Farewell Penedo.  Our eleven o'clock departure came a little sooner than we were all prepared for.  Peter, Amy and family had a lot of goodbyes to say.  Maybe a dozen friends came by the pousada to see them off.  It is clear that Penedo is very close to their hearts and the feeling is reflected by the people here they have befriended.  Some of them brought gifts but most I think just wanted one last word and a goodbye.  This could be the last time they see each other, though I imagine the Ragsdale-Starks will find their way back here.  Penedo has gravitas in their lives.  One of the many planets in their galaxy, it will always maintain its orbit.  I have a hard time imagining how one family can belong to so many people, the whole time realizing how fortunate I am to be among them.  I have learned a lot about generosity and community while I've been here.  The work that Molly did for the local capoeira and the donation she made.  Peter's time spent with the local soccer community and the games and parties he arranged with them.  Amy working with local officials to get Bentinho passage to the United States for a visit and exchange of culture with her dance company.  Skylar effortlessly arranging two on two games every night at the plaza with friends from Montana and Penedo alike.  All of this will be returned to them many times over both in friendship and community.  Most of the people here have very little compared to the standard of the US.  The locals do know they have community and the support that goes along with it.  I'm sure that if we came back five years from now we could still go down to the campo and see Manuel organizing games.  Bentinho will still be teaching capoeira in the community center.  Both understanding how important it is for their communities of people to have something to look forward to.  Realizing the work they do will be returned to them in less traditional ways than monetary exchange.  I was here to witness all this first hand, more or less as a participant.  What a blessing.

     The bus left at about 11:45.  On time by Brazilian standards.  The trip to Pontal Du Corouripe would last about and hour and a half.  As we got closer to the coast we passed coconut plantations and sugar cane fields.  The sun soaking them in a shower of beautiful light.  Our bus driver had a heavy right foot and we were making good time.  The journey to the beach was pleasant even if the countryside was rushing by.  Our destination today was Ada's Pousada. 

     Ada's Pousada is a quaint collection of simple casitas about three blocks from the beach.  The ceilings are open and the living conditions are clean and basic.  We do have hot showers though, and so far all of the outlets work.  Ada is the proprietor.  She was born in Italy and raised in Germany and Brazil as a child.  She has lived in Pontal since she was a young girl and has a strong connection to the place.  She's about 5'3" and ninety pounds.  I would put her in her seventies.  She has a smoking habit and a Tom Waits voice.  Towards us she has a very sweet disposition but I would hate to line up on the other side of the fence against her.  I'm sure she has a very strong sense of justice with indifference toward the conflict that can go along with it.  As our host, purely gracious.  As an enemy purely pernicious.  I could tell I was going to enjoy my stay at Ada's.  Happy that I was on the right side of the fence in harmony with our host.

     Our arrival was a bit chaotic as we had to get our things off the bus and out of the rain and settle up on who was staying in which of the many casitas.  Amy undertook that responsibility and we headed for lunch.  Our landing spot was a beautiful restaurant overlooking the beach.  Just a roof over a patio with a landing overlooking the bay.  Special.  The food turned out to be as good as the view.  We hung out there for about an hour and a half then got together for some beach time. 

     It was late in the afternoon by the time we got to the beach and there was a lot of space for us.  The water was as warm as the cooling night.  Of course there was soccer all around us.  Connor and I managed to kick the ball around some happily whiling away the time until the sunset.  The sun sets quickly near the equator making it very dramatic.  With a few clouds in the sky it was spectacular.  The cherry on top of a perfect day.

     We joined together for dinner at a restaurant owned by Ada's daughter Anna.  Again, the food was great made better by the company of friends.  The constant hum of conversations around us about soccer, the region, television shows, the day on the beach all contributing to the perfect balance struck in the day.  I would sleep good tonight in my shared accommodation.

     Signing off from Pontal Du Corouripe, Brazil, wishing you balance and harmony in your day.  Know that you will always have more than you need and never have less than you want.

     The focus of today was the campo game Peter had arranged for the boys and fathers who came to Brazil to play a bit of the beautiful game.  Unfortunately for me, the five stitches in between my toes excluded me from playing.  "Shannon, I really feel bad for you about not being able to play" was Charlie's comment to me before he headed off to the field with Peter and the seven boys. Coming from Charlie this really did mean something.  Both Charlie and Peter understand the significance of coming to Brazil for the World Cup, having the opportunity to play with the locals on their field with a mixed group and the loss you feel when half of that equation is not playing out the way you had planned.  Charlie's sympathy was welcome and I wanted to have a good cry but I didn't.  At least Connor was going to have the chance to hit the field with this group.  He was the youngest player on the pitch.  I'm proud to say he held his own for the first half before taking a knock and deciding to sit the second half.  The campo field here is one of the nice fields in Penedo.  It is mostly covered with grass, mostly flat, except for a few dips here and there, and the footing is good, except for a few muddy spots and the sandy areas in front of both goals.  Without a doubt Missoulians have nothing to complain about.  We can always move the bar up but compared to the average small town in Brazil we've got it good. 

     Brazilians at this level play a different, less organized, brand of soccer than we do in the states.  They really are more focused on individual effort than team results.  It can be beautiful and frustrating to watch.  Constantly wishing that they would pass the ball to the open man to make the game more interesting was a frustrating thing to see.  There were a few players on the field that possessed amazing talent though.  Aladine was one of them Juninho another.  They scored most of the goals.  Partly because they didn't like to pass when they were near the goal, and partly because they could bring the skill and quality to get open enough to have a clear shot without passing.  They were fun to watch possessing great athletic ability and amazing foot speed.  Aladine had the most powerful shot.  Made more remarkable by the fact that he couldn't weigh much more than a hundred thirty pounds soaking wet.  On the other end of the scale was a guy we called The Matador.  He had to weigh in close to three hundred pounds.  With a belly big enough to house a small family, The Matador didn't see much of the ball.  He could run a few short steps and hold space but as you can imagine his footwork wasn't fast anymore.  I admired him for his perseverance.  The game consisted of two forty minute halves then a party. 

