The Kelefors

On the streets of Copacabana, fans from all nations are sporting their jerseys. Lots of Colombians in bright yellow, Chileans sporting their red jerseys, the sky blue stripes of Argentina, Mexican green, the German tricolor, a trickling of Aussie yellow, and, of course, the ever present gold and green of Brasil. You get the feeling that many of these folks brought along just one shirt in their suitcase, to be worn from now until their team is eliminated.

So, today, I got in the spirit and pulled out our US kits. I had been saving them for the game, but it’s hard to start up chants of USA when you’re donning a plain brown t-shirt. So, I went down to breakfast in the B&B where we’re staying, proudly wearing my vintage 1994 US jersey (for those in the know, it’s red and white wavy stripes shirt, which is slightly less hideous than the blue and white faux denim stars jersey from the same year). In the kitchen, I found Milton, the 5-year-old son of the cook, quiely enjoying a morning bun. I greeted him, only to be told that Milton is “moite timido,” very shy. Undeterred, I asked him if he liked football. A nod of the head. The Selecao, I asked. A more vigorous nod. And how about this one, I asked, pointing to my shirt.

Now, there are a few reactions I expected as possibilities, ranging from an encouraging nod to an uncomprehending shrug. But I never expected what followed. Milton took in my words and rolled his eyes. That’s right, my suggestion of victory for the US of A earned an eye-roll from a Brazilian pre-schooler.

It seems the US has an uphill climb, but I will be cheering and waving the flag nonetheless. Viva la Copa.

I speak decent Spanish, which takes you a fair distance when trying to communicate with someone in Brazilian Portuguese… but not the whole distance. I think, in the end, that my “Portanyol” (speaking Spanish, tossing in some Portuguese words, and adopting the sing-song tones of the language here) leaves me comprehending about 70% of what I hear. Not bad, but it does leave some significant room for error. I say all of that as an explanation for what I’m about to say: Taxi drivers say some interesting things.

You see, in Rio, where the traffic is terrible, you can spend a lot of time in taxis. And taxi drivers who spend a lot of time in traffic often have a lot to say. So, here’s what I’ve learned so far from cabbies in Rio.

1. Brazil is “quente” (pronounced “KEHN-chuh”). Quente means hot. And sure, I knew that it would be hot here. But there’s something about the word quente when spoken by a Carioca that seems to better communicate the quality of the heat. It sticks to you much the same way the humidity does.

2. There are 11 women for every man in Rio. Or was it the other way around. Like I said, I’m only comprehending about 70%. But one taxi driver had a rather lengthy explanation about this supposed imbalance, so it must be true (though, oddly enough, I can’t seem to verify the claim from any of my trusted internet sources).

3. Brazilians are Catholic until 6 pm. This is my personal favorite and speaks to the unbounded joy with which so many Brazilians seem to approach life.

4. The Selecao will undoubtedly win the World Cup. Even if I can only understand 70%, they are 100% sure.

Brazilians take the World Cup seriously. All the people we’ve met, even those who profess not to be fans, know more about the tournament than most Americans. Taxi drivers rattle off the locations where the national teams have their base camps. TV news shows cover every angle on what seems like a continuous loop. Newspapers have whole sections devoted to news of the Selecao (the Brazilian national team). Stores of all sorts have futebol (pronounced “FOO-che-bawl”) paraphernalia displayed prominently. The games don’t start for another three days, but for all intents and purposes, the Copa has begun.

This is supposed to be the Cup of Cups. The first time in Brazil since 1950. The spiritual home of the global game. A sense of destiny for the Selecao. But there’s a cloud hanging over the Cup. More and more Brazilians are unhappy with the billions spent to put on the tournament while hunger, poverty, corruption, and unemployment plague the country. They are ramping up protests and the police and are responding with an intense presence and what seems a harsh crackdown. We saw no fewer than 50 police officers in a one-hour stroll along Ipanema Beach and the news showed protesters being tear-gassed in other parts of the city on a day when a million citizens took to the streets in multiple cities across the country — Rio, Sao Paulo, Brasilia, Belem, and others. As one painted sign said near the Botafogo metro, “Copa para quem?” Who is the Cup for?

A lot to take in on day 1 of our adventure.