USMNT | Breaking Borders

Its hard to believe that my time in Rio has reached the half way point. I’ve been so preoccupied with the World Cup that I have yet to visit any of the classic tourist sites in Rio, which I’m totally okay with. Instead we’ve been catching the bus to Copacabana. Our first stop is usually a cafe two blocks from the beach.

A delicious fresh fruit smoothie, coffee with milk, and tasty ham and cheese pastry is my go to breakfast. The açaí and chocolate chip smoothie is my favorite, but you really can’t go wrong with any juice you choose.

Only in Brazil do the have protein powder prominently displayed at the local cafe.

Next we join throngs of fans from around the world headed to the beach to watch the games and soak up the warm winter sun. The Argentinians are the most obnoxious and the Chileans are the loudest. Chanting chi chi chi le le le, viva Chile!, non stop. Everyone, including myself has been really impressed by the number of USA fans in Rio. Aside from the aforementioned teams, we have been the loudest and biggest fan base, which makes watching USA games really exciting. One of the coolest and most unique aspects of the World Cup is that it brings together people from all over the world. Where else can you meet a bunch of Bosnians, Algerians, Colombians, and Nigerians in a matter of minutes?

There is a giant walled Fifa Fan Fest at the start of Copacabana beach sporting a giant screen, between game concerts and host of dumb activities to waste your money on. Fifa doesn’t allow soccer balls inside and the beer is way more expensive. So the best option is to avoid going inside and walk around to the beach side. There is nothing better than buying a Caipirinha from a makeshift rasta bar on the beach, and taking a dip in the warm Atlantic, all while watching soccer.

Quick Travel Tip: We found our awesome place on AirBnb and could not be happier. Many other people we talked to did the same and also highly recommend it. If you are coming to Brazil definitely check AirBnb for your accommodation.

I’m not sure what the reporting has been like back in the States, but there have been very few protests here in Rio. The majority of Brazilians appear to be really enjoying the cup so far. Everyone is rocking Brazil jerseys, lots of Brazilians from all over the state of Rio show up at the Fan Fest cheering on other teams and party, restaurants are packed with people watching the games and there are Brazil flags everywhere. However, there are plans to stage a protest at Maracana this Sunday to prepare for the big one on the day of the final, which takes place at Maracana.

That being said, the World Cup has done little to quell the brutality of the police. It has simply directed attention elsewhere. The other day a little boy was shot in a favela near us. He didn’t die, but Patrick fears that he will disappear tonight. The same cops that shot him are working again and he thinks that they will attempt to get rid of the evidence. While the pacification of Rio’s favelas has made a few safer, ultimately it has just pushed the violence to the once quiet and peaceful suburbs of Rio as the drug dealers flee the city.

Rio is so crazy because there are people living in Barra de Tijuca, suburban sprawl on Rio’s west side that is nicer than Miami, completely oblivious to brutality and unaccountability of the police on the north side. Its as if you are traveling internationally between to vastly different countries when you take a bus from Barra to Maracana. Never before have I experienced such stark contrasts, astonishing inequality and immeasurable beauty.

We have been away for two weeks now, and I am beginning to get comfortable with feeling like an alien on Earth. Things are very different here. Red lights don’t mean stop, they mean stop if you want, otherwise dodge the pedestrian. I have not worn a jacket since I left California. Nothing is in English, I can’t even understand how to use a washing machine because it’s in Portuguese. The Subway is not a subway, it’s a tiny box that hundreds of people squeeze into and pray for a safe journey as they shoot through the cavernous tunnels below Rio. There are so many people here, it’s bewildering. Gunshots, fireworks and the cheering from fanatic fans all combine to infect you with enough energy to want to roam around favelas, dodging potholes and gaping at gutted brick buildings. Before I go to sleep, I look out the window and wonder if I am still on the same planet.

Today I woke up to a foreign land that I believed was only a dream. I stood in absolute silence, staring at a landscape that was exotic and strange as far as the eye could see. Palm trees, Banana plants, Mango trees; trees that are every shade of green, except for my comfortable Pine or Eucalyptus grow wherever they can thrive, which seems to be everywhere. Buildings composed of brick and sheet metal huddle to support each other through the thick humidity and relentless heat. The air smells of dirt, gasoline and sweat. The streets are arteries congested with trash and gravel, always packed with cars and trucks, groaning like lumbering giants struggling to bear their loads of sugarcane, gasoline, water, cement, people and whatever else workers manage to strap down, by whatever means necessary. Motorcycles zip between trucks and buses, buzzing by mere inches, never flinching, always looking for the next gap to slip into. No helmets; flip flops and t-shirts are all you need if you’re a local. The bus drivers are the most insane people I have ever seen entrusted with a public service occupation. These men and women can make a manual transmission sing like a baritone with Leukemia. I’ve never been a religious person but after my first time on a bus in Brazil, I had found my faith; not in a God, but in the hands of every bus driver who navigates through the chaos, and still manages to have a conversation with some passengers about whether or not Brazil will win the World Cup.

The World Cup has been underway for a week now, and we have watched most of the games from Copacabana. We’ve seen the Brazilians dance all night when they won their opening game against Croatia, witnessed Chileans losing their minds when they beat Australia, saw the Argentinians light flares when they barely stole a win from Bosnia, gasped at the Spanish losing to Holland, and stood in fear as Germany delivered a crushing blow to Portugal, goal after goal. When the USA played Ghana, the rest of the world doubted our men on the pitch. A Ghana fan approached Nick and I and asked, “Do you really think you can win?” 30 seconds into that game, he was asking himself the same question.

That night, the chanting in the streets of Rio had changed, it was our night, and every American was singing the same anthem,
“I believe that we just won”

Breaking Borders

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