Well, that's all she wrote...today closes the books on a great World Cup.
Germany (1) - Argentina (0) in Extra Time
I think everyone was happy to see the World Cup end in dramatic fashion without a penalty shoot-out.
After a tough, physical game in which both teams missed golden opportunities to score, it was Mario Goetze scoring on a lovely volley in the 113th minute for the game winner.
Everyone agrees that Germany was the best team of the tournament and has a bright future ahead.
Messi brought his team to the finals but couldn't carry them over the finish line. He has the Golden Ball to show for his efforts but undoubtedly would have preferred the Copa do Mundial.
James ("Hamez") Rodriguez takes home the Golden Boot for the most goals scored in the tourney (six).
Germany will take home a cool $35 million bucks to go along with their fourth trophy. They now sit tied with Italy, one behind all-time leaders, Brazil. Could 2018 be the year they tie Brazil for all-time wins? Let the Speculatron start spinning!
And, just to keep it classy, here is a wrap-up of some good-looking fans. Now remember, there were several million people attending these games. Trust me, most looked more like this.
Congrats to all fans and participants. Let's remember that the beautiful game is a much better way to assert world dominance and bragging rights than say, war.
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Saturday, July 12, 2014
Consolation Match - Brazil is Inconsolable
Well, today was the consolation match for third place.
Netherlands (3) - Brazil (0)
Frankly, Brazil looked like they didn't want any redemption from the semi-final spanking put on by Germany.
Two minutes into the consolation match, it was already over.
Brazil ceded a second goal in the 17th minute, and never mounted a challenge until Netherlands scored a third time in the closing minutes.
The Brazilian national team will have to do some soul-searching.
Most teams would be thrilled to make it to the semis, but two straight dull performances made their earlier victories seem more like the exception than the rule.
Hopefully the final tomorrow (Argentina v Germany) will be a classic for the ages, as other than Brazil's sudden implosion, this has been a great World Cup.
Enjoy!
Netherlands (3) - Brazil (0)
Frankly, Brazil looked like they didn't want any redemption from the semi-final spanking put on by Germany.
Two minutes into the consolation match, it was already over.
Brazil ceded a second goal in the 17th minute, and never mounted a challenge until Netherlands scored a third time in the closing minutes.
The Brazilian national team will have to do some soul-searching.
Most teams would be thrilled to make it to the semis, but two straight dull performances made their earlier victories seem more like the exception than the rule.
Hopefully the final tomorrow (Argentina v Germany) will be a classic for the ages, as other than Brazil's sudden implosion, this has been a great World Cup.
Enjoy!
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
World Cup - Argentina in Penalties!
So the World Cup final match in Rio is set!
Argentina 0 (4) - Netherlands 0 (2)
In a rather conservatively-played game, both defenses were solid through 120 minutes.
In the end, Argentina were far superior in penalties.
Sergio Romero saved two of four penalties, which was more than Argentina needed, making all four they attempted. Did watching tape of the Dutch penalties against Costa Rica game give the Argentine GK the edge he needed?
Jasper Cillessen looked wan and outmatched in goal. Louis van Gaal lacked a remaining sub to swap in Tim Krul for the penalty shootout. I found Krul's antics and gamesmanship to be unsporting during the Costa Rica match, but at least he looked ready to stop some penalty shots.
Regardless, the Dutch will now face Brazil in the consolation match. Is it harder to lose in a 1-7 blow-out or a penalty squeaker? Who can regroup to take home third place? My money is on the Dutch but my heart is hoping for a Brazil victory.
As for the final, I have to hand it to Messi and company. I never thought they would make it past the quarter-finals.
Now, they will have to face the imposing Germans.
After yesterday's rout, Germany is the obvious favorite. Does Messi have one last win that he can pull out of his bag of tricks? It will be an uphill battle for Argentina, but even Brazil was able to break down the German defense in yesterday's game. Argentina showed stout defense against a formidable Dutch attack today.
My guess is that it is 2-0 Germany, but I'd love to see Argentina pull off the upset.
Argentina 0 (4) - Netherlands 0 (2)
In a rather conservatively-played game, both defenses were solid through 120 minutes.
In the end, Argentina were far superior in penalties.
Sergio Romero saved two of four penalties, which was more than Argentina needed, making all four they attempted. Did watching tape of the Dutch penalties against Costa Rica game give the Argentine GK the edge he needed?
Jasper Cillessen looked wan and outmatched in goal. Louis van Gaal lacked a remaining sub to swap in Tim Krul for the penalty shootout. I found Krul's antics and gamesmanship to be unsporting during the Costa Rica match, but at least he looked ready to stop some penalty shots.
Regardless, the Dutch will now face Brazil in the consolation match. Is it harder to lose in a 1-7 blow-out or a penalty squeaker? Who can regroup to take home third place? My money is on the Dutch but my heart is hoping for a Brazil victory.
As for the final, I have to hand it to Messi and company. I never thought they would make it past the quarter-finals.
Now, they will have to face the imposing Germans.
After yesterday's rout, Germany is the obvious favorite. Does Messi have one last win that he can pull out of his bag of tricks? It will be an uphill battle for Argentina, but even Brazil was able to break down the German defense in yesterday's game. Argentina showed stout defense against a formidable Dutch attack today.
My guess is that it is 2-0 Germany, but I'd love to see Argentina pull off the upset.
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
Brazil Maintains Class in Face of Crushing Defeat
Opa!
Germany (7) - Brazil (1)
There's an old saying, "Defense wins championships."
It is clear that Brazil missed Thiago Silva more than they missed Neymar today.
Brazil was able to repeatedly break down the German defense (and even finish one goal), but it was the back line that was Brazil's downfall.
This is a truism in soccer...if you stop the other team 9 out of 10 times, you'll likely lose 0-1. The defense gets blamed and the offense gets all the glory for the occasional goal.
But, today, Germany made Julio Cesar look like a duck in a shooting gallery. Someone can score a goal by himself, but defense is always a team effort, and Brazil just wasn't organized in the back.
There will be much hand-wringing and soul-searching.
With any luck, Brazil will rebound in the consolation match and take home third-place overall.
Let's keep this in perspective...
You will hear lots of words like "embarrassment" and "shame" tossed around in the next few days.
While they didn't put their best foot forward today, Brazil and the players have nothing to be ashamed about.
Most teams in the world have never even made it to the semis. In the US, it would be cause for celebration if the USMNT made it that far.
The players played with pride. They played with class. They showed that you can have character even when losing. At the end, there were prayers, not cheap shots.
Brazil and Brazilians should hold their heads high.
They have been model hosts, both in victory and defeat.
Viva Brasil!
Muito obrigado.
Germany (7) - Brazil (1)
There's an old saying, "Defense wins championships."
It is clear that Brazil missed Thiago Silva more than they missed Neymar today.
Brazil was able to repeatedly break down the German defense (and even finish one goal), but it was the back line that was Brazil's downfall.
This is a truism in soccer...if you stop the other team 9 out of 10 times, you'll likely lose 0-1. The defense gets blamed and the offense gets all the glory for the occasional goal.
But, today, Germany made Julio Cesar look like a duck in a shooting gallery. Someone can score a goal by himself, but defense is always a team effort, and Brazil just wasn't organized in the back.
There will be much hand-wringing and soul-searching.
With any luck, Brazil will rebound in the consolation match and take home third-place overall.
Let's keep this in perspective...
You will hear lots of words like "embarrassment" and "shame" tossed around in the next few days.
While they didn't put their best foot forward today, Brazil and the players have nothing to be ashamed about.
Most teams in the world have never even made it to the semis. In the US, it would be cause for celebration if the USMNT made it that far.
The players played with pride. They played with class. They showed that you can have character even when losing. At the end, there were prayers, not cheap shots.
Brazil and Brazilians should hold their heads high.
They have been model hosts, both in victory and defeat.
Viva Brasil!
Muito obrigado.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
Recife - Tues July 1 - US R16
We're all pretty sick by now. My wife says I've been running a fever for several days, but I ignore it.
We're excited by the trip but ready to go home. We've never missed NJ so much.
But there is more excitement for the day...our anniversary is coming up, and our friend Bia has agreed to make all the arrangement at a local restaurant (thanks Bia!).
But first...more soccer. Argentina is in the Round of 16 today, as is the US, who face Belgium.
I spend the morning arranging a rental car for our layover in Sao Paolo later in the week. I give up on finding a hotel for that day. We get in at 3 am. I don't know if they'll even hold a reservation that late.
We print boarding passes for our flight tomorrow night.
It is already close to noon. We grab a light bite in the bodega downstairs and set off heading south. We avoid Mario's beach.
Last night, Zach and I walked this stretch for the first time, and there is some action here at night. People jog and exercise in outdoor parks. Food vendors fill a square by the blue church that I saw last night from our friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend's soccer court.
We walk a mile or two and shop for souvenirs and gifts. I show Michele where Zach played soccer, and the airlock leading to the apartment's soccer and tennis courts. We take photos of the blue church.
We wander through some reasonably urban but safe-looking parts of town. It is time to find some lunch and the Messi game. We duck into a small motel lobby and get directions to a local cafeteria-style restaurant (por Kilo). It is packed with a lunchtime crowd, hoping to watch Messi defeat the Swiss.
We order a coffee and some juice. The waiter brings a sub-arctic beer in its own sarcophagus-shaped cooler. The kids decide they want some food. We sit for about an hour watching the game, still tied and going to overtime.
Kids are sick and exhausted, so we walk home and watch Messi's assist in overtime back at the apartment.
Michele and I make plans to watch the US-Belgium R16 game in a US-friendly bar.
We're excited by the trip but ready to go home. We've never missed NJ so much.
But there is more excitement for the day...our anniversary is coming up, and our friend Bia has agreed to make all the arrangement at a local restaurant (thanks Bia!).
But first...more soccer. Argentina is in the Round of 16 today, as is the US, who face Belgium.
I spend the morning arranging a rental car for our layover in Sao Paolo later in the week. I give up on finding a hotel for that day. We get in at 3 am. I don't know if they'll even hold a reservation that late.
We print boarding passes for our flight tomorrow night.
It is already close to noon. We grab a light bite in the bodega downstairs and set off heading south. We avoid Mario's beach.
Last night, Zach and I walked this stretch for the first time, and there is some action here at night. People jog and exercise in outdoor parks. Food vendors fill a square by the blue church that I saw last night from our friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend's soccer court.
We walk a mile or two and shop for souvenirs and gifts. I show Michele where Zach played soccer, and the airlock leading to the apartment's soccer and tennis courts. We take photos of the blue church.
We wander through some reasonably urban but safe-looking parts of town. It is time to find some lunch and the Messi game. We duck into a small motel lobby and get directions to a local cafeteria-style restaurant (por Kilo). It is packed with a lunchtime crowd, hoping to watch Messi defeat the Swiss.
We order a coffee and some juice. The waiter brings a sub-arctic beer in its own sarcophagus-shaped cooler. The kids decide they want some food. We sit for about an hour watching the game, still tied and going to overtime.
Kids are sick and exhausted, so we walk home and watch Messi's assist in overtime back at the apartment.
Michele and I make plans to watch the US-Belgium R16 game in a US-friendly bar.
We take a cab to "The Underground" in time for kick-off and find a seat at the bar. We order a caipirinha (no lime shortage here), a beer, and some onion rings. We're saving room for tonight's dinner. As overtime looms, I ask my friend to delay the reservation. The joke's on me...an 8:00 reservation means you're not expected until 9:00 anyway.
The US keeps it interesting but ultimately loses. The bar is devastated. We have already moved on.
A friend picks us up for dinner and we head to a great Brazilian barbeque dinner at Churrascaria Ponteio recommended by one of the Raphaels and joined by the other.
We are joined by many of the wonderful friends we've met during our stay (our familia brasiliero).
The waiters bring around all sorts of grilled meats on long skewers. Each diner has tongs to grab the meat as it is sliced off the skewer. We try chicken heart. It is gamey but Andrew Zimmern would be proud.
Bia has arranged flowers, balloons, and a cake. We receive several thoughtful gifts. A grand time is had by all.
Final cost for dinner for ten at a fancy restaurant is about that of a single Cat 1 ticket to a Round of 16 playoff game at the nearby Arena Pernambuco.
Such is Brazil, where a hamburger can cost you $12.50 USD at Carl's Jr., but you can eat an amazing meal with wine for under $25 USD.
Wanna try Brazilian barbeque? You'll find them wherever there is a large Brazilian population. Google for "Churrascaria in New York city" or "Churrascaria in Newark".
Happy Anniversary, Love.
Boa noite to all!
Recife - Monday June 30 - Beach and Soccer
The days have long since blurred. Last night that I was up until 3:00 am catching up on blog posts.
A few days earlier, I had bought some stamps at the Correios (post office) at the mall. I had bought only one postcard, but a friend had given us a welcome bag when we landed, which included a few postcards along with a map, a pen, and a nice notepad.
By now, I've actually seen all the places shown on the postcards, so I can send them in good conscience. I fill out a bunch of postcards, including to my physical therapist who has helped to make the trip possible. I've been walking and standing for hours per day, and my knee has held up admirably.
The weather has turned sunny again after some downpours the last four or five days. The kids and Michele will head to the beach while I run some errands.
I need more stamps for some additional postcards, and we've nearly burned through both our Reais and greenbacks.
I spend R$15 of my last R$100 on airmail stamps for postcards. I am confident I can get money today, I just know it.
I head to our bank at the mall ("shopping"), theoretically owned by the same (Spanish) bank that took over my US branch. A few days ago we had no luck with various ATMs. If I can't get cash today, I'll have to figure out who I can borrow cash from, or perhaps get someone in the US to wire me money. We've been using our charge card to conserve our cash, but taxis have cost us a lot, and, while many places take credit cards, plenty do not.
I ask directions to my branch within the mall. They have an info booth staffed with English speakers who apparently think we are not too swift, since we speak no Portuguese. Friends had warned me that Brazilians aren't good with directions. They are actually fine with directions, except they don't know "left" from "right." Without exception, Brazilians giving us directions would say "direito" while pointing to the left, and "esquerda" while pointing the the right. It has clearly gotten to the point where this mass delusion has become the norm. If you used the proper directions, people would think you stupid or pretentious.
My bank is as far as possible at the other end of the mall, which would be no big deal, except my foot is bleeding where my sandal has cut into it. I guess I just don't have what it takes to wear a Brazilian thong.
Along the walk, I encounter a giant Brazuca, intended for fans to take their picture with. A man is taking a picture of the Brazuca alone. I motion for him to get in the picture, and I will take a photo of/for him. Clearly he is insane. He motions for me to get in the picture with the Brazuca. It remains unclear to both of us what good a picture of me would do in his camera phone. Maybe he just didn't trust me to take a picture of him and figured I'd leave him alone if he took a picture of me. Such is Brazil. OTOH, we encountered the same thing in a restaurant on Saturday...Zach motioning to offer to take a picture of some people celebrating Brazil's latest win, and them motioning for him to be in their picture. It isn't just a language barrier, it is a cultural difference among thousands of cultural differences that make daily life exciting, challenging, confusing, and exhausting.
I limp through the mall and into the bank branch. Immediately, I notice three things:
I haven't bathed in a while and I'm wearing the same shorts for the third day in a row. At least my underwear hasn't passed its expiration date.
