxious for the weekend to start and perhaps wary of gringoes.
I was slightly conflicted; fear on the one hand and a bounty of pulcitudinous lasses giving off the unmistakable scent of innoncence on the other. But, as is often the case with me, I chose the coward's route and stayed glued to my chair in the corner. However, as will be seen this turned out not to be a bad choice.
here to see the photos
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