Tuesday concludes pool play for Groups C and D. Who will survive to reach the Round of 16?
Group D has come to be known as the "Group of Champions", the only group featuring three former tourney winners (only eight countries have claimed victory, and no other group contained more than one former champ!). But it is Costa-one-of-these-things-is-not-like-the-others-Rica that bests them all for the D1 seed.
Greece (2) - Côte d’Ivoire (1) - Group C
Holy spanakopita, Batman!
After a poor performance in the opening match against Columbia, and surviving a 0-0 tie against Japan (despite playing a man down), Greece bests Côte d’Ivoire to win their final match in pool play.
It is enough for the Greeks to scrape together the C2 seed with a 1-1-1 record and a minus-2 goal differential! Opa!
Is Greece better than I thought, or is Group C just that weak? The latter. I will be at the match in Recife to see them get their sundials cleaned by Costa Rica. My dreams of seeing Columbia-Uruguay didn't materialize.
Columbia (4) - Japan (1) - Group C
No surprise here. Columbia cruises to an easy victory and 3-0-0 record in the weak Group C. They will face Uruguay in the R16 matchup. Will Luis "Hannibal" Suarez take a bite out of the Columbians quarter-final aspirations?
Uruguay (1) - Italy (0) - Group D
After a first-match loss to Costa Rica, Uruguay strung together successive victories against England and Italy to earn the D2 seed in the R16. But the news of the day was Luis Suarez going Mike Tyson on an Italian's shoulder. For how llong will he be banned? Let's hope it's the remainder of the tourney.
Costa Rica (0) - England (0) - Group D
In a lowly anticipated game rendered largely meaningless by earlier matches, Costa Rica secured the D1 seed, with an overall 2-0-1 record. England salvaged their only point of the tourney, but their dignity had long since hopped the first QEII back to Britain. To be less snarky, lets applaud teams that maintain their class, even while losing. More than can be said for some teams moving on in the tourney (cough...cough...Uruguay).
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Brazil is Burning
Friends have asked me what the mood is in Brazil during the World Cup (Copa Mundial).
Monday night, Brazil was on fire. Everywhere we looked (and smelled) were bonfires.
Everyone hoped that Brazil would cruise to a 3-0-0 record in the Group Stage.
Earlier in the week, there was a lot of hand-wringing over the tie game with reigning Olympic medalists, Mexico. After Monday's victory against Cameroon, Brazil's record stood at 2-0-1. They emerged as the number one seed in their group--ahead of Mexico (also 2-0-1)--but only by virtue of the tie-breaking goal-differential.
Brazilian expectations are always high. Vince Lombardi famously said, "Winning isn't everything, it is the only thing." For Brazilians, winning the number one seed in their group is not nearly enough. They wanted to win it by a large margin, leaving no doubt they are the best in the world.
And if they don't win four more games, including the final in Rio, it will be a huge blow to the country. They've yet to forget the loss to Uruguay 64 years ago, despite five intervening championships. Anyone who thinks playing baseball for the Yankees is tough due to high expectations has never been to Brazil during a World Cup.
Yet, all the taxi drivers will tell you that they don't think Brazil will win. Their money is on the Germans and the Dutch.
Back to Monday night and the fires...
We were attending the Mexico-Croatia game at the same time as Brazil was besting Cameroon to clinch the A1 seed. Periodically, a huge cheer would go up in the arena, despite nothing noteworthy happening in the Mexico match. It was all the Brazilian fans screaming in joy every time Brazil scored a goal in the other match.
As the buses taking us back to the subway wound through the Brazilian countryside, we saw house after house with large wooden bonfires lining the road. People were dancing and cheering. The air was so thick with smoke that our eyes were tearing. For the two-hour trip home on the bus, subway, and taxi, we saw many, many such bonfires, and the smell of smoke permeated the entire city.
There were explosions all night and into the morning outside our apartment balcony.
Opa (Wow!), these guys really know how to celebrate. And so far, they have only reached the Round of 16! I can only imagine how they'll celebrate if they win the final!
The next day, I asked some Brazilian friends about fires and the World Cup.
They shook their heads...
No, the fires had nothing to do with the World Cup, nor protests, etc.
It was June 23rd, the night on which many Brazilians celebrate the Festa de São João (Festival of Saint John) with bonfires and fireworks. On the 24th, they continue with street festivals.
My friend, something of a local historian and cultural ambassador said that as planes fly into Recife on the night of June 23rd each year, they see what looks like a city engulfed in flames and smoke, but it is just the residents celebrating.
So, maybe football isn't the only thing in Brazil, even during the World Cup. Or maybe it is just a good omen.
...and now you know, the *rest* of the story...
Monday night, Brazil was on fire. Everywhere we looked (and smelled) were bonfires.
Everyone hoped that Brazil would cruise to a 3-0-0 record in the Group Stage.
Earlier in the week, there was a lot of hand-wringing over the tie game with reigning Olympic medalists, Mexico. After Monday's victory against Cameroon, Brazil's record stood at 2-0-1. They emerged as the number one seed in their group--ahead of Mexico (also 2-0-1)--but only by virtue of the tie-breaking goal-differential.
Brazilian expectations are always high. Vince Lombardi famously said, "Winning isn't everything, it is the only thing." For Brazilians, winning the number one seed in their group is not nearly enough. They wanted to win it by a large margin, leaving no doubt they are the best in the world.
And if they don't win four more games, including the final in Rio, it will be a huge blow to the country. They've yet to forget the loss to Uruguay 64 years ago, despite five intervening championships. Anyone who thinks playing baseball for the Yankees is tough due to high expectations has never been to Brazil during a World Cup.