A bank employee at a nearby desk convinces me to take a seat. She speaks no English but will call someone who does. After a few minutes in the waiting area, I am beckoned to the desk with a gesture that looks Italian for, "you don't have a linguica's chance in hell." She is dialing for me and finally gets an English speaker on the line.
I am handed the receiver but receive little. The phone-only customer service rep confirms that my US bank card is useless. I can neither withdraw cash at an ATM or in person at the teller. The rep suggests I find the "Banco do 24 Horas" ATM or try to contact international customer service. I tried the ATMs from "Banco do 24 Horas" twenty-four horas ago without luck, which is why I am here. As for international customer service, I'd be happy to call them if you can tell me the number. No, she can't, but she'll tell the in-branch rep, in Portuguese, to google for it. I make a mental note to use Google Translate to translate the word "google."
I sit patiently while the local rep attempts to find a phone number for me. I have no working smartphone to distract me. The only brochures are in Portuguese and way beyond my vocabulary level, which is below that of a Brazilian cão ou gato. So I have nothing to do but watch the woman at the desk try to search for a phone number....for 30 minutos. She is dressed very professionally, but doesn't speak a word of English. So she is very unlike the numerous other young Brazilians we've met who have spent a year of high school learning English in the US. She is pretty but very "made up" with heavy make-up and dyed hair. She wears a heavy gold watch, way too gaudy to avoid attention on the street or public transit. I begin to understand why upscale and wanna-be-upscale Brazilians drive everywhere.
I sense that I am in a bad Brazilian soap opera (the TV is laughable here) and that at any moment, I'll be revealed as her long lost uncle and she my niece. Only she had a sex-change operation and is really my nephew Pablo. Or the guard will come out of a coma, or something. Something has to happen. I've been sitting here forever... Her bony wrists and manicured nails dance and pause over the keyboard. She searches fruitlessly on both internal and external sites. The result is clearly bupkis.
Having twiddled my thumbs as much as one can possible twiddle in mixed company, I nod. She smiles apologetically, and I exit through the Magneto-proof revolving door.
I return to the helpful English-speaking mall info desk, and ask where to find a "Banco do 24 Horas" ATM. It is worth another shot before hitting up local friends for cash. The attendant directs me to the supermercado, where I find the ATM in the corner. After a few touch-screen touches, it is calculating my final cost and asking for my approval. Thirty seconds later I have a crisp stack of R$50 bills in my humid little hands. Enough to last us the rest of the trip!
Triumphant, I buy some paper towels and toilet paper to replace what we've used at the apartment we've rented. I can only imagine what Brazilians think of us and our paper product peculiarities.
My family has been at the beach while I've been foraging for cash.
I drop off the paper goods at the apartment and continue onto the beach.
I don't have the energy to write about the beach in depth today but will another time...I'll share only this tidbit for now.
My wife and I are walking along the beach and see an empty coconut bobbing in the surf. This is one of the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of shells discarded from people drinking coconut water on the beach (yes, they just cut open the coconut and stick a straw in to drink the coconut water). My wife, never the environmentalist, looks unusually concerned. Against my better judgment, I ask, "What?"
"The coconut is in the water," she says.
"Yes, I know. What about it?"
"It will attract sharks," she warns.
"Sharks don't eat coconuts!" I exclaim (admittedly, I'll have to google for "do sharks eat coconuts," but will probably have no more luck than the banker this morning...maybe that is what she was googling for the entire time?!)
"Yes they do. They're scavengers."
"Then they won't be as hungry for the children. We're good either way."
My wife looks back along the beach. Are the children still in sight?
We walk a bit further north along the beach, then turn around, eventually reaching the uneaten children.
We leave the beach, but not before a run-in with Mario, which I'll save for another day. Suffice to say we're not going back to that part of the beach while in Brazil.
We gather our belonging and head back north, past the coconut-infested waters, to a pleasant restaurant. It is 3:00 pm and empty, but the service is attentive and the food outstanding. We order two caipirinha, one regular and one with dark rum. This seems to baffle and tax the waiter, but they arrive toot sweet (tout de suite if you prefer, but we're not in Paris).
These are not the unleaded versions we had at the American pre-party last Wednesday night. These kick like a mule and bite like a crocodile.
We take more leftovers and head home. It is already nearly 5:00 and the Germany-Algeria game will be starting soon.
A friend we met last night has invited Zach to play soccer with him and his friends, roughly 18 years old. Zach is almost sixteen, but big and a good player for an American. We wonder if all these Brazilians will be amazing. Zach is supposed to play in another pickup game at 8:00, but this first game is supposed to start at 6:00, so he should have time to do both.
Then Brazil happens.
Our friend, Raphael, asks if he can pick us up at 5:15. Great, we'll play early. But Rapha is on Brazil time and arrives around 5:45. He has to stop to pick up Leonardo, Donatello, Michelangelo, and Joao. There is no room in the SUV, as I decide to tag along, so Joao rides in the trunk. We go back to his apartment, in a high-rise along the beach, about a mile south of our own. We watch some of the Germany-Algeria game. His maid makes us some sandwiches.
Around 6:30, we head out to another apartment belonging to another friend. The building has tennis courts and two full basketball courts that double as soccer fields. The surface is smooth asphalt, and everyone is playing in bare feet. (This is an upscale court, so don't think of disadvantaged urban youth playing in bare feet for lack of shoes.) Everyone's iPhones wait impatiently at the edge of the court. And wait. There are another five people on the adjacent court, but the people we came with warm up for another 30 minutes or so. Two more friends show up and are streaming the Germany-Algeria game, and watching from the nearby swingset. Rapha has to drop someone off at the airport. He'll be back in 10 minutes (Portuguese for "1 hour").
It is about 7:30 and people start showing up. It is Americans vs. Brazilians in the first game. Zach is paired with 3 or 4 American friends visiting Rapha. Zach dances around the court and the opponents. He is easily the best player on the court and he knows it. He has fun beating the Brazilians at their own game. It really comes down to practice, and clearly none of them play the game seriously. But they have Hobbit feet and he does not, so his foot is soon bleeding from the pavement. It is 8:00, time for the other match. We decide to go. Rapha offers us a ride, but another ten friends have now arrived en masse, and it is a good time to make our exit. It is only a mile walk up the beach.
We arrive home, bandage Zach's foot, and set off to find the other pickup game to which Zach has been invited by another friend of mine, also named Raphael. (Turns out about 1/4 of all Brazilians are named Raphael.) It is supposed to be at the gym just up the street from my apartment....or not. We go there and have no luck finding the game. We go back and check the address, and find the apartment building a block from where we are staying. From outside, we can hear the shouting of a soccer game but the guard doesn't speak English. We finally convince him to let us through and he leads us to the basement/garage. There, among the cars in the garage is a full-size basketball court with undersized soccer nets at each end. It is as grimy and dingy as the first court was upscale and well-lit. But the players are of a different caliber...
As my friend Raphael said, there will be Brazilians and some Japaneses playing. Most are between 20 and 30 years old and can really play. The court is slippery with gravelly dirt. Zach is easily the youngest but not the smallest. The rules are that each game ends in ten minutes or after two goals are scored. There are three of four teams of five players each, so everyone can rotate in.
Zach subs in and soon thereafter makes a nice give-and-go for an easy goal. The other players reassess ("the American kid can play," they think). He makes another nice move for an easy assist, and again people mumble aloud. A teammate lofts a ball into the corner, Zach runs under it and heads it home for another nice goal. A collective cheer goes up for the jogo bonito.
Opposing teams come and go for the next thirty minutes; Zach's team stays on the court and wins six or seven straight games. We stay another hour or so. When he offers to play goal, people insist he play the field. The Japaneses can really handle the ball, but Zach outweighs them by 40 pounds and easily pushes them off the ball. Alliances shift and one of the better players--"the Argentinian"--who has been a teammate most of the night is now an opponent. Zach man-marks him and takes pride in shutting him down.
He is a pig in shit. I am chatting with other people when I hear another cheer go up for a nice play. I look towards the court to see Zach trotting away from the net as if he just scored a goal.
We head home around 10 pm, Zach beaming as he tells the story of how he did a Maradona on the Argentinian and then buried the ball in the back of the net.
Just another day in Brazil.
A few days earlier, I had bought some stamps at the Correios (post office) at the mall. I had bought only one postcard, but a friend had given us a welcome bag when we landed, which included a few postcards along with a map, a pen, and a nice notepad.
By now, I've actually seen all the places shown on the postcards, so I can send them in good conscience. I fill out a bunch of postcards, including to my physical therapist who has helped to make the trip possible. I've been walking and standing for hours per day, and my knee has held up admirably.
The weather has turned sunny again after some downpours the last four or five days. The kids and Michele will head to the beach while I run some errands.
I need more stamps for some additional postcards, and we've nearly burned through both our Reais and greenbacks.
I spend R$15 of my last R$100 on airmail stamps for postcards. I am confident I can get money today, I just know it.
I head to our bank at the mall ("shopping"), theoretically owned by the same (Spanish) bank that took over my US branch. A few days ago we had no luck with various ATMs. If I can't get cash today, I'll have to figure out who I can borrow cash from, or perhaps get someone in the US to wire me money. We've been using our charge card to conserve our cash, but taxis have cost us a lot, and, while many places take credit cards, plenty do not.
I ask directions to my branch within the mall. They have an info booth staffed with English speakers who apparently think we are not too swift, since we speak no Portuguese. Friends had warned me that Brazilians aren't good with directions. They are actually fine with directions, except they don't know "left" from "right." Without exception, Brazilians giving us directions would say "direito" while pointing to the left, and "esquerda" while pointing the the right. It has clearly gotten to the point where this mass delusion has become the norm. If you used the proper directions, people would think you stupid or pretentious.
My bank is as far as possible at the other end of the mall, which would be no big deal, except my foot is bleeding where my sandal has cut into it. I guess I just don't have what it takes to wear a Brazilian thong.
Along the walk, I encounter a giant Brazuca, intended for fans to take their picture with. A man is taking a picture of the Brazuca alone. I motion for him to get in the picture, and I will take a photo of/for him. Clearly he is insane. He motions for me to get in the picture with the Brazuca. It remains unclear to both of us what good a picture of me would do in his camera phone. Maybe he just didn't trust me to take a picture of him and figured I'd leave him alone if he took a picture of me. Such is Brazil. OTOH, we encountered the same thing in a restaurant on Saturday...Zach motioning to offer to take a picture of some people celebrating Brazil's latest win, and them motioning for him to be in their picture. It isn't just a language barrier, it is a cultural difference among thousands of cultural differences that make daily life exciting, challenging, confusing, and exhausting.
I limp through the mall and into the bank branch. Immediately, I notice three things:
- The sign reading "This bank closes at noon on days when the Brazilian national men's football team is playing."
- Three armed guards, including one sitting in a life-guard chair.
- The plastic, bulletproof divider and revolving door. Apparently, they are trying to keep Magneto either in or out. Fools! The guards' guns are still metallic!
I haven't bathed in a while and I'm wearing the same shorts for the third day in a row. At least my underwear hasn't passed its expiration date.
A bank employee at a nearby desk convinces me to take a seat. She speaks no English but will call someone who does. After a few minutes in the waiting area, I am beckoned to the desk with a gesture that looks Italian for, "you don't have a linguica's chance in hell." She is dialing for me and finally gets an English speaker on the line.
I am handed the receiver but receive little. The phone-only customer service rep confirms that my US bank card is useless. I can neither withdraw cash at an ATM or in person at the teller. The rep suggests I find the "Banco do 24 Horas" ATM or try to contact international customer service. I tried the ATMs from "Banco do 24 Horas" twenty-four horas ago without luck, which is why I am here. As for international customer service, I'd be happy to call them if you can tell me the number. No, she can't, but she'll tell the in-branch rep, in Portuguese, to google for it. I make a mental note to use Google Translate to translate the word "google."
I sit patiently while the local rep attempts to find a phone number for me. I have no working smartphone to distract me. The only brochures are in Portuguese and way beyond my vocabulary level, which is below that of a Brazilian cão ou gato. So I have nothing to do but watch the woman at the desk try to search for a phone number....for 30 minutos. She is dressed very professionally, but doesn't speak a word of English. So she is very unlike the numerous other young Brazilians we've met who have spent a year of high school learning English in the US. She is pretty but very "made up" with heavy make-up and dyed hair. She wears a heavy gold watch, way too gaudy to avoid attention on the street or public transit. I begin to understand why upscale and wanna-be-upscale Brazilians drive everywhere.
I sense that I am in a bad Brazilian soap opera (the TV is laughable here) and that at any moment, I'll be revealed as her long lost uncle and she my niece. Only she had a sex-change operation and is really my nephew Pablo. Or the guard will come out of a coma, or something. Something has to happen. I've been sitting here forever... Her bony wrists and manicured nails dance and pause over the keyboard. She searches fruitlessly on both internal and external sites. The result is clearly bupkis.
Having twiddled my thumbs as much as one can possible twiddle in mixed company, I nod. She smiles apologetically, and I exit through the Magneto-proof revolving door.
I return to the helpful English-speaking mall info desk, and ask where to find a "Banco do 24 Horas" ATM. It is worth another shot before hitting up local friends for cash. The attendant directs me to the supermercado, where I find the ATM in the corner. After a few touch-screen touches, it is calculating my final cost and asking for my approval. Thirty seconds later I have a crisp stack of R$50 bills in my humid little hands. Enough to last us the rest of the trip!
Triumphant, I buy some paper towels and toilet paper to replace what we've used at the apartment we've rented. I can only imagine what Brazilians think of us and our paper product peculiarities.
My family has been at the beach while I've been foraging for cash.
I drop off the paper goods at the apartment and continue onto the beach.
I don't have the energy to write about the beach in depth today but will another time...I'll share only this tidbit for now.
My wife and I are walking along the beach and see an empty coconut bobbing in the surf. This is one of the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of shells discarded from people drinking coconut water on the beach (yes, they just cut open the coconut and stick a straw in to drink the coconut water). My wife, never the environmentalist, looks unusually concerned. Against my better judgment, I ask, "What?"
"The coconut is in the water," she says.
"Yes, I know. What about it?"
"It will attract sharks," she warns.
"Sharks don't eat coconuts!" I exclaim (admittedly, I'll have to google for "do sharks eat coconuts," but will probably have no more luck than the banker this morning...maybe that is what she was googling for the entire time?!)
"Yes they do. They're scavengers."
"Then they won't be as hungry for the children. We're good either way."
My wife looks back along the beach. Are the children still in sight?
We walk a bit further north along the beach, then turn around, eventually reaching the uneaten children.
We leave the beach, but not before a run-in with Mario, which I'll save for another day. Suffice to say we're not going back to that part of the beach while in Brazil.
We gather our belonging and head back north, past the coconut-infested waters, to a pleasant restaurant. It is 3:00 pm and empty, but the service is attentive and the food outstanding. We order two caipirinha, one regular and one with dark rum. This seems to baffle and tax the waiter, but they arrive toot sweet (tout de suite if you prefer, but we're not in Paris).
These are not the unleaded versions we had at the American pre-party last Wednesday night. These kick like a mule and bite like a crocodile.
