A Typical World Cup Week

This was due to be one of the best weeks of my life: tickets to my first two England games, in a Brazilian World Cup. Coming off the back a promising opening performance, I was genuinely of the belief that we would qualify. What followed was something that I could never have contemplated.

I arrived in São Paulo nervous, but excited. The beers were flowing, I was interviewed by a couple of Brazilian TV networks and got involved with the first-rate England support. My favourite chant was probably "you're just a s*** Argentina", which amused me, but bemused the Uruguayans, who seemed to believe that we had simply mistaken their nationality. The only downside to the morning was the bitterly cold weather. In my haste, and perhaps my English stubbornness, I had left the house in just shorts and a t-shirt, completely underestimating the 8 degree cold.

in high spirits before kick off

I needn't harp on about the game. Suffice to say, the other team had a cannibalistic, rat-like and unfortunately rather talented striker, that we simply did not. The taunts of unsympathetic Brazilians did nothing to better my mood and it's fair to say that the 6 hour bus journey back to Rio was one of the year abroad's low points: hungover, freezing cold and utterly gutted.

Fortunately, the weekend provided the perfect pick-me-up, in the form of a night in a 5-star hotel and a trip to the hospitality section of the Maracanã. Under the guise of a Portuguese-Russian translator, it was also the first time my degree combination has actually made any sense. Getting back into the Russian was difficult after a 4 and a half month absence, but I got by just fine and the friendly Muscovites for whom I was working once again served to banish the ludicrous stereotype that Russians can be cold or unfriendly. One of them did look like a bear though...

there are worse free seats...

Before long, it was off to Belo Horizonte for England's first World Cup dead rubber in many a year. Clear blue skies and a burning sun set the scene for one of the worst games of football I've ever sat through. Drab would be a kind adjective to describe it. However, safe in the knowledge that we were already out, the mood with the fans was far more enjoyable that the previous week. Our singing for hours after the game will have taught the Brazilian onlookers what it really means to support your team. Trees were climbed, chairs were broken and locals were deafened as we well and truly made our mark. Tremendous fun.

The other highlight of Belo Horizonte was the chance to experience Brazilian hospitality at its finest. My local friend, Washington, insisted on showing me around the city and his friend, Charles gave myself and a mate a place to stay. It was a very kind gesture and certainly made our short stay in Belo Horizonte worthwhile. Supposedly boasting the most bars per capita in the world, the city certainly had its charm, cracking views and apparently a love of building things. Everywhere we went, new high-rises were under construction, giving the impression that this city is literally on the up.

Belo Horizonte = Beautiful Horizon

I boarded that 6 hour bus in far higher spirits than the previous week. England are gone, sadly. But on the bright side, we are only just coming to the end of the group stages and the best part of the Copa is upon us. If the first half was that good, then I can only dream what the second half will be like...

Kick Off

The games have begun. Madness is upon us. Gringos have descended upon the country, worsening the traffic, but enhancing the party atmosphere. Patriotism is everywhere and Copacabana beach smells far more of sun cream than it ever did when occupied mostly by locals. It has been 10 days since I last wrote, and a phenomenal lot has happened in that time, not least the first week of the world’s greatest sporting event. Here is a brief summary.

My birthday celebrations were lovely. After four hours working in the morning, there was plenty of time for a long-awaited lazy afternoon on the beach with swimming, football and Pimms, something I had been saving for a couple of months. I even overcame a linguistic hurdle in managing to successfully exchange the crate of non-alcoholic lager that I had mistakenly bought in preparation for the festivities, for something slightly more flavoursome. An evening at Pedra do Sal, a street-samba party was the icing on the cake.

