Brazil v Japan from Parque Nacional do Igacu 23 June 2006

It was a beautiful sunny day in Brazil! Sally and I were thrilled to be visiting the Igacu waterfalls again, but this time from Brazil's side of the Rio Igacu. We had been assured there would be a restaurant and bar at the top of the falls with a giant television and comfortable seats for us to watch the match between Brazil and Japan. We would not face the frustration and indignation of trying to follow the match through a radio again. Of course, we still needed to make it there on time and with kick off at 4pm, we were in a taxi speeding to our destination, late again, with no rain to blame.

We arrived at the park, bought tickets, and at 3pm, one hour before kick off, we were sitting atop a tourist bus, waiting to be taken to the hiking trails for the falls. I seethed sitting so stationary now. I recounted the events of the morning, trying to work out how we could possibly have come to be cutting it so fine once again. The guy at the gate told us that it would take perhaps two hours to make it to the bar at the top. By the time the bus left, we had not even one.

The bus limped through its schedule of stops with me willing it along all the way. It arrived at the walking trails at 3:30pm leaving us thirty minutes to make the 1200 metre walk to the top. Not bad, I thought to myself. Sal had pulled a calf muscle the previous day, but even so, half an hour should be possible at least!

We took off down the bus and then up the track! We struggled past three Australians, no doubt from the East coast, with accents so grating. We pushed beyond a couple of elderly Japanese folks. We stopped at the first lookout long enough to be snuffled by a long nosed coati looking for food. We paused perhaps twice to photograph the panorama of hundreds of waterfalls jostling, spilling over, as if rushing to Brazil to escape the Argentine side. The Brazilian view of the waterfalls lacks the impact of leaning off the edge of Argentina and being sprayed by the mightiest fall, but the view is calming more for its beauty than might. At least it would have been calming, if I had not been so intense and Sal not been pain, limping all the way, as we tore up that path!

Sal stormed on like a trooper, gammy leg and all, and we made it to the final viewing platform full minutes before kick off, but there we hit a clog. Bloody tourists, old(er), fat(ter) and slow(er than me) blocked up the path!

We considered foregoing the short walk along the final platform, but, as ever, we tried doing it all. It was rather a squeeze, getting past everyone mucking about, enjoying the surrounds, posing for photos, acting like there wasn't a World Cup match about to begin.

Sally and I pushed through for our photo at the end of the platform, and then back again, past the modest gift store and up to the base of the elevator which would take us up to the renowned restaurant and bar to watch the match. It was there that, for the first time in the day, I lost hope of seeing kick off. Before us in the queue stood dozens of oblivious tourists and the, oh so slow, elevator was removing them no more than eight or ten at a time. I considered rushing to the front to plead our emergency, but I can't even explain the concept properly in a carefully constructed media release let alone to a bunch of old tourists who are probably non English speakers or deaf.

"That's it, I sulked to Sal. "We're sure to miss kick off now. I guess we might as well just stand here gazing at the stupid waterfalls¦ unless¦ here, you keep our place in the queue!

I scurried back to the gift store, and, sure enough, just above the stuffed coatis, there was a good sized TV. I knew the Brazilians would not let me down!

I joined about six Brazilian lads, all in green and gold, to form a line blocking the entrance of the store. A few others looked on from behind counters as the whistle blew for kick off!

I was relieved to have seen the start of the match with waterfalls in the background, just as we planned, but felt irritated to be standing in a heartless souvenir store with a doorway air conditioner breathing down my neck. I longed for my personal promised land: the great restaurant and bar in the sky! I willed the 144,000 or so ahead of us in the queue for the elevator to slip and be washed away in the falls.

The souvenir shop was so boring and dry, I persuaded Sal to go keep a place in the elevator line. I continued to watch the goalless match until the time came to join Sal nearing the front of the queue. I felt tense as hell to have walked away from the match, but it seemed the only way to watch it in any sort of comfort or style. The elevator came down, and we jostled with the oldies to get in. Just as I had stepped inside, 'no more', said the guy and I left Sal behind, nabbing her camera from her hand, as the doors closed to take me to the top.

At the top of the ride, was another lookout. Stuck now in a TV free zone, I considered taking off to find the restaurant and bar and leaving Sal back behind, but, like a good boy for the first time that day, I waited, shuffling my feet and panicking about goals being scored at that moment. I looked critically at the girths of my fellow tourists that had conspired, combined, to exclude Sal from my elevator ride.

Sal appeared! Again we pushed our way past the tubby, the grey haired and slow. We hurried up a path, behind a bus, and up to a courtyard where thirty or so people were sitting eating hamburgers and watching TV. A glance up at the screen confirmed the score was still zero-zero. We had not missed any goals!