Yet, all the taxi drivers will tell you that they don't think Brazil will win. Their money is on the Germans and the Dutch.
Back to Monday night and the fires...
We were attending the Mexico-Croatia game at the same time as Brazil was besting Cameroon to clinch the A1 seed. Periodically, a huge cheer would go up in the arena, despite nothing noteworthy happening in the Mexico match. It was all the Brazilian fans screaming in joy every time Brazil scored a goal in the other match.
As the buses taking us back to the subway wound through the Brazilian countryside, we saw house after house with large wooden bonfires lining the road. People were dancing and cheering. The air was so thick with smoke that our eyes were tearing. For the two-hour trip home on the bus, subway, and taxi, we saw many, many such bonfires, and the smell of smoke permeated the entire city.
There were explosions all night and into the morning outside our apartment balcony.
Opa (Wow!), these guys really know how to celebrate. And so far, they have only reached the Round of 16! I can only imagine how they'll celebrate if they win the final!
The next day, I asked some Brazilian friends about fires and the World Cup.
They shook their heads...
No, the fires had nothing to do with the World Cup, nor protests, etc.
It was June 23rd, the night on which many Brazilians celebrate the Festa de São João (Festival of Saint John) with bonfires and fireworks. On the 24th, they continue with street festivals.
My friend, something of a local historian and cultural ambassador said that as planes fly into Recife on the night of June 23rd each year, they see what looks like a city engulfed in flames and smoke, but it is just the residents celebrating.
So, maybe football isn't the only thing in Brazil, even during the World Cup. Or maybe it is just a good omen.
...and now you know, the *rest* of the story...
Brazil - FIFA World Cup - Day 12 - Groups A & B
Monday begins four matches per day (two at 1:00 pm and two at 5:00 pm). Although bad for watching on TV, it is designed so that teams in the same group play their last group matches simultaneously (to minimize knowledge of the other game's outcome).
For all teams not mathematically eliminated by two earlier losses, this will determine their final seeding in the "Round of 16" (aka R16) ("Oitavos-de-finales" or "Eighth-finals" in Portuguese) or whether they go home empty-footed.
Not a lot of suspense in either group A or B. Everyone knew which teams were going through, but seeding was still on the line.
Brazil (4) - Cameroon (1) - Group A
No surprise here. Brazil sews up the A1 seed with an easy victory over Cameroon. The seeding was briefly in doubt, but Brazil outscored Cameroon by enough to win the tiebreaker with Mexico on goal differential. Brazil will face Chile (B2 seed) in R16.
Mexico (3) - Croatia (1) - Group A
This game was a lot of fun to attend. Croatian fans were outnumbered 99-to-1 in a sea of green. The fans sung and chanted nearly continually throughout the game. The scrappy and smaller Mexicans were not intimidated by the physical Croatians, and coasted to an easy 3-1 victory after breaking the game open in the second half. Mexico claims the A2 seed and will face the dominating Netherlands (B1 seed) in R16.
Netherlands (2) - Chile (0) - Group B
In a battle for the B1 seed, Netherlands (Hollande to Brazilians) proved the better team. Chile will now have to face pre-tourney favorite Brazil in the R16. Netherlands will face Mexico.
Spain (3) - Australia (0) - Group B
Spain salvaged what little dignity was left in the till, in a battle for third place (aka first-loser) of Group B. Everyone was watching the Netherlands-Chile game, so it took 36 hours for the score to become widely known.
For all teams not mathematically eliminated by two earlier losses, this will determine their final seeding in the "Round of 16" (aka R16) ("Oitavos-de-finales" or "Eighth-finals" in Portuguese) or whether they go home empty-footed.
Not a lot of suspense in either group A or B. Everyone knew which teams were going through, but seeding was still on the line.
Brazil (4) - Cameroon (1) - Group A
No surprise here. Brazil sews up the A1 seed with an easy victory over Cameroon. The seeding was briefly in doubt, but Brazil outscored Cameroon by enough to win the tiebreaker with Mexico on goal differential. Brazil will face Chile (B2 seed) in R16.
Mexico (3) - Croatia (1) - Group A
This game was a lot of fun to attend. Croatian fans were outnumbered 99-to-1 in a sea of green. The fans sung and chanted nearly continually throughout the game. The scrappy and smaller Mexicans were not intimidated by the physical Croatians, and coasted to an easy 3-1 victory after breaking the game open in the second half. Mexico claims the A2 seed and will face the dominating Netherlands (B1 seed) in R16.
Netherlands (2) - Chile (0) - Group B
In a battle for the B1 seed, Netherlands (Hollande to Brazilians) proved the better team. Chile will now have to face pre-tourney favorite Brazil in the R16. Netherlands will face Mexico.
Spain (3) - Australia (0) - Group B
Spain salvaged what little dignity was left in the till, in a battle for third place (aka first-loser) of Group B. Everyone was watching the Netherlands-Chile game, so it took 36 hours for the score to become widely known.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Recife - Sun June 22
Did you ever have a day that was so full that your brain explodes and forgets it all?
And then a few days later, you remember it and know that you will remember it for the rest of your life?
Sunday was just such a day, as if Wes Anderson had written it for me.
Up again very early (5 am?), catching up on FIFA blogging.
By 9 am I had returned to the FIFA Ticketing Center at Shopping to replace a torn ticket.
Did you know that World Cup tickets have RFID chips in them?
Newly empowered after acquisition of a Brazilian SIM card a day earlier, we ventured to meet our soon-to-be-best-friend Sergio in Recife's city center.
