Monday, June 23, 2014

Brazooka


Hey everybody! What's shaking? Here, it's the earth beneath our feet, because Brazil is playing. 

We did do other stuff before now, though. I'll walk you through it, shall i?

We had breakfast, attended to some minor matters (room cleanliness, underwear scrubbing, clothes folding), then hit the road about 10:30. I had to change some money and we wanted to grab a quick bite before the 1:00 kickoff, so we gave ourselves plenty of time. 

On the way to the mall to change money, we bumped into a couple of Peruvian guys whom we'd met the day of Uruguay- England. Nice folks. Funny how sharing a subway ride can make you so chummy with people. We chatted a bit, then went on our way. Things to do, people to see.

So: on down the street, down the stairs, and into the river of people:




There wasn't as much cheering in the subway this time, possibly because the Dutch fans were so vastly outnumbered by the Chileans. There just wasn't the same kind of rivalry vibe.  


There really is a carnival atmosphere at the stadium, as you can see above. Quinn and I were eating slices of the world's best pizza as we walked toward the stadium, washing them down with Coke and beer that we bought from people in yellow tee shirts straddling coolers who lined the sidewalks leading to the stadium. There appears to be no effort to limit alcohol consumption in any way in the city - anyone can buy it anywhere, and drink it wherever they like. It's like a Mifflin Street Block Party, but in Portuguese. 

The smell of marijuana is also reminiscent of Madison back in the day. 

...I've read. 

Colorfully mural-bedecked apartment buildings line the marching route to the stadium. I'm quite sure the people who live there haven't the means to ever go see a game, which makes it a bit odd to throng past them as we do each time. 



Guess who's getting sick of stopping for photos?


We saw a lot of Dutch people in get-ups like these. Or lion outfits, or those orange military uniforms, or the inflatable crowns, etc. There appear to be both (a) a lot of stereotypes for the Dutch to play with, and (b) a willingness to do so. I'm not sure which of these is lacking for the South American teams, but you just don't see them doing that. Apart from the Uruguayan guy dressed as the Ghost of 1950, you just see them in jerseys. And face paint, and top hats, and huge wigs in the colors of their flag, and using the flag as a cape. But not so much with the stereotpye-based or mythology-based stuff. England had the knights and the queen outfits and the lions; the Russians I've seen on TV have bear suits, etc. but not the South Americans.

Mexicans? Yes. Sombreros and serapes and Aztec warrior outfits. But not South Americans.


Quinn heads for Gate A, on the opposite corner of the field. 


Jumpin' jiminy, what an awful picture. But you can see that we at are now inside, I guess. 


Chilean fans outnumbered Dutch fans five to one, probably. This was the largest block of them, but they really were just everywhere. 


Above is the Dutch section - the largest one, anyway. Quinn was psyched to see a section that had all agreed to wear the same practice jersey he'd worn. On the subway, a man had seen the Dutch logo peeking out from behind Quinn's jacket, and had pointed at it. Quinn had smiled and nodded; and the the man had gestured with his eyes and eyebrows, in that very Latin American way, at the hordes of Chilean fans - and then smiled and held one finger over his lips. It was a very cool, wordless interaction. 

We'd had no need of the jackets, by the way. Glorious sun all day, unlike when we had shivered through England-Uruguay. 


The flag ceremony. I got choked up during both natonal anthems. They're quite moving. 


Here's us with the poster Tess had made for us. Studio Tess does fine work, and I hear they're available for all your poster and greeting-card needs. 

The game: Chile had some chances, but it seemed to me their speed couldn't crack holland's defense like it may have a lot of other teams' back line. Holland was also very fast- Arjen Robben is an absolute rocket, and while chile was fast and tough, I think Holland was just as good in both areas. And they were a LOT bigger. I feel like if they played five times, Holland would win 4. It just wasn't to be. 

Not that I'm sad that Holland won. I just wish I could have heard that giant horde of Chileans let loose. 


I couldn't resist snapping one pic of a dejected Chilean. Poor guy. 

