The Brazil Diaries #2: From the airport to the match with a favela detour

Our flight to Manaus was supposed to leave over an hour ago, but we're still waiting to take off for some unknown reason. People are growing restless. There are loads of England supporters on the plane, one of whom is sitting three rows behind me shouting racial slurs, among other things, and drawing the ire of people trying to sleep. Those who tell him to shut up only get yelled back at twice as loudly. 

I'm not sure why the flight attendants aren't doing anything.

Anyway, none of that can take away from what was a surreal first day in Brazil. In fact, it may have been the wildest day of my life.

Here's a recap of how it went down:

George and I arrived in Sao Paulo just before 11 AM. Between watching "The Lego Movie," drinking beers, and getting a bit of sleep, the 10-hour overnight flight from Toronto felt like a lot less than 10 hours. 

Passengers were decked out in a myriad of jerseys, but surprisingly, there wasn't much discussion between people about the World Cup. Everyone seemed more concerned about arriving in Brazil well-rested. I was anticipating a rowdier flight with beach balls flying down the aisles and maybe some crowdsurfing. Too bad.

Once we grabbed our backpacks from the conveyor belt and exited Guarulhos International Airport, which took next to no time, the reality of being at the World Cup, in Brazil no less, finally hit me. I'd been waiting a while for that moment and decided to mark the occasion with a cigarette underneath a palm tree.

Knowing we had about six hours before we needed to be back at the airport to catch our continuing flight to Manaus, George and I set off to the Itaquerao (Arena Corinthians) with the goal of watching the World Cup opener between Brazil and Croatia on a big screen outside the stadium.

In our search for a cab, we met a middle-aged local named David, who explained that he would be driving to a neighborhood near the Itaquerao in a few minutes and could take us there for free in his car. Considering the cab ride would cost 100 reais, we disregarded any skepticism and instantly agreed.

David ended up being awesome. As we drove down the highways, which were swarmed with heavily-armed police officers and World Cup billboards, he explained the different neighborhoods while pointing out some sites, like the most run-down jail I've ever seen. His broken English was hard to understand, but by the time he dropped us off, we had made our first friend in Brazil and he insisted on taking a group selfie.

By the way, it turns out that "selfie" in Portuguese is "selfie."

When we exited the car, David told us that the Itaquerao was only one subway stop away and gave us instructions on which train to catch. It sounded simple enough.

However, something was off. Considering the stadium was so nearby, there was a distinct lack of World Cup atmosphere. 

Then it hit us. David had dropped us off smack dab in the middle of a favela. We stuck out like sore thumbs to the point that one man even approached us with advice on how to hide our money. It was a small reminder of how only blocks away from an event as luxurious as the World Cup opener, there are poverty-stricken neighborhoods.

But instead of hopping on the subway right away, we decided to grab some food. We were hungry and felt more than safe with so many people in the streets partying before the match.

I could probably write 1,000 words about the bacon cheeseburgers we grabbed in a small corner store. They were better and greasier than any burger I've ever had in Toronto. Not a bad first meal by any means.

Once we finished eating, we walked to the Don Bosco subway station and hopped on a train. Although there were lots of other people heading to the match, it still didn't seem like Sao Paulo was hours away from hosting the World Cup opener.

Until we got off at the Itaquerao subway station.

The scenes outside the stadium were beyond insane. An endless sea of yellow-and-green jerseys extended from the platform all the way to the entrance of the stadium. The noise from the vuvuzelas, air horns, drums, and "Brazil" chants was deafening. You could barely move more than one meter per minute.

With two hours before kickoff, we settled in front of a big screen outside the Itaquerao. A DJ stage with massive speakers was set up beneath the screen, and most people spent the better part of those two hours dancing and drinking beer under the scorching Sun.

Then, it was finally time for Brazil vs. Croatia.

Looking over my shoulder, I couldn't see where the crowd of people ended. It looked like it went on forever, and we were right up front next to the screen with almost zero room to move.

When Marcelo opened the scoring with an own goal, an eerie silence took over the crowd, but it wasn't the hostile reaction I would've expected. There seemed to be an acknowledgement from everyone that Brazil had more than enough time to come back. It was a patience not often seen from Brazilian supporters.

And when Neymar leveled the score at 1-1, well, I'm not really sure what happened. Fans, myself included, swarmed the DJ stage and opened up a mosh pit with smoke bombs going off in the background. The noise around the stadium hit another level. It was probably one of the craziest minutes of my life, but it happened so fast, I couldn't really take it all in at once.

Unfortunately, we had to leave at the interval in order to make our flight to Manaus. But while we were riding the bus to the airport, we drove by a bar that was very clearly celebrating a Brazilian goal.

Our suspicions were confirmed when we checked in and asked about the final score. Brazil had won 3-1.

It looks like the plane I'm sitting on is finally getting ready for takeoff, and I just realized the English supporter behind me who's yelling profanities is dressed as a knight.