We stand in the middle of Marco Zero square, which seems to be the univserally understood meeting place, the equivalent of the clock in the center of Grand Central Station. I await further instructions from Jason Bourne in my earpiece, but soon enough Sergio strides towards us, wearing a green cap with a red star, smiling broadly and playing a tambourine, his young son in tow.
Our tourist-aura rubs off on Sergio, and a random 12-year-old comes up and asks him for the tambourine. Unlike America where people ask only for money, (or perhaps food or a cigarette), it is perfectly normal in Brazil for people to ask for your possessions.
Sergio is like a cross between Mr. Rogers and Bill Clinton. We meet his sister and niece but there is no place to park their bikes, so they excuse themselves as we continue on foot. This seems perfectly normal to Brazilians, who have a totally different attitude than Americans about schedules and rendezvous (its own plural, apparently).
He brings us to a wonderful restaurant overlooking the water. It takes thirty minutes to get to the buffet line because he knows everyone in the restaurant, which he works like a rope line, and every minute is worth it. His son shows off extensively for us, and we find it adorable even if the wait-staff is less than enthused. Did they charge us full price for Francisco, who didn't eat a thing? I will go to my grave wondering.
After a wonderful meal, Sergio takes us to a nearby museum, which appears to be dedicated to Luiz Gonzaga, his music, and his native region. Best I can tell, Luiz Gonzaga is like Elvis, Liberace, Roy Rogers and Jackie Robinson all rolled into one. People speak of him with great reverence. We have fun learning about his music and the Sertao region. We even try our hand at playing drums and an accordion (hint, you have to press the keys to extend the bellows). Sergio tells us that to judge an accordion player, be sure to watch his left hand.
After this cultural dive, we walk to a local plaza where vendors sell things in carts (Sundays only, apparently). Sergio spots another man in a green cap with a red star and greets him enthusiastically in Portuguese, "Good day comrade!". I understand only some of the reply--"I am not a socialist..."--and Sergio translates the rest for me--"...it is only a souvenir." Sergio says his goodbyes, we take some photos of our new friend, and my family goes to shop among the streetcarts.
And then a few days later, you remember it and know that you will remember it for the rest of your life?
Sunday was just such a day, as if Wes Anderson had written it for me.
Up again very early (5 am?), catching up on FIFA blogging.
By 9 am I had returned to the FIFA Ticketing Center at Shopping to replace a torn ticket.
Did you know that World Cup tickets have RFID chips in them?
Newly empowered after acquisition of a Brazilian SIM card a day earlier, we ventured to meet our soon-to-be-best-friend Sergio in Recife's city center.
We stand in the middle of Marco Zero square, which seems to be the univserally understood meeting place, the equivalent of the clock in the center of Grand Central Station. I await further instructions from Jason Bourne in my earpiece, but soon enough Sergio strides towards us, wearing a green cap with a red star, smiling broadly and playing a tambourine, his young son in tow.
Our tourist-aura rubs off on Sergio, and a random 12-year-old comes up and asks him for the tambourine. Unlike America where people ask only for money, (or perhaps food or a cigarette), it is perfectly normal in Brazil for people to ask for your possessions.
Sergio is like a cross between Mr. Rogers and Bill Clinton. We meet his sister and niece but there is no place to park their bikes, so they excuse themselves as we continue on foot. This seems perfectly normal to Brazilians, who have a totally different attitude than Americans about schedules and rendezvous (its own plural, apparently).
He brings us to a wonderful restaurant overlooking the water. It takes thirty minutes to get to the buffet line because he knows everyone in the restaurant, which he works like a rope line, and every minute is worth it. His son shows off extensively for us, and we find it adorable even if the wait-staff is less than enthused. Did they charge us full price for Francisco, who didn't eat a thing? I will go to my grave wondering.
After a wonderful meal, Sergio takes us to a nearby museum, which appears to be dedicated to Luiz Gonzaga, his music, and his native region. Best I can tell, Luiz Gonzaga is like Elvis, Liberace, Roy Rogers and Jackie Robinson all rolled into one. People speak of him with great reverence. We have fun learning about his music and the Sertao region. We even try our hand at playing drums and an accordion (hint, you have to press the keys to extend the bellows). Sergio tells us that to judge an accordion player, be sure to watch his left hand.
After this cultural dive, we walk to a local plaza where vendors sell things in carts (Sundays only, apparently). Sergio spots another man in a green cap with a red star and greets him enthusiastically in Portuguese, "Good day comrade!". I understand only some of the reply--"I am not a socialist..."--and Sergio translates the rest for me--"...it is only a souvenir." Sergio says his goodbyes, we take some photos of our new friend, and my family goes to shop among the streetcarts.
I visit the Kahal Zur Israel Synagogue, the oldest in the New World, now primarily a museum. I read the names of the congregants, which would be as recognizable today as they were 500 years ago. Moises. Jaacob, Eliau. I'm especially moved when I go upstairs to the reconstructed sanctuary. The walls are filled with prayers written on paper slips, as you'd see at the Western Wall. The docent, Diogo, points out that most are really wishes and not prayers. I write one myself and find a place for it. Each prayer crammed into the crevices secures the existing ones more tightly. "Even when the glass is full, there is always room for prayer," I think to myself. I'm moved in a way I don't expect. I mouth the words to Lekhah Dodi. Boi khalah boi khalah!
I step back out into the street, now nearly faded into dusk, to meet my family, resolved not to yell at the kids for at least an hour. We buy 5 bottles of water for R$10 and guzzle them down in the humidity.