We take more leftovers and head home. It is already nearly 5:00 and the Germany-Algeria game will be starting soon.
A friend we met last night has invited Zach to play soccer with him and his friends, roughly 18 years old. Zach is almost sixteen, but big and a good player for an American. We wonder if all these Brazilians will be amazing. Zach is supposed to play in another pickup game at 8:00, but this first game is supposed to start at 6:00, so he should have time to do both.
Then Brazil happens.
Our friend, Raphael, asks if he can pick us up at 5:15. Great, we'll play early. But Rapha is on Brazil time and arrives around 5:45. He has to stop to pick up Leonardo, Donatello, Michelangelo, and Joao. There is no room in the SUV, as I decide to tag along, so Joao rides in the trunk. We go back to his apartment, in a high-rise along the beach, about a mile south of our own. We watch some of the Germany-Algeria game. His maid makes us some sandwiches.
Around 6:30, we head out to another apartment belonging to another friend. The building has tennis courts and two full basketball courts that double as soccer fields. The surface is smooth asphalt, and everyone is playing in bare feet. (This is an upscale court, so don't think of disadvantaged urban youth playing in bare feet for lack of shoes.) Everyone's iPhones wait impatiently at the edge of the court. And wait. There are another five people on the adjacent court, but the people we came with warm up for another 30 minutes or so. Two more friends show up and are streaming the Germany-Algeria game, and watching from the nearby swingset. Rapha has to drop someone off at the airport. He'll be back in 10 minutes (Portuguese for "1 hour").
It is about 7:30 and people start showing up. It is Americans vs. Brazilians in the first game. Zach is paired with 3 or 4 American friends visiting Rapha. Zach dances around the court and the opponents. He is easily the best player on the court and he knows it. He has fun beating the Brazilians at their own game. It really comes down to practice, and clearly none of them play the game seriously. But they have Hobbit feet and he does not, so his foot is soon bleeding from the pavement. It is 8:00, time for the other match. We decide to go. Rapha offers us a ride, but another ten friends have now arrived en masse, and it is a good time to make our exit. It is only a mile walk up the beach.
We arrive home, bandage Zach's foot, and set off to find the other pickup game to which Zach has been invited by another friend of mine, also named Raphael. (Turns out about 1/4 of all Brazilians are named Raphael.) It is supposed to be at the gym just up the street from my apartment....or not. We go there and have no luck finding the game. We go back and check the address, and find the apartment building a block from where we are staying. From outside, we can hear the shouting of a soccer game but the guard doesn't speak English. We finally convince him to let us through and he leads us to the basement/garage. There, among the cars in the garage is a full-size basketball court with undersized soccer nets at each end. It is as grimy and dingy as the first court was upscale and well-lit. But the players are of a different caliber...
As my friend Raphael said, there will be Brazilians and some Japaneses playing. Most are between 20 and 30 years old and can really play. The court is slippery with gravelly dirt. Zach is easily the youngest but not the smallest. The rules are that each game ends in ten minutes or after two goals are scored. There are three of four teams of five players each, so everyone can rotate in.
Zach subs in and soon thereafter makes a nice give-and-go for an easy goal. The other players reassess ("the American kid can play," they think). He makes another nice move for an easy assist, and again people mumble aloud. A teammate lofts a ball into the corner, Zach runs under it and heads it home for another nice goal. A collective cheer goes up for the jogo bonito.
Opposing teams come and go for the next thirty minutes; Zach's team stays on the court and wins six or seven straight games. We stay another hour or so. When he offers to play goal, people insist he play the field. The Japaneses can really handle the ball, but Zach outweighs them by 40 pounds and easily pushes them off the ball. Alliances shift and one of the better players--"the Argentinian"--who has been a teammate most of the night is now an opponent. Zach man-marks him and takes pride in shutting him down.
He is a pig in shit. I am chatting with other people when I hear another cheer go up for a nice play. I look towards the court to see Zach trotting away from the net as if he just scored a goal.
We head home around 10 pm, Zach beaming as he tells the story of how he did a Maradona on the Argentinian and then buried the ball in the back of the net.
Just another day in Brazil.
Saturday, July 5, 2014
World Cup - Second Semi Finalized!
And then there were four....
Today's matches saw two favorites edge the underdogs in the narrowest of fashions.
Argentina (1) - Belgium (0)
Belgium's luck ran out today as there were bested by Argentina.
Even when Messi doesn't get the assist or goal, he still gets the credit for drawing defenders to him and starting the play off with a penetrating pass.
The Albiceleste scored in the 8th minute and their defense was stiff enough to deny Belgium's weak forays for the rest of the afternoon.
Messi was stuffed on a break-away in the closing minutes, but the Argentinian fans were still in a frenzy. They have had the easiest road to the semis. Messi will need to be in top form if the scrappy Argentinians are to win against the Dutch. Let's hope Ángel di María will recover from his leg injury in time for the semi.
Netherlands 0 (4) - Costa Rica 0 (3)
The Dutch dominated much of the play, but it was the stingy Costa Rican defense that was the story of the day.
The game went the distance, including two scoreless overtimes.
Keylor Navas, the Costa Rican goalkeeper, played flawlessly all day, repeatedly denying the Dutch, but he was unable to stop any of their penalties, which they buried with aplomb.
Just before it went to penalties, Netherlands substituted in specialist Tim Krul, who replaced Cillessen for the shootout. Krul guessed right on all five of Costa Rica's penalties and was able to stop two, which was enough to win the shootout 4-3.
The Dutch had never won a World Cup game in overtime (0-7). This win sets up a semi-final against the peaking Argentinians. Can Messi and company pull off the upset?
Winner will face either Brazil or Germany in the final!
Today's matches saw two favorites edge the underdogs in the narrowest of fashions.
Argentina (1) - Belgium (0)
Belgium's luck ran out today as there were bested by Argentina.
Even when Messi doesn't get the assist or goal, he still gets the credit for drawing defenders to him and starting the play off with a penetrating pass.
The Albiceleste scored in the 8th minute and their defense was stiff enough to deny Belgium's weak forays for the rest of the afternoon.
Messi was stuffed on a break-away in the closing minutes, but the Argentinian fans were still in a frenzy. They have had the easiest road to the semis. Messi will need to be in top form if the scrappy Argentinians are to win against the Dutch. Let's hope Ángel di María will recover from his leg injury in time for the semi.
Netherlands 0 (4) - Costa Rica 0 (3)
The Dutch dominated much of the play, but it was the stingy Costa Rican defense that was the story of the day.
The game went the distance, including two scoreless overtimes.
Keylor Navas, the Costa Rican goalkeeper, played flawlessly all day, repeatedly denying the Dutch, but he was unable to stop any of their penalties, which they buried with aplomb.
Just before it went to penalties, Netherlands substituted in specialist Tim Krul, who replaced Cillessen for the shootout. Krul guessed right on all five of Costa Rica's penalties and was able to stop two, which was enough to win the shootout 4-3.
The Dutch had never won a World Cup game in overtime (0-7). This win sets up a semi-final against the peaking Argentinians. Can Messi and company pull off the upset?
Winner will face either Brazil or Germany in the final!
Friday, July 4, 2014
World Cup - First Semi-Final is Set!
Quarter-final action kicked off today.
Germany and Brazil took care of business, but Neymar took a knee to the back...
Germany (1) - France (0)
On a day when defenders got offensive, Mats Hummels started off the action early. Heading in a direct kick in the 13th minute, Germany never looked back against the limp French.
That said, it is nice to see France make a deep run after their disastrous 2010 campaign.
While Die Mannschaft sounds like a Bruce Willis elevator porno movie, it apparently translates to "consistency."
The Germans have now reached the semis a record twelve times!
The last time the World Cup occurred in Brazil (1950), the Germans were banned. Since then, they have never ended worse than 7th and have three championships to their name.
To win their fourth championship, they will first need to face...
Brazil (2) - Colombia (1)
...Brazil, who was able to dispatch a revitalized Colombia program.
Continuing a stellar offensive day for defenders, Thiago Silva scored early and David Luiz scored late to provide the eventual game-winner, despite a late PK by James (pronounced "HAH-mayz") Rodriguez.
But Silva made a silly foul while the Colombian GK was punting the ball. This earned him a yellow card and a suspension for the game against Germany.
Equally worrisome, Neymar took a knee to the back late in the game and was carted off on a stretcher. Will he be match fit in time for Tuesday's big semi?
Update: Unfortunately not! Neymar is out for remainder of World Cup - four to six weeks.
Tomorrow....More Messi, and the Flying Dutchmen make their run at a possible title shot...
Germany and Brazil took care of business, but Neymar took a knee to the back...
Germany (1) - France (0)
On a day when defenders got offensive, Mats Hummels started off the action early. Heading in a direct kick in the 13th minute, Germany never looked back against the limp French.
That said, it is nice to see France make a deep run after their disastrous 2010 campaign.
While Die Mannschaft sounds like a Bruce Willis elevator porno movie, it apparently translates to "consistency."
The Germans have now reached the semis a record twelve times!
The last time the World Cup occurred in Brazil (1950), the Germans were banned. Since then, they have never ended worse than 7th and have three championships to their name.
To win their fourth championship, they will first need to face...
Brazil (2) - Colombia (1)
...Brazil, who was able to dispatch a revitalized Colombia program.
Continuing a stellar offensive day for defenders, Thiago Silva scored early and David Luiz scored late to provide the eventual game-winner, despite a late PK by James (pronounced "HAH-mayz") Rodriguez.
But Silva made a silly foul while the Colombian GK was punting the ball. This earned him a yellow card and a suspension for the game against Germany.
Equally worrisome, Neymar took a knee to the back late in the game and was carted off on a stretcher. Will he be match fit in time for Tuesday's big semi?
Update: Unfortunately not! Neymar is out for remainder of World Cup - four to six weeks.
Tomorrow....More Messi, and the Flying Dutchmen make their run at a possible title shot...
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
World Cup - Quarter-Final Preview
July 4th and 5th are sure to feature some great football!
Brazil v Columbia
Brazil squeaked past Chile, who their coach, Luiz Felipe Scolari, claimed was his biggest fear.
After passing that test, are they peaking at the right time? The hopes of a nation ride on Neymar's slight frame.
Now that the USA has been sent packing, I am rooting for only one team...five-time World Cup winners Brazil. Can they make it six? Everyone seems to doubt it, but a Neymar team is never desperate.
France v Germany
The Germans I spoke with said they fear France, Italy, and Spain. With only France left in the tourney, do the Germans view this as the only roadblock to their first title in 24 years (and their fourth overall)?
I think Germany will beat France, even though France has been playing better as of late.
But Germany best not take any of the remaining teams lightly. I've picked Germany to lose to Brazil in the semis, although I am the only one I've met (including Brazilians) who thinks Brazil will make it to the Final.
Argentina v Belgium
Belgium looked great against the US, but who, besides Portugal and Ghana, doesn't?
Everyone who isn't Belgian wants to see Messi in the Semis.
My guess is Argentina will pull off one more victory before losing to...
Netherland v Costa Rica
...the Flying Dutchmen, who face the Ticos in their quarter-final.
Neither team looked great in the Round of 16.
The Dutch had to stage a very late comeback against a formidable Mexico.
Costa Rica was pushed to penalties by a Greek team that may have been underestimated.
Predictions:
Brazil and Germany will face each other in one semi. My heart picks Brazil but my head says Germany.
Netherlands will face Argentina in the other semi. Netherlands will reach (and win) the final to finally add a World Cup to their trophy case.
Brazil v Columbia
Brazil squeaked past Chile, who their coach, Luiz Felipe Scolari, claimed was his biggest fear.
After passing that test, are they peaking at the right time? The hopes of a nation ride on Neymar's slight frame.
Now that the USA has been sent packing, I am rooting for only one team...five-time World Cup winners Brazil. Can they make it six? Everyone seems to doubt it, but a Neymar team is never desperate.
France v Germany
The Germans I spoke with said they fear France, Italy, and Spain. With only France left in the tourney, do the Germans view this as the only roadblock to their first title in 24 years (and their fourth overall)?
I think Germany will beat France, even though France has been playing better as of late.
But Germany best not take any of the remaining teams lightly. I've picked Germany to lose to Brazil in the semis, although I am the only one I've met (including Brazilians) who thinks Brazil will make it to the Final.
Argentina v Belgium
Belgium looked great against the US, but who, besides Portugal and Ghana, doesn't?
Everyone who isn't Belgian wants to see Messi in the Semis.
My guess is Argentina will pull off one more victory before losing to...
Netherland v Costa Rica
...the Flying Dutchmen, who face the Ticos in their quarter-final.
Neither team looked great in the Round of 16.
The Dutch had to stage a very late comeback against a formidable Mexico.
Costa Rica was pushed to penalties by a Greek team that may have been underestimated.
Predictions:
Brazil and Germany will face each other in one semi. My heart picks Brazil but my head says Germany.
Netherlands will face Argentina in the other semi. Netherlands will reach (and win) the final to finally add a World Cup to their trophy case.
World Cup - Day 20 - Fireworks but no Celebration
The Round of 16 concludes today!
For the fourth time in seven R16 matches, we go to overtime.
Will we go to penalties?
No, Messi will have an assist to someone whose name only Argentinians will ever remember.
And Albiceleste will go to the Quarters against...
...Belgium, who pretty much kicked the USA's butt for 105 of the 120+ minutes of playing time.
For the fifth time in eight R16 matches, we go to overtime again.
After 90 minutes in which Belgium dominated but couldn't sneak one past the amazing Tim Howard, the fireworks began in overtime.
The first Belgian goal was a punch to the gut, but it was the second that proved the eventual game winner.
Americans couldn't rally from the 0-2 deficit, but Julian Green (late sub) kept the game interesting to the final whistle.
They join Algeria in losing 1-2 in overtime to a superior team.
Good run, Yanks, but we would have loved to see you make at least the Quarters, which I'll preview in the next post.
Argentina (1) - Switzerland (0)
For the fourth time in seven R16 matches, we go to overtime.
Will we go to penalties?
No, Messi will have an assist to someone whose name only Argentinians will ever remember.
And Albiceleste will go to the Quarters against...
Belgium (2) - USA (1)
...Belgium, who pretty much kicked the USA's butt for 105 of the 120+ minutes of playing time.
For the fifth time in eight R16 matches, we go to overtime again.
After 90 minutes in which Belgium dominated but couldn't sneak one past the amazing Tim Howard, the fireworks began in overtime.
The first Belgian goal was a punch to the gut, but it was the second that proved the eventual game winner.
Americans couldn't rally from the 0-2 deficit, but Julian Green (late sub) kept the game interesting to the final whistle.
They join Algeria in losing 1-2 in overtime to a superior team.
Good run, Yanks, but we would have loved to see you make at least the Quarters, which I'll preview in the next post.
Monday, June 30, 2014
World Cup - Day 19 - Europeans find Favor but barely beat the 'Gerias
In the third day of the knock-out stage, France and Germany were both favored in their matches. How did the Europeans fare?
France beat Nigeria, but the match was closer than the final score implies. Les Bleus now head to the quarter-finals, where they'll face Germany.
Nigeria proved worthy, but I'm not sorry to see them exit the tourney. To my mind, they should have lost their match with Bosnia-Herzegovina and been bounced prior to the Round of 16.