The place looked like it had been modelled on McDonalds with its square, backlit, boring menu and seats, green and gold, all fixed to the ground. It was not quite the restaurant and bar I had hoped for, but we ordered drinks and some burgers and, at last, relaxed into the match.

I was just polishing of the last of Sal's skol and portion of 'fritas' when the television grew loud and excited and the crowd very flat. Japan had scored! No-one could believe it. The park patrons were most annoyed. Some turned away, others shook their heads, but all were very quiet about it. I think it was a minor dent to their pride. After all, regardless of the outcome of this match, Brazil would remain in the Cup. There was more riding on this game for Australia than Brazil!

The half ticked along and with mere minutes left in the half, Brazil levelled the score. All was forgiven! The crowd were cheered and smiled again. Two men in blue uniforms and grey teeth, walked away laughing arm in arm. I felt there was a sense of pride restored with Brazil levelling the game before the half end.

Many left the faux McDonalds at half time. We left as well to go for a walk to examine the restaurant and bar I'd been promised. We had seen it by now, further along, but it had been closed, presumably for the match.

Full of faith that I'd be able to charm our way in, we approached the locked door with our video camera. I knocked and shook at the glass door. A young guy with thick glasses who was cleaning the floor shook us off.

"We just want to watch the match! I said.

"I've worked in hospitality, said Sal. "They won't let us in.

"We just want to film you! I said. "Maybe if we just wait for a bit...

We stood at the doors, watching ten or so people inside watching the screen, sometimes watching us. I felt like a couple of them would rather have liked to have let us in, but I'd asked the wrong guy and his narrow decision had already been made. I was surprised and annoyed. It felt like this was the first time that anyone had said 'no' to me on this adventure.

"Make sure you get a good close up of him, I said to Sal, planning revenge, though I knew not quite what.

We left the great, closed, restaurant and bar in the sky and, with the light dimming, stopped to watch the river water easing up to an edge, dropping off and then rising like steam. We allowed our minds to rest in the view for a moment before returning to the courtyard and few remaining fans.

I resolved that we should not visit tourist spots anymore. At the resumption of the match, there were only four couples, a few staff and one little girl watching.

I went to the counter to order more fritas and Skol. The television showed highlights of the Australia v Croatia match so far. It showed one goal for Croatia and I dropped my ice cream menu. It showed another goal for Australia and I could bring myself to order again.

I found the Australia highlights nerve-racking stuff. Not so the Brazil game. Brazil pummelled in a goal to take the lead and then yet another goal soon afterwards, both times to quiet claps and appreciation from the few home crowd around.

"Now its three-nil, I said to Sal. "Brazil are going to win, so I think now they should put the Australia game on instead.

Three minutes of extra time was announced and almost everyone stood up and left. When Brazil was declared the victor, the staff immediately killed the TV. Only Sal and I were left still sitting at a table.

"What about the Australia game?! I bleated, but no one heard or would have even cared.

We walked to the tourist bus and boarded to return down the hill. I sent a text to David, my brother (and excellent webmaster) to find out the score. 'Two-all draw' came the reply 'Now we play Italy in Round 2'.

"Fantastic, I said. "I'm going to get out my flag!

I paraded with my Australian flag on my belt for the rest of the night. We rode a local bus back into town and chatted with a young woman who worked at the park. She said that one of the staff there said he had been happy to see us wandering around with Brazil tops and a flag.

I dared not tell her that we had worn Argentina tops the day before and Paraguay's the days before that, but it felt good to hear what she had said all the same. We stopped chatting with her as the bus started to fill up with revellers heading for their night out.

As the bus approached town, we saw the cars driving around with flags out of windows, and the police, with their guns, making their presence felt. People gathered around cars with great stereos at the service station where the biggest police guns were posted. Up the main street of Foz, the party had started again, though smaller this time. I suspect because Brazil's spot in Round Two had already been assured. Still, the Brazilians danced aplenty and I watched in wonder again.

When I watch most people dance, there's a lift, a change, when they move up into their 'dance character' and equally a drop when they become themselves once again. But when I watch Brazilians dance, the 'dancing' and 'normal' characters seem just as one. Dance seems such a natural part of expression and life in Brazil, that celebration through dance is easier here than anywhere else.

Sal and I walked up and down the streets of Foz a few times. I was pleased for Brazil to have won and have their excuse to party again. I was even happier for Australia still in the World Cup. I felt a little sad that Sal and I would now be leaving the Igacu area after having camped out on the three-way border for more than a week. We would be leaving tomorrow. We went home to work out where to go next.