     The barbeque was manned by the Brazilians and paid for by their American patrons.  We had pitched in to buy what was needed and by the looks of things many more people were going to join us while we ate, drank, and watched the Brazil v Germany semi final.  We were never joined by more people but we had a great time packed into the small clubhouse to watch the historic competition unfold.  Germany was ahead by five goals within the first thirty minutes of the first half.  Disbelief.  How could the host nation fall apart like this.  We all wondered what would happen with Neymar out, his back broken by a Colombian player in the previous game, and Thiago Silva on the bench with too many yellows.  It couldn't have played out any worse of the Brazilian team.  No one expected them to fall apart.  The Brazilian defense was full of holes the mechanical German team exploited with ease.  Brazil couldn't generate any offense to take the pressure off their defense and the result was the most lopsided loss in the history of a World Cup semi final.  It was so bad that the Brazilian president apologized to the nation the following morning.  The mood in our clubhouse didn't change much.  Still in a mind to party and drink, our Brazilian friends didn't slow down any.  They were upset, making fun of there team and country.  Using the Brazilian flag to clean up a mess here and there, but resolute in their quest to have a good time.  They don't have much to look forward to here.  Their prospects are pretty grim if I'm honest.  The promise of having fun in the immediate future outweighing the consequence of any future payment explained the temporary ideal most of the people we've met hear hold dear.  Nevertheless I was grateful that they didn't implode and get mad and cross.  We easily could've been leaving post haste afraid we might be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Instead, this group shook it off and had fun anyway. 

     Connor had come back to the pousada for the game and by the time I got back he had showered and explained to me that he didn't want to play in tomorrow's arranged game.  His ankle was bothering him a bit but more to the point he didn't like playing with the Brazilians.  Their sense of team and system of play was all wrong in his mind.  "They're selfish", he said.  I couldn't agree more.  Then he headed up to the square above the pousada with Skylar and the boys to play two on two soccer.  Usually a little soccer therapy is just what he needs to clear his mind and come around.  Surprisingly tonight when he arrived back he was standing by his decision to not play.  It looked like we'd have a little more father son time tomorrow which was just fine with me.

     Signing off for the last time from Penedo, Brazil, wishing you all a little adventure and promise in your day.  Know that you will always have more than you need and never have less the you want.

     Today I had to make my first visit to a supermarket.  Not sure what to expect I was pleasantly surprised how easy it was to get the various sundries I had run out of on the trip.  Now I could take my shower and head to breakfast, get my bearings on the day and see Penedo.  Penedo is a town of about twenty thousand people that was originally colonized by the Portuguese.  The buildings are all shoulder to shoulder painted in various bright colors trimmed in white.  Some of them have faded a fair bit.  The sun bleaching the pigment turning them into pastel colors.  Painters here have permanent employment as far as I can tell.  There are churches all over the place.  In fact the pousada we occupy was formerly a wealthy land owner's house that had a private chapel attached.  It is quaint and steadfastly beautiful against the weather of time.  Welcoming and hospitable.  Home for the four nights we stay in Penedo.

     Amy and Peter had graciously agreed to show us around town a bit so we could be a little self sufficient while we were here.  Connor and I joined the group and saw the local market.  Much larger than I had expected, you could get anything from a twenty dollar fake Rolex to bulk rice and beans.  In our tour we visited the old theater in town.  A beautiful house of about four to five hundred seats it was marvelous to find such a place here.  Contributing to the soul of Penedo with performances for over a hundred years bringing  the town together on occasion to see children perform ballet and adults put on theater performances.  The grand dame that brings people together for the arts.  Truly amazing.

     We dined for lunch and turn the corner on the rest of the day's agenda.  Futsol at the local private school. Soccer again, bringing two cultures together.  The Futsol court at the private school had a vista view over a working class neighborhood that overlooked the Rio San Francisco.  The pool for the school was about twenty yards down hill from the court.  The setting was  picturesque.  Futsol is a short sided game played with five players per side on a hard surface the size of a basketball court.  Small goals make the scoring more difficult, a quick surface and small court make the game fast and entertaining.  Our boys were out matched in the first half of play.  They continued to try too control play on a small court and got caught short handed on defense a couple of times and had no goals to show for their effort in the first half.  Charlie gave them the coaching they needed at half and they opened play a bit.  We have athletes on the team and they showed their mettle in the second half.  Moving quickly and opening things up to nearly even the score.  I am proud of their effort and discipline.  They played a team game and showed the Brazilian side they had game to bring.  Another example that Americans can play the world game.  Then they all went for a swim before gathering for a snack. 

     Back at the Pousadsa Thirty Four we freshened up for Capoeira.  Molly had put together a fundraising effort to support the local Capoeira and was ready to make her presentation to them tonight.  The presentation was preceded by practice that we could gather around to see.  A first hand telling of Capoeira in Brazil is an uncommon opportunity for an American.  Things were a bit disorganized at first but they finally came together and we got to see authentic practice.  Capoeira is a form of martial art that was originally practiced by slaves in Brazil.  The predecessor to break dancing in the United States it is a bit acrobatic and looks like a martial art.  There is a dance like quality to it.  Two partners dueling in a show of skill.  As a counter point to what we saw in Salvador performed by the Bale' Folclorico Da Bahia this was much closer to its origins.  Not a Hollywood version of an ideal.  It was an honor to be there to see these "real" people doing something that they love to do.  I was impressed with the layman version.  Many of these individuals had a great deal of skill sparing with their partners.  Molly made a presentation at the end of the night and we heard what the practitioners had to say about her efforts.  The emotion in the room was wonderful.  One mother spoke about how Bentinho, the master, was helping her son stay off the streets and how what he was doing gave her boy something to look forward to.  Most of what Bentinho does is gratis so it only seemed fitting that Molly provided so much to them in her fundraising effort.  One of the students spoke and you could feel the emotion in his voice as he described that he was thankful for what Molly had done.  That it was more than their own town of Penedo was doing for them.  The moment was starkly genuine and I can't believe that I was a part of it.  Another fortunate turn of events provided by the Ragsdale-Stark family.  We had to let go of the moment to head back to the pousada for the last item of business on the day.  Ross's birthday.

