Los Argentinos Invaden (and We Return the Favor)

Well, it's our last day. So we started it with a solemn ceremony of sleeping in until about 8:00.

Quinn did, anyway. I got up and did a little laundry by hand. Pants only - the underwear I did by hand the other day can stand up by themselves. I'll not be making that mistake again. 

We hit the road at about 10:00, since we had errands to run. We hit the post office, which looks like every other post office in the world:

We changed some money, and then we went to the subway station and headed to the game. I know I've put up similar images before, but I just can't help myself:

The Swiss were there, living up their stereotypes. As in the other games featuring South Americans, I saw no one from Argentina doing anything similar:

The game: These were our seats:

I took a picture of these two because of the rugby shirt the one on the left was wearing. Unfortunately, they turned out to be more significant than just that. The one on the right had probably six beers and refused to sit down early in the game, and tangled a bit with those behind him, including us. Added a little tension I could've done without. 

Here's the opening ceremony: 

You can tell by the general shade of the crowd which team had more fans in attendance. I think the aregentines outdid the Chileans in that regard, but not by too much. Still, it was an elimination game - more significant than the Chile game we saw. After the game, we met the Argentines who were staying at our hostel, and they turn out to have grown up with one of the Argentine team members - Pablo Zavaleta. A really nice bunch - they're all late twenties, no kids (except a couple, about 5 years old, who tagged along for the trip), and they're driving from game to game, following the team. They haven't taken vacations for several years so they'd have money and time to go on this oddyssey. Super polite, friendly, nice folks.

I point this out to counterbalance the fact that many of the Argentine fans at this game were, by far, the most obnoxious and boorish I've seen at the Cup. To be truthful, they're the ONLY obnoxious and boorish group I can recall seeing. I've seen some obnoxious individual Brazilians, and Australians, and Brits - but never hordes of any of those, and never behaving this terribly. Picking fights, screaming lengthy insults at the top of their lungs, giving the finger and lolling  their tongues in wild-eyed hysteria and making other, graphic, obscene gestures at random supporters of he other team...the ONLY people I ever saw do any of that, and the only ones I ever saw security people drag out of the building, were Argentines. 

Of course, I saw and walked past thousands of Argentines, literally, who did no such thing. And the A-holes numbered at most in the dozens. But the truth of it is inescapable: All such guys, all of them, were Argentines.

Counterbalanced by the Swiss, who might as well have been carrying briefcases for how polite and collected they seemed. 

Really, none of what I witnessed affected us. Except that in the end, when Argentina scored, I couldn't help myself, and high-fived the guy on the right, who was beaming and celebrating like mad. And at the end I congratulated both of them; they both hugged me warmly and apologized, and I said "for what? Forget it. It didn't happen." We all left feeling good.

Those guys had their faults, but they were also the life of the party. They were joking with he Brazilians sitting with them, taking pictures with them, laughing like kids - one of them, the guy on he left, lives here; he said in Portuguese to the people next to me, "I have three Brazilian kids, but I'll still never support the soccer team." Maybe I'm just a grump. The excitement was everywhere, and I think I took up an oppositional stance with these guys that wasn't really necessary. The mood, though, largely overcame the negativity in the air.

I mean, what a game. Over all I'd say the Argentines were more skilled and exact, and seemed to have more real chances, but there's no real reason the Swiss couldn't have won. When the Argentines scored, the place erupted with the kind of jubilation I had hoped to see from the Chileans; and when the Swiss hit the post as time wore down, the gasp - screams from a lot of people - were just as piercing. It was an incredible experience. 

Here's us at the stadium:

And here's one of the Argentines in our hostel . I took his picture because (a) he wasn't looking, and (b) he looks just like Luis Suarez:

I realized this evening that I may not have given you much information on what the hostel really looks like. So here are a few more shots:

The reception area:

A wider shot of the main sitting room, where we watched most of our televised games, including USA-Belgium tonight:

The secondary sitting / eating area, where the Chileans had set up:

The breakfast area:

And that, folks, is all for Brazil. A cab is coming towhi us away at 4:00 AM tomorrow, and we'll be on a plane at 7:00.  We aren't done traveling - we're off to Cordoba, Argentina, to stay with the Fureys, whom I met last April when I took students abroad. Jeel, one of my students, was their guest for six days, and they had me over to dinner a time or two. We hit it off, and I asked if they'd mind some visitors for a few days post-Brazil. Remarkably, they agreed - mostly because I sweetened the deal by bringing Quinn. They have a 13-year-old named Conrado, and we're eager to have them meet. I feel really lucky and gratefully to have such nice people waiting to take us in for a post-Cup adventure. It's going to be much more social and intimate than this Brazilian jaunt has been, and it doesn't feel like a blog is the best way to treat it. So, then, this is it. The last installment! 

