Me and mark woke late on sat morning. Ingrid had gone home to Macae to visit her parents for the weekend, leaving us the key to her place, so essentially, we had our own flat in Lagoa, by the lake, in Rio, for the whole weekend. The doormen knew us at this stage, as did the local bakery and shop. We were living in Rio! :D

Rio has a massive football stadium called the Maracana, the home of brazilian football. It is their pride and joy and where the 2014 word cup final will be played. So mark wanted to see it, or rather, see a game being played in it. We had heard that one of the local Rio teams, Flamengos were playing against Gaois, a team from elsewhere on Sunday. Usually gringos go see the match in an organised tour with a hostel that gets the tickets and transport to and from and safe seating at the game and all that jazz. But we weren’t in a hostel, we were living in Rio, so we had to do it on our own. So we headed off to the Flamengo’s own stadium to see if we could get tickets for Sundays game. They told us that there were no more tickets on sale at that stadium, but that we should go to the Maracana at 12 on Sunday to try get them, maybe then we might get lucky. Bummer. So we decided not to worry bout it till the next day and headed to Copacobana beach for a long stroll, chats and dinner on the beach. Copacobana is just like Ipanema, except longer, bigger and better. We sauntered around the streets and did some people watching, such a great pastime. Then we headed home to our flat. There was a drive in us to go out, it was Rio on a Saturday night after all, but was we didn’t know where to go, and still being really fecked from the last few nights of partying, and also needing to be up early enough to get to Maracana to see if there were more tickets we decided to stay in and watch enough shite Brazilian TV to send us to bed.

Sunday morning saw us up and ready to go, so first stop was Maracana. The place is HUGE. Its really well kept and has a real great sense of pride about it. Unfortunately the ticket offices were all closed and lots of people were saying “its all sold out, here, do you want to buy a ticket” So after a stroll around, hoping to god we wouldn’t get mugged, we came across an older lady selling tickets and had a friend that spoke English so we brokered a deal. She wanted R$100 each, we got her down to R$70, had a good look at the tickets and made fully sure that they were not in the opposition terrace, and that they were really real. Walking off, thinking that we were probably totally ripped off, we headed to Centro to get the tram to St Theresa. As we were leaving the stadium, we could see small crowds beginning to gather already outside the stadium, all in their ruby and black stripped jersey of the Flamengo team. This was at one o’clock, for a game that started at half 7! Fanatics.

So that Sunday evening we dropped home to put on some red coloured t-shirts for later and then spent the most relaxing few hours up in the hills where st Theresa is situated. The sun was beating down on us as we walked along the roads carved in the mountain and houses precariously built on top of each other on each side of the road. The area is surrounded by favelas and forest. Really beautiful area, and as it was a Sunday, there was no one really about, so it was so relaxing. Then we got to the main square of St Theresa which really is the stop where a really old school tram transports people from Centro to St Theresa. We found a really nice café up in the hills overlooking this square and the surrounding favelas and forests. There was live music, nice easy Sunday afternoon Brazilian folk songs, and the most beautiful smiley waitress we’d ever seen. We chilled out there for ages just taking everything in and realising just how lucky we were to be there right then and how amazing this whole trip has already been, and its only just begun. A lot of taking stock!

Round 5 or so, we headed back to Centro on the old legendary tram. Overflowing and people hanging on everywhere they can. The money collector having to swing round the whole carriage after every time we stopped to collect 2 Reais from everyone new that jumped on. At one stage the tram went over these huge arches that cut right through lapa and way below we could see the streets we had been dancing on the Friday before. Off the tram, taxi to Maracana and wow. What a difference. The whole place was a whole sea of Ruby ad Black, as supporters poured in from absolutely everywhere. Trains, cars, buses, by foot. Security was tight and armed, riot protection guards were everywhere. This was still two hours before kick off. So with our street tickets we approached the gates and prayed that they would work. To our surprise and delight they did. No problem. Straight in. Next was to work out where the hell our seats were and were we even sitting together. We asked a stewardess where our tickets were for and with a big sweep of her hand she motioned to the entire section we were standing in, we could go anywhere we wanted. At Maracana, there is to seating numbers and noone sits anyway. You go where ever you want and you stand in the chairs! Then as we looked around the crowd we suddenly realised where we were. We were in the very, very middle of the Flamengo supporters section. We were the only two white gringos in the whole side of that stadium! We saw one guided hostel tour following a person with a little sign held in the air walking all the way to the gringo section of the stadium and laughed to our selves as we took up two spots next to the most passionate fans we had ever seen in all our lives. For the hour and half before the game as the sun set and the lights came on, the crowds sang and shouted and chanted over and over with all their flags and colors and flares and songs. It was impossible not to get swept up in the whole thing. The teams were hardly at the stadium never mind on the pitch and the place was at fever pitch! Being the only gringos in the stand we did raise a few eyebrows but once they saw us chanting along and dancing and clapping and waving our red tshirts around in the air people mostly laughed at us and with us and gave us big smiles and appreciation and no hassel. One girl thought that the moment was so good she took photos of the pair of us dancing! The game started and I have never been so caught up in a game of football in all my life. It felt like it was what I did every Sunday evening and that Flamengo was my team and I really was shouting at them and for them.
At half time, a group of lads were sitting beside me and mark and started to chat with us and having the craic. They were really impressed that we had managed to get to where we were all by ourselves, and as they chatted to us, all the people around us were listening in on our conversations to find out where the hell these to crazy gringos were from and how the hell were they here! They all laughed at our mastery of the Portuguese language and filled us in on different members of our new team that we now vehemently support. They told us that Sao Paulo are first in the league, only by a point, they, sorry, we, are second and as Botafogo had just beaten SP earlier in the day, if we won this game, we would be top of the league, so a goal was absolutely crucial, and draw was out of the question. Armed with all this info, the second half started with much more intensity and we really needed that fecking goal. The second half seemed to pass so much more quickly than the first, couldn’t believe it when the announcer said 5 mins of injury time left. The game ended in a nil all draw and our new friends left down hearted and a little angry, however, the mood in the stadium was far from scary or angry. People were disappointed but still delighted that SP are only a point away and we’ll kick ass in the next game. We rocked out of the stadium with everyone, walking along the streets in our red tops, heading in the general direction of Centro with the crowds. We saw a restaurant and stopped for the grub. They had mashed spuds we were all over that! As we finished up we thought and chatted, we had done it. We had gotten our own tickets, on the street, gotten in, shouted and chanted the songs, cheered and cursed the team, met the locals and survived the whole experience on our own. Again. This was real Rio. No tour, no minder, just us, our wits and our adventures. Was such a rush.

We headed home to our flat and started to pack for the morning as we were shipping out, Over to the enemy next Sao Paulo for one night of dancing.
Ingrid came home and was disappointed to learn we were leaving in the morning, She had actually done some ringing around and planning for the week ahead to show us even more of beautiful Rio. As much as we really, really wanted to stay in the most amazing cities we had ever been in and see more of it, we really had to go and with a heavy heart we had to decline Ingrids wonderful offers of more adventures. We chilled out that night chatting and went to bed late on our last night of living in Rio.

Medalla

Currently listening to:
Flamengo Chants.