     Ross turned fifty-five today.  We celebrated with him in the restaurant at the pousada.  Another meal, this time with a theme, celebrated in the company of friends.  Ross's son Mathew is one of the soccer playing posse on this trip.  I didn't know the family before we were thrown into this trip together.  They have been great company during the trip.  Welcoming.  Friendly.  Genuine.

      Signing off form Penedo, Brazil wishing Ross many happy days and the return of friendship for years to come.  Know that you will always have more than you need and never have less than you want.   

     "Okay, the bus we hired to take us to the bus station is not here, so I am going to get taxis to give us a ride.  If everyone would please get their luggage and bring it to the curb outside the pousada that'd be great."

     Peter was speaking to us in the lobby of the Magna Rosa after giving up hope the bus they hired was coming to pick us up and deliver us to the station for the beginning of a long days travel to Penedo.  Given the fact that we spent an extra twelve hours in San Juan on the way here gave us a real insider's perspective to what happens when you don't get where you're going on time.  Connor was not feeling good so he had to throw up in the lobby bathroom before we got going.  It was not the start any of us were looking forward to.  Peter did an amazing job organizing the cabs for us as five of them were waiting for us by the time I got to the street.  We loaded up and hit the road in the rain that started to come down on us as we left.  Peter gave the drivers directions about where we were headed and then we were off.  First, to do a lap around the block to end up right where we started.  Our driver was shaking his head and I'm sure Marta and I were wondering together if we were ever going to make the bus station on time.  The group was now split up.  What was happening with the rest of the crew?  Personally I found myself wondering if we were fated to another night on the lobby floor, this time at the Mange Rosa?

     As it turns out we made the station and had time to get things put in order without a rush.  Peter and Amy had a chance to give us instructions about how to check bags and where to load onto the bus.  Happily luck was on our side today.  Earlier Peter had mentioned to me that these were not your run of the mill buses.  They were very luxurious.  Being American I had a hard time conceiving the idea of a luxury bus.  I didn't have to think about it much longer and was introduced to the real thing.  First hand accounts are always best.  Our bus was a double Decker and our group had the first twenty rows on the upper deck courtesy of Amy's planning.  The seats reclined into virtual beds so sleeping on the bus was not easy and restful.  That rest was welcome after four hours of sleep and a sick kid, who by this time was recovering nicely.  There was also going to be entertainment provided by an American movie shown dubbed in Portuguese.  Turns out "John Carter" was tough enough to grasp in English, let alone Portuguese.  The bus rolled out of town on time and we were off on our first leg from Salvador to Aracaju.  Four hours of restful travel on the cloud liner of buses. 

     The countryside we covered was really quite beautiful.  There were rolling hills covered with banana and coconut plantations, cattle ranches, and eucalyptus farms.  The natural vegetation was varied; palm trees, conifers, open fields of grass, combined with red dirt and vista views of the Atlantic ocean.  Rivers ran here and there.  Rural villages dotted the route with everything from fairly substantial haciendas to huts made from sticks and plastic tarps or palm fronds for walls and a roof.  It was not what I had expected but I really hadn't thought of it that much with all the soccer on my mind.  Perhaps this contributed to my astonishment a bit.  The scenery turning what could have been a very long trip into an enjoyably short ride.

     When we pulled into the bus station in Aracaju, the provincial capital, another pleasant surprise was waiting to greet us.  It was without a doubt the cleanest bus station I have ever seen.  The floors were clean, bus stalls were swept out and concessions were spotless.  The bathrooms stank to high heaven, though.  With a methane capture system they could've powered the whole bus station.  By conservative estimates.  Truly an eye watering experience.

    We hopped a much smaller bus for the remaining two hours to Penedo.  Not nearly as comfortable, but effective nonetheless.  We could feel the end of our destination nearing and were looking forward to stretching our legs there.  Our last ride would be by ferry to bridge the four hundred yards of river between us and Pousada Thirty-Four.  Where I am writing you from right now.  It was great to feel the cool river breeze in your hair after a long day of travel.  My spirits were lifted having gone from a puking sick son and rushed departure from the Magna Rosa that morning to a cooling drift across the river with a soft timely landing on the banks of Penedo.  I think Connor felt the same way strolling across the street to a very nice looking pousada.  I have my own room and Connor is spending time getting to know the boys better rooming with Skylar, Brody, and Carson. 

     By this time Peter was ready to play some soccer, so he hit the street followed by about eight boys and myself headed for the barefoot playing field along the banks of the river.  He was like the pied piper leading us to the promise of fun times on the field.  The fields were rough hewn.  Barely a pasture.  There was some tall flora and some short grass.  No touch lines were drawn.  I remember walking past one burro and two horses on the short distance off the promenade to the field.  This was confirmed by the mounds of manure off to the side of our landing spot and the burro hee-hawing in the background.  Peter immediately took up with some of the locals.  He is a sort of hero to them.  They played together when Peter's family spent a year here.  He helped them get to games by making contributions of money and time toward their cause.  Peter is a master at establishing relationships with people and holding on to them.  A month or more can go by in my life without seeing Peter and he and I can pick up where we left off.  Which is what he did with Aladine, a fresh faced kid slick with sweat carried on a wiry frame in possession of some seriously fast feet.  Five aside soccer ensued.  Soccer therapy after a travel day is usually just what the doctor ordered.  Today solidified this foundation.  It is also a kind of universal language.  You don't need to know Portuguese, you just need an understanding of an aesthetic.  Another boundary beaten down by the greatest game on earth.  The 'Mericans played a much different style of game than the Brazilians but I had fun watching what unfolded in front of me.  Saddened by the fact that I couldn't join in but still having a good time.  It was clear that Peter has a home here to the end of days and I found myself a bit envious of that.  He is an example for me how to make connections and live through the lives of others.  He and Amy both have that quality.  To me their lives are bigger than they are, as it should be, making contributions to those around them with unassuming generosity.

