Loyalties Shift

Where to begin? Let us start at the very beginning. That's a very good place to start.

We slept in until 8:30 today and went down for breakfast. The fare was limited, and some of the options - like the "fruit loops" and the "juice" - are of the "fool me once" variety, and will be studiously avoided in future. But we were still happy with it, because it was free, and stuff can be expensive here. Though so far we have been able to find decent meals at reasonable prices - more on that later. 

Breakfast conversation centered on how much credence we should give Roberto, who works at the hostel, as far as his suggestion about when we should head to the stadium. He said we should head out at 11:00 for a 4:00 game, but that struck us all as excessive. The metro here was supposed to be very modern and efficient, so we decided to give ourselves more time doing other things before striking out for the game. 

Things like change money, for instance. Quinn and I walked up to Avenida Paulista, the center of Sao Paulo's  financial clout, and then several blocks to a hotel that would be open on a holiday. (It's Corpus Christi, apparently, and the banks are closed.) so we walked 20 minutes and got in line in the basement of the Hotel, a big and luxurious joint, and waited. 

We met a couple of Costa Ricans, and congratulated them; this led to a chat that eventually made it clear that they wouldn't let me change any money without having my passport. I didn't have it. Bother. 

Back to the hotel. By now it was 12:30, and we set out for the stadium with a Uruguayan scarf and flag, the tickets, our passports (Roberto thought we would need them to get into the game, since our names are on the ticket (wrong again)), an ATM card in case the wait in line at the hotel looked long, and the best attitudes we could muster. 

Which wasn't hard - Quinn was a bit miffed at all the walking we'd had to do, but he was psyched to head to the game, and wasn't at all averse to walking down Avenida Paulista again. He found its crowds very interesting. The first bank we hit, I withdrew some money, and then we hit the metro. 

Incredibly good, this metro system. Clean, efficient, seemingly brand-new, and easy to understand (although all we had to do was follow all the Uruguay and England fans). It probably took us an hour to get there after two transfers and a last, long stretch to the stadium, in an utterly jammed train. 

The stadium itself is very impressive - brand-new, and supposedly unfinished, though I saw no evidence of that anywhere. The only hing was that the seats, which had already been through one game, still had a lot of their original plastic wrapping attached to them. 

The place was amazing. 

This guy, heading toward the stadium, is a Uruguay fan dressed as the "Ghost of 1950". Pretty funny, really. Though not if you're Brazilian. 

Quinn had about that expression on the whole time. 

Warmups.

 

This is Forlan, the Uruguayan star, warming up. He didn't play, which really got me and Quinn bent out of shape.

This is the Uruguayan forward who feigned unconsciousness in order to run out the clock on England. We were ostensibly rooting for Uruguay, but this stuff got under my skin, and I put away the flag and the scarf and started pulling for England. And rooney's goal was my favorite of the cup so far. But as much as I might not like Suarez, I have to admit, having seen him put he whole country's hopes on his back and cary  them to victory: the man is a force of nature. Strong, fast, creative, wily, superior skill set: He is the real deal, a man among boys. 

I would also say that uruguay's role players are, man by man, just better than England's. And I would be remiss if I didn't also point out that England did its fair share of flopping. I'm not happy about he result, but I can't argue with it. Uruguay was better. 

Post game, we walked back to the train station and ate an inexpensive dinner in a little joint that does an efficient game-day business, serving pizza and empanadas. It's a cross between a restaurant and a bar, and a few people were celebrating pretty loudly. Though I saw no direct abuse of the dejected England supporters, there did seem to be more singing when the Uruguayans knew there were Englishmen about. Hard to blame them. 

Quinn maintains that the pizza in this joint was the best he's ever had. No tomato sauce to speak of, a ton of cheese, and shredded ham underneath the cheese. And I agree that it was amazing. But as they say, hunger is a good sauce. And we were both famished. 

Back on the metro, which was Ridiculously quick, and here we sit, watching post- match analysis and pondering our good fortune. I hope he is, anyway. I know I am. 

Tomorrow we plan on taking a good long jog through the city, and then we'll try an itinerary for city exploration from a guidebook Quinn got me for Father's Day. A self-serving gift, perhaps. But he comes by that honestly - I've been known to give gifts that will benefit me quite directly. He's his father's son. 

I'll leave you with a snap I snuck of some dejected England fans on the subway. Poor guys.