Dry your eyes, folks. There's still Facebook. 

Today, in the stadium, Quinn, a propos of nothing, in the middle of the game, said, "I can't wait to go to Argentina tomorrow...but I don't want to leave Brazil."

And that, friends, is called The Sweet Spot.

Urban Death March II

Hi all. Last night w realized that today was going to be our last  unencumbered day in Brazil, and that we had to make it count. So we slept until 8:30, but then we got straight to it. 

We did 3 rounds of tabata exercises (Quinn pled down from running), had breakfast, and then went to the subway station to to to the Luz station, a turn-of-the-last-century railway station that a lot of people recommend. 

Turns out we'd been there. You transfer from the regular subway to the special World Cup train at this station, so we'd had the pleasure a couple of times. But we'd always been in transit, and this time we got to look around.

 I think it's really cool how the place is still used as it was originally intended. Just an everyday train station, but old and nifty. 

The neighborhood outside was really - well: Not really picturesque - I mean , I've been to Quito. That's picturesque. But this was the most picturesque corner of São Paulo hat we've seen. 

Just next door is a very quiet, leafy park. People were jogging and sitting on the benches. Quinn wanted to bounce his brand-new Brazil souvenir, a a Brazooka, but I didn't feel right abou it; it didn't seem like that kind of park. "It's a park! Of course you can kick a soccer ball in it!" So he did, despite my misgivings. 

And then a lady in a uniform told him that wasn't allowed. 

Ha.

Some park pics:

Back to the hostel, with a stop for lunch on the way. Quinn stayed at the hostel while I ran some errands, though first we took some pictures of us with our tickets, in case the unthinkable should happen. James, our English friend, had lost his ticket on the way to Uruguay-England, and had managed to talk his way in because he'd happened to have just such a picture on his phone. So here's our insurance policy:

(Quinn had me do a funny face.)

We had some fear put into us as well by he Brazilian staff, who'd heard estimates of tens of thousands of argentines who would be making their way to São Paulo, but without tickets, hoping to buy them or steal them. So we're keeping the doors locked and the sensors on high until after the game tomorrow.

(We already were anyway, truth be known.)

So when I went out to run errands, I saw this guy one last time:

Got a real soft spot in my heart for French bulldogs. 

On the way back I walked through another park I hadn't seen yet. This one is right along Paulista, and once you're in, you have no idea that you're in the heart of the city. I couldn't resist taking one of this old feller:

A street bisects the park, and a bridge connects the two halves. Pretty cool:

So our second half of he day was spent back at Parque Ibirapuera, where Quinn and I kicked around his Brazooka:

The guy at the store made clear that the ball was a commenmorative one - I think there's a version that's identical to the on-field variety. Fear not, Janneke: it's not that one.

We switched to a frisbee after a while. It was a bit of a novelty for a lot of folks, I think: people would stop and watch us for a little as they strolled. 

No, my fly wasn't open. 

There are a lot of Argentines in town all of a sudden. You hear them everywhere, and seven of them are staying in our hostel. Haven't met them - we've gone all hermit lately - but they're here. The excitement is building. It's not the same giddiness there was in the group stage, with three games a day, but it's still pretty cool.

Back to the hostel for he end of Germany-Algeria. Well - the end of regulation. At that point we were hungry, and I'd told Quinn that since it was our last night before our LAST night, we could eat wherever he wanted. So we walked to the mall and ate at that weigh-your-plate place, and had a nice time watching Germany's second, and algeria's first, goal. People are talking about it as the game of the cup so far. I'll quote James the Englishman again: after Portugal headed in the equalizer with 20 seconds to go, he threw up his hands and declared: "Best World Cup ever." There have been SO many great games - how many of the knockout matches have gone to extra time? Three? With two PK shoot outs? The Brazilian nightmare everyone talked about at the beginning has, in soccer terms at least, really turned out to be amazing.