  The day ended as most do on this trip, sharing food and drink with friends talking about the day and our place in it.  Cheerfully living lives that are bigger than our own vicariously through the eyes of traveling companions.

     Signing off from Penedo, Brazil wishing you bigger perspective on what you already have.  Know that you will always have more than you need and never have less than you want. 

     Today was our last full day in Salvador.  I am going to remember it as a fun visit with lots of learning and some great soccer.  The second game of which we went to see today, between the Netherlands and Costa Rica.  The friendliness of the people who live here has been amazing.  We've had a lot of fun as a group and the my experiences here have taught me quite a bit about myself and the people of Brazil.  Some of my favorite things have been the Pelourinho neighborhood, the soccer, the Bale' Folkloric, and of course the game we've attended.  There have been numerous times I've had to put my faith in friends, affirming that they are wonderful people.  My more unfortunate moments teaching me too carry on in my belief that humanity has not run afoul.  I am also going to remember this city for a number of unpleasant things, not the least of which is the fact that my soccer playing prospects for the trip were ruined here.  The apartment we stayed in was far from perfect.  The WiFi didn't work all the time, the outlets didn't all work.  Only one air conditioning unit worked and we only had a hot shower in one of the bathrooms.  The stray dogs  and trash in the street a constant reminder you are in a developing nation.  In spite of this, the place still maintains a charm and you can't beat the honesty. 

     Being our last day we had to get to the Mercado near the Pelourinho.  Connor and I wanted to do a bit of shopping for Lisa and Sloan.  He and I both needed to make sure that we got some trinkets from Salvador to share with them when we got home.  The bus trip landed us at the famous elevator over the market.  The Mercado is housed in a building that offers two large floors of crafts from local vendors.  The place is bustling with tourists and I'm told is overrun with pick pockets.  Thankfully we didn't have any experience to confirm this.  We bought a number of items for friends and family. As we left samba dancers were performing at the Mercado gates.  They were having a great time and the crowd was too.  We bought a number of items for friends and family and headed to watch Argentina - Belgium. 

     After watching Argentina beat Belgium on TV in a fairly lackluster performance we hit the streets to walk to Arena Fonte Nova for the real thing.  Dave and Ian were our seat mates for this game.  I think we all had mostly recovered from the US's heartbreaking loss to the Belgians, and were ready to get in some more soccer therapy.  We were all looking forward to watching Holland play.  They are know for a quality side and some of the more boisterous and supportive fans in futbol.  They all dress in orange and follow their team with relish and pride.  The costumes are outrageous and they bring numbers everywhere they go.  There are times I believe Holland has the home field advantage in away stadiums.  For those non soccer fans reading, there are a number of top line players starting for the Netherlands.  Arjenn Robben is one of them.  He is a world class winger who breaks down defenses almost single handedly with his play on the right side of the field.  His quickness is hard to describe, and though we had seats in the second row on the eighteen his feet were so fast that you couldn't tell what he was going to do even from such a close distance.  The electricity generated when he has the ball is astonishing.  More often than not when he is in possession he is going to be make a fool out of someone.  Also for Holland are the likes of Robin Van Persie of Manchester United, Dirk Koyt, and Wesley Schneider in center mid along with world class keeping that would rue the day for Costa Rica.  On the other side of the ball there were a lot of unfamiliar Costa Rican names that were not going to let the Dutch run them over, which was made clear from the first whistle.

     Frankly, the first twenty minutes of the game were boring.  The Dutch worked the ball around in their midfield without making many forays into the Costa Rican defense.  After the first thirty minutes though, things began to open up and Robben started to assert himself.  At one point he split two defenders so quickly all they could do was foul him on the edge of their box.  In the process of fouling him they actually hurt each other a bit.  One play, three players on the ground.  The Dutch put the pressure on the Ticos with precision and speed.  There is a grace about their game, with accurate crisp passing and blinding speed.  For the remainder of the second half they tortured the Ticos but did not score.  Costa Rica managed to put in a couple of good efforts but produced no results.  The second half began as the first ended, with the Dutch demolishing the opposition.  Robben was on our side of the field now and we witnessed first hand what a devil he is to guard.  He manufactured opportunity after opportunity for them.  Still no goals.  In the waning moments of the second half the Ticos came up with a chance to put the game away but the ball sailed wide and we were looking at extra time. 

     By now the players were exhausted after ninety minutes of play.  Things began to open up more for the South Americans.  They may not have been as good a team technically but they played with huge hearts to the overwhelming support of their fans.  They came up with a few chances and the surprised Dutch beat them back.  The supporters for Costa Rica came alive more now than ever and their chanting overcame the Dutch by a long shot.  We were all on the edge of our seats thinking that one team would go up, but they didn't.  I will go on the record saying that the Netherlands had a better game.  The combination of Koyt and Robben on the right side make them hard to handle and their defense is solid.  They move off the ball beautifully and created chance after chance.  Consequently the Costa Rican goaly had an amazing game.  Penalties were next.  Connor wanted me to video the whole thing on my phone so I obliged. 