We make our way to the FanFest venue on foot to watch the US-Portugal game. I eat a hot dog that is over-boiled and a bit spicy from a street vendor. The self-serve garnishes include potato sticks, peas and corn, beets, peppers, and eyelashes from Andrew Zimmern. No one else in my party is brave, stupid, or reckless enough to try it. My loving wife gently adds, "or hungry enough," which hopefully will not be the last words I ever hear.
FanFest wasn't really what we expected. Narrow and crowded, there really was little to see beyond the big screen and little to hear over the blaring speakers. But we resolved to find a good spot and wait an hour for the game to start. We danced and mingled, but mostly jostled and waited.
My kids really didn't like it. The coup d'grace was an old drunk trying to grab my son's hand clapper. I clamped him on the shoulder, shrieked, "That's my son," (In English), which had zero effect, and then starting yelling "'brigado, nao" which was the most forceful Portuguese I could muster in the heat of the moment. It means "No, thank you!" Since then, my kids have been laughing at me frequently, thinking about me yelling "No, thank you!" repeatedly to some drunk Brazilian as a way to tell him to leave my son alone.
But it was mostly like a night on Bourbon Street with soccer instead of Jazz.
"If I were 10 years older and drunk, it would be fun," says my daughter. My wife and I enjoyed it even though we are 20 years older than most people there. My kids want to leave at half-time. Splitting up doesn't seem like a good idea. It is crowded and smoky at times, but the crowd is jubilant when Jones equalizes and Dempsey scores the apparent game winner.
US snatches a gut-wrenching tie from the jaws of victory. We take a questionable taxi home (by which I mean he had to push it to back it up...in retrospect, he is probably lacking a reverse gear).
We collapse after an amazing day.
Boa noite!
Recife - Sat June 21
Up very early (5 am) again. Not sure how many days I can go on 4 hours sleep, but it hasn't been a problem so far.
A local friend went way beyond the bounds of the prideland to help me get a SIM card (that's "chippy" to you) for my phone.
Without internet, it has been tough when we leave our apartment to do basic things like find a restaurant or taxi.
Brazil is unlike the US in many ways. For one thing, taxis don't have GPS, so it is 50/50 that they won't know an address on the other side of town.
Anyway, my friend (obrigado, Raphael!) took me to a Wal-mart-y place to buy a SIM card for my ancient Droid X2. No luck getting it to work. So we took a chance and bought a SIM for my son's iPhone, which I had the 20/20 hindsight to leave at the apartment, where it would do me the least possible good.
To buy a SIM card in Brazil, you need a CPF (the equivalent of a SSN). Without it, the verification process is very long, especially due to current demand by foreigners flooding the country.
Regardless, for R$19 ($10 US), I got a SIM card that should get me sufficient data connectivity at about 50 cents per day!
I was assured that it would probably work in an iPhone.
Four short hours later, my son and I had succeeded in trimming the micro SIM to nano size. Goooooollllll! Like most things in Brazil, I highly recommend using a template. Man, am I glad I brought my laptop and that my apartment landlord left a working HP printer! I guess there are some benefits to having to do some work while on vacation.
Newly empowered by mobile internet, we felt we had a lot more options getting around Brazil while still being able to call on friends and google for emergency assistance while mobile. Would have come in very handy last night (that's what she said).
We spent the day regrouping, catching up on logistics, and doing basic life things.
We walked to Shopping, and perused the offerings (R$200 for a Japan jersey, R$229 for Brazil, about $100).
Found the FIFA Ticketing Center, tucked away in the parking garage at Shopping) to inquire about replacing a torn ticket.
Went to the supermarket (yes, there is a supermarket in the mall). Store was packed (as we found out the next day, malls are closed on Sunday morning, so Saturday is a big shopping day). We bought about 10x what any other customer had in their cart, even though they sold only three types of cereal. Everywhere we go, guardian angels give us important guidance, such as, "they don't sell half-and-half and you won't find it in any coffee shop either." I couldn't understand anything the cashier was saying to me. Luckily my lovely wife speaks the universal language of checkout lines.
We had trouble finding the store exit (like when you walk through Macy's to exit a mall), because it had already gotten dark outside and we were looking for light.
Walked home with our groceries.
My lovely wife mastered the washing machine (luckily, she also speaks the universal language shared by those), while I got to figure out the drying rack attached to the ceiling. Think of a hybrid between a clothesline, curtain string, and trapeze. Pictures to follow, some day.
Watched some soccer on TV (Messi had a nice goal. Bosnia-Herzegovenia got robbed).
Not sure what else we did...I think we cooked some dinner at home.
I must be leaving something out so maybe someone will job my memory later.
We were still pretty wiped out from all the excitement and travel of Friday's game, so we just took it easy.
Boa tarde!
A local friend went way beyond the bounds of the prideland to help me get a SIM card (that's "chippy" to you) for my phone.
Without internet, it has been tough when we leave our apartment to do basic things like find a restaurant or taxi.
Brazil is unlike the US in many ways. For one thing, taxis don't have GPS, so it is 50/50 that they won't know an address on the other side of town.
Anyway, my friend (obrigado, Raphael!) took me to a Wal-mart-y place to buy a SIM card for my ancient Droid X2. No luck getting it to work. So we took a chance and bought a SIM for my son's iPhone, which I had the 20/20 hindsight to leave at the apartment, where it would do me the least possible good.
To buy a SIM card in Brazil, you need a CPF (the equivalent of a SSN). Without it, the verification process is very long, especially due to current demand by foreigners flooding the country.
Regardless, for R$19 ($10 US), I got a SIM card that should get me sufficient data connectivity at about 50 cents per day!
