Kevin Whitcher
Sunday morning. The final time we would awake in Brazil. I had gone to bed around about 2am the night before. Sanj was very keen to visit the Jesus Christ statue that overlooks Rio, and - due to the likely queues - the plan was, as we had done on Saturday morning to visit another viewpoint - to get up early and arrive before they got too long. I was awake at 7, looked outside and could see it was cloudy. I wasn't obsessed about going, but woke Sanj. He evidently still wanted to sleep so left the choice to me - statue or lay-in. I went for the latter.
However, Sanj had enquired about the details of an all day tour taking in all the tourists must sees at the hotel reception a couple of days earlier. When he found out that it did not return until 5.30 or 6, that was knocked on the head, as my flight home departed at 6.45. For some reason, the reception took this as a confirmed booking for all three of us (even though Adam had visited Rio before and had no intention of going even if the times did work). File under lost in translation. This explained the call to the room from reception at around about 9am. The tour minibus was waiting for us downstairs. I went down to explain, but Adam suggested negotiating a price just to see the Christ statue, conveniently the first stop on the tour. So Sanj and I ended up getting up a bit sharpish and taking a ride uphill in Rio. I have to confess it was fascinating because it meant driving past views of a couple of favellas that were built up on hillsides. Really stacked up and quite obviously unsafe in the event of any kind of slippage on the earth they are constructed on. Visually they were fascinating.
The minibus parked up close to the top of the hill, but the final couple of kilometres to the summit had to be undertaken in one of the minibuses laid on by the authority that runs the site, once you bought a ticket. A bit of a queue to get on a bus, but clockwatching, I thought we would make it back to the hotel in enough time to pack our stuff out at noon as we were supposed to. Once at the top, although the views were incredible - the cloud had cleared by this time - the sheer mass of people in a limited amount of space at the base of the statue was absurd. It was an experience being up there alright, but probably not for the expected reasons. Apparently it was much worse than normal because of the World Cup. Well, let's face it, we wouldn't have been up there if it wasn't for said tournament, so I am not going to complain.
We got back to the hotel, checked out and then headed to Ipanema where Adam was already in situ. The aircon in our room did not work and he was in no mood to hang around any longer than necessary. Two days before, in a supermarket near the beach, I had spotted a pizzeria in the back corner, with a TV. With Adam content on the beach and not fussed about watching Holland v Mexico, we both fancied seeing the game while having a bite to eat. This seemed a good option and fortunately there were a couple of free seats near the screen. We ordered pizza, and I had a beer with mine. At halftime, we decided to remain there for the rest of the game, so, as I hadn't had any red wine since arriving in the country (Adam and Sanj do not drink the stuff and individual glasses in restaurants cost plenty), seeing the guy next to me consuming a half bottle, I plumped to imitate him, as much as anything to prepare myself for the long flight I would be catching later. There was a sexy girl making the pizzas behind the counter, so it was a case of wine, women and Arjen Robben. And the smell of fresh baked pizza.
Mexico did look as if they would continue the excellent showing of American sides - both South, Central and North - in this tournament, but credit to Holland for remaining composed and playing their football rather than panicking as the end of the 90 minutes neared. Sneijder's goal was a touch of pure class, whilst Robben did what he does best and convinced the ref to give him a penalty. On first sight, it was very convincing, although replays showed he was obviously looking for it. As the conditions quite obviously suited Mexico more - there were two extended drinks breaks at the game in Fortaleza, which is near the equator - it was a severe test for the Dutch, and they came through it. Quite obviously, the heat led to the substitution of Robin van Persie, who is not getting any younger. I think the Dutch play their quarter final in Salvador, which could mean they are knackered by the time of a semi-final, probably against Argentina.
After the game, Sanj and I found Adam on the beach. He thought Mexico had won as a TV at a beachside shack renting out chairs 30 metres away had only alerted him to the Mexico goal - an indication of who the locals were supporting. There is history of sorts between Brazil and Holland in the World Cup. They have met at least three times from memory starting in 1974 and on each occasion the game has been critical, the Dutch winning two of them. And as a rule, let's face it, the South Americans don't like European sides.
Adam and Sanj were getting a direct flight leaving a couple of hours after mine, so I said my goodbyes and took the metro back to the hotel to pick up my suitcase. It is always rather intense spending two solid weeks with anyone, especially in sometimes stressful circumstances. Obviously, conversation dries up at times, so you have to be comfortable with the people you are with. We managed to get through the time away without any serious fallout, and obviously tolerance and being willing to compromise are key to this. Adam and Sanj are close mates having known each other far longer than I have known Adam, although I never felt that I was excluded in that sense. So all in all, a successful trip as far as getting along with my travelling companions, and trust me, that isn't a given.
On the short journey from the metro to the hotel, there was a symbolic contrast in events. On exiting the station, (this was Sunday afternoon remember), I was struck by the sheer number of males, young and old, flying kites. They cost next to nothing - I saw this when I looked at one close up - but the participants were flying them with real skill, including some lads that looked like they were from the nearby favella. It was a lovely sight. Then just as I was about to cross the road to the hotel, I noticed a number of police on motorbikes stop another motorbike rider. To encourage him to co-operate, all of them pulled guns on him and pointed them at him directly. One false move and he would have been shot. I got the impression that, in the end, all this was simply to check his documentation, but they were not messing about, presumably in the event that he might be armed himself. It was the first time I had seen something of this nature in the flesh during my visit, and something of an eye opener. The authorities do not mess about here, and it was such a contrast to the kite flying I had just seen just before, that in a way I felt it summed up the beauty and the beast of the place. How strange to see this just as I was about to depart.
The red wine had taken its effect by this point, and, luggage collected from the hotel, when I got into the taxi to the airport, I failed to notice on departure that the driver did not put the meter on. I pointed this out, and he said the price was 70 real. I negotiated him down to 50, knowing that it was 40 when we arrived on Thursday morning, but that was in the middle of the night, so no traffic to contend with. At the airport, I finished my time in Brazil as I had begun it, watching a game in a 'fun park' (i.e. fan zone) set up so travellers could watch matches and power up their laptops and phones. When I arrived and watched England play Italy there, I did not have the correct adaptor, but I had bought one on the trip, so was able to power up my phone while watching the first half of Costa Rica v Greece, which did not do a lot for me in all truth. I heard the following day that the central American side had won on penalties, after a 1-1 draw, so hopefully the game perked up a bit. With Greece though, I wouldn't bank on it. At half-time, I left to ensure I got to the boarding gate in good time.
I walked out of the fan zone into the open air for about 20 metres before entering the arrivals lounge. It struck me, going between one air conditioned area to another, how pleasantly warm it was outside, in spite of nightfall. It was a nice final sensation of the place, and will remain in the memory.
Although that effectively wraps up the diary in terms of my time in Brazil, I will do the odd further entry just about the remaining matches in the tournament, and perhaps reflect more generally on my time in Brazil, specifically how it measured up to expectations.