     The Dutch were mechanical in their approach without a lot of flair, however, when the ball hits the back of the net I think they lose touch for a moment.  Though they are focused and concentrated most of the time they do not lack for emotion.  The Dutch keeper saved the first and fourth attempt.  Final result, game tied 0 - 0 in regulation with a 4 - 3 result in penalties.  A game I will never forget.  One that I hope to tell my grand kids about someday.  Robben, who hand been the picture of focus and concentration during the game, came to our corner of the field and roared like a lion toward the Dutch supporters in the stands.  As you can imagine they were all too happy to salute their hero in return.

     After the game we walked for about a mile and caught a private bus full of drunken Brazil fans heading to FIFA Fan Fest.  I was surprised to hear two of them speaking English to me.  Clearly.  As American's we have been finding some new found celebrity and the welcoming embrace of people from all over the world while we have been visiting.  They were charming in their own way and didn't break anything.  Thankfully.  We roled into the Pousada at about 9:30 for dinner with some supportive Australian fans, and upstairs to our room at 11:00 to pack for early departure in the morning.  The day was an example of the world coming together in Brazil in support of the individual teams, realizing the whole time that we having more in common than in difference.  I was awestruck.  Happy.  Exhausted.

     Signing off, for the last time, from Salvador hoping you find the magic in your life.  It is there if you look for it.  Know that you will never have less than you need and always have more than you want.

     "What's' your name", I asked after handing him thirty Reais.

     "Chocolate"

     Chocolate, had just given my group of six the taxi ride of there life in return from our evening's festivities in the Pelourinho.  The end of a great night in Salvador. 

     The first significant task of the day was to find Connor an authentic Brazil jersey.  Connor has been having the trip of his life, but he has been patient with me while the nights slip away in conversation with friends new and old. Those conversations have little interest to a fourteen year old youngster.  We agreed that we would take care of this important piece of business today.  Understanding the magic an authentic Brazilian jersey "from Brazil" can have I was enthusiastic to get this taken care of today for my most important traveling companion.  After all when you worship soccer like we do how can you deny the opportunity to have a piece of voodoo working for you, a totem from the birthplace of soccer.  The adventure for this purchase took us to two malls in Salvador.  Unfortunately we did not find the jersey at the closest mall to our pousada, but instead found it at Shopping Salvador.  An upscale mall about thirteen kilometers from our place.  The jersey was verified to be in stock with some help from the man at the front desk off the Magna Rosa.  We located the shirt in of all place the Nike Town store in Salvador.  Imagine my surprise when I discovered that we would not have to race there to pick this jersey up because they would hold it for me until we got there.  All we had to do was ask for Jane.  Evidently the retail gods at Nike Town Brazil are different from those in Seattle.  Liking Brazil more by the day we headed off and accomplished the first task of the day.  The attitude of my traveling companion improved the minute we picked up the jersey.  One of the most important requirements of this trip having been accomplished for him.

     We headed back to the Magna Rosa and off to a group dinner before a candomble' and capoeira performance by the Bahia's regional dance company "Bale' Folclorico Da Bahia".  Dinner was arranged by Amy for the group at an Italian place in the Pelourinho.  Bruschetta, octopus, pasta, and filet were on the menu.  The meal was outstanding made more valuable by the friendship we were building. 

     From there we were off to the Bale Folclorico.  The performance was without a doubt one of the most athletic things I have ever witnessed on a dance stage.  Magnified by the fact that I was only two feet from it.  The entire stage may have been difficult to see from where I was sitting but the relationship you have with the performers when you could reach out and touch them is tangible.  You can see their eyes and their expressions like you were setting across the counter from them.  They were powerful and balanced, limber and graceful.  To describe the male dancers as having defined bodies would not do them justice.  They were all beautiful in movement and body.  The education in dance vocabulary we got from the more authentic version a few evenings before came in handy.  I understood some of the story lines a bit better watching this performance and the fact that the performers were professional dancers helped the movement come through a bit cleaner.  Every attempt could be made to describe what I saw but they would all fall short of the mark.  I was completely enthralled by it.   A rapturous performance.  It got my heart pumping and by the time we had reconnected as a group outside the theater it became clear that the feeling was shared with everyone in our group.  Most of the adults who were dance fans were wide eyed with a fair bit of adrenaline pumping through their systems as well.

     Chocolate was a rather large statured guy.  His cab held six so we had to split into four groups for the cab ride back to Porto De Barra.  Evidently Chocolate was in a hurry and so were the other three drivers.  Traffic had dissipated enough that we were given the space to race in a diamond shape formation of four cabs through the streets of the Pelourinho on to our destination.  Passes were made, car doors dodged, pedestrians spared but only barely.  Our bodies were shifting and heaving inside the cab like we were on a Disney rollercoaster.  Needless to say much of the time we lost in San Juan to American Airlines was gained back in the reckless but entertaining ride.  We got back from the Pelourinho in about a quarter of the time it took us to get there earlier.  Maybe faster.  Then we got ice cream and discussed the evenings events.  A festive night.  Good vibrations abundant.

     Signing off from Salvador, Brazil wishing you fun times on summer evenings.  Know that you will always have more than you need and never have less than you want

     "He has nice teeth".

     "Give me the number 3", he said.

     "Is that the size of the needle or the thread", Peter asked? 

     This is a snippet of the conversation I found myself facing in the middle of the day, recounted from its original Portuguese, after a short scrimmage on the beach.  The morning began as just about any other would.  Breakfast with friends, then head up to the room to get all buttered up with sunscreen.  The requirement of a fair complexion inherited from my Swedish-Irish heritage.  Off to the beach by 12:30 for a 1:00 date with friends and a soccer ball.  Connor was amped up after the game yesterday and ready to exorcise the loss with some soccer therapy.  It was absolutely beautiful and the beach was busy when we met Molly and Cody there with Amy.  A quick dip in the ocean was all I needed to get ready for some beach soccer with our small group of about eight.  Short sided soccer is always good.  Then Cody's big toe introduced itself to the web of my foot between my big toe and second toe.  With force.  The gash left behind looked like someone took a knife and drove it straight from the front of my foot toward the back slicing the web of my foot wide open.  It was remarkably painless and alarming at the same time.  I cannot even begin to explain to you how I felt at the moment.  Scared.  Mad at myself. Disappointed.  Wanting the moment back to avoid the carelessness of the accidental situation I found myself facing.

