Game Day in Bahia..... by Odler Robert Jeanlouie

Okay... Who does not sin? You can call us sold-outs, but are you, yourself, without sin? If you are, please dare throw the first stone, you will quickly see how many stones will be thrown back at you...

Here is the story.

This morning, we woke up at 9:00 AM which is highly unusual during this trip. We had breakfast. Half of the group embarked in Bus I, for a shopping trip.

Forty of us embarked in Bus II. Destination: Arena Fonte Nova, the jewel stadium built for the World Cup. Stated goal: Attend to Iran-Bosnia the closing game for group F. We did not choose this game, it just so happened that was the game in town. Several people however flew to Porto Alegre to attend the real game of the day, between Nigeria and Argentina.

A decision was to be made: What team are we going to support? Iran or Bosnia? Bosnia or Iran? Logically, but loosely, we were to support Bosnia since a win by Iran would eliminate Nigeria. Then it started raining. It was one of these flash rains common in Brazil, that last 30-45 minutes, wash your soul out of your body, then is quickly replaced by the laughing sun. Only few of us had umbrella, and none of us brought a raincoat....

That is when we saw the stage, a makeshift stage where a group of Iranian where distributing cheap plastic rain breakers along with a bag containing an Iranian flag and other items of Iran national footballistic rituals... It did not take three seconds of reflection for the entire group to convert to the Iranian cause, with their rain breaker on, while waving their flag in support of the Ayatollah deities.

The rain abating, we took free pictures at the Sony station, ate some hot dogs, and gained access to our seats, waving our Iranian flag. Indeed we were not alone. The Iranians were all organized. Every section of the stadium had some kind of crowd leader that would stimulate the pro-Iranians. The Bosnian supporters were shut out with alegria.

However, we were the loudest to scream "Go Iran" whenever the Iranians went on attack. Our Iranians neighbors were snatching pictures of us. They could not understand why we were so vocally Iranian. One of us asked us where we were from... We said New York.... Hmm! They became even more puzzled trying to establish that commonality of interest between the Great Satans from America that we were and the Devout Saints of Allah defending the noble cause of the Caliphate.

Iran lost the game. We almost cried. Almost, like good moles would do. After the game, we folded our Iranian flags, stuck them in the bags as precious souvenirs, and went party with any quidam who would savor the progression of Nigeria to the knockout stage....

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Leaving the stadium who went to Mercado Modelo where you can find anything you want as far as souvenirs from Bahia are concerned. At the hotel, we reunited with the "shopping group"... They came back with about 2.5 million packages... from the malls? What is here to buy?

Later, we packed in both buses to have a typical dinner at Yemanja... Jokes fused all the way to the restaurant... The atmosphere was quite festive, and all the ladies looked radiant... There was something in the air...

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(The Traveller, Wednesday, June 25, 2014)