Walked home. Paulista fills up at night with all these hippies who squat on the concrete in front of their blankets full of bracelets and jewelry and dream catchers, and it really puzzles me. How people choose that life style, I mean. I've known some hippies - I'm from Gays Mills, remember - but they lived the hippy dream, out in the woods, communing with nature (not to sound dismissive, but you know what I mean), homesteading, living simply. These guys get more second-hand smoke in a night than a bartender in 1978, and spend huge portions of their lives in really filthy, uncomfortable conditions. They seemed enslaved by heir state much more than freed by it. Quinn and I have talked about it quite a bit - it's been interesting to see what he notices about them. 

And now we are in bed, closing out the day. We will be in the upper deck again tomorrow, so little chance of catching us on TV. Thanks for reading!

A Day In The Park, and On the Move

Hey folks. The plan today was simple: Go to the park. Return a shirt for one of a larger size. Try on some cleats. Shop for "compression shorts", which apparently are a thing. Eat.

We did it all. And it took aaaaaall day.

Up and at 'em breakfasted, and out the door by 10:00. Hey - we're on vacation.

I started taking photos of every dog I saw with a sweater on, because I've seen a lot. Here's what I got today:

Maybe I don't see as many as I thought I did. 

We took a bus that our friendly hostel mistress - it's not like it sounds - told us about, and it was great because we had to wait no time, and it went straight to the park. We got out, walked in, and started kicking the ball. Easy peasy, and a really nice day to boot. These two showed up in running clothes and started stretching next to us:

They seemed like they were on a first date, and it was the most adorable thing I'd ever seen, this lengthy, smiling routine before they started off on a jog. Another São Paulo story waiting to be written.

The park is big, and beautiful:

It was also crowded, this being a beautiful Sunday. The masses of paulinos who jog or ride their bikes made for a scene comparable to Paulista Avenue. It was actually dangerous, it seemed to me, with everybody weaving in and out. There are bike paths, with divided lanes, but people passed so much that it really quickly made our minds up that, no, we would not be renting bikes today. Maybe tomorrow, when the population is thinner. 

By the way, if any of you want to become number one in some category in Brazil, come here with three bike helmets, and sell them. You'll instantly become the biggest-selling bike helmeteer in Brazilian history. 

We stopped and watched some soccer:

Petted a few dogs that wandered by too. We were unwittingly on the edge of the unofficial dog park area: 

Lots of breeds, but just as many well-cared-for and beloved mutts. I love that about São Paulo.

I also love what they've done to help this tree, which has sent a branch a little farther out from the trunk than is really wise:

There's a cloth between the bark and the metal. 

Nowhere to eat lunch in the park at an affordable price, so we set out to walk to Rua Oscar Freire, he of the Nike store, and resolved to find a greasy spoon on the way. We were on some pretty hoity-toity streets there, with lots of law offices and corporate headquarters. We saw this place:

...whose name made us homesick:

Ate lunch. Nice place, affordable. Didn't take any pictures, probably because I was exhausted. Made it to the Nike store; tried on the cleats. Quinn though that he'd found a place online to get them cheap; turned out later to be a scam. But it gave us a purpose for today.

Found compression shorts. Checked price tag. Hung them back up.

Quinn thought this guy's coat was funny:

It says "Great Britain", and has the American and British flags. 

 

See what fun we have?

Sundays in São Paulo, the big avenues give up one lane that's transformed into a bike lane. And a whole bunch of people are paid to hold flags saying "stop" so the cyclists don't swarm over the pedestrians at the crosswalks. It's extremely polite and cordial:

Back to the hostel. Footsore and swollen from kicking a ball so much, the many (felt that way, anyway) walking miles...I took a damn nap. And Quinn, a little later, had post card duty:

Off to the mall, then, to return a shirt and eat supper. There's a weigh-your-plate place there. Quinn ate; I was still coasting from eating all my lunch & half of Quinn's.  First, though, I saw what Dick Cheney's been doing with his spare time: 

It's good he keeps busy.

Quinn weighs his options before weighing his options:

They'd set up a tv so we could see the extra periods of Costa Rica-Greece:

A Columbian guy sat right next to me and narrated every move, and with every flub or mistake, declared the offender to be a "maricon" (fag). It bothered me a lot. I forget what a bubble of tolerance we live in sometimes. I looked at the guy as we left: everything about him just screamed "sleazy cave man". Unsurprising. 