After 90 minutes of regulation play, the Germans finally broke open the game early in the first overtime (the third OT game in six matches, and the first not to end in penalties).
They added an insurance goal as the second OT wound down.
Good thing, because they needed the insurance when Algeria scored in stoppage time.
The two European powers will face off in the quarter-finals. The winner will face the survivor of the Brazil-Columbia quarter-final.
France (2) - Nigeria (0)
France beat Nigeria, but the match was closer than the final score implies. Les Bleus now head to the quarter-finals, where they'll face Germany.
Nigeria proved worthy, but I'm not sorry to see them exit the tourney. To my mind, they should have lost their match with Bosnia-Herzegovina and been bounced prior to the Round of 16.
Germany (2) - Algeria (1)
After 90 minutes of regulation play, the Germans finally broke open the game early in the first overtime (the third OT game in six matches, and the first not to end in penalties).
They added an insurance goal as the second OT wound down.
Good thing, because they needed the insurance when Algeria scored in stoppage time.
The two European powers will face off in the quarter-finals. The winner will face the survivor of the Brazil-Columbia quarter-final.
Recife - Sunday June 29 - Tico-Greco Wrestling
Our trip is winding down, but the Round of 16 is just getting started.
Yesterday's Brazil game featured both figurative and literal fireworks.
Today, we plan to get part-way to the arena to watch the Netherlands-Mexico match-up at 1:00 before heading to the last game we'll watch in Recife, Costa Rica vs ersatz Cinderella, Greece.
We meet our friends, Nina and Bia, near FanFest in central Recife.
There is a big screen in the courtyard, but it is hot in the sun and we're hungry. So we opt to watch the game in the adjacent food court, where there are several small screens and many Mexican fans.
There are six of us, but I have only four tickets to the game. Our friends plan to accompany us out to the stadium to just see what it is like. The World Cup may not return to their country for another 64 years. May they live to see it in 2078!
On the way through the crowd, I spot some Germans selling an extra ticket at face value. Lacking any marquee teams, and with most Ticos having already seen a game in Recife last week, the game is not in high demand, but some people are still holding out hope to recoup their investment.
An obvious scalper asks me if I'm Greek. Although my complexion resembles Chobani, no one has ever mistaken me for being Greek.
We head inside the mall where there is an ice rink. A dozen Brazilians, who cheat death at every turn, are wearing helmets as they stagger around the small rink, just in case a hockey game suddenly breaks out. (Old joke: "I was at a boxing match the other night and a hockey game broke out.")
We make our way to the food court and pull together a table for six...five chairs on one side and the odd chair on the other, so most of us have a better view of the flat-screen. The anthems are playing. Someone asks me to sit down, in a mall food court before the game has even started, because people here care that much about soccer, and he wants an unobstructed view.
We take turns watching each others bags as people pick their meal from the myriad choices. No one is enraptured by the game, but this is one of the biggest matches to date. Mexico has been playing well of late, and Netherlands is likely to make it to the Final in Rio.
The partisan crowd occasionally oohs and ahhs. I'm busy getting food and really don't watch the match. I'm planning an early exit to try to get extra tickets for this afternoon's match. I sneak back down to FanFest but find no viable sellers.
We will leave the mall and the televised game about midway through the second half to allow time to take mass transit out to the stadium. I am surreptitiously facebooking like crazy trying to find some tickets for my friends. It is unclear how badly they want to go to the game and at what price.
A bedraggled middle-aged blonde woman searches about for a seat in the food court, asking if people are using various chairs. Somehow, we have an extra and invite her to sit with us. She is German but speaks fluent English and a good bit of Spanish. She tells us she is following Germany's MNT around, and has been staying in hostels by herself. Our Brazilian friends have little idea what she is saying. We've seen many solo male travelers and many women accompanying them, but it is still a heavily male environment. My mind races at the thought of a late 40's (early 50's?) American woman following the USMNT around Brazil by herself. It doesn't seem possible. She has a glazed, hippyish look, but other than being in Brazil alone, she seems perfectly lucid.
She is catching a flight that night at 2:00 am to see Germany play in another city and is skipping this afternoon's game in Recife so as not to miss her plane (the seven hour buffer seems plenty, and nothing else about her seems risk averse). She tells us of a friend she met in a hostel who is giving away three tickets to today's game. My friends' ears perk up (at least the one who speaks some English). How much are the tickets?! Yes, they are free as in beer, but the German frau's friend may have given them away already. He is supposedly at FanFest next door. She will try to find him and bring him back to the food court.
It is really time to leave, but Mexico has made the first match of the day interesting with the go-ahead goal (1-0) vs the favored Netherlands. We really should go.
My son asks if we can watch the end of the match. The food court is suddenly rapt, but the clock is winding down. With less than ten minutes to go, can Mexico pull the upset? No, it is not to be, but an earth-shattering comeback is in the offing. Netherlands equalizes late in the game and then scores the game-winner on a PK in stoppage time. Opa! Good thing too, because we didn't have time to stay for overtime.
We head downstairs and find the German woman at FanFest. No luck, her friend is not there. We head to the metro that will take us to the stadium. We walk through neighborhoods we wouldn't chance without a Brazilian escort. Our tourista-ness rubs off on them and they become targets as well. We cross a bridge and admire the view, and our Brazilian friends haggle on our behalf for some sunglasses outside the metro.
We make it to the last metro stop and get a shuttle bus to the arena itself. Immediately, there are people selling tickets, and my Brazilian friends are clearly trying to find some. They know many things about Brazil, but they aren't really familiar with ticket prices and the availability, which varies wildly from game to game.
No, we won't pay full price we tell the first few offerers. A nice Hispanic man offers us tickets at about 2/3 face value. No, my friends say, too expensive, especially with the weak Real. It is still 30 minutes before kickoff, which isn't a lot of time to find our seats, especially if there is a problem with the tickets.
We stride closer to the stadium. The Hispanic gent still hasn't sold his two tickets. I offer him half price and he reluctantly accepts. American greenbacks to the rescue again. I ask, "These tickets are good, right?" He speaks fluent English and says, "They have my name on them!," which he appears to take very seriously. His sacred oath that the tickets bearing his name are valid seems good enough. I ask him to count the money, and we complete the transaction.
My son and I will sit in the two extra seats. My wife, daughter, and two friends will sit in our original four seats.
I explain to my Brazilian friends that we have procured tickets for them. Bia understands immediately and is smiling ear-to-ear. She is very excited to see the game. We all hug. They have been such great hosts, it will be wonderful to watch the game with them. Nina seems unclear on why we are hugging. It takes a few more minutes of translation, and as the facts-on-the-ground wash over her, her face suddenly breaks into a huge smile.
We laugh and take pictures as we head toward the security lines. Best investment of the trip.
I make sure each of the four tickets gets the four women into the stadium. They haven't been checking IDs, and there is no problem. The ladies are inside and smiling broadly. My daughter asks for her glasses and camera from my bag, and we part ways.
My son and I ("Manuel" and "Efren" for the moment) need to enter at a nearby gate. I remind him to speak only in Spanish. I high-five my son as we pass through the turnstiles. He reminds me to play it cool until we are around the corner out of sight.
We find our way to our seats, where we have a lively conversation with an American and Australian.
The Australian leaves with about 5 minutes to go in regulation but comes back when he hears the stadium roar at Costa Rica's equalizer.
The match turns out to be one helluva game. It goes into overtime and finally penalties. We definitely got our money's worth.
It is already well past 8 pm. We make our way back via shuttle buses and metro trains. On the way back, our friends arrange for us to meet their families at a nearby restaurant. I hear my friend refer to us as her "familia americano," when talking to her sister by phone. I smile. We arrive around 9:30.
Their family is wonderful. The younger generation all speak English, as do some American friends of theirs, also visiting for the World Cup. A grand time is had by all. My kids are happy to speak some English, as all the language barriers can be difficult at times. But they are happiest talking about Tosh.0 and not having to translate the cultural references.
Our friend's nephew drives us home, but not before inviting my son to play soccer with him tomorrow.
It is past midnight. Our German acquaintance has missed the fun but not her flight. She will arrive at 6 am in Porte Alegre, in plenty of time to see Germany beat Algeria in the cool evening air.
Another soccer-heavy day tomorrow.
Boa noite!
Yesterday's Brazil game featured both figurative and literal fireworks.
Today, we plan to get part-way to the arena to watch the Netherlands-Mexico match-up at 1:00 before heading to the last game we'll watch in Recife, Costa Rica vs ersatz Cinderella, Greece.
We meet our friends, Nina and Bia, near FanFest in central Recife.
There is a big screen in the courtyard, but it is hot in the sun and we're hungry. So we opt to watch the game in the adjacent food court, where there are several small screens and many Mexican fans.
There are six of us, but I have only four tickets to the game. Our friends plan to accompany us out to the stadium to just see what it is like. The World Cup may not return to their country for another 64 years. May they live to see it in 2078!
On the way through the crowd, I spot some Germans selling an extra ticket at face value. Lacking any marquee teams, and with most Ticos having already seen a game in Recife last week, the game is not in high demand, but some people are still holding out hope to recoup their investment.
An obvious scalper asks me if I'm Greek. Although my complexion resembles Chobani, no one has ever mistaken me for being Greek.
We head inside the mall where there is an ice rink. A dozen Brazilians, who cheat death at every turn, are wearing helmets as they stagger around the small rink, just in case a hockey game suddenly breaks out. (Old joke: "I was at a boxing match the other night and a hockey game broke out.")
We make our way to the food court and pull together a table for six...five chairs on one side and the odd chair on the other, so most of us have a better view of the flat-screen. The anthems are playing. Someone asks me to sit down, in a mall food court before the game has even started, because people here care that much about soccer, and he wants an unobstructed view.
We take turns watching each others bags as people pick their meal from the myriad choices. No one is enraptured by the game, but this is one of the biggest matches to date. Mexico has been playing well of late, and Netherlands is likely to make it to the Final in Rio.
The partisan crowd occasionally oohs and ahhs. I'm busy getting food and really don't watch the match. I'm planning an early exit to try to get extra tickets for this afternoon's match. I sneak back down to FanFest but find no viable sellers.
We will leave the mall and the televised game about midway through the second half to allow time to take mass transit out to the stadium. I am surreptitiously facebooking like crazy trying to find some tickets for my friends. It is unclear how badly they want to go to the game and at what price.
A bedraggled middle-aged blonde woman searches about for a seat in the food court, asking if people are using various chairs. Somehow, we have an extra and invite her to sit with us. She is German but speaks fluent English and a good bit of Spanish. She tells us she is following Germany's MNT around, and has been staying in hostels by herself. Our Brazilian friends have little idea what she is saying. We've seen many solo male travelers and many women accompanying them, but it is still a heavily male environment. My mind races at the thought of a late 40's (early 50's?) American woman following the USMNT around Brazil by herself. It doesn't seem possible. She has a glazed, hippyish look, but other than being in Brazil alone, she seems perfectly lucid.
She is catching a flight that night at 2:00 am to see Germany play in another city and is skipping this afternoon's game in Recife so as not to miss her plane (the seven hour buffer seems plenty, and nothing else about her seems risk averse). She tells us of a friend she met in a hostel who is giving away three tickets to today's game. My friends' ears perk up (at least the one who speaks some English). How much are the tickets?! Yes, they are free as in beer, but the German frau's friend may have given them away already. He is supposedly at FanFest next door. She will try to find him and bring him back to the food court.
It is really time to leave, but Mexico has made the first match of the day interesting with the go-ahead goal (1-0) vs the favored Netherlands. We really should go.
My son asks if we can watch the end of the match. The food court is suddenly rapt, but the clock is winding down. With less than ten minutes to go, can Mexico pull the upset? No, it is not to be, but an earth-shattering comeback is in the offing. Netherlands equalizes late in the game and then scores the game-winner on a PK in stoppage time. Opa! Good thing too, because we didn't have time to stay for overtime.
We head downstairs and find the German woman at FanFest. No luck, her friend is not there. We head to the metro that will take us to the stadium. We walk through neighborhoods we wouldn't chance without a Brazilian escort. Our tourista-ness rubs off on them and they become targets as well. We cross a bridge and admire the view, and our Brazilian friends haggle on our behalf for some sunglasses outside the metro.
We make it to the last metro stop and get a shuttle bus to the arena itself. Immediately, there are people selling tickets, and my Brazilian friends are clearly trying to find some. They know many things about Brazil, but they aren't really familiar with ticket prices and the availability, which varies wildly from game to game.
No, we won't pay full price we tell the first few offerers. A nice Hispanic man offers us tickets at about 2/3 face value. No, my friends say, too expensive, especially with the weak Real. It is still 30 minutes before kickoff, which isn't a lot of time to find our seats, especially if there is a problem with the tickets.
We stride closer to the stadium. The Hispanic gent still hasn't sold his two tickets. I offer him half price and he reluctantly accepts. American greenbacks to the rescue again. I ask, "These tickets are good, right?" He speaks fluent English and says, "They have my name on them!," which he appears to take very seriously. His sacred oath that the tickets bearing his name are valid seems good enough. I ask him to count the money, and we complete the transaction.
My son and I will sit in the two extra seats. My wife, daughter, and two friends will sit in our original four seats.
I explain to my Brazilian friends that we have procured tickets for them. Bia understands immediately and is smiling ear-to-ear. She is very excited to see the game. We all hug. They have been such great hosts, it will be wonderful to watch the game with them. Nina seems unclear on why we are hugging. It takes a few more minutes of translation, and as the facts-on-the-ground wash over her, her face suddenly breaks into a huge smile.
We laugh and take pictures as we head toward the security lines. Best investment of the trip.
I make sure each of the four tickets gets the four women into the stadium. They haven't been checking IDs, and there is no problem. The ladies are inside and smiling broadly. My daughter asks for her glasses and camera from my bag, and we part ways.
My son and I ("Manuel" and "Efren" for the moment) need to enter at a nearby gate. I remind him to speak only in Spanish. I high-five my son as we pass through the turnstiles. He reminds me to play it cool until we are around the corner out of sight.
We find our way to our seats, where we have a lively conversation with an American and Australian.
The Australian leaves with about 5 minutes to go in regulation but comes back when he hears the stadium roar at Costa Rica's equalizer.
The match turns out to be one helluva game. It goes into overtime and finally penalties. We definitely got our money's worth.
It is already well past 8 pm. We make our way back via shuttle buses and metro trains. On the way back, our friends arrange for us to meet their families at a nearby restaurant. I hear my friend refer to us as her "familia americano," when talking to her sister by phone. I smile. We arrive around 9:30.
Their family is wonderful. The younger generation all speak English, as do some American friends of theirs, also visiting for the World Cup. A grand time is had by all. My kids are happy to speak some English, as all the language barriers can be difficult at times. But they are happiest talking about Tosh.0 and not having to translate the cultural references.
Our friend's nephew drives us home, but not before inviting my son to play soccer with him tomorrow.
It is past midnight. Our German acquaintance has missed the fun but not her flight. She will arrive at 6 am in Porte Alegre, in plenty of time to see Germany beat Algeria in the cool evening air.
Another soccer-heavy day tomorrow.
Boa noite!