I was assured that it would probably work in an iPhone.
Four short hours later, my son and I had succeeded in trimming the micro SIM to nano size. Goooooollllll! Like most things in Brazil, I highly recommend using a template. Man, am I glad I brought my laptop and that my apartment landlord left a working HP printer! I guess there are some benefits to having to do some work while on vacation.
Newly empowered by mobile internet, we felt we had a lot more options getting around Brazil while still being able to call on friends and google for emergency assistance while mobile. Would have come in very handy last night (that's what she said).
We spent the day regrouping, catching up on logistics, and doing basic life things.
We walked to Shopping, and perused the offerings (R$200 for a Japan jersey, R$229 for Brazil, about $100).
Found the FIFA Ticketing Center, tucked away in the parking garage at Shopping) to inquire about replacing a torn ticket.
Went to the supermarket (yes, there is a supermarket in the mall). Store was packed (as we found out the next day, malls are closed on Sunday morning, so Saturday is a big shopping day). We bought about 10x what any other customer had in their cart, even though they sold only three types of cereal. Everywhere we go, guardian angels give us important guidance, such as, "they don't sell half-and-half and you won't find it in any coffee shop either." I couldn't understand anything the cashier was saying to me. Luckily my lovely wife speaks the universal language of checkout lines.
We had trouble finding the store exit (like when you walk through Macy's to exit a mall), because it had already gotten dark outside and we were looking for light.
Walked home with our groceries.
My lovely wife mastered the washing machine (luckily, she also speaks the universal language shared by those), while I got to figure out the drying rack attached to the ceiling. Think of a hybrid between a clothesline, curtain string, and trapeze. Pictures to follow, some day.
Watched some soccer on TV (Messi had a nice goal. Bosnia-Herzegovenia got robbed).
Not sure what else we did...I think we cooked some dinner at home.
I must be leaving something out so maybe someone will job my memory later.
We were still pretty wiped out from all the excitement and travel of Friday's game, so we just took it easy.
Boa tarde!
Recife - Friday Jun 20 - Italy-Costa Rica game
So, last Friday, we attended the Italy-Costa Rica game in Recife (dramatized here).
I woke up early (I've been getting up between 5 and 6 a.m. all week), and blogged a bit, which helps me assimilate all the new info.
We love the Easy Taxi app, and summoned one from our apartment where we have WiFi. The taxis arrive in under 5 minutes, so we barely had time to summon the elevator and get downstairs. Downstairs we had no internet to track its location, so knowing if our taxi was coming was a bit vague, but it worked out.
We had gotten directions from a local friend, who suggested we take a taxi to the subway station a few miles away. He advised against walking to a closer station, saying it would require passing through a "fovella" (slum).
Taxi took us to station easily (about R$10, or $5 US), and there were many World Cup volunteers there, ready to assist. For R$7.50 (under $4 US), we each got a roundtrip subway ticket, which included a bracelet for the bus transfer closer to arena.
We took first subway, which wasn't too crowded, to the transfer station in city center.
Along the way, we chatted with many Costa Rican and Italian fans, including an American couple wearing competing jerseys (he from Costa Rica and she from Italy).
At the transfer station, we lost contact with the crowd heading towards Arena Pernambuco. I let our teens lead the way, and they wandered out the turnstiles towards the street, not realizing that you don't exit a subway if you still need to transfer to another line.
I yelled "stop" before they went through the turnstiles, but it was too late. My wife and I exited as well, so as not to get separated in the crowd.
Some nice attendants gladly let us back in through an open gate. The staff was very helpful and friendly (see here for details on the Brazilian preparedness), but I was annoyed.
I brought my kids over to a corner and basically started yelling at them that they need to pay more attention to signs and their surroundings. (We had already had several pre-trip security briefings about watching your valuables, avoiding handling money and cell-phones in public, etc.).
The day before, my kids were at the beach with Brazilian chaperones, where all sorts of vendors come to sell things. Despite buying a dozen snacks, etc. from vendors, they never saw any money change hands, thanks to their hosts' skill at concealing overt cash transactions. Apparently, American crack dealers and patrons slipping a $20 to a maitre d could learn a thing or two from the average Brazilian.
So there I am growling at my kids when a Brazilian TV crew approaches to ask if we love Brazil. Several embarrassing dance steps later, I'm in a conga line while my kids are being interviewed on national TV. Some Brazilian friends said they saw us on the news (Globo TV?) We'll undoubtedly never get the tape, but I'm told my daughter has had her 15-minutes of fame already. Does mine await?
Anyway, we eventually rushed to our train towards the Arena. The subway car was packed like a NYC rush hour. Ariel couldn't stand the heat, nor leave the kitchen, and felt quite faint. I should have asked some guy to cede his seat, but opted to hold her up for the last 20 minutes of the ride.
Reaching the subway station for the metro, we de-trained, and rested on a bench while hydrating until Ariel felt better.
There were many buses waiting to transfer us a few miles to the stadium, which is built in what looks to be a very poor area, basically in the middle of nowhere, about 30 minutes outside of Recife. There are three professional teams with stadia in the city center, but maybe they are too small to host WC games?
Stadium was very relaxed. See details on the logistics here.
The match between Italy and Costa Rica wasn't a barn-burner, but it was a fun experience nonetheless. We were in an Italian section with some passionate fans, and we gestured and fumed at every call that went against Italy. In the end, the Cost Hicans prevailed 1-0.
My family was thrilled by the experience, but I knew that the much more exciting matches lay ahead.
