One of the landmark points of my adventures has always been the World Cup. The world’s most popular sporting event in a country recognized for its fanaticism at an age where most activities are socially accepted was too good to pass up. Rather than try to chase the US or stay in the illustrious Rio, we decided to pick a medium sized city on the beach before the groups had been decided to maximize our chances of securing a ticket. In October the first lottery closed and our fate was set: Germany vs Ghana and Greece vs Ivory Coast in Fortaleza.
But first, a quick preface. Imagine a country that is its region’s economic powerhouse but with an increasingly tangible sentiment of inequality. Disgruntled youth take to the streets, passively protesting. These protests become violent, people beaten, arrested without cause, the acts recorded for the entire world to see. New York City is a scary place, isn’t it?
Fortunately I was spared the constant questioning of my terror/sanity over the dangers I might face in Brazil. Anytime I told a fellow traveler I was heading to the world cup I was only met with envy, not fear that so many others back in the US noted. This mixture of collective ignorance and arrogance is infuriating; contrary to popular belief somehow a country of 198 million people manage to survive every day without being robbed, kidnapped, or maimed. To be clear this is not an affirmation for the government’s treatment of its people. Are there some fucked up things going on in Brazil right now? You bet. But just like most of the world, as long as you don’t do anything stupid you will be fine.
If anything my World Cup experience was more relaxed than my previous adventures. A typical day consisted of waking up around 11am, at least an hour of reading, knitting, or both, a brief discussion over where we would watch the first game, and then 9 hours of soccer. If a particularly boring game was up we would mix in the beach or the roof-top pool, but with temperatures reaching the upper 80’s and a blaring sun, the day-time activities were minimal.
Fortaleza itself was solid but nothing special: it was a city on the beach, with a fun boardwalk, tons of restaurants, and a few places to go out. Our go to restaurant was the legendary Dom Churasco, a large Brazilian barbecue establishment well trained in the arts of meat preparation. Clearly my thoughts of potentially turning to the dark side of herbivoredom have been vanquished.
The games themselves were special yet very different. Germany-Ghana was up first and certainly the much more entertaining and competitive of our two matches. As Germany was one of the favorites the crowd was distinctly pro-Ghana, and the energy in the stadium was palpable. The stadium went berserk when Ghana surprisingly took the lead and despite our rooting for Germany we couldn’t help ourselves getting swept away in the madness.
Our second game offered a different flavor. The first half of Greece-Ivory coast was about as boring as can be in terms of actual soccer. Due to a bizarre succession of injuries there might have only been 5 minutes of actual playing in the first 20. But as the crowd became restless things got interesting: a group of Brazilians started chanting for the rival team of Fortaleza, which triggered a louder response from the local fans. Things didn’t turn violent, it was more of a good natured bantering with a slight edge, but was very fun to be apart of.
We had a great time in Brazil. While we hardly did anything that could be classified as cultural (aside from eating copious amounts of grilled cow) we did embrace the national sport to its fullest. 30 soccer games, numerous caipirinhas and a few beach sunsets isn’t the worst way to spend 10 days.
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