The majority of the week was spent up in the northeast of Brazil, in the Bahia region. Its capital, Salvador (incidentally Brazil’s first capital city many years ago), was playing host to several juicy World Cup games that had not escaped my notice when the draw was made last year. But first up was a visit to Salvador’s Fan Fest, a specific place for fans to convene and watch the match together on the big screen, surrounded by the many-headed beast that is FIFA and its sponsors. However, the beers and multitude of people gave it all a ‘carnaval’ feel and Brazil’s victory meant for an enjoyable evening.  

Holland 5-1 Spain

The two games I saw were Spain vs Holland and Germany vs Portugal; four European powerhouses going hammer and tongs; 10 goals in 2 games and a royal spanking for the Iberian Peninsula. Naturally, I was hoping to see the Spaniards lose, but 5-1 was beyond my wildest dreams. The second game was somewhat harder to choose sides as England doesn’t have a particularly good history against either of them, but I chose Portugal partly so that I could join in the chants and pretend to the foreigners that I was Portuguese, but mainly because of Ronaldo. He didn’t play too well, but I was just happy to be 10 metres away from him…

The king. 

In between the two matches, things got a little hectic. With two flatmates and one rogue Italian (he’s actually lovely, I’m just bitter), I rented a car in Salvador and embarked on a long journey that would take me over 1000km in 3 days and into the heart of the Chapada Diamantina national park. Sensational would be an understatement. The scenery was beautiful and being out in the middle of nowhere with a little Fiat ‘Attractive’ made it all the more special. The highlights were the ‘Morro de Pai Inácio’, which bore an uncanny resemblance to the Lion King, and the ‘Poço Azul’, an underground pool of remarkable depth, which was a blue as a smurf’s bottom.

Me on top of the world

Paradise pool

Getting back behind the wheel was also a lot of fun. From Brazilian motorways to dirt tracks, we saw it all, fortunately managing to avoid the major problems of speed bumps the size of horses and 26 metre-long lorries that overtake uphill and around blind corners. However, the journey did make me realise just how massive Brazil is. Relative to its size, we went nowhere. Although of course, the best part was realising that Brazil really has it all. The beaches on the coast to the mountains and rainforests inland; there is an abundance of diversity all over the place, just waiting to be discovered.

 

Capoeira at a waterfall

The Fiat 'Attractive'

All too soon, it was time to go home. After oversleeping, I raced to the airport only for the flight to be delayed, and eventually arrived home after a full day’s travelling. But I suppose you have to look on the bright side. I had seen two cracking games and visited some of Brazil’s finest places. What’s more, I’m off to São Paulo in a few hours for this big one. Uruguay, your move.

It's coming home.

Violence and Favelas: Is It Really That Bad?

Latin America has a bad reputation for violence. Many people consider Brazil a dangerous place. But I wonder whether this label is just. Is Brazil as violent and dangerous as people say?

One question that seems to come up every time I go anywhere in the world is: ‘did you feel safe there?’ It can be difficult to answer because it is often when you let your guard down that bad things can happen. Even the world’s ‘safest’ cities have their dangerous spots, where any number of things can go wrong. I know that’s a bit of a cop out, but it is true. That said, there are a few places that I have felt a little uneasy and I suppose that Rio de Janeiro would make it on this list.

World Homicide rates (the darker the worse)

The ‘Cidade Maravilhosa’ certainly is a different kettle of fish. There is an immense disparity of wealth. Seeing homeless people sprawled across the pavement, fast asleep, is an everyday sight. On the flip side, Ipanema is home to some of the most expensive real estate on the continent. I’m not insinuating that homeless people are a precursor to violence and danger, just that this vast wealth disparity gives you some idea of the huge differences in society. I think it goes some way to explaining why crime is rife.

Muggings are commonplace. Rio receives millions of visitors a year and they really do stand out. The sunburn is the main giveaway, but if you get close enough to hear what language they’re speaking, you’ve really sussed them out. Naturally, muggers and pickpockets target these people, as they are likely to be less streetwise around the city. I consider myself fairly streetwise, but it didn’t stop me from getting mugged on my third day here. A man appeared with a knife and I had to bid my phone good day.