After the match, we had about a 40-minute wait for the bus from the stadium, which isn't as bad as it sounds. The weather is perfect, and there are many interesting people to talk to in any language you can fake.
We resolved on the return trip to wait at the front of the line, even if it meant missing a bus or subway, to assure a seat on the next one. We took bus back to subway, and subway back to city center transfer station, still about 20 minutes from home.
We decided to get out and walk to find a restaurant, but it was getting dark (it gets dark before 6 here in the winter). We wandered across a bridge and chatted with an equally lost Australian couple about my age. They had little interest in my age, so we chatted about other stuff too. How they navigated Brazil for two weeks without any local contacts and not a word of Portuguese, is beyond me.
Like Joseph Conrad, I led them further up river in search of a restaurant until their eyes widened with every step. Clearly uncomfortable with pressing forward, they decided to turn back.
We realized there were no restaurants in this part of town (just street food, but we wanted to get off the street).
We have come to consider "Shopping" (malls) oases of security and peace. After asking about five shopkeepers, we finally made it to one of the many tourists malls.
We each picked a different buffet in the food court. I picked the one that serves towers of bear, up to four liters. In truth, they all serve beer, but I liked their buffet, and they were friendly, and they carried my tower of lager across the food court for me.
It was a long but exciting day.
We took a taxi home (luckily there was a reputable taxi stand just outside the mall) and R$30 ($15 US) later, we were back home, safely in our apartment.
Boa noite!
I woke up early (I've been getting up between 5 and 6 a.m. all week), and blogged a bit, which helps me assimilate all the new info.
We love the Easy Taxi app, and summoned one from our apartment where we have WiFi. The taxis arrive in under 5 minutes, so we barely had time to summon the elevator and get downstairs. Downstairs we had no internet to track its location, so knowing if our taxi was coming was a bit vague, but it worked out.
We had gotten directions from a local friend, who suggested we take a taxi to the subway station a few miles away. He advised against walking to a closer station, saying it would require passing through a "fovella" (slum).
Taxi took us to station easily (about R$10, or $5 US), and there were many World Cup volunteers there, ready to assist. For R$7.50 (under $4 US), we each got a roundtrip subway ticket, which included a bracelet for the bus transfer closer to arena.
We took first subway, which wasn't too crowded, to the transfer station in city center.
Along the way, we chatted with many Costa Rican and Italian fans, including an American couple wearing competing jerseys (he from Costa Rica and she from Italy).
At the transfer station, we lost contact with the crowd heading towards Arena Pernambuco. I let our teens lead the way, and they wandered out the turnstiles towards the street, not realizing that you don't exit a subway if you still need to transfer to another line.
I yelled "stop" before they went through the turnstiles, but it was too late. My wife and I exited as well, so as not to get separated in the crowd.
Some nice attendants gladly let us back in through an open gate. The staff was very helpful and friendly (see here for details on the Brazilian preparedness), but I was annoyed.
I brought my kids over to a corner and basically started yelling at them that they need to pay more attention to signs and their surroundings. (We had already had several pre-trip security briefings about watching your valuables, avoiding handling money and cell-phones in public, etc.).
The day before, my kids were at the beach with Brazilian chaperones, where all sorts of vendors come to sell things. Despite buying a dozen snacks, etc. from vendors, they never saw any money change hands, thanks to their hosts' skill at concealing overt cash transactions. Apparently, American crack dealers and patrons slipping a $20 to a maitre d could learn a thing or two from the average Brazilian.
So there I am growling at my kids when a Brazilian TV crew approaches to ask if we love Brazil. Several embarrassing dance steps later, I'm in a conga line while my kids are being interviewed on national TV. Some Brazilian friends said they saw us on the news (Globo TV?) We'll undoubtedly never get the tape, but I'm told my daughter has had her 15-minutes of fame already. Does mine await?
Anyway, we eventually rushed to our train towards the Arena. The subway car was packed like a NYC rush hour. Ariel couldn't stand the heat, nor leave the kitchen, and felt quite faint. I should have asked some guy to cede his seat, but opted to hold her up for the last 20 minutes of the ride.
Reaching the subway station for the metro, we de-trained, and rested on a bench while hydrating until Ariel felt better.
There were many buses waiting to transfer us a few miles to the stadium, which is built in what looks to be a very poor area, basically in the middle of nowhere, about 30 minutes outside of Recife. There are three professional teams with stadia in the city center, but maybe they are too small to host WC games?
Stadium was very relaxed. See details on the logistics here.
The match between Italy and Costa Rica wasn't a barn-burner, but it was a fun experience nonetheless. We were in an Italian section with some passionate fans, and we gestured and fumed at every call that went against Italy. In the end, the Cost Hicans prevailed 1-0.
My family was thrilled by the experience, but I knew that the much more exciting matches lay ahead.
After the match, we had about a 40-minute wait for the bus from the stadium, which isn't as bad as it sounds. The weather is perfect, and there are many interesting people to talk to in any language you can fake.
We resolved on the return trip to wait at the front of the line, even if it meant missing a bus or subway, to assure a seat on the next one. We took bus back to subway, and subway back to city center transfer station, still about 20 minutes from home.
We decided to get out and walk to find a restaurant, but it was getting dark (it gets dark before 6 here in the winter). We wandered across a bridge and chatted with an equally lost Australian couple about my age. They had little interest in my age, so we chatted about other stuff too. How they navigated Brazil for two weeks without any local contacts and not a word of Portuguese, is beyond me.
Like Joseph Conrad, I led them further up river in search of a restaurant until their eyes widened with every step. Clearly uncomfortable with pressing forward, they decided to turn back.