Back home, another three-quarters of a mile, with McFlurries halfway there. And here we are. I had this nice long talk today with a couple of the employees of the hostel - In Portuguese! (Kind of) - about how we prefer to get to know fewer places well when we travel rather than flit from one check-off destination to another. And we are definitely doing that. 

We didn't even watch Holland, except for part of the first half over lunch. Heard about the result. Watched 3/4 of regulation time of CR-Greece, and heard the cheer as we walked home after supper when CR won. I kind of like that about today: we watched the soccer, as long as it didn't get in the way of what we wanted to so. That feels about right. 

See you tomorrow!

City Boys

Auto- correct had that as "cutey-boys". Thought about leaving it. 

Another day in the Urbe. Up at a reasonable hour and off to the only post office branch open on Saturday. A lot of you will be getting post cards, but probably after we get back. For some reason we haven't been able to find an open post office before now. So we trooped off to find it. 

I popped a pic of the first person I've ever seen doing what must be a constant chore around here:

We were in and out of the post office in a few minutes, and went off to buy some post cards and do some shopping. We got the post cards, but most places were closed because it's game day. Everybody,  practically, was wearing their Brazil jerseys:

Even a (lame) street performing Elvis impersonator got into the act:

The Posada organized another barbecue for us for the game:

The Chileans in the hostel established themselves in one room, and the Brazilians in another: 

As I pointed out on Facebook: Chilean men have round faces, powerful builds, ten extra pounds, and beards. There was another one too; I just couldn't get them all in the picture.

The game was amazing, with the Brazilians going bananas sometimes and the Chilean contingent going even more so. PKs is a terrible way to end a game, but I can't say it isn't fair. Chile should hold its head high, and its players should know that a number of big strong men wept openly when that last ball bounced off the post.

Neymar is amaaaaaazing. SO fast, such touch and control...incredible.

We watched Colombia-Uruguay, and the better team definitely won there. I was pulled more in a Colombia direction, perhaps because the Uruguayans seemed so angry. And because they seem to be angry with everyone on Earth except Suarez, who's the only one at fault. But it's a small country; they stick together. 

Quinn and I ate out:

We the did some shopping, and finished up with a dessert of pineapple smoothie - which is extremely similar, in Portuguese, to the word for "avocado". That was a close one.

I've mentioned the high regard I have for the Brits we've met on this trip, and now I think I'll mention the Chileans, particularly Matias, a lawyer who can quote Nicanor Parra poems like I can quote... Well, I can't quote anybody. Just the nicest, smartest, most well-educated guys you could ask to meet. They raise them right down there - Don, I'll have to give you his contact info. I know how hard up you guys are for someone to talk to when you're down there.

And, you know, while I'm praising things, here are a few others:

Brazilian drivers. In São Paulo, anyway, they are way into obeying traffic rules and lights, and are very, very deferential to pedestrians. In that regard, I see no drop-off from the US. I've felt very safe crossing the streets. 

"Why would you expect anything else?", sniffs Chauncey the Touchy and Easily Offended Knight of the Politically Correct.

"Because I've been in six other Latin American countries, Chauncey, and you're taking your life in your hands there every time you nip out to buy a packet of crisps, you mincing twerp."

Also to be praised: Quinn's sense of direction. He tells ME where to go 90 percent of the time. He knows before we get to the metro which train we're taking first and how many transfers we have to make. He can scan Paulista for two seconds and tell you if this metro stop or that one is closest. It's kind of spooky - to me, anyway. Like muskets were spooky to the native Hawaiians when Cook turned up.

The PosAda. James, the English traveller who was here the longest, told them before he left, "I've been in probably a hundred hostels over the last two years, and I can honestly tell you: This is the best one." Helpful, smart staff, friendly guests, great central location... Getting our money's worth, here. 

There you have it. Tomorrow we do some architectural sightseeing, and hit he biggest park in São Paulo, so Quinn - who feels better every day - can finally kick a ball around. We'll shop a bit too. I was offering a number of day trip options to Quinn, but staying in town was what he really wanted to do. Easy enough. 

Thanks for reading, good night!