Time Out

Quinn told me as soon as he came down to breakfast that he was feeling out of sorts. Nothing really hurt; he was just tired and weak. (I hadn't woken him, by the way - I was at the computer grading the final exams that my colleague Anne Dupuis had scanned and emailed to me. I'd left him asleep with the fan on.) Quinn ate some breakfast and essentially just went back to bed, and has been there, either fiddling with his phone or asleep, ever since.  I think he's just worn down, what with a week of being on the road under his belt. It tires a body out. 

I used the time this morning to do some laundry up in the big sink and to pretty much finish my grading, apart from the usual niggling problems of getting them officially registered. (The grades, that is.) It was pleasant enough - I hadn't done laundry by hand since Ecuador. 

I checked in with him about noon and asked if he was hungry; he wasn't, but was enjoying his rest. So I let him continue it and set out to find myself a spot of lunch. Which probably isn't even a thing. But I've been spending time with Brits, so. You adapt. 

I walked to a couple of places that are only open for lunch and that are nearby to comparison shop. On the way I passed this fountain, which adorns the courtyard of a massive apartment complex. It's never been on since we've been here; I had assumed it was broken. But here it is, in all its lumpy, pseudo- Aztec Latin American glory:

I think I know why it's usually off: it is thunderously loud. 

This is the sign in front of one of he places I checked out:

They have different prices for men and for women, since it's all you can eat (in one pass at the buffet, on one plate). Kind of impolitic, but there you are. It's a slightly different system than the weigh-your-plate one. I also really like "Sobremesa gratis" - "Hanging out after eating, free". 

Here's how it looks at the place I chose: 

Little scale there for plate weighing, at the end of the counter.

This place doesn't even have a sign. I didn't know it was there. It's the space where the two women are standing. 

It's a funny neighborhood, this one - right down the street from our posada, two doors from the luncheonette, is this building:

No one lives there. It's walled off and looks abandoned. Someone has hung those banners there, with "MUHAB", which stands for something like "movement for habitat". I imagine that their point is that, in a mega city with lots of homeless, having these perfectly habitable buildings standing around empty is obscene. In this photo, you can see the gorgeous apartment building just up the street:

Closer to the Posada, you see these houses; the ones to the right look like they're probably pretty expensive. While the one to the left is abandoned and overgrown:

Similar stuff happens everywhere. I remember that from Octavio & Dominique's house in Alabama, next door to what was rapidly becoming a ruin. Things go wrong. But it still puzzles me. 

The long and the short of it is that we took today off. Quinn is in he shower right now, feeling better but not totally well. We watched Ecuador-France, and will NOT be cheering for elbow-throwing, back-jumping, face-shoving France in the next round - nor for that ref, who called a red card on Valencia for kicking the ball when a French player inserted his leg underneath Valencia's cleat. Terrible call. I'll keep you apprised of Quinn's health - I thin I he's fine, just a little worn out. And tomorrow we have Belgium-Korea! G'night!

São Paulo Seems...Almost...Normal

Remember Quinn's declaration that zoo day had been his favorite day? And how that had frustrated me because it had nothing to do with the World Cup?

I think today was my favorite day. 

We got up, took a run (Quinn was a little slower today; he sets the pace, though I would have been, too. It's been a busy week, and we're nackered, as Karl Pilkington would say); then we had breakfast, and were off to (a) check out a shopping center on Paulista, and (b) visit MASP, which is the Museum of Art of São Paulo, and is pronounced, in its acronymal form, "maspy". 

The shopping center was OK, nothing to write home about. Like a lot of them , it peters out after a couple of floors, and was clearly designed bigger than its actual carrying capacity. But we did see that it has a movie theater. More on that later. 

Maspy opened at 11:00, and to be perfectly honest, fine art isn't Quinn's favorite subject. We did have a few conversations about what art is, and what it isn't, in our estimation. We're not far off from each other on that score. But that wore thin, and I managed to get another ten minutes or so out of him by competing to see who, from a distance, could guess he year of a particular painting more closely. And you know what? He kicked my ass. Even in picking abstract-ish stuff from the eighties as opposed to the nineties. He has a real feel for it, and it's quite impressive. 

We had lunch in he weigh-your-plate place from a couple I days ago, but we both wound up paying quite a lot more than the other day. Not sure how that happened. Quinn actually couldn't finish his   Which set me to grumbling. But after a break, he put it all away and we walked home to catch some soccer. Uruguay-Italy was in in one room, while James watched England-Costa Rica in another. (James is one of he Brits who've been stating here. Very nice fellow.) But we wound up in our room, kind of unmoved by either game. Heard later that Suarez bit someone - kind of sorry we missed that. 

After a bit of a nap, I nipped out to buy some kind of drink do myself - the options in the hostel are few and kind of expensive.  And on the way there, I realized why it seems like

 French bulldogs are so popular here: it's because this guy lives around the corner:

He doesn't always have both with him, and I never noticed that it's the same guy before. 

I got several large bottles of iced tea.

And then, really, we just hung around in the room a while. Here's what that looks like:

That's our little table between the beds, crowded with our travel detritus. And here's my view:

Thrillng stuff. 

In the late afternoon, we went up to see two things: a giant bookstore, and a little park. Both are on Paulista, which Quinn rarely visits without remarking on how much he likes it. Inside the mall that holds the bookstore, we saw this display:

One for every year Brazil has won the cup . A little garish, but we'll forgive then a bit of that. 

Here are some shots from inside the bookstore:

I took this for Tess, who's read this book:

And here's a few that many of us have read:

The store deserves to have its name mentioned, but I'm typing this in bed in the dark and can't remember it. But I'll put it in tomorrow. Here's the interior:

We visited a few other stores, including Cacau Show, a chocolatier's:

It was amaaaaazing. 