We realized there were no restaurants in this part of town (just street food, but we wanted to get off the street).
We have come to consider "Shopping" (malls) oases of security and peace. After asking about five shopkeepers, we finally made it to one of the many tourists malls.
We each picked a different buffet in the food court. I picked the one that serves towers of bear, up to four liters. In truth, they all serve beer, but I liked their buffet, and they were friendly, and they carried my tower of lager across the food court for me.
It was a long but exciting day.
We took a taxi home (luckily there was a reputable taxi stand just outside the mall) and R$30 ($15 US) later, we were back home, safely in our apartment.
Boa noite!
Monday, June 23, 2014
What it was like attending a World Cup game in Recife
Even after making all the arrangements necessary to get to Brazil (soccer tix, airline tix, lodging, soccer tix, visas, currency, outlet converter, learning some Portuguese, etc.), significant unknowns remained. Advanced planning helps a lot (thanks Andrew, BamBam, Max, Craig, et al.)
We repeatedly heard two worrying themes - that Brazil was unprepared for the games and that there may be crime, violence, or protests against the games.
Although I've seen a few reports on TV and read about issues in other cities, in Recife, nothing could be further from the truth.
To put some things in perspective, Recife is a city of 1.5+ million people (some sources say 3.75 million in the greater area), not some tiny backwater. It is also a three-hour plane ride from Sao Paolo. Brazil is huge geographically--a little bigger than continental US--and has almost 200 million inhabitants.
Would it make sense to say, "the US is in turmoil," if there was a riot in LA? Does the gun violence in Chicago make me feel unsafe working in New York? (Now I sound like a T. Rowe Price commercial.)
Still, we didn't fully know what to expect...
Wednesday, we made an easy connection through Sao Paolo. Despite a long layover, there was a great FIFA lounge at the airport, where we could watch games, get information, and recharge ourselves and our cell phones.
There was much less security than you'd see in a US airport, and about what I see every day in NY Penn Station (which, BTW, is the best Penn Station...sorry Baltimore, et al). Customs was a breeze (no line at 8:30 in the morning). Security screening was quick and painless.
The biggest hassle was having to take a bus to a mini-terminal in the middle of the tarmac, where, like Hillary Clinton, we did not have to dodge sniper bullets.
When we landed, we were met by some friends in Recife airport (thanks Nina and Bia!), where everything was clean and efficient. Someone approached us to take a customer satisfaction survey while waiting for our checked bags. We instinctively said "no" because we were told to be on our guard, but it was a harmless airport employee. Imagine someone in the US asking if you were happy while waiting to get your checked bags!
We did wonder if anything had been stolen from our checked bags. (In Sao Paolo, you can pay to have your bag shrink-wrapped as a deterrent against theft by baggage handlers, so it clearly happens...or an enterprising capitalist has convinced people to be paranoid.) FWIW, my custom carbon-fiber knee brace--expensive if not valuable to anyone who doesn't possess my left knee--arrived unmolested.
Everyone has been extremely friendly and eager to help. We have encountered enough people who speak some English or Spanish to get by with minimal Portuguese. That said, having Portuguese-speaking friends (thanks Vanessa!) has proven invaluable when having to do something complex or technical, like buying a phone SIM card with the right data plan (thanks Raphael!). We try to pay it forward by helping people one day removed from our current cluelessness.
We went to our first match (Italy-Costa Rica) on Friday at Arena Pernambuco outside Recife.
Once we took a taxi (thanks Easy Taxi) from our apartment (thanks Nina!) to the metro, the Brazilian volunteers stationed at the station made it very easy.
There were several who spoke English, and they directed us as needed.
At the transfer station, when we mistakenly walked through the exit turnstiles, they happily let us back in and directed us to the right metro line towards the arena. The subway car was crowded, but no worse than NYC. The cars were new, clean, well ventilated, and ran every five minutes like clockwork.
At the arena, they were very well-organized. Dozens of buses were waiting to drive us a few miles from the subway station to the arena itself.
Both the subway line and buses passed through some very poor areas. Occasionally, people looked on wistfully from the houses lining the road, but mostly, we saw no people, or children waving eagerly back at us.
There were some police along the route but no sign of protest.
Once at the arena, everything was very well-organized. Again, security was present but not over-bearing. They had separate female-only port-a-potties, but they were BYOTP.
There were empty "mini-jails" set up by the police. They let tourists take turns posing inside the jail cells.
Security at the gates was efficient, light, and speedy.
There was an airport-style scanner for our bags (no manual search), which went really quickly.
No need for ID when presenting our tickets.
Easy to find our seats.
Plenty of short lines for bathroom, drinks, and snacks. The one US-style comfort lacking was pretzels.
After the game, there were dozens of buses to take us back to the metro. Line was long, but it moved and was well-organized.
We got off the subway in Recife's City Center and got a bit lost. It was after dark. We were guarded, but didn't feel unsafe, even though we were obviously tourists.
Eventually took a taxi home. It is really easy to talk to taxi drivers. Just mention something about the Copa Mundial and they'll do all the talking.
For those here, I am sure they are enjoying it.
For those who are not, weather is beautiful, wish you were here..
Update: We went to the "Fan Fest" in Recife's City Center to watch the US-Portugal game.
This was probably the most uncomfortable we felt anywhere yet, and it was still entirely fine. There were lots of drunk, smoking Americans, and occasional people picking up discarded cans.
I did go all Mrs. Weasley on some poor, drunk local looking to take my teen's inflatable Coke-themed fan hand clapper (see artist's rendering). But I undoubtedly over-reacted, and we should have just given him the damn toy.