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Recife - Saturday June 28 - Brazil is Burning (Reprise)
The plan for today was to watch the Brazil-Chile Round of 16 game.
We stopped by a local hotel last night to inquire as to whether we needed reservations to watch the game in their restaurant. (Yes, Brazilians reserve tables to watch games in restaurants. It even happens in Little Brazil in NYC, where it will cost you $60 USD for a meal and a view of the game.)
They assured us that no reservation was required, so we knew it wasn't the place to watch.
I woke up early and blogged. I heard the familiar noise of a loud-speaker from the street. I've learned enough Portuguese and leaned out my window enough times to know it was the propane delivery truck (gas stoves here are powered by large propane tanks, about 4x the size of US ones used for backyard grills) announcing their presence and prices. I'll be home before I get the hang of this place.
We asked some friends and settled on a local restaurant/bar or three that sounded like good potential candidates within walking distance.
The morning flew by and I realized we'd be too late if we didn't get to one of them soon.
Last week's American watch party filled up 2 hours in advance of the USA-Portugal game. Maybe I was supposed to wait in line overnight for a Brazilian bar.
We high-tailed it out the door and through the flooded street. Yes, it had been raining again.
Our other option was to go the long way around but there was no time to risk getting lost. As with last Thursday...never mind...we vowed never to speak of it again.
We walked about 2 miles through what turned out to be a not-so-good part of town and found the restaurant...empty.
Huh? It is 11:35 am and kickoff is at 1:00. There are three big screen projectors and three small screens over the bar. This place should be full. Maybe this is the wrong place to watch. But the place is set up for a large crowd, both inside and out.
We ask for a table in front near one of the big screens, and that is when we start noticing the "Reserved" signs on table after prime-viewing table. We find the first/best unreserved table and are only about 30 feet back from the big screen, with a good, unobstructed view.
Thirty minutes pass and no waiter even attempts to take our order. My wife asks if they know we are here for the game or whether they are going to kick us out for not ordering food. The rest of us wonder if she is serious.
We order some pitchers of exotic fruit juice and an espresso to help calm my wife.
By the time our drinks arrive, the restaurant has begun to fill. By 12:15 most of the tables are gone. By 12:30, patrons newly arrived are desperately scurrying around to find a vantage point from which to watch.
We sip our juice and I tell my family, "That's why we needed to practically sprint here."
We order some appetizers around 12:45, but the place is packed. We're in no rush. We'll be here until at least 3:00.
We people-watch and estimate the bar to be about 75% Brazilians. Perfecto.
Almost everyone is wearing a Brazilian jersey, unless it is a green pantsuit fashioned out of the Brazilian flag (artist's rendering). The restaurant is upscale but the atmosphere and patrons are casual. The staff is ready for the crowd, and service is admirable and efficient. Think Superbowl Sunday with table service, very attentive table service.
Around 12:59, the people with reserved tables start to arrive. One table of five is already on their second bottle of champagne, with four more to follow to the slaughter.
Women range from the sloppy to the haute coitured. It reminds me of a church on Easter or a temple on Rosh Hoshannah. Everyone out to see, be seen, be seen eating, and worship their personal god.
We order lunch, knowing it might not arrive until halftime.
Kick-off comes and an early goal by David Luiz sends the bar into a frenzy. This will be an easy game...
A huge firecracker goes off in the street. It must be an M-80 or larger. We duck and cover. No one else seems to notice.
The food arrives sooner than expected, as does the equalizer from Chile. The room falls silent, as patrons refuse to even acknowledge what everyone can sense.
Patrons chainsmoke on the deck, just outside our table's reach. I ask the manager to ask them to stop (I'm pretty sure it is illegal to smoke in restaurants in Brazil, and all the smoke is blowing in through the open doors). The manager talks to the smoking patron but there are many understudies ready to take up the cause. He returns to apologize profusely through a busboy interpreter, saying only, "The man has many problems. We are sorry. Very sorry. Very sorry." Like everything in Brazil, smoking rules are on a sliding scale.
The tension continues for another almost unbearable 60 minutes more of regulation and 30 minutes of overtime. Chile rattles the crossbar and all of Brazil's nerves.
The food has long since been ignored, but we order some more juice.
Women in tight, cropped tops and short shorts hang on every moment. The table next to us is polishing off champagne bottle number six (?). We've lost count, even though every time they order one, the waiter blocks our view while he pops the cork and pours a glass for each of them. A bottle of Tabasco shatters. A woman in six-inch platform shoes stands to avoid the glass and red slick beneath her chair. We can't see the screen. Is she that drunk or just insane? The busboy and the patron who dropped the Tabasco are trying to clean it up and calm her down, blocking our view even more. Don't they know the penalties are about to begin!
Julio Cesar appears on slow-mo close-up on the big screen. He looks pale as a sheet and about to vomit. The fate of all Brazil rests on his shoulders. We don't want to be in a bar or on the street if they lose, but it is like an accident too gruesome to look away from.
David Luiz scores Brazil's first penalty. The room explodes.
Chile misses their first. The room re-explodes in appreciation for their GK.
Brazil misses its second penalty, and the room nearly implodes.
Chile misses their second, and people start to breathe a sigh of relief. The GK could be elected president any moment.
Marcello scores again for Brazil, now up 2-0, and the room is in a frenzy. A middle-aged but well-preserved Brazilian woman is standing on her chair, flashing anyone who cares to notice. Her 70-year old mother does the same.
Chile scores and Hulk misses, and Chile scores again. Suddenly it is 2-2, and the room is getting increasingly nervous. We consider an early exit but can't bear to leave. This is way more fun than that stinker of a match between US-Germany.
Neymar steps to the penalty spot, still limping from the beating he has taken for the last two hours. Like Elvis, his aim is true, and no Brazilian will ever question why he wears the #10 jersey.
Chile misses their last penalty off the post. Brazil wins 3-2 and the room is chaos.
We cheer. My son nearly dislocates my shoulder with his high-five x 2. We're high-fiving complete strangers.
My son offers to take a picture of the multi-generational flashers with their camera. They think he is asking to be in their picture and invite him in. No one cares who you are, selfies for everyone!
We notice it is well past four. We have been in the restaurant watching the beautiful game with the beautiful people for almost five hours.
This has been one of the greatest experiences of our trip so far, but things can go to shit quickly in Brazil, and we still have to walk home several miles through unfamiliar neighborhoods. We decide to walk along the beach...our bag of leftovers marking us even more obviously as tourists, if that were possible.
The fireworks begin in the empty streets.
We hurry home, unsure of whether we would have been safer if Brazil had lost. (I think back to my friend's constant reminders that Brazil would go up like a powder keg when they lose, because of the pent up anger over spending and corruption.) Large explosions are heard every few minutes, small ones nearly constantly.
We spend the rest of the night listening to them from our balcony and our bedrooms. We eat leftovers and watch the Columbia-Uruguay game from the safety of our living room.
The city is thick with smoke, this time with the distinct smell of sulphur-laden Chinese fireworks, and you wonder if you have a sore throat or just smoke inhalation.
For the second time in a week, Brazil is burning, and this time it isn't for the Festival of Sao Jaoa.
We stopped by a local hotel last night to inquire as to whether we needed reservations to watch the game in their restaurant. (Yes, Brazilians reserve tables to watch games in restaurants. It even happens in Little Brazil in NYC, where it will cost you $60 USD for a meal and a view of the game.)
They assured us that no reservation was required, so we knew it wasn't the place to watch.
I woke up early and blogged. I heard the familiar noise of a loud-speaker from the street. I've learned enough Portuguese and leaned out my window enough times to know it was the propane delivery truck (gas stoves here are powered by large propane tanks, about 4x the size of US ones used for backyard grills) announcing their presence and prices. I'll be home before I get the hang of this place.
We asked some friends and settled on a local restaurant/bar or three that sounded like good potential candidates within walking distance.
The morning flew by and I realized we'd be too late if we didn't get to one of them soon.
Last week's American watch party filled up 2 hours in advance of the USA-Portugal game. Maybe I was supposed to wait in line overnight for a Brazilian bar.
We high-tailed it out the door and through the flooded street. Yes, it had been raining again.
Our other option was to go the long way around but there was no time to risk getting lost. As with last Thursday...never mind...we vowed never to speak of it again.
We walked about 2 miles through what turned out to be a not-so-good part of town and found the restaurant...empty.
Huh? It is 11:35 am and kickoff is at 1:00. There are three big screen projectors and three small screens over the bar. This place should be full. Maybe this is the wrong place to watch. But the place is set up for a large crowd, both inside and out.
We ask for a table in front near one of the big screens, and that is when we start noticing the "Reserved" signs on table after prime-viewing table. We find the first/best unreserved table and are only about 30 feet back from the big screen, with a good, unobstructed view.
Thirty minutes pass and no waiter even attempts to take our order. My wife asks if they know we are here for the game or whether they are going to kick us out for not ordering food. The rest of us wonder if she is serious.
We order some pitchers of exotic fruit juice and an espresso to help calm my wife.
By the time our drinks arrive, the restaurant has begun to fill. By 12:15 most of the tables are gone. By 12:30, patrons newly arrived are desperately scurrying around to find a vantage point from which to watch.
We sip our juice and I tell my family, "That's why we needed to practically sprint here."
We order some appetizers around 12:45, but the place is packed. We're in no rush. We'll be here until at least 3:00.
We people-watch and estimate the bar to be about 75% Brazilians. Perfecto.
Almost everyone is wearing a Brazilian jersey, unless it is a green pantsuit fashioned out of the Brazilian flag (artist's rendering). The restaurant is upscale but the atmosphere and patrons are casual. The staff is ready for the crowd, and service is admirable and efficient. Think Superbowl Sunday with table service, very attentive table service.
Around 12:59, the people with reserved tables start to arrive. One table of five is already on their second bottle of champagne, with four more to follow to the slaughter.
Women range from the sloppy to the haute coitured. It reminds me of a church on Easter or a temple on Rosh Hoshannah. Everyone out to see, be seen, be seen eating, and worship their personal god.
We order lunch, knowing it might not arrive until halftime.
Kick-off comes and an early goal by David Luiz sends the bar into a frenzy. This will be an easy game...
A huge firecracker goes off in the street. It must be an M-80 or larger. We duck and cover. No one else seems to notice.
The food arrives sooner than expected, as does the equalizer from Chile. The room falls silent, as patrons refuse to even acknowledge what everyone can sense.
Patrons chainsmoke on the deck, just outside our table's reach. I ask the manager to ask them to stop (I'm pretty sure it is illegal to smoke in restaurants in Brazil, and all the smoke is blowing in through the open doors). The manager talks to the smoking patron but there are many understudies ready to take up the cause. He returns to apologize profusely through a busboy interpreter, saying only, "The man has many problems. We are sorry. Very sorry. Very sorry." Like everything in Brazil, smoking rules are on a sliding scale.
The tension continues for another almost unbearable 60 minutes more of regulation and 30 minutes of overtime. Chile rattles the crossbar and all of Brazil's nerves.
The food has long since been ignored, but we order some more juice.
Women in tight, cropped tops and short shorts hang on every moment. The table next to us is polishing off champagne bottle number six (?). We've lost count, even though every time they order one, the waiter blocks our view while he pops the cork and pours a glass for each of them. A bottle of Tabasco shatters. A woman in six-inch platform shoes stands to avoid the glass and red slick beneath her chair. We can't see the screen. Is she that drunk or just insane? The busboy and the patron who dropped the Tabasco are trying to clean it up and calm her down, blocking our view even more. Don't they know the penalties are about to begin!
Julio Cesar appears on slow-mo close-up on the big screen. He looks pale as a sheet and about to vomit. The fate of all Brazil rests on his shoulders. We don't want to be in a bar or on the street if they lose, but it is like an accident too gruesome to look away from.
David Luiz scores Brazil's first penalty. The room explodes.
Chile misses their first. The room re-explodes in appreciation for their GK.
Brazil misses its second penalty, and the room nearly implodes.
Chile misses their second, and people start to breathe a sigh of relief. The GK could be elected president any moment.
Marcello scores again for Brazil, now up 2-0, and the room is in a frenzy. A middle-aged but well-preserved Brazilian woman is standing on her chair, flashing anyone who cares to notice. Her 70-year old mother does the same.
Chile scores and Hulk misses, and Chile scores again. Suddenly it is 2-2, and the room is getting increasingly nervous. We consider an early exit but can't bear to leave. This is way more fun than that stinker of a match between US-Germany.
Neymar steps to the penalty spot, still limping from the beating he has taken for the last two hours. Like Elvis, his aim is true, and no Brazilian will ever question why he wears the #10 jersey.
Chile misses their last penalty off the post. Brazil wins 3-2 and the room is chaos.
We cheer. My son nearly dislocates my shoulder with his high-five x 2. We're high-fiving complete strangers.
My son offers to take a picture of the multi-generational flashers with their camera. They think he is asking to be in their picture and invite him in. No one cares who you are, selfies for everyone!
We notice it is well past four. We have been in the restaurant watching the beautiful game with the beautiful people for almost five hours.
This has been one of the greatest experiences of our trip so far, but things can go to shit quickly in Brazil, and we still have to walk home several miles through unfamiliar neighborhoods. We decide to walk along the beach...our bag of leftovers marking us even more obviously as tourists, if that were possible.
The fireworks begin in the empty streets.
We hurry home, unsure of whether we would have been safer if Brazil had lost. (I think back to my friend's constant reminders that Brazil would go up like a powder keg when they lose, because of the pent up anger over spending and corruption.) Large explosions are heard every few minutes, small ones nearly constantly.
We spend the rest of the night listening to them from our balcony and our bedrooms. We eat leftovers and watch the Columbia-Uruguay game from the safety of our living room.
The city is thick with smoke, this time with the distinct smell of sulphur-laden Chinese fireworks, and you wonder if you have a sore throat or just smoke inhalation.
For the second time in a week, Brazil is burning, and this time it isn't for the Festival of Sao Jaoa.
World Cup Day 18 - Dutch Treat. Ticos in Penalties.
Today features one marquee match-up everyone is desperate to watch, and another for which tickets are readily available. Both turn out to be barn-burners
Netherlands (2) - Mexico (1)
Right in the cojones, this one is going to smart for a long, long, long time.
The defending Olympic champs, Mexico, looked in poor form leading up to the World Cup, dropping games to the underwhelming Yanks, for example. But they tied Brazil during pool play, earning the A2 seed, and have looked quite good of late. Their GK, Ochoa, has been stopping the unstoppable, routinely making amazing saves (beginning with his stoppage-time stop against Cameroon in the first match of pool play).
The Flying Dutchmen have been the team to watch so far, beginning with their epic defeat of Spain in their first match in pool play. Every cab driver in Brazil thinks it will be Hollande v Alemanha facing off in Rio's Maracana in July. No one expected them to have an easy time with Mexico, but everyone expected The Oranje to prevail.
Well, the Mexicans had other ideas and were about to pop the fiesta champagne, when Wesley Sneijder decided to keep it interesting. The Dutchman's fabulous strike in the 88th minute froze a shielded Ochoa and found the back of the net with aplomb.
Six minutes later, a questionable call on what appeared to be an exaggerated fall, if not an outright flop, in the box led to a game-winning PK.