Our plan since yesterday had been to go straight to the old part of the city and ride the elevator to the top of the Tall Building That Lets You Do That. It has a name, and a long and impressive history, and was at one time the tallest building within a certain region or radius. Probably. But we just wanted to go up and look out at the city. So we zoomed to one station and transferred to another train. 

Almost. As we stepped off I saw that Quinn didn't have the plastic bag with his windbreaker in it. I jumped back and held the door, and after a moment Quinn jumped back in too. We had to ride one stop and come back. A bit of a scare, as he really didn't want to get on and required a bit of encouragement - somewhat loud encouragement - to do so. But it reinforced, I think, our system for if we should ever be separated: Quinn doesn't move; I come to him. Knock on wood, we'll never need it. 

Here's The Tall Building That Lets You Do That:


This chandelier was once considered to be the finest in all the Seven Places Nearby. 


This model of the building shows how it would look if it were the size of the model. 


Neat, huh? Those four tv tower-looking things are on Paulista Avenue. Am I a whiz at this city, or what?


Quinn. And my shadow. 


This shows very little other than us. But it was taken high up on the building, I assure you.

We tried to get to Fan Fest, despite Quinn's protestations, for the Brazil vs Cameroon game, but every way to get near it was blocked by the police. We walked all the way around it before realizing that the huge crowd of people milling about was actually the queue to get in. Quinn was very much right: it wasn't remotely worth it. Besides, the aforementioned lack of control on alcohol had added up to a lot of drunk people, very amped up for Brazil's match. Not the best place for us. 

We decided to get back on the metro. Now, I should point out that the metro has been almost miraculously efficient. We were among the first waves of people leaving the stadium, and we fully expected to clog the station up - last time we'd waited and had supper nearby in order to let the crowd die down. But this time we wanted to skedaddle, so we went straight in. And we were stduck by the lack of clogs - we shuffled pretty much uninterrupted right up to the train. It was full, and the doors closed and it pulled away - to be replaced not thirty seconds later by an absolutely empty train. People were so impressed that we spontaneously broke into applause. São Paulo has done itself proud.

Except in the decision to close all the central metro stations down until after the Brazil game. That was a bad call. 

And it made us have to walk home. No big deal, really, since we knew we just had to walk down 9 de Julhio. But finding 9 de Julhio was a necessary first step, which vexed us. So we asked a policeman - who consulted with another. And another. 


Turns out these guys aren't from São Paulo. They're mitary police pulled in for the big event. But they sorted us out and sent us in the right direction. Nice, helpful guys. The city really is crawling with them, and with volunteers with bright tee shirts who answer any questions you might have and all but attack you with cloying offers of help. I swear, it's like wading in a sea of librarians. 

It turns out to have been kind of a godsend. Despite 9 de Julhio, which is one of the most soulless, bleak, dystopian, concrete, sunless, blackened canyons of an urban chute you'll ever see. And to add to the eeriness, there was all but no on in the streets. They were ALL watching the game. A few bus drivers and stray motorcyclists, but really nobody. And as I chatted with Quinn, our words literally echoing off the buildings, there  came a roar of car horns, vuvuzelas, air horns, motorcycle horns , human screams, and fireworks: Brazil had scored. I'm very glad to have experienced that. 

We had booked a spot in another churrasco, as barbecues are known here, but when we arrived the hostel was positively choked with people, many of them Brazilian, hardly any of them - I don't think - guests in the hostel. Quinn had just been saying how much he'd enjoyed the other one because it was so cozy - and now there were a lot of people who were very loud and passionate, and a little drunk, taking up everywhere there was to sit and making us wait a very long bloody time to eat...So this is why we've been pretty happily ensconced in our room since about 6:30. It's not our kind of atmosphere. The worst you could say is that we're annoyed, and it's a pretty mild form of annoyance - Quinn's been doing the phone thing, and I've been doing this. We also did some planning for tomorrow, which is soccer-free. We'll start with a jog and end with dinner out, and in between there's going to be an art museum, since it's free on Tuesdays. Meantime, we've got a nice loud fan in our room and a couple of very comfortable beds. We'll be fine. 

(I mean "loud fan" as in "device which circulates air", not "sports enthusiast".)


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