It is just a lack of cultural understanding. We were meeting a Brazilian friend in the town square, and he happened to be carrying a tambourine (who doesn't?). A twelve-year-old, assuming my friend was a tourist if he was standing within 30 yards of me, walked up and just asked to have it. In the US, such an approach would be considered very aggressive and threatening, but here, it is easily dismissed with a firm "Nao, we have many tambourines but none to spare."
We repeatedly heard two worrying themes - that Brazil was unprepared for the games and that there may be crime, violence, or protests against the games.
Although I've seen a few reports on TV and read about issues in other cities, in Recife, nothing could be further from the truth.
To put some things in perspective, Recife is a city of 1.5+ million people (some sources say 3.75 million in the greater area), not some tiny backwater. It is also a three-hour plane ride from Sao Paolo. Brazil is huge geographically--a little bigger than continental US--and has almost 200 million inhabitants.
Would it make sense to say, "the US is in turmoil," if there was a riot in LA? Does the gun violence in Chicago make me feel unsafe working in New York? (Now I sound like a T. Rowe Price commercial.)
Still, we didn't fully know what to expect...
Wednesday, we made an easy connection through Sao Paolo. Despite a long layover, there was a great FIFA lounge at the airport, where we could watch games, get information, and recharge ourselves and our cell phones.
There was much less security than you'd see in a US airport, and about what I see every day in NY Penn Station (which, BTW, is the best Penn Station...sorry Baltimore, et al). Customs was a breeze (no line at 8:30 in the morning). Security screening was quick and painless.
The biggest hassle was having to take a bus to a mini-terminal in the middle of the tarmac, where, like Hillary Clinton, we did not have to dodge sniper bullets.
When we landed, we were met by some friends in Recife airport (thanks Nina and Bia!), where everything was clean and efficient. Someone approached us to take a customer satisfaction survey while waiting for our checked bags. We instinctively said "no" because we were told to be on our guard, but it was a harmless airport employee. Imagine someone in the US asking if you were happy while waiting to get your checked bags!
We did wonder if anything had been stolen from our checked bags. (In Sao Paolo, you can pay to have your bag shrink-wrapped as a deterrent against theft by baggage handlers, so it clearly happens...or an enterprising capitalist has convinced people to be paranoid.) FWIW, my custom carbon-fiber knee brace--expensive if not valuable to anyone who doesn't possess my left knee--arrived unmolested.
Everyone has been extremely friendly and eager to help. We have encountered enough people who speak some English or Spanish to get by with minimal Portuguese. That said, having Portuguese-speaking friends (thanks Vanessa!) has proven invaluable when having to do something complex or technical, like buying a phone SIM card with the right data plan (thanks Raphael!). We try to pay it forward by helping people one day removed from our current cluelessness.
We went to our first match (Italy-Costa Rica) on Friday at Arena Pernambuco outside Recife.
Once we took a taxi (thanks Easy Taxi) from our apartment (thanks Nina!) to the metro, the Brazilian volunteers stationed at the station made it very easy.
There were several who spoke English, and they directed us as needed.
At the transfer station, when we mistakenly walked through the exit turnstiles, they happily let us back in and directed us to the right metro line towards the arena. The subway car was crowded, but no worse than NYC. The cars were new, clean, well ventilated, and ran every five minutes like clockwork.
At the arena, they were very well-organized. Dozens of buses were waiting to drive us a few miles from the subway station to the arena itself.
Both the subway line and buses passed through some very poor areas. Occasionally, people looked on wistfully from the houses lining the road, but mostly, we saw no people, or children waving eagerly back at us.
There were some police along the route but no sign of protest.
Once at the arena, everything was very well-organized. Again, security was present but not over-bearing. They had separate female-only port-a-potties, but they were BYOTP.
There were empty "mini-jails" set up by the police. They let tourists take turns posing inside the jail cells.
Security at the gates was efficient, light, and speedy.
There was an airport-style scanner for our bags (no manual search), which went really quickly.
No need for ID when presenting our tickets.
Easy to find our seats.
Beautiful, friendly, comfortable stadium, featuring the dulcet tones of the incomparable Sérgio Gusmmão.
Plenty of short lines for bathroom, drinks, and snacks. The one US-style comfort lacking was pretzels.
After the game, there were dozens of buses to take us back to the metro. Line was long, but it moved and was well-organized.
We got off the subway in Recife's City Center and got a bit lost. It was after dark. We were guarded, but didn't feel unsafe, even though we were obviously tourists.
Eventually took a taxi home. It is really easy to talk to taxi drivers. Just mention something about the Copa Mundial and they'll do all the talking.
For those here, I am sure they are enjoying it.
For those who are not, weather is beautiful, wish you were here..
Update: We went to the "Fan Fest" in Recife's City Center to watch the US-Portugal game.
This was probably the most uncomfortable we felt anywhere yet, and it was still entirely fine. There were lots of drunk, smoking Americans, and occasional people picking up discarded cans.
I did go all Mrs. Weasley on some poor, drunk local looking to take my teen's inflatable Coke-themed fan hand clapper (see artist's rendering). But I undoubtedly over-reacted, and we should have just given him the damn toy.
It is just a lack of cultural understanding. We were meeting a Brazilian friend in the town square, and he happened to be carrying a tambourine (who doesn't?). A twelve-year-old, assuming my friend was a tourist if he was standing within 30 yards of me, walked up and just asked to have it. In the US, such an approach would be considered very aggressive and threatening, but here, it is easily dismissed with a firm "Nao, we have many tambourines but none to spare."
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