The trick is trying to be constantly aware. Not carrying too much cash around and flaunting any technological devices are obviously rules of thumb. But I now find myself looking around occasionally, trying to determine if anyone is watching or following me. It’s a shame that I don’t feel completely at ease, especially as, since that day, I have never once felt threatened. It is, of course, better to be safe than sorry and getting complacent as I head into the final stretch of my stay would be foolish.

Pacification of Maré favela (www.zimbio.com)

By far the most irritating thing is that I rarely take my camera out. It is so conspicuous and something that immediately singles me out as a tourist. The fact that the majority of my memories of this city will be just memories, in a world where photos are taken of pretty much everything in life, disappoints me. In the parts of London, Bristol and Tomsk that I regularly frequent, I have almost never felt remotely under threat, and certainly never enough to force me to leave my camera at home.

In my opinion, one of the reasons people associate Rio with violence and danger stems from the favelas, or ‘communities’ as they are officially know. These are the opportunistic neighbourhoods that sprung up on Rio’s hillsides as more and more people flocked to the cities in search of work. Perversely, the best views in the city are almost exclusively found in favelas, by far the poorest parts of the city. In recent years, the city’s government has made steps to register these favelas as official parts of the city, by ‘pacifying’ them. Run by drug lords, the police infamously used to turn a blind eye to the illegality and injustice that reigned inside these communities. But now, tanks and armed soldiers have been thrown in, attempting to seize control and give rise to law-abiding communities with access to all public services. The so-called ‘pacification’ of the Maré favela was well publicised, largely because it was anything but peaceful.

the view from Vidigal favela

 The desire of many inhabitants of favelas is for the dangerous taboo to be removed. In my experience, locals are only too happy for ‘gringos’ to come and see their communities, dispelling the myth that these are out of control war-zones. From a night of jazz music in Catete favela on Friday to a film viewing in Cantagalo favela the week before, there is so much on offer and those experiences that you really can’t get at home are not to be missed. When you speak to residents, you realise that overwhelming majority are just hard working, genuine people, aiming to live a life devoid of violence and crime.

Unfortunately, many of Rio’s other inhabitants, those who live in the more affluent areas, have developed a fear of favelas, which further damages the favelas' reputation. They want nothing to do with them, believing them to be recipes for disaster, accidents waiting to happen and any other cliché of your choosing. As far as I'm concerned, if you flaunt what you’ve got or go wandering down unknown streets, you are asking for trouble, but otherwise you have nothing to worry about. As I said, danger can manifest itself anywhere in the world.

the view from Catete favela (not a great camera in my defence)

The stats may say that Brazil has higher carjacking and homicide rates than most, but I genuinely believe that if you use your common sense, you will be fine. Touch wood. What’s more, I don’t have a car. The main downside of its bad reputation for me personally, is that I am forever on my toes; a small price to pay for my safety. It remains to be seen whether my theory is correct, as millions of tourists pour into the country for the World Cup. Hearing English has already become more of a regular occurrence and the thieves may be licking their lips in anticipation. 

Maz: A Dancing Hazard

Dancing is a wonderful pastime. Whether its exercise, enjoyment, releasing tension or just having a laugh you seek, dancing may well be the answer. Now, I would say I can dance. It may not be a style recognised by many, or one that is particularly easy on the eye, but I believe that I can contort my body into sufficiently noticeable shapes, for it to be considered dancing. True, it may lack the grace and respectability of a waltz, the concentration and poise of ballet, or even the wow-factor of break dancing. But we all dance. That’s a fact.

The Marrows enjoying a dance

In Brazil, being able to dance well is a serious asset, both to your social standing and your chances with the fairer sex. Surprising though it may seem, I am not talking about flailing limbs endangering those around you, or when, in seeking new levels of originality, you end up incorporating a marriage proposal into your routine and end up having to apologise to the girl in question. No, I am talking about the irresistible allure of skilful hip movement, a man who oozes detestable flair, or the downright arrogance of two intertwined bodies moving effortlessly across the room. That is the dancing that is sought after here. Self-deprecation is not a trait admired by many; dedication and genuine talent are far more preferable.

