Copacabana

Before I came to Brazil I had to sit through a five hour security briefing which left me so on edge I jumped out of my seat when a cleaner appeared at the window.  Murder, corruption, riots, pick-pockets, car-jacking, malaria and dangerous drivers.  For the second World Cup in a row it seemed I was heading into a war zone.  A week in and I'm still alive and while the dangers are clear and present the real risk to my health here is the food.

My diet has been terrible.  I'm averaging about a meal and a half a day.  I've eaten more processed meat in Rio than in the six months since I was last, um, in Rio.  Big Bob's Burgers.  Twice.  All you can eat pizza.  Steak(s) and chips.  Too much coffee.  Not enough water.  I haven't eaten a single vegetable and I've drunk beer every night.  It's a teenage boy's wet dream.

And it's not just the lack of food that leaves me light-headed.  Copacabana is a dizzying place. Western rules governing colour, creed and class need not apply here.  Poverty is not the sole preserve of the ethnic minority.  Religious fervour omnipresent but not overpowering.  Rich, poor, the young and the dying are all pieces of the same jigsaw. 

Beachside is populated by people who pound the pavement with intent.  This is an area where the locals strut their stuff.  And you do not have to be a perfect 10 to flaunt tings.  Massive backsides in tiger print Lycra jostle for position on the seafront. Old men go through energetic exercise routines in the morning sun as the traffic snakes by. Both sexes bathe in skimpy swimwear leaving little to the imagination no matter their size. 

Meanwhile across the street the homeless & the addicts congregate.  Doorways near million dollar apartments house drug addicts at night who then seek the shade of the trees during the day. 

All of this takes place under the same sun but against two backdrops.  To the East the waves crash in from the ocean in a typical beach scene.  Surfers, bathers, posers, beach footballers.  To the West a darker presence.  Mountainous favelas, at times shrouded in cloud, peer down onto the faded grandeur of the beachfront hotels.  A reminder of Rio's present day poverty and its long since departed 1930's heyday.

The sun goes down early and quickly here.  Bake on the beach at 5pm if you like but you will be in complete darkness by 6pm.  It's winter and the weather conditions can change in a blink of an eye.  It's not uncommon to see startled holidaymakers dashing through hotel lobbies wrapped in a towel wondering aloud where the rain had come from. 

Copacabana adopts a different feel when it turns dark.  Tourists are warned away from the beach at night but at times it seems this may just be so the locals can reclaim it for themselves.  Small children play beach football late into the evening, middle aged folk exercise, people sit, talk, smoke, relax.  Men holding hands roller skate past hawkers holding Brazil shirts with cocaine in their shorts. 

Away from the beachfront small bars open out onto the streets.  Cheap beer, live music, dangerous cocktails and prostitutes.  Lots of prostitutes. The congregation continues long into the night. It's so busy and the alcohol flows so freely that the area feels safe although this can change quickly.  A wrong turn or sobriety can suddenly make a 1.30am walk to pick up a presenter a hairy one.  The beggars approach or shout out aggressively as you pass.  This isn't the time nor the place for a romantic stroll.

It's a real eye-opener being here.  Pre-tournament fears over safety have been replaced by a marvelling of a country and a people that do not appear to be following the same rules that we live our lives by.  Make no mistake.  Whether you find yourself football-watching or people-watching there's no better place in the world to be right now.