Salvador, Brazil
After 24-plus hours of travel, I landed in Sao Paulo absolutely knackered. Managed to drag myself to San Pietro’s on Rua Pamplona for a pizza before essentially passing out. Brazil. World Cup. It was actually happening.
The next morning I flew to Salvador, and that’s where the trip properly began. I’ll never forget the moment I lay down in a hammock at the Barra Guest Hostel, put on Jack White’s Lazaretto album, and just stared at the ceiling for a while. What a fucking life. Sometimes you need those quiet moments to actually register where you are and what you’re doing.
The hostel had a great crew. Jordan, Anukorn and I fell into a routine of morning runs and workouts on the beach at Barra, which sounds very disciplined and healthy but was really just an excuse to eat more and drink more later. One morning a local kid came over with a football and we ended up playing a game right there on the sand. Just try telling a Brazilian kid you don’t want to play soccer — it’s not an option.
Salvador itself is a city that oozes character. We walked around Pelourinho, the historic centre, with its colourful colonial buildings and cobblestone streets. Explored Rio Vermelho, which had a completely different feel — more local, more lived-in. The acai in Barra was unreal, and I’m not someone who usually goes on about acai bowls, but when you’re in Bahia having the real thing, it’s on another level. We did a day trip out to the Turtle Park and spent the afternoon at a nearby beach, which was exactly the kind of low-key day you need between bigger outings.
One evening I had dinner with Paul and Mike at Fogo de Chao, the famous Brazilian churrascaria chain. If you haven’t been, the concept is simple but dangerous: they bring an endless parade of meat to your table on skewers and you eat until you physically cannot eat anymore. And then they bring more. It’s glorious and devastating in equal measure.
Hung out with Anukorn and Simi one night and had an absolute belter of an evening. The energy in Salvador during the World Cup was something else entirely. Everyone was out, everyone was buzzing, and the fan fest down in Barra was heaving with people from all over the world.
Then came the big one. Spain versus Holland. At the stadium. Actually there, in person, at a World Cup match. I still get a bit worked up thinking about it. The atmosphere was electric from the moment we walked through the gates, and the game itself turned into one of the great World Cup upsets — Holland absolutely dismantling the defending champions 5-1. Being in the stadium for that, hearing the roar after each goal, feeling the collective disbelief of thousands of Spanish fans around you… that’s the kind of experience that reminds you why you travel in the first place. Not for the hostels or the bus rides or the acai bowls (though those help), but for moments that burn themselves into your memory permanently.
Before I knew it I was on a plane to Brasilia. Salvador had been the perfect start to the World Cup adventure — beach, football, good people, and a stadium experience I’ll never forget.