Finding it incredibly difficult to open the eyes this morning, myself, Dan, Dane and Claudia had ridiculoulsy booked in for the morning Favela tour rather than the afternoon, but that’s how it goes. The tour began with a ride on the back of a motorbike up to the top of Rocinha, the largest Favela in Latin America, and one of the few that a tourist group could feel safe travelling through. From the top of the hill, our local guide, Daniel, then took us through all the steep narrow walkways that wound down through the Favela. Due to building encroachment all the lanes had been reduced to basically single file walkways, and the main way of travelling in the favela was to get a motortaxi up the main street. I had expected a more crowded and confronting experience, though it was still sad to see all the rubbish and filth covering the walkways through the concrete jungle. We stopped in at a gallery run by locals of the favela that had some real talent, and also at a bakery half way down, which made me wonder a little at how much of the tour was an opportunity to get some tourist dollars into the pockets of friends or family of our guide.

In a favela of 200 000 people, for everyone to know our guide and great him with a smile, showed that it was a very specific route the groups always went through. However, my cynicism with tour companies aside, it was an interesting experience and our guide was very informative about the drug trade in the favelas, the battles that occur with police, and how the majority of the residents have regular jobs in the wealthier areas of the city, but live in the favelas as there are no taxes, electricity is stolen from the grid, and rent is cheap (roughly 100 up to 500 reals a month). Though I didn’t experience the kind of extreme destitution or poverty that you see in some third world countries in Africa, (you could hear tv’s and radios blaring from houses, satellite dishes on roofs, clean though simple houses with funiture, couches, bathrooms etc) there was no doubt that these people had things rough in life and it really reinforced the notion to always be thankful for what you have.

Getting back to Ipanema around lunchtime I was introduced to Yogoberry…epic. The afternoon we all caught up at the beach again for some pounding shories and a game of beach volleyball with some random locals, before Dan and I headed off for a Football match. The game was a semi-final between Flamengo and Botafogo at Maracanã stadium, the largest in South America and once capable of holding 200, 000 people (in the 1950 World Cup final, attendance was apparently 199, 854)

The atmosphere was there from the beginning with drums and horns blaring, and people singing along at the top of their voices. The crowd was predominatly behind Flamengo, as were we, but Botafogo also had a strong section of supporters in full voice and flags waving. As the game was about to begin the flares came out all around the stadium and the noise from the supporters was nearly deafening at times. It was an exciting game to watch at the start with the momentum shifting back and forth, and the crowd absolutely erupted when Flamengo scored the first goal. Botafogo replied and the tempo simmered down a little with long stoppages for ‘injured players’. Although obviously very skillful players, they had a tendency to hit the ground and stay down far too easily. A swede next to us likened them to Italian players, take from that what you will… :)

Unfortunately for us and the majority of the stadium, Botafogo took the lead, and the game ended 2-1. It would have been nice to see the celebrations had Flamengo won, but three goals in a game was all the entertainment we needed. By this stage the week was catching up to us fast, so we were in no mood to party on anyway. It was great to see the passion and excitement that fans bring to a football game in South America, and we couldn’t help but feel a little dissapointed about the comparative lack of enthusiasm you generally see at Australian sporting events.