Thence to the little park:

Quinn and I sat there and mused on he future of energy production and how new technologies hold so much potential for cleaning our air. A really fun conversation. 

Saw some street art done with sidewalk chalk:

And then, we hit Aamall across the street and watched the new x-men movie. Best one I've ever seen in that series. Which isn't saying much. But I actually did really enjoy it, despite the slightly out of focus picture and slightly fuzzy sound. 

Quinn had a burger for dinner; I wasn't really hungry:

And then we were in São Paulo on a Tuesday night, which turns out to be absolutely hopping. TV crews all over for some reason. 

I had some street food - sweet corn, sliced into a styrofoam plate:

...and Quinn and I watched an episode of "An Idiot Abroad", and hit the hay. It's just been such a nice, low-key day of just enough adventure and just enough down time, that I really feel good about the trip and about my boy. What more can I ask for?

Sorry for the less-than-literary post, but this thing has been giving me fits and I just want to get to bed at this point. I hope to do better tomorrow. Good night!

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".)

Droopy Day

Howdy, folks! How's your blood sugar? 

Ours was a little low today. Slept in a bit, then took a nice run along Paulista, same route and distance as yesterday. I may yammer on about it later in the post, but I'm not sure. Depends on how this all evolves. But one aspect of the run, I will definitely describe: Hundreds, if not thousands, of skate boarders, choking the sidewalk and spilling out into the lanes of Paulista. We had to run around them, and it was odd and kind of intimidating. They seemed to be up to something. I found them obnoxious, I must say, with really no regard (or very little) for pedestrians, who really ought to have the right of way. Anyhow, we came back down Paulista on the other side in order to avoid them. And sure enough, whatever they were up to hit the fan as we passed them- they roared in a very Braveheart kind of way and charged down the opposite side of Paulista, blocking traffic and occasionally setting off firecrackers. We were well away from them at that point, but could see them clearly, just across the way. No violence that we could see , and no one seemed upset a them. Just another Sunday in São Paulo. 

Once back from the run, we breakfasted, showered, and headed out to take the metro to the colonial part of town, where there is a massive covered market square, in which you can get food of all kinds, prepared and otherwise. We zoomed across São Paulo like pros , switch trains twice, and in a jiffy we were there. 

I was struck by this man's demeanor: A well- worn bible in his hands, but he looked exhausted, just listlessly handing out flyers about whichever sect he belongs to, just to the folks seated immediately next to him. Seems like a short film waiting to be made. 

But, yeah: The market. 

It's closed Sundays. 

But we entertained ourselves in other ways, checking out he Chinatown area, where, much like New York's Chinatown, you can buy anything tiny and cheap and made of plastic. Unlike NY's version,  though, we saw no Chinese restaurants. So we sat at a little sidewalk cafe, just behind the giant Fanfest screen, and had sandwiches while watching a few minutes of the Belgium - Russia match. 

It was good, but they went very, very heavy on the mayo. Quinn eventually punted, pulled the meat out and just ate it with a knife and fork. 

There were a lot of Chilean and Dutch fans out toddy: 

You can see the back of Fan Fest behind the camera crew. I think they're interviewing a passel of Dutch fans here.

And here's one of the reasons we've felt so safe around town: 

These guys are everywhere. It's kind of odd, actually: that part of town has a lot of homeless people, a lot of funk in the air from human waste (some of which I stepped over), and the homeless folks just sleep on the sidewalks, unmolested by the police. They may never have rousted them out, and this is just normal, or they may be deciding to let it go so they can protect tourists. Idunno. But the contrast of this truly magnificent, majestic architecture looking over everything - 

- combined with the homelessness, and the absolute ubiquity of the graffiti, makes for a fascinating contrast. It's very Brazil: Huge and powerful and rich, with filth and squalor about its ankles. 

We hit Fan Fest after lunch and watched more of Russia-Belgium, but really, if you aren't drinking, and / or 23 years old, it gets dull quick. We decided we'd rather watch the US game at 4:00 back at the hotel. We did find out which buildings down there will let you go to the top floor to get a panoramic view of this massive city - but it was ten minutes to three, there was a line, and we had some subway riding to do. We looked at each other and nodded. "Mañana," we both said. We were back at the hostel in plenty of time for the 4:00 game. 

Which was Korea-Algeria. 

So since then, honestly, we've been chillaxin', as Quinn puts it. I did go out to try to find a nice local place, but I failed. I did find a couple interesting sights, though: 

Perhaps the most messed-up wiring yet. 

Not sure who this guy is, but in Bella Vista, he tells you when to stop and go:

Our feet are sore and our heads are kind of full. So we're ordering in and having a quiet evening watching the US in a few minutes here. We have Chile-Holland tomorrow, at 1:00 (we are triply sure), and know it will be a long day. So tonight, we give ourselves a break. The food being delivered is Brazilian. We could have had Chinese, or Japanese, or Italian. But no. We are authentic. 

Lazy. But authentic. 

Thoughts:

The Dutch fans have the oddest haircuts. 

The Australian fans are in the best shape. 

The Chilean fans, with few exceptions, are men with round faces, short hair, powerful physiques, and about ten extra pounds - which don't mean they can't wipe the floor with you. 

The English fans staying in our hostel are lanky and well-spoken. Funny, nice, worldly young men. 

The Mexican fans are a widely varied lot, physically, reflecting their country's many shapes and sizes. And in my experience they have the most female representation. 

And there we are. If something amazing happens, I'll let you know. But it doesn't seem likely, which is kind of a relief.