If Mexico could take Netherlands to the limit, then maybe Brazil isn't as vulnerable as we thought, or maybe the Dutch are more vulnerable than anyone thought.
Hope you didn't turn your TV sets off early boys and girls.
Costa Rica 1 (5) - Greeks 1 (3)
Not to be outdone by the Brazil/Chile or Netherlands/Mexico fireworks, the Greeks and Costa Ricans refused to recognize how bored the rest of the world was with their match and decided to play it anyway. That said, tickets were being sold for half price or less just before game time.
Greece looked reasonably good and had a slight edge in possession, but had a much bigger edge in shots-on-goal. Unfortunately, they also had a huge edge in off-sides and couldn't convert any chances early.
Costa Rica was equally ineffectual, and the first half ended 0-0.
Early in the second half, Bryan Ruiz scored a goal on a crappy, dribbling shot. I don't know what happened, but it looked like the GK thought it was going wide. It wasn't.
But Oscar Duarte's second yellow in the 66th minute left Costa Rica playing a man down, and Greece began to press the attack more.
The game stayed 1-0 until early into stoppage time, when the Greeks succeeded in keeping it interesting. Socratis Papastathopoulos was credited with the equalizer and with the longest name I've ever heard.
No more scoring in OT led to a dramatic penalty shoot-out.
At 4-3, with Greece trying to keep pace, the Costa Rican GK came up with a huge save. A fifth straight successful penalty from Costa Rica sealed the Greeks' face.
Nice run, boys, and a seriously fun game to watch in person.
That's the second game in the first four of the knock-out stage to go to penalties. The other two games featured a PK winner in stoppage time by Netherlands, and 2/3 of a hat trick for Colombia's James.
Hope you tuned in, boys and girls.
Tomorrow, France beats Nigeria, and Germany destroys Algeria.
Netherlands (2) - Mexico (1)
Right in the cojones, this one is going to smart for a long, long, long time.
The defending Olympic champs, Mexico, looked in poor form leading up to the World Cup, dropping games to the underwhelming Yanks, for example. But they tied Brazil during pool play, earning the A2 seed, and have looked quite good of late. Their GK, Ochoa, has been stopping the unstoppable, routinely making amazing saves (beginning with his stoppage-time stop against Cameroon in the first match of pool play).
The Flying Dutchmen have been the team to watch so far, beginning with their epic defeat of Spain in their first match in pool play. Every cab driver in Brazil thinks it will be Hollande v Alemanha facing off in Rio's Maracana in July. No one expected them to have an easy time with Mexico, but everyone expected The Oranje to prevail.
Well, the Mexicans had other ideas and were about to pop the fiesta champagne, when Wesley Sneijder decided to keep it interesting. The Dutchman's fabulous strike in the 88th minute froze a shielded Ochoa and found the back of the net with aplomb.
Six minutes later, a questionable call on what appeared to be an exaggerated fall, if not an outright flop, in the box led to a game-winning PK.
If Mexico could take Netherlands to the limit, then maybe Brazil isn't as vulnerable as we thought, or maybe the Dutch are more vulnerable than anyone thought.
Hope you didn't turn your TV sets off early boys and girls.
Costa Rica 1 (5) - Greeks 1 (3)
Not to be outdone by the Brazil/Chile or Netherlands/Mexico fireworks, the Greeks and Costa Ricans refused to recognize how bored the rest of the world was with their match and decided to play it anyway. That said, tickets were being sold for half price or less just before game time.
Greece looked reasonably good and had a slight edge in possession, but had a much bigger edge in shots-on-goal. Unfortunately, they also had a huge edge in off-sides and couldn't convert any chances early.
Costa Rica was equally ineffectual, and the first half ended 0-0.
Early in the second half, Bryan Ruiz scored a goal on a crappy, dribbling shot. I don't know what happened, but it looked like the GK thought it was going wide. It wasn't.
But Oscar Duarte's second yellow in the 66th minute left Costa Rica playing a man down, and Greece began to press the attack more.
The game stayed 1-0 until early into stoppage time, when the Greeks succeeded in keeping it interesting. Socratis Papastathopoulos was credited with the equalizer and with the longest name I've ever heard.
No more scoring in OT led to a dramatic penalty shoot-out.
At 4-3, with Greece trying to keep pace, the Costa Rican GK came up with a huge save. A fifth straight successful penalty from Costa Rica sealed the Greeks' face.
Nice run, boys, and a seriously fun game to watch in person.
That's the second game in the first four of the knock-out stage to go to penalties. The other two games featured a PK winner in stoppage time by Netherlands, and 2/3 of a hat trick for Colombia's James.
Hope you tuned in, boys and girls.
Tomorrow, France beats Nigeria, and Germany destroys Algeria.
Recife - Friday June 27 - PdG
With yesterday's torrential rain, and more rain forecast ahead, today looked like the day to get to Porto de Galinhas (PdG or simply "Porto" to the locals), a beach town about an hour South.
Long story short, we catch a taxi to the aeroporto, where the 195 bus to PdG allegedly stops.
While waiting, my son and I help two men lift a motorcycle into the back of a pickup. It takes all of 30 seconds. The driver is extremely grateful. He thanks me repeatedly, points to his heart and says, "You are beauty."
I point to my son and say, "Meu fijho es fuerte," having no idea if I communicated, "My son is strong."
He points to my wife and daughter on the sidewalk and repeats, "Your family is beautiful."
Yes, I tell him, like Lake Wobegon, in our family, all the men are strong, all the women are good looking, and all the children are above average. It is lost in translation.
He thanks me again. We wait for the bus. Is it R$10 per person? Where do we get tickets?
We buy them on the bus, I'm told, but the bus is probably "occupado." The hand-gesture for "occupado" in Brazil is the one an American would make to indicate someone talking a lot, or a duck quacking. I learned this when I tried to catch seventeen taxis unsuccessfully yesterday. I will never be able to un-see that hand gesture.
The bus goes past without stopping, since it is occupado (full). What? They come only once an hour? I don't want to wait another hour.
We consider taking a taxi to PdG instead. R$120 for four people. Another party has two people and is looking for two more to split the cost. We are four ourselves, and my kids didn't bring cash.
We are not sure if we even have enough currency to get to PdG and back if we spend R$120 one way (I've heard of others paying R$150 - R$200 each way, so R$120 isn't a bad deal. Still, taxi rides add up fast in Recife.).
The man who has been securing his motorcycle to his truck with rope for the last 15 minutes motions over to me again. He is now in the truck's cab, and his wife sits to his right. He says again how thankful he is, nearly with tears in his eyes. He says, "Welcome to Brazil," in English. He motions to his wife and says, "This is my husband." I smile and laugh, and we shake hands, and off he drives.
Karma and the odds must have been ever in my favor. Another bus sporting "195 Porto de Gal..." pulls up. We board and find seats. It is R$11 per person. I think the driver and his caixa are skimming the extra R$1 for themselves.
The bus is a lot like DisneyWorld, an hour of waiting (in traffic) followed by Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, careening down the highway. We detour at a roadside bus stop. Someone boards the bus to sell agua and Ruffles. Later, we sidetrack to Speed-bumps-ville. It is 4 square blocks with 50 speed-bumps. Not bad, only R$0.22 per speed bump.
The ride is well past 90 minutes. Rain is coming through the semi-closable window. We wind past scene after scene that can only be described as "Brazil." Sugar cane fields, light industrial, favelas.
Michele has the look she gets on airplanes, declaring, "We're going to die."
At one point the bus screeches and turns sharply to the left. I see a motorcycle about 3 inches from my window, which the bus has swerved to avoid. Say what you will about Brazilians...these dudes know how to drive!
We finally reach PdG, and the weather has cleared. We find an American-style hotel and ask directions. We put on sunscreen in their lobby and rest. The ride has taken two hours. Later, I'll realize that taxis take a separate toll road, and the ride is only 45 minutes. I'll also realize why it took us only two hours despite bumper-to-bumper traffic for much of the way.
PdG is a nice, friendly beach town. I find a cambio offering a lousy rate, but I need some Reais in case we take a taxi home. We walk past t-shirt shops, eat lunch overlooking the water, and spend a few hours playing in the waves and walking on the beach. There are a lot of Americans but not so many that it ruins the mood. The weather is perfect, despite a rainshower during lunch. There are quaint boats bobbing in the water. It is almost dusk (get's dark early here in the winter) and time to arrange a ride home.
We contemplate haggling with a cab driver while eating ice cream. We prepare some Portuguese in Google Traduz. We've conserved our cash by using Visa. Do we want to take a taxi home or try to find the bus and hope it is not occupado?
Just then, bus 195 pulls up at the curb. We take it as a sign and board.
Again, it is R$11 per person, but this time, the caixa has my kids squeeze past the turnstile without registering another passenger. Seems she is no longer content to skim R$1 per passenger and wants the full R$11 when she can manage it.
The way home is like Back to the Future. We skip the detour to Bumpy-town but encounter traffic on the way back. Luckily, we don't need roads; our bus is off-roading it. How many lanes are there on a two-lane Brazilian highway, you ask? Five: Two on the pavement, plus the shoulder, plus two more off-road in the rutted mud to the right of the actual road.
The bus jumps and swings wildly from side to side, mere inches from a tractor trailer. I am sure we are going to hit side-view mirrors but put my faith Ayrton Senna, who is apparently behind the wheel.
When we occasionally venture onto the actual road, the driver seems unfamiliar with the brakes, which Michele doesn't trust anyway. It is like we are in Speed with Sandra Bullock driving while Keanu tries to disarm the bomb.
Michele is now sure we are going to die, no longer looking to me for confirmation.
I tell her to hold on, she says, "What is the point of that? When the bus tips over, I'll be face down in the water anyway!" She makes a strong case.
We periodically swerve from the off-road lanes onto the shoulder to avoid oncoming bridge pilings. I now realize that we spent the majority of the morning drive on the shoulder, passing trucks and other buses that stood still for hours.
I close my eyes and sleep. Michele does not.
We arrive back at the aeroporto, and de-bus to stretch our legs. The trip home has been another 2 hours, and we wonder if the cab might have been worth an extra R$100.
We EasyTaxi it home. No way I'm spending R$27 at the taxi stand when EasyTaxi is half that! All a drop in the bucket when you figure the actual cost of the trip...but I digress.
We get home. Michele is headachy. The kids and I walk to a nearby mall and find a nice meal at a great restaurant. We get shrimp-n-massa and three negra beers to bring home to Michele. Gotta love a country where you can bring home bottled beers from a hestaurante
Matrimonial balance is again restored. The debt repaid.
Boa noite!
Long story short, we catch a taxi to the aeroporto, where the 195 bus to PdG allegedly stops.
While waiting, my son and I help two men lift a motorcycle into the back of a pickup. It takes all of 30 seconds. The driver is extremely grateful. He thanks me repeatedly, points to his heart and says, "You are beauty."
I point to my son and say, "Meu fijho es fuerte," having no idea if I communicated, "My son is strong."
He points to my wife and daughter on the sidewalk and repeats, "Your family is beautiful."
Yes, I tell him, like Lake Wobegon, in our family, all the men are strong, all the women are good looking, and all the children are above average. It is lost in translation.
He thanks me again. We wait for the bus. Is it R$10 per person? Where do we get tickets?
We buy them on the bus, I'm told, but the bus is probably "occupado." The hand-gesture for "occupado" in Brazil is the one an American would make to indicate someone talking a lot, or a duck quacking. I learned this when I tried to catch seventeen taxis unsuccessfully yesterday. I will never be able to un-see that hand gesture.
The bus goes past without stopping, since it is occupado (full). What? They come only once an hour? I don't want to wait another hour.
We consider taking a taxi to PdG instead. R$120 for four people. Another party has two people and is looking for two more to split the cost. We are four ourselves, and my kids didn't bring cash.
We are not sure if we even have enough currency to get to PdG and back if we spend R$120 one way (I've heard of others paying R$150 - R$200 each way, so R$120 isn't a bad deal. Still, taxi rides add up fast in Recife.).
The man who has been securing his motorcycle to his truck with rope for the last 15 minutes motions over to me again. He is now in the truck's cab, and his wife sits to his right. He says again how thankful he is, nearly with tears in his eyes. He says, "Welcome to Brazil," in English. He motions to his wife and says, "This is my husband." I smile and laugh, and we shake hands, and off he drives.
Karma and the odds must have been ever in my favor. Another bus sporting "195 Porto de Gal..." pulls up. We board and find seats. It is R$11 per person. I think the driver and his caixa are skimming the extra R$1 for themselves.
The bus is a lot like DisneyWorld, an hour of waiting (in traffic) followed by Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, careening down the highway. We detour at a roadside bus stop. Someone boards the bus to sell agua and Ruffles. Later, we sidetrack to Speed-bumps-ville. It is 4 square blocks with 50 speed-bumps. Not bad, only R$0.22 per speed bump.
The ride is well past 90 minutes. Rain is coming through the semi-closable window. We wind past scene after scene that can only be described as "Brazil." Sugar cane fields, light industrial, favelas.
Michele has the look she gets on airplanes, declaring, "We're going to die."
At one point the bus screeches and turns sharply to the left. I see a motorcycle about 3 inches from my window, which the bus has swerved to avoid. Say what you will about Brazilians...these dudes know how to drive!
We finally reach PdG, and the weather has cleared. We find an American-style hotel and ask directions. We put on sunscreen in their lobby and rest. The ride has taken two hours. Later, I'll realize that taxis take a separate toll road, and the ride is only 45 minutes. I'll also realize why it took us only two hours despite bumper-to-bumper traffic for much of the way.
PdG is a nice, friendly beach town. I find a cambio offering a lousy rate, but I need some Reais in case we take a taxi home. We walk past t-shirt shops, eat lunch overlooking the water, and spend a few hours playing in the waves and walking on the beach. There are a lot of Americans but not so many that it ruins the mood. The weather is perfect, despite a rainshower during lunch. There are quaint boats bobbing in the water. It is almost dusk (get's dark early here in the winter) and time to arrange a ride home.
We contemplate haggling with a cab driver while eating ice cream. We prepare some Portuguese in Google Traduz. We've conserved our cash by using Visa. Do we want to take a taxi home or try to find the bus and hope it is not occupado?
Just then, bus 195 pulls up at the curb. We take it as a sign and board.
Again, it is R$11 per person, but this time, the caixa has my kids squeeze past the turnstile without registering another passenger. Seems she is no longer content to skim R$1 per passenger and wants the full R$11 when she can manage it.
The way home is like Back to the Future. We skip the detour to Bumpy-town but encounter traffic on the way back. Luckily, we don't need roads; our bus is off-roading it. How many lanes are there on a two-lane Brazilian highway, you ask? Five: Two on the pavement, plus the shoulder, plus two more off-road in the rutted mud to the right of the actual road.
The bus jumps and swings wildly from side to side, mere inches from a tractor trailer. I am sure we are going to hit side-view mirrors but put my faith Ayrton Senna, who is apparently behind the wheel.
When we occasionally venture onto the actual road, the driver seems unfamiliar with the brakes, which Michele doesn't trust anyway. It is like we are in Speed with Sandra Bullock driving while Keanu tries to disarm the bomb.
Michele is now sure we are going to die, no longer looking to me for confirmation.