     My handle on the language here is non existent with the exception of simple pleasantries.  The interchange with the life guard staff at the beach was just a lot of noise as far as I was concerned.  With the help of the Chongs we got the wound bound while somebody went to get Peter Stark off the beach.  I recall mentioning the faith I have in friends in one of my earlier posts.  Today that faith was reaffirmed yet again.  The responsibility my friends took to share this burden I was faced with now could not have been more welcome.  Peter knew the chances of me getting this dealt with at all were pretty grim and with him I headed back to the Pousada to get my passport and money.  I cleaned the wound out one more time.  Peter consulted with Joseph and it was determined that the best course would be to go to the public hospital.

     On the way to the public hospital Peter gave me fair warning to not expect the American hospital experience.  "The walls will be a bit scuffed up", he said "and it'll look a bit older than you're used to".  Nevertheless I was thankful for the company and a translator to see me through all this.  We arrived there in the taxi.  People were flowing out the doors of the Emergency room onto the sidewalk and small parking area.  Not a good start from my stand point.  Check in was smooth, though, and the wait was much shorter than the line would lead you to believe. 

     The doctor (as far as I was aware he was a doctor) was a middle aged guy with an even temperament wearing a wrinkled button up shirt and a swept back mop of hair.  His tone was even and friendly.  Peter and he had an exchange and Lucy the nurse arrived quietly.  "Sutura", was all he had to say to her.  Lucy was quiet and indifferent toward the gringo on her table as patients wandered in and out of the small office we occupied.  Patient privacy was not of primary concern here.  At least I was fully clothed.  The physician answered questions for several patients while he was waiting for Lucy to finish her prep work.  Patients continued coming and going.  The patient traffic stopped for a bit while he was actually stitching things up.  I appreciated the nice teeth comment.  It was probably all too apparent that I needed a bit of humor in my day.  Five stitches later Lucy escorted me down the hall for a shot of penicillin and we were on the way.  It all took less than a hour from start to finish.  The experience was priceless the cost of the experience was the damage to my foot.  No money exchanged hands nor would it.  Socialized medicine at its best.  I don't know what I would think about all this if I had cancer.  I might be less than enthusiastic about it then.  But for stitches and some penicillin you couldn't have done better, unless you were looking for the beautiful antiseptic setting of a private hospital.

     The whole experience has had a restorative effect on me.  To go from a huge gash on my foot to all stitched up in less than two and a half hours while in a foreign land was amazing to me.  Again, I find myself in debt to Peter for his help.  He is a good friend and never gave me even the hint that I was the pain in the ass that I clearly was.  I hate to be a burden on people.  My wife might argue that a bit, but infringing on another person's day is just not okay.  Everyone back at La Magna Rosa inquired about my well being and offered their help as well.  I guess no one likes to see a man down. 

     Life goes on in the morning.  With a bit of luck I'd like to be able to play soccer before we head home, but if not worse things have happened.  Signing off from Salvador, Brazil wishing you all a quiet evening with family and friends.  Know that you will always have more than you need and never have less than you want.

     The day had finally arrived for us to go see our first game.  When we applied for our tickets through FIFA (soccer's world governing body) we had no idea who would be playing in today's game.  Since our tickets were for elimination games after the group stage and the results from those stages weren't in yet things were a bit up in the air.  The USA drew into the "Group of Death", which made it unlikely that we would qualify for the elimination rounds.  The fact that they did with solid play and good tactical decision making by the coach, in my opinion, lead them to play in today's match.  I feel like there was a touch of destiny in the match today, so I went in with high hopes.  The Belgian team would be a tough opponent, who the US would not have stood a chance to win against four years ago.  With a much stronger team at this cup we could walk into the stadium with pride knowing that we belonged on the dance floor in the company of teams who regularly played "Joga Bonito".  The beautiful game.  Although I can't say our game is beautiful it is not without its moments of inspiration and quality.

     The group plan was to take the bus to the Pelourinho neighborhood we visited yesterday to catch the first match of the day between Argentina and Switzerland, then walk to Arena Fonte Nova to see USA vs Belgium.  In our wanderings through the Pelourinho we found a great place to watch the game.  It was cool and the refreshments were cold, and they had the game in high definition.  We could quickly see that our necessities were met.  Or group of roughly fourteen settled in quickly.  Followed by a group of boisterous Belgium supporters.  One of the welcome truths about the soccer fans I know is that there is no animosity between fans.  You hear a lot about soccer hooligans in other parts of the world, but I have not witnessed it personally.  Our counterparts turned out to be great guys, and one of them was a car guy.  He owned a Jeep, Fiat, and Lancia dealership in the town he was from and turned out to be a prince of a guy.  If you could measure people from Belgium by this group you'd say they knew how to have fun, didn't lack for a sense of humor and really liked beer.  They liked their beer a lot.  Turns out they also know how to sing.  Rough chants to cheer on their team.  Loud.  Before they left Belgium they took the time to have shirts made that had World Cup 2014 screened on them and their Brazilian name.  For example Nicholas translated to Nico, Philip translated to Filipo, and so on.  As a soccer fan you have friends in every corner of the world.  Today was no exception.  We had a smash up time with them and it never got out of hand, mostly because they could hold their drink.  Argentina beat the Swiss, which I was hardly aware of because of my conversation with Nicholas "Nico" the car guy from Belgium.

