Braaazzzill. The way the locals said that word inspired some sort of animalistic feeling deep in your bones. It had a wild, untamed sound and a strong connotation to football, although maybe we invented that second part, as we were there for one reason. The FIFA World Cup.
It is absolutely impossible for me to condense three weeks of sport, partying, dancing, tinder, and other extra-curricular activities into a couple of thousand words. Nevertheless, I will endeavour, This is the first chapter.
In reality this journey started almost twelve months ago, with the acquisition of match tickets during the second round of the ballot. It was thirty minutes past midnight and I had just about given up hope, having been up and staring at my computer for the last four hours waiting hopefully for some sort of reaction or change from the current screen of ‘waiting for your request’. Myself (henceforth referred to as Hughlio Cesar), Ben (Robenho), Nicky D, (Nickydeanho) and Seamus (Shaymar) had gathered for this event in our house and, after three hours of luckless clicking, Nickdeanho and Seamar had left dejected. As I went to bed and plugged back in my computer, I though ‘F*** it, I’ll just give it thirty more minutes of smashing the ‘refresh’ button to see if something happens’. Lo and behold, after ten minutes of bashing my nemesis of a button, I was rewarded with a drone-like noise and advancement!
“Ben, Ben!!’ I screamed, as I leapt up and started thumping the wall that connected our two rooms.
‘We’re in! We f****** got it!’
The rest is history; I applied for stadium specific tickets in Salvador, where we would see four group games ( or so I thought, more on this in later chapters) for the second cheapest seats in the house. Thus, the ball was set in motion.
Fast forward eight months and there I was, waiting in Salvador airport for Shaymar to arrive from Tokyo, as I had just completed a flight from Santiago, Chile. As Shaymar and I had been passing the time in foreign countries, Nickydeanho and Robenho has been slaving away at their respective jobs anticipating their four-week get away to Brazil. Six hours later, we had all arrived, exchanged basic catch-ups (it had been a long time between drinks, a trend that was not to continue) and made ourselves at home in our minuscule apartment in Barra, Salvador. This place was acquired from a man named Paco, who seemed an honest an trustworthy man with a solid ability in Google Translate. The space advertised and paid for, said it could cater for six people. Six people was, I’m going to say, overly ambitious. Four was a squeeze, and when John Cobb (ZeCobberto, Cobbarinha, Cobberto Carlos, The Cobb) arrived from Sydney a day later, it was a veritable sardine tin. Anyway, the accommodation was merely a place to rest our heads after each day of football matches and caparinhas (Brazil’s national cocktail. Fundamentally sound in every way).
Of the five of us, I am going to say that Nickydeanho got the most out of the apartment, this was due to a two day stint where he was either found on his makeshift bed (a stiff couch), on the toilet, over the toilet, or somewhere within the general vicinity of the toilet. He blames this run (pun intended) on a drink we had at a Mexican restaurant; beer mixed with salt and lime juice. Although the taste was awful, I think it is a bit unfair to blame the drink for what Nick did to the apartment in that time.
We spent eighteen nights in this apartment, it was very well located with less than a fifteen minute walk to bars, the beach and FIFA fan fest, a public area to watch games on the big screen. Prior to the beginning of the tournament, we had three days to get to know our area and, much to our amazement, discovered that nearly everything was unfinished, despite there being six years notice for the event. Streets were dug up in front of bars and restaurants that were no doubt furious they would have to be closed for the tourist boom of the World Cup, the big screen at the FanFest had not yet been put up, painting was being done everywhere and their were trucks, bobcats, and everything else construction oriented in streets for blocks. It was the classic ticking clock spectacle. Three days; a city to build (well nearly). At least they were on track for the Olympic Games in 2016.
The weather in Salvador was just as hot as we had expected and several times wetter than we anticipated, the weather changed in less than a blink of the eye, as sunshine would turn to thunderstorm and vice-versa quicker than you could say ‘let’s find a bar’. In the humble opinion of Hughlio Cesar, this exponentially improved the spectacle and the atmosphere of the event, especially during the opening game of the World Cup.
Our first taste: Brazil vs Croatia
On this holiest of holy days, the beginning of the tournament, we made our way down to FIFA Fan Fest with the hordes, proudly wearing our Brazilian colours. The sheer amount of Neymar shirts was staggering, at a very rough estimate, I am going to say that 70 percent of all people there had the name ‘Neymar’ on their back. Needless to say there was not a single Croatian shirt.
The idea of FanFest was spectacular, gathering all football mad people in one place to watch games together on high quality viewing screens in excellent areas. Full credit to Brazil for that move. Added to that was that it was free to enter, the beers inside were cheap and cold and the vibe was electric, especially on that first day. About thirty minutes before kick-off, the rain started coming down. Rain never began to ‘fall softly’ in Salvador; it was an on/off switch with no pressure gauge. The rain pelted down. Warm, luscious, refreshing, yet not cold, rain fell on the hordes who, instead of running for cover began to dance to the rhythm of the music that constantly played out the enormous speakers in front of the crowd. It was hypnotic, Shaymar said it first; ‘It is their (Brazilians) first impulse when they hear music, to bust a move.’ It was true and somewhat intimidating for the gringos in the crowd as well as us. Damn they can dance those Brazilians.