I tell her to hold on, she says, "What is the point of that? When the bus tips over, I'll be face down in the water anyway!" She makes a strong case.
We periodically swerve from the off-road lanes onto the shoulder to avoid oncoming bridge pilings. I now realize that we spent the majority of the morning drive on the shoulder, passing trucks and other buses that stood still for hours.
I close my eyes and sleep. Michele does not.
We arrive back at the aeroporto, and de-bus to stretch our legs. The trip home has been another 2 hours, and we wonder if the cab might have been worth an extra R$100.
We EasyTaxi it home. No way I'm spending R$27 at the taxi stand when EasyTaxi is half that! All a drop in the bucket when you figure the actual cost of the trip...but I digress.
We get home. Michele is headachy. The kids and I walk to a nearby mall and find a nice meal at a great restaurant. We get shrimp-n-massa and three negra beers to bring home to Michele. Gotta love a country where you can bring home bottled beers from a hestaurante
Matrimonial balance is again restored. The debt repaid.
Boa noite!
Recife - Thurs June 26 - Red, Wet, and Blue
Red, Wet, and Blue
Today is perhaps the day that we all looked most forward to on the trip...and the one that turned out somewhat different that expected.
The US is playing Germany, hoping for at least a tie to guarantee a berth in the Round of 16.
The USMNT's highest placement ever was 3rd, and that was in 1930, in the first World Cup in which only 13 countries partook.
It has been a long dry spell since then (it won't stay dry for long).
From 1954 through 1986, the USMNT didn't even qualify for the World Cup finals (yes, the last 32 teams are in the so-called "Finals").
Since 1990, we've been to the Round of 16 only three times (this will be the fourth), and we've made it to the quarters only once (where we lost, placing 8th in 2002).
So we had high hopes following Will Ferrel's inspirational speech the night before.
We even planned to attend the American Outlaws event early in the morning, and march en masse to the stadium from a bar near the arena.
And then Brazil happened.
We woke to pouring rain, which isn't unusual, because it rains every day in the winter here (often several times per day), and 20 minutes later the sun comes out again.
It was almost 9:00. The trip to the Arena Pernambuco takes about 2 hours on a good day. The game was slated for 1:00 pm, so if we left by 10:00, we'd miss the American Outlaw march but make it to the game with an hour to spare. We didn't really want to march in the rain anyway. We'd either be marching in sandals, not great for long distances, or marching in wet sneakers, not good for much of anything.
But this rain was heavier and it didn't stop.
A panicked Whatsapp message from a Brazilian friend at 9:25 warned, "I think you have to go! Recife when it's raining stop the city. And it's raining a lot!"
No problem, we'll rouse the kids, find an taxi with Easy Taxi, and take our trusted route to the metro and eventually the arena.
We wore sandals. Our street was a river, the sidewalks nearly impassable as cars drove through six inches of water that slopped up against the buildings lining the sidewalk. Two words for you...Open. Sewer.
For the first time in our trip the EasyTaxi app, was no help (we love you anyway EasyTaxi, it's not your fault!). Whereas usually there are 20 taxis nearby and one instantly available, the screen was devoid of available rides.
I walked up to the corner, looking for the road less flooded, but found nothing. I asked a passerby going to his car if he knew where we could get a taxi, nearly just offering to pay him to drive us 10 minutes to the nearest metro. He suggested the nearby mall.
We made a mad dash in the pouring rain the half-mile to the mall, where I found a taxi that had just dropped someone off. Salvation, step one accomplished.
The metro was only a mile or two further, but the traffic was heavy. No matter, it was only 10:00 am and we had time.
When we got about 3 blocks from the metro, the traffic was literally at a standstill, Our cab driver suggested we get out and walk, which we did. Still only 10:30.
Soaked to the bone, we had at least reached the familiar metro. Step two accomplished. We should be at the arena by 12:30 if all goes well.
We made some friends, helped some newbies, made all our connections and were ahead of schedule.
On the train, we befriended a couple (she Brazilian, he Brooklynite) and she haggled on my behalf with a vendor for four rain ponchos. Yes, there are vendors on the subway trains, selling Doritos, water, and rain ponchos. It was R$20 (about $10 USD) for the four. Even though my kids said they'd never wear them, we had a long trek from the last dropoff point to the stadium, plus the game to sit through.
On the plus side, there was no doubt the game would be played. All the fans were going the same direction, knowing the game would be held, however sloppy/wet the pitch might be.
We made friends with some Germans on the train and asked if we could agree to a tie match, which would send both teams through to the Round of 16 (regardless of the outcome of the Portgual-Ghana match). They shook their heads and explained about the Shame of Gijon, that still haunts German football today. There would be no agreement.
After 75 minutes on the subway, we made it to the waiting shuttle buses. We donned our rain ponchos as we exited the bus for the half-mile trek to the Arena. My daughter acquiesced. My son refused. A German couple asked if we had extra. I offered our fourth poncho to her for $1,000. They smiled. I said, "Okay, free, but you have to root for the US." They opted to stay wet. No matter, there were hundreds of poncho vendors at the end of the tent covering.
We headed down the hill to the Arena and, against all odds, had made it there nearly an hour before kickoff. We are still arrayed in our dork bags, while many people carry umbrellas.
We reach the security line, which is quick and painless. I have my sopping wet jacket in one hand, while I fumble with my cell phone and loose change that sets off the metal detector. I've been using my jacket as an ersatz umbrella. All the smarmy, dry people with actual umbrellas who didn't read the FIFA list of prohibited items are in for a rude awakening and/or an appointment with a divorce attorney. My bag goes into the maw of the X-ray machine to be gurgitated shortly on the other side. There are no umbrellas on this side of security.
We pass security successfully for the third time this week. A total of eight minutes of each of our lives, which we don't need back.
I'm futzing with a pill carrier as my daughter needs some Motrin. Our water is gone, guzzled before the security checkpoint or confiscated at it. My daughter insists she can't swallow the pills without water and spits them out, her hand now a reddish/orange from the FDC approved dyes.
My wife asks for the umpteenth time if we all have our bags. Of course I...wholly fuck...where is my bag!!!! Oh crap, I left it on the conveyor belt of the security X-ray machine. It is still there, with the tickets inside the appointed pocket.
I vow never to criticize my wife again. Ever. Over anything.
Finding a place to check the tickets away from the rain, we see we are all at Gate L. Although our four seats are split 2 and 2, they are only about 20 yards apart, and we can enjoy the game sort-of-together.
I hand the four tickets to the attendant to scan via the electronic-ticket-checker-o-lator.
Green arrow. Through the turnstile I go.
Green arrow. Through the turnstile Michele goes.
Red "X". What?
Red "X" again. Something must be wrong. Try a different turnstile for f*ck's sake.
Holy crap, Michele and I are on the inside (no re-entry policy if we exit, mind you).
Zach and Ariel remain on the other side, their tickets somehow invalid.
WTF2!!!!!!
Michele starts to shake.
Now, keep in mind, there are many friendly, helpful people around, but few if any speak English. It is pouring rain, and our children are outside the stadium. The tickets have Ariel's and Michele's name on them.
They ask if we have passports or photo ID.
Of course not! Everyone told us to leave our passports at the apartment, and what kid carries photo ID!?
They have to go to a kiosk outside to straighten it out. No big deal, we're assured. Happens all the time. In Brazil!
At least the kids are together and Ariel speaks a lot of Spanish and a little Portuguese.
The kids have to go to some kiosk at Gate M (we are at Gate L). It is pouring rain.
Michele is hyperventilating. I'm telling her to helax, but I'm just as tense.
I travel inside to Gate M as Zach and Ariel walk around the outside. I yell to them and we talk through the fence, like in a Spielberg movie. I try to convince Gate M's attendant to let them in. "We got these tickets on the FIFA web site! They are not scalped tickets! (that was last game)" Her English is at its limits.
The kids go to find the customer service kiosk.
I will wait for you! Survive!
Ten tense minutes later (seemed like thirty), Zach returns soaked to Gate M, looking downcast. "Good or bad?!," I scream through the rain and the gate.
"Good!" He gives me the thumbs up, which is hopefully an obscene gesture to any watching security guards, "...but we have to go back to Gate L to get in." ("Lift your freakin' head," I think. You look that way when you play soccer, too.)
We go on the inside, they on the outside and meet at Gate L.
Michele is about to lose it.
The kids wait in a brief line and get through the turnstiles. Hallelujah!
We embrace. I yell at my son for getting the keepsake tickets wet despite being wrapped in a plastic bag. I apologize. We embrace again.
Zach explains that FIFA had purposely sent us two invalid tickets in the mail. (I surmise they were waiting for the canceled tickets from another patron to be returned.)
There was an envelope waiting with my name on it at the "problem resolution kiosk," containing two "match-day contingency" tickets. Another fan in the same situation declares it "creepy" that they have an envelope with his name on it. We couldn't be happier.
Michele loses it as the tension subsides, and she sobs uncontrollably. Such is the passion that soccer can inspire.
Did you get the same seats? No different section, but still close enough that Michele begins to stop sobbing.
Still 20 minutes to spare before kickoff. I need a Chopp. Michele needs four.
We get to our seats. Kids get to theirs about 30 yards away.
To our right, we meet Jim, an older Michigander traveling without his Michigoose.
To our left, we meet Florian, a boisterous Berliner, who declares that the beer tastes like "shit mixed with plastic." He shrugs as another nearby German chain-smokes despite the Nao Fumar policy.
The anthems are starting. It is 60/40 Americans but the Germans sing louder. They expect to win. We hope to tie.
People in front of us are standing, all the way down to the front row where someone is wearing what looks like a GB Packers cheesehead. We stand so we can see. The people behind us ask us to sit. We shrug.
I asked Florian why everyone is standing. The game hasn't even begun.
He says, "This is a standing game. No one will sit. Maybe in the second half." He was right, and then he was wrong.
On the upper deck, a phalanx of police in riot gear try to get German fans to step back and stop leaning on a tenuous glass railing, clearly not designed to hold back a crowd. I gesture towards them and ask Florian what's going on. "In Germany, we stand," he reiterates, as if any soccer fan unwilling to tumble out of the upper deck to get six inches closer to the match is crazy.
The match is rain soaked. The Germans look confident, the Americans look tense.
Germans possess the ball at will, except for their surprisingly frequent miscues that send the ball skipping over the touchline. Must not be used to playing in the rain.
Easily the most boring game that has ever kept fans on their feet for 90 minutes.
Americans keep it close, and lose 1-0. Portugal bails us out by beating Ghana.
Germans are satisfied. American fans are exhausted, bored, and relieved.
US is through to the Round of 16!
We trek back up the hill to the shuttle bus, to the metro, to the metro transfer station, to the other metro, get a taxi (our old friend EasyTaxi is back in good graces), and are happy to be home.
We watch the lowlights of the game on the news, which is dominated by stories of flooding and gridlock.
We eat grilled-cheese sandwiches and try to dry out ourselves and our clothes.
Our Recife friends tell us it rained enough for a week, nao, a month!
We hear that it is the most rain they've had in a single day since last winter, so we enjoyed a once-per-year day.
Red, wet, and blue.
Go team U-S-A.
Saturday, June 28, 2014
World Cup - Day 17 - Chile not hot enough. Uruguay toothless. Brazil will face Columbia in quarters.
Today marks the first day of the knock-out stage. It is win or go home (or in the case of Brazil, stay home)
Brazil 1 (3) - Chile 1 (2)
Opa! Opa! Opa!
The bar in Boa Viagem began to fill about 11:30 am, 90 minutes before kickoff. By 1:00 pm Brasilia time, the food, drink, and football were flowing.
It looked promising early, with David Luiz being credited for a goal that looked like an own-goal by the Chileans to me. But the Chileans remained poised, and equalized about 15 minutes later.
With each passing minute, the Brazilians on the pitch looked tighter and tighter, despite having more possession. The Chileans looked relaxed and fluid. It was clear that all the pressure was on the Brazilians.
Words cannot express the tension throughout Brazil as this game began its inexorable march towards kicks from the penalty mark.
There were a lot of questionable calls, and whenever Brazil started to generate some rhythm, the Chileans would either foul or dive, sometimes achieving both simultaneously.
The score remained 1-1 at half-time, through the end of regulation, and throughout the mandated 30 minutes of OT (two 15-minute extra periods).
Chile hit the crossbar in the last 30 seconds and the normally relaxed Brazilians nearly had a heart attack. Had they taken Chile too lightly? Could they really be bounced in the first knockout game?
In the packed restaurant, as with those all over Brazil, you could cut the tension with a knife.
When Brazil hit their first two penalties and Chile missed their first two, the country went wild.
But then Brazil went cold and Chile hit their stride.
It was tied 2-2 after four attempts for each side when Neymar stepped up and buried the eventual game winner.
Chile hit their last shot off the post, and Brazil exploded in joy and fireworks.
Opa! Opa! Opa!
Hope you saw it live!
Columbia (2) - Uruguay (0)
James Rodriguez scored two goals, including a beautiful volley off his chest, to power Columbia past toothless Uruguay. James now has 5 goals and 2 assists in Columbia's four WC games this year.
In the quarters, they'll have to face Brazil, who looked vulnerable today.
Brazil 1 (3) - Chile 1 (2)
Opa! Opa! Opa!
The bar in Boa Viagem began to fill about 11:30 am, 90 minutes before kickoff. By 1:00 pm Brasilia time, the food, drink, and football were flowing.
It looked promising early, with David Luiz being credited for a goal that looked like an own-goal by the Chileans to me. But the Chileans remained poised, and equalized about 15 minutes later.
With each passing minute, the Brazilians on the pitch looked tighter and tighter, despite having more possession. The Chileans looked relaxed and fluid. It was clear that all the pressure was on the Brazilians.
Words cannot express the tension throughout Brazil as this game began its inexorable march towards kicks from the penalty mark.
There were a lot of questionable calls, and whenever Brazil started to generate some rhythm, the Chileans would either foul or dive, sometimes achieving both simultaneously.
The score remained 1-1 at half-time, through the end of regulation, and throughout the mandated 30 minutes of OT (two 15-minute extra periods).
Chile hit the crossbar in the last 30 seconds and the normally relaxed Brazilians nearly had a heart attack. Had they taken Chile too lightly? Could they really be bounced in the first knockout game?
In the packed restaurant, as with those all over Brazil, you could cut the tension with a knife.
When Brazil hit their first two penalties and Chile missed their first two, the country went wild.
But then Brazil went cold and Chile hit their stride.
It was tied 2-2 after four attempts for each side when Neymar stepped up and buried the eventual game winner.
Chile hit their last shot off the post, and Brazil exploded in joy and fireworks.
Júlio César for Presidente!
Opa! Opa! Opa!
Hope you saw it live!
Columbia (2) - Uruguay (0)
James Rodriguez scored two goals, including a beautiful volley off his chest, to power Columbia past toothless Uruguay. James now has 5 goals and 2 assists in Columbia's four WC games this year.
In the quarters, they'll have to face Brazil, who looked vulnerable today.
Recife - Wed June 25
I get up early again (been averaging about 6 am)...
Fam sleeps in again (been averaging about 10:30 am).
Sergio asks if we'd like to see Brennand. I have no idea what Brennand is, but Google does, and it looks interesting.