     The walk to Arena Fonte Nova only took ten minutes from where we were.  I cannot say that Salvador is a beautiful city.  There is rubbish everywhere.  Things are not clean.  Stray dogs roam all over the place aimlessly.  In spite of all of this the spirit of the place couldn't be any more opposite.  People are helpful, friendly and cordial, and my god do they like to have a party.  Brazil will go down as a great host nation for the cup, not because the stadiums were beautiful and the streets were clean, but because in Brazil they want you to have a good time at their dinner table.  They want to see you enjoying yourself.  It might be about the money exchanged but it doesn't feel like its about the money.  There is profit to be made, of course, but there will be enough for everyone and I haven't felt like a number while I've been a guest here.  They really do give a rip.  American Airlines take note.

     The confirmation that our seats were two rows from the field was a relief.  There had been a voice in my head that this whole thing could be a hoax.  After all how could our tickets really be this good when more than a million people applied.  From the first whistle the US played pretty well.  The game was back and forth with opportunities on both sides of the ball.  The skill was good.  Not amazing, but good.  The physicality was more than I was used to.  The pace the athletes played with was truly mind blowing.  Yedlin, ended up playing wing back on our side of the field the first half.  He is a short statured kid who plays for the Seattle Sounders.  He covers ground with alarming speed.  Eden Hazard, for Belgium, is small but as quick as your eyes can see, and powerful.  Clint Dempsey is smooth and strong.  Tim Howard had the game of his life.  We witnessed the record for saves in a game for a world cup.  Timmy Howard you are, heroic.  Sixteen well earn saves.  Without Tim we would've lost the game by more than three goals.  Vincent Kompany was solid in defense for the Belgians.  Figuring into the game prominently, his huge presence on the back line kept the Americans at bay for most of the game.  The Belgian team was a strike force.  They had a few decent chances in the first half but so did the US.  No longer laydowns on the soccer pitch for European powerhouses to over run.  The team was resolute in play.  Patient without relenting.  I could see a confidence we had on the field that hasn't been present in past World Cups.  I wish I could say the second half went as well as the first.  Belgium pounced on us and began to put their stamp of authority on the game at the whistle for the second half.  The tide was turning and Tim Howard was fighting it back.  We did have a chance to win the game with a few minutes in regulation on a cross from the right side (by my recollection) but the ball sailed over the goal from less than eight yards out.  Extra time was upon us.  The US had the first significant opportunity in extra time.  Nearly scoring in the first few minutes with a solid build up.  Alas, it was not meant to be today.  Lukaku came on for Belgium and the complexion of things changed.  With fresh legs up front the Belgian strike force had new life and they scored twice, before the US put one in the back of the net.  Julian Green had the loan goal for the US.  At nineteen years of age we may see more of him in the future.  To be fair he was fresh and the defense on both sides of the ball was spent.  At the final whistle, Belgium 2 US 1.  Heartbreaking.

     There are a number of observations I feel like we can take away from this.  We left our hearts on the field as fans and as a team.  Connor was devastated and mad.  The players were laying on the field spent from effort.  In spite of the result I was proud to be associated with such an effort.  We orchestrated a beautiful compelling game of soccer.  Against a respected opponent.  I was on the edge of my seat for much of the game.  Wrung out at its conclusion.  There is no doubt in my mind that the world is going to have to take US soccer more seriously as a result of this cup.  We made a quiet announcement to the world that we are coming to the game and you'd better pay attention because if you don't we are going to beat you down.  Winners stay.  I look forward to the future with a renewed sense of hope for American soccer on the world stage.

    Walking back from the game to the Pelourinho was not the same walk I was looking forward to before the game.  One thing that did strike me, however, is that the culture of this sport is changing in the US.  We have a seat at the table now.  The opportunities for me to play soccer in Montana as a young man were limited.  There wasn't a domestic league when I was growing up.  There were no resources  for soccer in high-school.  My high-school soccer team was sponsored by the local YMCA not sanctioned by the school.  In my first post I mentioned that soccer is a birth right in Brazil.  Passed on from one generation to the next, woven into the cultural fabric.  It is one of the things that makes Brazil, Brazil.  We are not there yet, but as I walked back from the game we were two generations of players with a domestic league that is well attended and my son will play high school soccer.  If he has children they will know all about soccer.  They'll probably like watching the sounders and be fans of Liverpool.  They will talk about World Cup 2014 and the time we met the Belgians in Salvador before the US game.  Yedlin's name might enter the conversation.  The noteworthy characters of this cup and world soccer deified in our memory for us to pass down from one generation to the next.  The heart of my favorite game is pounding at home in the US and I partly have the current men's team to thank for that.  I am in debt to them for propping open the door to the Church of the Beautiful game for the United States to finally step across the threshold.  The embrace of the world is waiting for us.  I can finally take a breath. 

     Signing off form Salvador, Brazil.  Know that you will always have more than you need and never have less than you want.

     There have been a few places in the world that I have described to my friends as adult Disneyland.  Old Town Salvador is one of those places with a bit of magic about it.  Maybe its because as Americans the concept of history is fairly short.  At least in so far as Montanas only have roughly two hundred years perspective on the world they regularly visit every day.  In Old Town Salvador your perspective is stretched out many hundreds of years more than that.  If you ever make it there take your time.  Be sure to get a look at the church of San Francisco De Assisi.  Pay the fee to see the ornate gold alter pieces and carved façade.  It is beautiful and inspiring.  It left me marveling at what people accomplish in the name of God.  In this case leaving us a beautiful church over three hundred years old.  The cobble stone streets were fun to see.  They were very rough.  I have a hard time imagining a horse and cart getting down them without falling to pieces.  The buildings were touching side by side painted in bright colors with the trim painted white.  The walls were probably stucco covered brick and most were pretty cool inside.  It was much cooler in the old town all together.  The combination of the old buildings shading the streets and the cool cobbles seems to keep things about ten to fifteen degrees cooler.  This was welcome respite from the heat.  The shops were all local with the shop owners pitching their wares.  There was a pleasant hum about the place and you could've stolen the shorts right off my body while I was gawking around.  A fun place with lots of nooks and crannies to seek out. 

