Olinda: Parte Dois

The last 40 hours might have been the most absurd, wildly patriotic times of my life. Coming from a kid who routinely goes out to fancy spots wearing a t-shirt featuring an eagle with American flag wings on it and buys Budweiser not for taste but for the flags on the cans, that’s a big statement.

Yesterday, we toured Olinda and enjoyed the 3 hours of sunlight we were allotted by the heavens, then played some cards through the rain where Becca would incessantly make sure everything possible was done to make me lose. Super fun.

           



















The World Cup, we’ve discovered, is really just a giant party of sorts. Except players’ lives are on the line, there’s a corruption scandal every time, fans will do unforgiveable acts just to see their team win, and then cry their eyes out if they lose. In that sense, it’s a really awful party. But outside of the games, the party is non-stop. There’s a festival almost every day of the week, every apartment is adorned in Brazilian flags galore, even airport security personnel wear Brazil replica jerseys for their work uniforms. For the U.S., there is a “Night Before” party thrown by the American Outlaws before every game. Getting tickets to this was nearly impossible until I pulled some strings with the AO president of operations like a boss. I couldn’t figure out why it was such a big deal. And then we arrived. I don’t know if I expected an ice cream social or a casual meet and greet, but it was neither of those things. From the entry decked in U.S. banners, to the insane costumes on display, to the light show, to the DJ playing alongside a saxophonist (a strange, but unprecedented idea that made Goose claim he’s having them for his wedding reception), to U.S. Soccer President Sunil Gulatti’s speech which gave way to A GUEST SPEECH FROM WILL FERRELL (?!?), to the wildest chant-infested dance party I’ve ever seen – this party did it right. Every proper party makes sure to include at least a hundred 'USA' chants. I’ve never personally been to a “Pizzeria” transformed into a club featuring a 4^th of July Party on Steroids, but I’m pretty sure I want to go to a lot more pizzerias down here now. We were certainly appropriately pumped up to instigate World War III with the Germans. As Will Ferrell said, “I WILL BITE EVERY GERMAN PLAYER IF I HAVE TO.” I felt the same.  Goose and I shredded the dance floor as expected, while Megan fell in love for an hour or so (as somewhat expected) with Becca tagging along. Pretty standard. Had an absolute blast and we retired for the early wakeup around 1.

Great view of Ferrell here.

Video^^

The next morning, thanks to our general ignorance and total numbness to the rain that had already plagued the entire Olinda leg of the trip, we set out of the apartment in a deluge of biblical proportions, only to find out that bus lines were closed because they lacked the ability to turn into hovercrafts. This only meant one thing to us: we were just going to have to walk/wade/swim through some knee-deep flooding to get to our destination.  So we did…with Goose and I in shoes and socks just accepting that we were officially on Natural Disaster Alert Status. Random Brazilians cheered for us if we even attempted to cross some of the streets like idiots. Recife is known as the “Venice of Brazil,” but the only real similarity is that during the rainy season the streets are all effectively transformed into canals.

Here's a canal

Apparently, through this travel extravaganza, the game was about to be delayed or postponed, which would have made this entire experience at 830 in the morning pointless. But ignorance is bliss. And when we finally did make it, well, the Outlaws did it again. At a bar about a mile from the stadium, they packed in hundreds of Americans that were drunk on either Brahmas or patriotism, and threw a nutty, stand-on-the-tables and sing party starting at 8:30. We arrived at 10:30, wide-eyed (actually more like bloodshot-eyed. So early.), amazed, and officially ready to check off another bucket list item: seeing the U.S. in a World Cup game. Considering this was probably the biggest U.S. soccer game ever played, we figured we should probably start looking for tickets.

Need this costume if anyone is looking for a Bday present for me.

And these.

We did the march to the stadium amongst thousands of other singing fans, and the search was on, but to no avail. Tickets were going for $600 a piece and due to the fact that we still had 6 days left to survive in Brazil at the time, this was unlikely. Eventually, we split up and by some sort of Divine intervention, each found a ticket. Megan spent $360 to sit in the middle of some Bavarian mountain men, while Goose sat at midfield, and Becca and I were on the opposite side of the stadium, paying $225 each but sitting in the heart of the American Outlaws. My heart was beating about 750 times/minute from the second we got to the seats (which were never used since we stood for the entirety), and my severe hyperventilation prevented me from truly enjoying what I was seeing in the first half. But, slowly, we both realized that jumping, singing, and chanting alongside people we’ve never met just to see our country advance in the tournament made it the greatest athletic event we’ve ever attended. Although I will now need 10 fingernail replacements (chewed every one of them completely raw), some hair plugs for my freshly-developing bald patches, and a new pair of American flag shoes as the ones I wore smell like there is a perpetual sewage system within them – it was worth every penny and every second.

Goodbye.

After the game, we all died for about three hours, until some even MORE excellent news arrived: BECCA HAS ADVANCED THROUGH THE GROUP STAGE AND INTO NURSE PRACTITIONER SCHOOL. Like a genius. Amazing stuff. So we hugged and then I took a nap to celebrate, then checked out Old Recife and the Fan Fest area, watched Becca try and save the lives of another Baker’s dozen of stray dogs, stumbled upon a dinner spot with some of the best food ever made, and retired for the early wakeup. On to Rio de Janeiro – a quaint little southeastern town on the water.