Life is catching up with us...mechanics like laundry, breakfast, etc. are considerably harder while on the road. Our limited cell service is used to coordinate via Whatsapp and translate a lot of things via Google Traduz.
I'm hopelessly behind on my blog (both Recife travel blog and FIFA analysis). Not sure why I insist on blogging anyway. The only thing that makes me feel better is catching up. I'll be happy some day to have blogged, but it is stressful. Less stressful than waiting endlessly for everyone to wake up...
None of you have received postcards. We've found almost no gifts.
We have a heart-to-heart and decide it is best to split up the for day.
Michele and Ariel will go shopping or to the beach.
Zach and I will go to Brennand.
Is the beach safe? Is walking around town safe? Vanessa to the rescue. She tells us what to avoid, and agrees to meet the girls in the afternoon. Our guardian angel, Nina, takes the girls to Rio Mar Shopping, considerably bigger than the nearby Recife Shopping. It rains, so beach is scrapped.
Zach and I order a taxi and ask to be taken to Brennand.
The driver is familiar with it. Too familiar. Which Brennand he asks? He suggests Castillo Brennand. We think we want the other one. Sculptura? Sculptura. The Castillo is very beautiful...nao, Oficina Brenand por favor.
We drive through areas we'd dare not walk, through barrios and highways and barrios again, and then out into a dense industrial countryside. We see horse carts and unusual trees and a lot of rundown buildings. In places, it looks like what I imagine a war zone to resemble.
Down a bumpy dirt, mud, and gravel road, many miles walk from the nearest place to eat. A clearing opens up into an old industrial site converted to a sculpture garden.
It takes about 45 minutes total, and the fare is R$45 (about $22 USD).
The driver says something about waiting or hope (espera?). He is saying we will wait a long time for a taxi out here, so he will return to drive us back. How long do we need? Surely an hour isn't enough.
We spend 15 minutes figuring out if he means 3 hours or 3 o'clock. It is 1:00 (13:00) now. We settle on two hours. He will meet us back here at 3 o'clock (15:00). No, he will wait for us for 2 hours in the parking lot. No charge. He motions to indicate the meter will start back up at zero. Yet another guardian angel, brought to us by Easy Taxi.
We make our way to the gate and haggle with the ticket booth attendant over the price of admission (is he asking if I'm sixty?) Must. Learn. Portuguese. Numbers.
My 15-year old son is strapping but still half-priced. R$15 for the two of us.
Holy pottery sculptures, this is worth seeing! Glad we choose "Oficina Brennand" (Francisco B.) but maybe we'll see "Castillo Brennand" (Ricardo B.) another day.
The art is absurdist/surreal. Approachable, but not beautiful in the classic sense. Think Bacon meets Gaudi. Reminds me of the Dali museum in Figueras. The Cambodian-style temple either inspired or was inspired by Apocalypse Now, as evidenced by the Joseph Conrad quote on the wall.
We see a sculpture that undoubtedly could have inspired the faces of the N'avi in Avatar.
The place is nearly empty and we share the indoors and outdoors only with some gardening staff plus a small menagerie of dogs, horses, cattle, and black swans. Surely our paltry admission price wouldn't pay an hour's water bill.
It appears to be supported by selling floor tile and housewares. I suddenly crave floor tiles and housewares.
Fam sleeps in again (been averaging about 10:30 am).
Sergio asks if we'd like to see Brennand. I have no idea what Brennand is, but Google does, and it looks interesting.
Life is catching up with us...mechanics like laundry, breakfast, etc. are considerably harder while on the road. Our limited cell service is used to coordinate via Whatsapp and translate a lot of things via Google Traduz.
I'm hopelessly behind on my blog (both Recife travel blog and FIFA analysis). Not sure why I insist on blogging anyway. The only thing that makes me feel better is catching up. I'll be happy some day to have blogged, but it is stressful. Less stressful than waiting endlessly for everyone to wake up...
None of you have received postcards. We've found almost no gifts.
We have a heart-to-heart and decide it is best to split up the for day.
Michele and Ariel will go shopping or to the beach.
Zach and I will go to Brennand.
Is the beach safe? Is walking around town safe? Vanessa to the rescue. She tells us what to avoid, and agrees to meet the girls in the afternoon. Our guardian angel, Nina, takes the girls to Rio Mar Shopping, considerably bigger than the nearby Recife Shopping. It rains, so beach is scrapped.
Zach and I order a taxi and ask to be taken to Brennand.
The driver is familiar with it. Too familiar. Which Brennand he asks? He suggests Castillo Brennand. We think we want the other one. Sculptura? Sculptura. The Castillo is very beautiful...nao, Oficina Brenand por favor.
We drive through areas we'd dare not walk, through barrios and highways and barrios again, and then out into a dense industrial countryside. We see horse carts and unusual trees and a lot of rundown buildings. In places, it looks like what I imagine a war zone to resemble.
Down a bumpy dirt, mud, and gravel road, many miles walk from the nearest place to eat. A clearing opens up into an old industrial site converted to a sculpture garden.
It takes about 45 minutes total, and the fare is R$45 (about $22 USD).
The driver says something about waiting or hope (espera?). He is saying we will wait a long time for a taxi out here, so he will return to drive us back. How long do we need? Surely an hour isn't enough.
We spend 15 minutes figuring out if he means 3 hours or 3 o'clock. It is 1:00 (13:00) now. We settle on two hours. He will meet us back here at 3 o'clock (15:00). No, he will wait for us for 2 hours in the parking lot. No charge. He motions to indicate the meter will start back up at zero. Yet another guardian angel, brought to us by Easy Taxi.
We make our way to the gate and haggle with the ticket booth attendant over the price of admission (is he asking if I'm sixty?) Must. Learn. Portuguese. Numbers.
My 15-year old son is strapping but still half-priced. R$15 for the two of us.
Holy pottery sculptures, this is worth seeing! Glad we choose "Oficina Brennand" (Francisco B.) but maybe we'll see "Castillo Brennand" (Ricardo B.) another day.
The art is absurdist/surreal. Approachable, but not beautiful in the classic sense. Think Bacon meets Gaudi. Reminds me of the Dali museum in Figueras. The Cambodian-style temple either inspired or was inspired by Apocalypse Now, as evidenced by the Joseph Conrad quote on the wall.
We see a sculpture that undoubtedly could have inspired the faces of the N'avi in Avatar.
The place is nearly empty and we share the indoors and outdoors only with some gardening staff plus a small menagerie of dogs, horses, cattle, and black swans. Surely our paltry admission price wouldn't pay an hour's water bill.
It appears to be supported by selling floor tile and housewares. I suddenly crave floor tiles and housewares.
There is an overwhelming amount of art. We spend 30 minutes on the first of 10 stations. We quicken our pace and eventually manage to finish in 90 minutes.
Time for a delicious lunch in the on-site restaurant. We give some travel tips to some Americans at the next table. We are starting to feel like experts.
Our guardian cab driver is waiting at the appointed rendezvous point. The ride back is R$44. I give him R$50, despite tipping being unusual for cabs. Round trip R$95 (about $45 USD). I should have tipped him more.
Girls are still at the Rio Mar Shopping, about 20 minutes away.
Zach and I go to the Recife Shopping, walking distance from our apartment. We do some manly things like check out the post office, the bank, and t-shirts. Zach finds the perfect gift for himself (Mom will not be happy) and for his cousin (Jake will be).
Day's over? No, just beginning.
We coordinate with friends and resolve to go the USA pre-party at a nearby bar, in anticipation of tomorrow's match versus Germany.
Our friend Vanessa worries they won't allow non-US people into the party. "It will be all right. We need you as a body-guard." It is three blocks away. Vanessa points out that we are targets because we are walking. Brazilians drive across the street. Now we understand why they offered to drive us to the mall and beach on our first day here.
She is really worried she won't get in, thinking it was being thrown by the US Consulate. "Won't they be checking passports?"
"Don't worry. We know Americans" (Seeing as we've relied on her for basic functions like how to use a phone, she is justifiably skeptical.)
"Trust us," I say, "we will get you in."
Not. We get there about 8:30. Line is long and not moving. Power inside bar is out (probably due to the huge spotlights out front). It looks hopeless. We contemplate a spill-over bar.
I walk towards the door and manage to find the only non-English speaker within a 50-yard radius. Lady at front of line says they may let another 100 people in before shutting the doors. We are about 110 people back in line. Apparently, we were supposed to make reservations on line.
Maybe we will go to the party our friend Raphael talked about. Oops, same party, and he is already inside. Ugh.
I go back to give the bad news. Vanessa knows someone at the bar and secures five wristbands for our party.. We feel like supermodels in NYC...front of the line. Inside. "Trust you?! Trust me!" says Vanessa.
And there was much rejoicing. Zach slurring his speech after two beers. Ariel dancing on tables. Michele and I guzzling Caipirinhas.
Vanessa knows Raphael. Of course. Everyone knows everyone in Recife.
And then Will Ferrel showed up, offering to bite as many Germans as necessary.
Home, exhausted. Tomorrow USA Germany!
Thanks Vanessa!
Boa noite!
Recife - Tuesday June 24
Brazil has so many interesting things to see and do that we've lost count.
Every morning I wake up early and hear the sounds of the city coming to life.
Around 8:30 each morning, I hear a speaker announcing something in the street. It sounds like an old-time campaign truck, but I have no idea what it is saying. Must learn more Portuguese...
Hopefully it isn't something about the Americans deciding to Shock & Awe Recife. No one seems to be ducking and covering, so I ignore it and go back to blogging.
It is a national holiday (Sao Joao) so the bodega downstairs is closed. I don't bother trying the mall...
The fam sleeps late but we hear from some friends that they want to visit nearby Olinda. The plan is to find a taxi that fits six passengers...depart with our party of four...and pick up two friends on the way. After 30 minutes of investigation with the help of the doorman, it becomes clear that six-passenger taxis don't exist in Recife.
Heck, I haven't figured out how to even dial a phone reliably. 90 percent of the phone calls we try to make to/from landlines and cell phones don't seem to work. We answer the phone when it rings. Bad idea. Must. Learn. Portuguese.
We resolve to take a taxi, but our friend Nina (thanks Nina!) comes to the rescue and offers to drive with us. Olinda is just to the North of Recife. We are at the southern end in Boa Viagem, but the drive is under 35 minutes.
During the whole drive, we try unsuccessfully to reach our other friends via cell, Whatsapp, and carrier pigeon. We get to Olinda, and we find them sitting in front of a cafe. Such is Brazil.
They have been waiting 30 minutes but are in good spirits. We walk around some historic churches and eventually settle on a place for lunch. Sergio knows the chef, of course, who is from Ghana but speaks and cooks in French.
We enjoy a nice meal and good company, and set out on foot to explore more of Olinda.
We climb a steep hill, expecting to find a deserted hilltop only to find a bustling market filled with street carts, food vendors, and many small arts stores.
The city has a beautiful view of Recife, that is why it is called Olinda. On occasional corners we smell the smoke and see the remnants of last night's bonfires. Here I learn they have nothing to do with Brazil's victory.Today is a national holiday, so many shops are closed. We take photos and dash into nearby stores when it rains (which it does on and off most of the day).
We encounter a mariachi-type band. Sergio knows everyone in it. We stop at several art boutiques where Sergio knows the artist.
Francisco gives my kids Portuguese lessons; in exchange, they keep him from running into traffic (he's five years old).
Nina is patient trying to teach my wife and I some Portuguese. Francisco has the better students.
The elevator tower atop the hill is flooded and inoperable. The breath-taking view from 40 feet below will have to suffice. My wife's fear of glass elevators is rendered moot.
I ask Michele if either of us is ready to move to Olinda. Nice place to visit, but too much mental energy to even contemplate living in a place like Brazil. I begin to think wistfully of NJ for the first time in a long time.
After a few more hours of a walking tour of the quaint buildings, it is already 17:00 and time to go, as there is dusk, rain, and traffic to contend with.
Nina gamefully drives us back to Boa Viagem.
We helax at home, catch up on email, make some pasta, watch countless highlights of today's games interspersed with really bad Brazilian soap operas.
Have we really been here nearly a week? The days begin to blend together, no matter how distinct each on is one its own.
Boa noite!
Every morning I wake up early and hear the sounds of the city coming to life.
Around 8:30 each morning, I hear a speaker announcing something in the street. It sounds like an old-time campaign truck, but I have no idea what it is saying. Must learn more Portuguese...
Hopefully it isn't something about the Americans deciding to Shock & Awe Recife. No one seems to be ducking and covering, so I ignore it and go back to blogging.
It is a national holiday (Sao Joao) so the bodega downstairs is closed. I don't bother trying the mall...
The fam sleeps late but we hear from some friends that they want to visit nearby Olinda. The plan is to find a taxi that fits six passengers...depart with our party of four...and pick up two friends on the way. After 30 minutes of investigation with the help of the doorman, it becomes clear that six-passenger taxis don't exist in Recife.
Heck, I haven't figured out how to even dial a phone reliably. 90 percent of the phone calls we try to make to/from landlines and cell phones don't seem to work. We answer the phone when it rings. Bad idea. Must. Learn. Portuguese.
We resolve to take a taxi, but our friend Nina (thanks Nina!) comes to the rescue and offers to drive with us. Olinda is just to the North of Recife. We are at the southern end in Boa Viagem, but the drive is under 35 minutes.
During the whole drive, we try unsuccessfully to reach our other friends via cell, Whatsapp, and carrier pigeon. We get to Olinda, and we find them sitting in front of a cafe. Such is Brazil.
They have been waiting 30 minutes but are in good spirits. We walk around some historic churches and eventually settle on a place for lunch. Sergio knows the chef, of course, who is from Ghana but speaks and cooks in French.
We enjoy a nice meal and good company, and set out on foot to explore more of Olinda.
We climb a steep hill, expecting to find a deserted hilltop only to find a bustling market filled with street carts, food vendors, and many small arts stores.
The city has a beautiful view of Recife, that is why it is called Olinda. On occasional corners we smell the smoke and see the remnants of last night's bonfires. Here I learn they have nothing to do with Brazil's victory.Today is a national holiday, so many shops are closed. We take photos and dash into nearby stores when it rains (which it does on and off most of the day).
We encounter a mariachi-type band. Sergio knows everyone in it. We stop at several art boutiques where Sergio knows the artist.
Francisco gives my kids Portuguese lessons; in exchange, they keep him from running into traffic (he's five years old).
Nina is patient trying to teach my wife and I some Portuguese. Francisco has the better students.
The elevator tower atop the hill is flooded and inoperable. The breath-taking view from 40 feet below will have to suffice. My wife's fear of glass elevators is rendered moot.
I ask Michele if either of us is ready to move to Olinda. Nice place to visit, but too much mental energy to even contemplate living in a place like Brazil. I begin to think wistfully of NJ for the first time in a long time.
After a few more hours of a walking tour of the quaint buildings, it is already 17:00 and time to go, as there is dusk, rain, and traffic to contend with.
Nina gamefully drives us back to Boa Viagem.
We helax at home, catch up on email, make some pasta, watch countless highlights of today's games interspersed with really bad Brazilian soap operas.
Have we really been here nearly a week? The days begin to blend together, no matter how distinct each on is one its own.
Boa noite!
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