     Candomble' was our next date.  After rushing through dinner we dressed in our travelers best and loaded onto the bus to head for a ritualistic dance called Candomble'.  Candomble' originated in Salvador and means "dance in honor of the gods".  Originally brought to Brazil by slaves who wanted to practice their religion, candomble' represents a number of African religions with some Catholicism woven in.  The ritual revolves around rhythmic drumming, singing and dancing that eventually sends some of the participants into a trance.  Our guide did his best to explain the different gods and goddesses to us, what they represented and how we could tell their representations in the dance apart from one and other.  Evidently millions of people practice this worship ritual in South America.  At first it was difficult to understand what was going on, and personally I felt like an interloper into the private worship of these people.  I felt awkward at first.  It took about twenty minutes to adjust to the idea that we were welcome and to begin to understand what was going on.  The drumming and singing were loud.  The singing had an edge to it.  The drumming was very African.  There were two priest guides and probably fourteen dancers before the night ended.  The movement was repetitive and rhythmic.  Almost meditative.  Between the singing, drumming, dancing and meditation the idea was that the dancer could slip into a trance.  We did see a number of people go into trance.  To witness this was very strange.  The value of going into trance I'm not sure of.  Some of them went quietly others went violently.  As spectators there was no guarantee of safety as Rich, Dave Oberbillig, and his son Ian can attest.  Nothing like being crashed into by a two hundred pound man spinning like a dervish to keep your attention.  The ritual lasted about an hour and a half in a room that I would guess was a hundred degrees.  No exaggeration.  The whole experience was eye opening, sweat inducing and, for me probably misunderstood a bit.  On the other hand it was a thinker.  For a dance fan it was fascinating to see people worship through their movement.  The combination of their dance and movement as meditative worship is a new idea to me.  I do find watching dance can be very spiritual but I have never thought of it as my path to spirituality.  As a westerner with my feet on the ground and much of my education founded in science it was a reach for me to believe what I was seeing, but I'm sure the worshippers would have a very different interpretation.

     When we were done with our bus trip back to La Magna Rosa, we hit the restaurant and closed the place down.  Learning more about people is a privilege I look forward to.  I can learn more from one person's life than I could from any book.  The shared wisdom and friendships more valuable than most real knowledge is, to me.  I'm not much of a worshipper, but I will put my faith in a good friend any day.  This faith was affirmed over for me tonight.  Signing off from Salvador, Brazil wishing you peace with yourself and goodwill to your fellow man.  Know that you will always have more than you need and never have less than you want.

     The arrival in Salvador was mercifully swift.  Though the airlines managed to lose the customs forms they normally hand out before you land at your foreign destination, all else went without a hitch.  Baggage made it, no one was stopped for any additional questions or searches in customs, smooth sailing. As a matter of fact the non-declare line was essentially a hallway to the sidewalk where Peter was waiting for us to catch the bus without hassle and head into town for some much needed sleep. 

     The first morning in Salvador was spent catching up with friends who had already arrived, and making plans for the day and roughing out how thing generally work here.  This is where having Peter and Amy and the Buleys here has been so invaluable.  It would've taken me two or three days to get as far as we got in a thirty minute meeting as a group.  Getting your arms around how the most basic things work in such a short period of time was a gift. 

     After the Holland Mexico match we wandered a bit and the boys went to the beach to play some soccer and swim. This is where I caught up with them.  After watching them work on a sand castle the size of a small house we headed for the apartment to get ready for dinner and our fateful meeting with Joseph Santini.  Joseph has been, and continues to be, our most valuable resource on the ground in Salvador.  From plane tickets to lodging and food and help with game tickets he has been unbelievable.  He is a short man with a round and tanned physique, a great smile who has the eyes of a story teller.  The reincarnation of an Irishman in a Brazilian.  Comfortable in the company of strangers immediately putting you at ease.  He is an enigma with a varied background.  A Phd. in biochemistry, I'm told, who lives in Berkley some of the time and Salvador the rest, running a travel agency, the Magna Rosa Pousada, and the two restaurants on the premises.  Since Joseph is Brazilian soccer is his the backdrop he uses to measure the events in his life.  Each World Cup providing landmarks used as reference for other significant happenings is his life.  The variety of topics he can address in one evening can make your head spin a bit.  Whether you want to talk about vinho, or discuss the goings on in the soccer world, or the history of Salvador and Brazil he is your man.  Needless to say he has gravitas.  There is a bit of sadness in my heart realizing that Joseph is a character that, in all likelihood, I will lose contact with after we leave Salvador.  The short friendship with a firm handshake and bear hug who will be a landmark for me to use as a reference for the goings on in my life. 

     Dinner was great.  Connor and the boys demolished three pizzas and helped the adults clean up what was left of their dishes.  I think Carson ate his body weight.  Then we hit the streets for some barefoot soccer.  Being the lone adult in the group with the boys had me concerned at first.  I didn't want to get in the way of any fun they were having.  It soon became clear that after a short spell of organization into three groups of three with games to two winners stay, I was just one of the boys.  From Jayden Chong, who is ten years old, and myself at forty-four we had the beginnings of five generations covered.  We were all equals on the street in Salvador.  Some with quicker feet better skills and more acrobatic than others.  All having a great time.  Man of the match has to go to Jayden who held his own for the evening and scored four goals.  The smiles and chatter made the extra night's stay in San Juan fade just a bit.  Its' stain on my life washing away in the therapy of the game.  We were eventually joined by Donato.  I don't know where he came from and can't tell you anything that he was saying but we welcomed him into the fold, a perfect stranger, with a contribution in the recipe of play. 

     We wrapped up around 10:15 and turned in exhausted.  At least speaking for myself.  A good day with friends and strangers alike.  Happy days.  Signing off from Salvador wishing you fortune in friends and wisdom in life.  Know that you will always have more than you need and never have less than you want.