As you can imagine, this has left me in a bit of an awkward situation. Do I take the easy option and continue to prance around like a plonker, or attempt to hone my skills, despite the Brazilians having had a lifetime of a head start? I have, of course, attempted to improve, watching videos and listening to advice from amused onlookers, but it has not been easy. For one thing, there are several different styles. From samba to forró, frevo to carimbo, the list is seemingly endless. All are unique and you have to learn accordingly, although they all seem to involve violent hip and foot movement that should be beyond the capabilities of a lumbering buffoon such as myself. Here are the few Brazilian dances I have come across:

Samba

This is a dance and genre of music that has become synonymous with Brazil. It has become such a recognisable part of the country's identity that you will probably have seen images of flamboyantly dressed samba dancers to do with almost everything Brazilian. Samba first appeared in my life only in musical form, when I used to play in a Brazilian drumming group at school. Becoming accustomed to the infectious beat of the 'surdo', the characteristic call of the 'repinique' and the patter of the 'tamborim', does not take long.

Probably the sort of thing you've seen before 

However, dancing samba has been considerably more challenging. During carnaval, it was everywhere. As far as I can tell, the aim of samba is to move your hips as fast as you possibly can. I usually end up just shaking my entire body or spasming out of control, which only serves to entertain, or perhaps irritate, the locals. There is foot movement involved, but mastering this art is rendered almost impossible by the flip-flop, sadly my footwear of choice during the festivities. That, alas, is my best excuse.

"Where's the wally?" (Jazzzone Brazilian Bateria)

Forró

Forró is the dance that I have worked hardest at. It is a dance for lovers, which immediately makes it far more awkward than most others. Also, it is male-led, which is a nightmare for me. Leading a dance when you don’t have the faintest idea what you’re doing is rather tricky. Whilst maintaining very close contact, you have to try and let your bodies move seamlessly together across the room, gliding your way effortlessly through the couples. In my experience, there is a lot of bumping into people, treading on my partner’s feet and endless apologising.

Unsuccessful attempt to find a dance partner (note the girl's pitying expression on the right)

There is a great club for dancing forró in Lapa, which I have been to a couple of times. Before going I always have a little stretch, not least because it is often the most exercise I get in the week. My first visit was enjoyable, but I didn’t pluck up the courage to ask a Brazilian to dance. On my second appearance, I went for it and was shot down not once, not twice, but three times. My confidence gone, I stayed with the gringos. After clearly spending a couple of hours doing it wrong, I also went home with a slight pain in my lower back, just to add insult to injury. Although maybe that should be adding injury to insult, giving the embarrassment of my earlier rejections. 

Hunched and concentrated. She must be loving it.

Capoeira

I haven’t actually tried capoeira, a kind of marshal art/ dance, just seen it a couple of times. You may remember a BBC One trail with men dressed in white trousers, performing a slow-motion ‘fight’ on a rooftop. This is capoeira. The aim is not to touch each other, but to present this rather beautiful image of floating bodies. It requires a lot of physical strength to maintain the positions and pull off all the moves. It's probably a good thing that I haven't really had the opportunity to try this one. I would no doubt end up changing this majestic dance into a fully-fledged contact sport. Better left alone. 

Capoeira on the BBC (Look out for the broadcaster saying 'goodnight' twice. It made me chuckle.)

Of course, in regular clubs, I’m back to what I’m used to. No expressions of extreme concentration or moments of awkward stumbling, just me failing to mouth the words to a song, oblivious to pretty much everything around me. But hey, as long as I'm having a good time, right?

P.S If you couldn't find me in the photo the Brazilian drumming group, I'm the moron in the rainbow shirt and the white top hat.