Reflections on my First Date with Brazil before its Second Date with the World

It was 3 A.M. on June 10th, 2014 and I was scared out of my mind. I grabbed my backpacks and started the long walk down the hill from my flat in Stuttgart to the Hauptbahnhof (main station).

This wasn’t just the beginning of any old trip, mind you.  While I grew up playing GeoSafari and BrainQuest on the floor of my home in West Baltimore, the true beginning of my wanderlust was when I began to receive postcards from the first real world traveler in my family, my grandmother. Every time I received a postcard from her, I ran to my globe and frantically searched to see where she had been. I was in awe of how seemingly far she traveled and all of the wonderful sights that she was able to take in. I saved each and every one of those postcards, pledging to one day see the world and send postcards to her and the rest of my family.

As I grew older, I hadn’t made that much progress towards seeing the world, but the dream was still alive.  I saw pictures on Facebook of people traveling during their “studies” abroad and heard stories of people taking these mythical “gap years” and traveling all over the world. Sweet, must be nice to have both the time and the money to do all of this, I thought, angrily scrolling down my newsfeed. Deep down, I envied them because I wanted that to be me.

In 2012, Uncle Sam threw me a lifeline and shipped me off to Germany. I was like a little old lady at BINGO, ticking landmarks and cities off of my card at a furious pace, but something was definitely missing. Sure, I was seeing plenty of Europe but I felt like I was checking my tourist boxes with the masses. I wanted a bit more from my travels.

Through some friends, I learned more about the audacious world of Couchsurfing. These friends had been so many places, slept on futons and floors with no care but the care to see the world.

I was fascinated by these friends; they didn’t give a shit about whether or not they spoke language, where they slept or if they ate at  five star restaurants. They were resourceful, adventurous, savvy, open, cautious, and daring. They were able to find their way to distant corners of the globe and back. They were the travelers I wanted to be. I wanted, no I needed that adventure. I wanted to feel lost and small and then figure it all out again. I needed to venture to a distant region of the world and I had to do it on my own.

So I said fuck it and bought a plane ticket. I had finally worked up the courage to go on my first solo journey with just me, myself and my two backpacks.

This wasn’t any ordinary backpacking adventure, though. I was taking my first trip below the equator, heading to Brazil for the 2014 FIFA World Cup. While there were major public safety concerns in Brazil prior to the World Cup, my excitement to finally embark on this solo adventure overrode any concerns. I couldn’t  sleep during that first flight in the darkness from Stuttgart to Amsterdam, then sat down for a beer at the airport bar in Amsterdam to calm my nerves. After the obligatory Facebook post,  I was ready. Come hell or high water, I was going to Brazil.

Looking back two years later, this solo adventure was one of the best experiences of my life. I traveled from city to city, made lasting friendships with people from all over the world, immersed myself in Brazilian culture, ventured into the Amazon rainforest, boarded the wrong plane and met Ian Darke, and scaled mountaintops in pursuit of adventure. I also re-discovered my love for writing, blogging my experiences with the world via my friends travel blog, Ibn Ibn Battuta.

Oh yeah, there was a soccer tournament going on that was kind of a big deal.

I witnessed the end of the Spanish dynasty in international soccer, danced in a conga line with the Dutch, and heard the roars from the street as underdogs like Algeria and Costa Rica sprung upsets. I saw an entire nation rally behind an iconic yellow jersey with five stars above its crest, everyone united in the singular pursuit of a sixth.

But maybe the most enjoyable part was watching this plucky, burgeoning soccer nation called the United States of America, do this, this, and this on the way to escaping a Group of Death, while simultaneously capturing a nation’s heart and gaining global respect. I may be biased, but what a time to be alive.

I returned to Germany before the World Cup semi-final, tired and weary but somehow more energized.  I had finally scratched that travel itch that had covered my whole body.

From my post in Germany, I wrote a final blog entry about my World Cup experience, about where Brazil would go from here. In executing a successful and relatively incident-free World Cup, Brazil had proved the world wrong. They had pulled it off.

The eternal optimist, I hoped that momentum would help them to execute an event of similar scale in two years time, when the world’s eyes would return to Brazil, in advance of the Summer Olympics they would host two years later in the lively city of Rio.

I was so excited about my trip that I may have projected a bit too much of my optimism.

In that semi-final, Germany scored 5 goals in 30 minutes, each strike a dagger into the hearts of millions of Brazilians who were so close to a sixth World Cup Title. My second homeland went on to defeat Brazil with a punishing score of 7-1 and would go on to lift the Cup for the fourth time, but it was watching Brazil fall apart —  the boos and whistles cascading down on the dejected players on the field, their captain, David Luiz delivering a tearful apology to all of Brazil, and the images of the fans crying and wailing in the stands — those may be the most memorable image of the tournament.

In many ways, Germany’s 7-1 humiliation of Brazil in the semi-final was just the beginning of an unfortunate slide for Brazil as a nation.

Operation Lava Jato (translates to Car Wash) revealed a sordid plot from politicians and businessmen to profit off of a series of bribes and kickbacks and laundering the money through the state owned oil company, Petrobras.  An already struggling economy continued to spiral downhill.

Reports have continued to surface about environmental concerns in Rio, in addition to their lack of preparedness for the upcoming Olympics. Most recently, concerns over the Zika virus have troubled both the spectators and athletes alike. Embattled President Dilma Rouseff (who was the chairman of Petrobras’ board during the time of all of the corruption and money laundering) was removed from office prior to an impeachment trial, with her successor accidentally leaking his acceptance speech before she was impeached.

And yet, the Olympics are scheduled to begin there in just two weeks.

The Olympics rev up a sense of nationalism that captures the attention of sports and non-sports fans alike. It takes the fervor of supporting your country to another level and has the best athletes in the world, competing to be the best, in the oldest competition in the world.

Some iconic images of the Olympics stand out in my mind: the Dream Team in 1992, Michael Johnson completing historic double world records in the 200m and 400m at the 1996 Atlanta Games, and celebrating at The Rhino in DC when Jason Lezak hunted down the French stroke by stroke in the anchor leg of the 4x100m freestyle relay to win by a hand and set a world record in 2008.

The sports fan and the optimist in me expect big things from the Games this summer.

I truly hope that Rio de Janeiro shines, and that this first South American Olympics will be another spectacular event that unites the nation. When Pelé lights the torch (you know it’s going to be him, right?) in a few weeks that the people can put all of the problems, concerns and politics behind and really use this event to show their blue, yellow, and green — the true colors of Brazil.

While I won’t be heading back to Brazil, I hope those going are able to open themselves up and truly enjoy Rio as I did. Enjoy those breathtaking views from Sugarloaf and Christ the Redeemer, search for “The Girl from Ipanema,” take in all of the sights and sounds of the Copacabana, be like Snoop in the video for “Beautiful” on the Selaron steps, samba the night away in Lapa and enjoy the roars in the Maracanã.

Boa sorte, Brazil. Here’s wishing you the best for these Olympic Games.