The first goal of the tournament was unforgettable for all the wrong reasons; the own goal by Marcelo in the first half to put Croatia up 1-0. The stunned silence of the crowd quickly turned to angry Portuguese murmurings left every foreigner praying that Brazil would score, and do it quickly. Surely enough, Neymar came to the rescue. His strike sent Salvador to another place momentarily, I think it would have been heard from space the sounds of screaming Brailians and foreigners alike as, in that moment, we all felt Brazilian. It was impossible to not get caught up in the moment of cheering for Brazil with all the desperation of a Brazilian fan. Despite the debates regarding the merits of the World cup, despite the alleged corruption of officials and the like that would continue for weeks (and in Colombia’s case, months), despite everything, here we were in a country that loved football, I’m going to say it, MORE than any other place in the entire world. Football was their everything, from the favelas in Rio, to the houses of parliament, if you wore a Neymar shirt, you were safe everywhere. It was a passport that showed your alignment, it crossed borders both figuratively and literally and hopefully will continue to do so in a constructive way. Ah sport, the beauty of it.
The final scoreline was 3-1 to Brazil, thank God, which indicated that the beers and Caparinhas would be flowing for hours on the streets of Salvador. Thank God.
The First matches in Salvador,
What we were there for in Salvador was, undoubtedly, the opportunity to see live the most watched sporting event in the world. We were incredibly lucky with the matches that we saw, as, on booking the venue specific tickets, we had no idea which matches would be scheduled there.
The opener, Spain vs the Netherlands proved to have one of the most iconic moments of the 2014 Cup with the diving header of Robin Van Persie now appearing on posters everywhere. This goal equalised the score moments before half time and was the catalyst for the first upset of the World Cup with the Dutch blowing Spain out in the second half 5-1. The Dutch fans were incredibly vocal and more than a little bit annoying on occasions. Much like Australian fans would be if we were winning I suppose.
This first match was also a measuring stick for the infrastructure that Salvador had implemented to get fans to and from matches. The bus system the authorities had devised proved to be a schmozzle. We lined up for an hour and a half in sweltering heat without picketed lines, which led to many people pushing in front of others, and on more than one occasion the crowd seriously felt like it was about to riot. The lone security guard had his work cut out, speaking Portuguese, English and Spanish to soothe the howling masses that were furious at having to wait.
From that, we learnt that it was much easier and just as economical to hail a taxi from the city to take us to the matches. The taxis could drop us a kilometre from the Arena Fonte Nova and from there it was a walk along a lake with favelas in the background and foreground to the stadium. The Arena Fonte Nova itself was fantastic; modern, easy viewing and plenty of entry points which stopped there from being excessive lines to get in. The first match they were very clearly understaffed in the food and beverage department, with it being impossible to order a beer within thirty minutes, but this was rectified after the first game with more stalls being opened and more amber liquid flowing for the remainder of the fixtures.
The second match unfortunately fell right in the middle of Nickydeanho’s bathroom takeover operation, and, as a result, he could not leave the apartment. The only positive that came of this was that Ze Cobberto could sit with us in our section, as he had bought his tickets separately, he was normally confined to the nosebleed section above us. The match was between Germany and Portugal, as such it was billed as the heavy weights, however, Portugal proved to be as much resistance as France in a world war.
Our seats proved to provided an interesting spectacle for another reason during this match. The German fans were a boisterous bunch, especially when they were 3-0 up in the first half playing against a 10-man sub standard Portugal led by a narcissistic, over-rated pretty boy in Cristiano Ronaldo. One large group of German fans in front of us celebrated the first two goals voraciously, throwing their beer cups, mostly still full of beer, in the air during the scoring of these goals utterly oblivious to the swarms of Portuguese speakers around them. Oddly, Portugal was very well supported by their previous colony, which seems interesting as I cannot imagine a situation where I would support England in a World Cup. Obviously, these thrown litres of beer fell upon the heads of colonisers and colonees alike. The first goal, and subsequent beer shower, caused discomfort, the second goal caused angst, and the third goal, outright anger. All of a sudden, we found ourselves seated in the middle of a smouldering ball of anger that was directed straight at the blissfully unaware, blind drunk Germans. Strangely, most the abuse came in English; ‘Germany, go home,’ was the common theme, with varying degrees of colourful language added for spice. Security guards came from everywhere, and, luckily, half-time struck not a moment too soon as the Germans were constantly slicing apart the Portuguese defence and constantly threatening to continue the dowsing of Portuguese speakers in beer, adding the ultimate insult to injury.
Luckily, nothing further escalated, as security guards somehow managed to cross the language barrier and convey to the German fans responsible that there was a tidal wave of people behind them who would have pounced on them given the faintest sniff of beer above their heads. Us Australians in the middle meanwhile continued scrubbing the German flags off our cheeks. The game finished 4-0 to Germany which sent a clear statement to the rest of the competition. And we had unwittingly bore witness to the future World Cup champions.
Chapter Two coming soon I hope
Hugh's Lost 
Can’t wait for chapter 2 thanks Hugh
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Fantastic Hugh, I can almost taste the beer.
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