Not as sinister as it looks: Sao Paulo and Belo Horizonte

First the flight. I was a slightly more nervous passenger than normal due to the poor condition of my passport but thankfully the Brazilian authorities were about as attentive as an England defender and let me pass just as easily as Phil Jagielka and co.

Seen better days

Actually, my nerves were eased by a few beers in Munich en route and then by meeting a lovely Brazilian on the flight to Sao Paulo who proceeded to teach me some much needed Portuguese, the most memorable of which was 'safadinha' which I think roughly translates to slut/tart. Much needed in the weeks ahead no doubt.

This is ostensibly a travel blog so I won't bore you with too much football talk but this is my fourth World Cup and this one, like with the previous two, England went out within 48 hours of my arrival. Stop coming one England fan told me.

Mind you, given the condition of Steven Gerrard it was hardly a surprise that England exited at the group stage for the first time in 357 years.

Captain Fat-tastic

First stop, Sao Paulo. Stayed for five days and the nightlife was great, daytime was fairly underwhelming and I am expecting better things for the rest of my trip.

Going to Ibirapuera park was one of my brief highlights but mainly brought about by this unusual statue.

Bestiality?

I am sure that something very suspicious is about to happen to this pig but I can't quite put my finger on it. I will let you decide.

Anyway, Sao Paulo is good place to top up the carbs as they love to serve meat dishes with large amounts of both rice and chips as this hearty lunch illustrates.

Filling

Anyway, enough of this boring cultural stuff about statues and culinary delights, I'm in danger of this sounding like a serious travel blog. I need to sprinkle some stardust on an otherwise boring blog so thank goodness I bumped into ITV's Andy Townsend (also former Norwich City, Chelsea and Aston Villa midfielder) in Belo Horizonte, my next stop on my World Cup tour.

I say bumped into, it was actually more a case of jogging past as he laboured on his morning run I sprinted past him like an opposing player used to all to frequently in his playing days. And to think he was the engine room of the Irish national side for the best part of a decade. There I was making him look like the has been he is. Though you wouldn't know it from the cheeky grin he gave me. Good lad.

Man about town

While we're talking international greats, next stop Ronaldo. Not Cristiano but the fat one who is surely a part of the most appropriate advertising campaign for this World Cup. He's advertising biscuits.

The Fat Ron

For my first night in Belo Horizonte I went for the MTV presenter look and I think I pulled it off quite well.

Brahma in hand

There were two shockingly bad things I witnessed in Belo Horizonte. One was a Brazilian guy being given a good seeing to by the local police. Twenty policemen with bats and one guy without a bat suggests only one winner. But why they kept bashing him when he was on the ground pleading for mercy beggars belief.

The other shocking thing was the English national side who at least had the good grace to recognise the supporters who made the trip in the vain hope of some on the pitch success.

Appreciation but still rubbish

Oh well, at least the locals know how to party and they love their beer. The beer was certainly flowing at the house party I went to as we watched Brazil thrash Cameroon 4-1. Notice the local delicacy Pao de Quejo (Cheese pastry balls) in the centre of the picture.

Beer and cheesy balls

And before anyone starts to think this trip is just about beer, football and pastries (as good as that may sound), I appreciated the art on offer too. 

Art

A doll's head and severed leg, some mash potato, a plastic glove and a paint brush. Just another day at the museum of modern art. Well, actually it was on a pub wall, but art is art.

And at the end of a tiring day doing all these great things there's nothing better than relaxing in front of the tv with Brazil's best beer, Paulistania, and watching the football. 

Odd socks

What? Why travel 6000 miles and do what you could do at home? Because how else would I bother you with inane blogs like this.

Hoyos del Espino

The Goat

Barcelona has Sagrada Familia, London has Big Ben, New York has the Statue of Liberty and, not to be outdone by these illustrious cities, Hoyos del Espino has a goat as its primary monument. And what a goat it is too. To discover where, why and how you only need to speak to a local. The fact that I didn't bother to do so probably explains why you won't find the answer in this blog.

I did, however, manage to catch up with Maria de la Verdad, who would prefer to remain anonymous, but I have taken the liberty to name and shame. She recently moved here from Madrid. Not by choice, though. No, she left the fiesta, the tapas and the dizzy heights of the nation's capital to teach English here at the local school due to enforced circumstances. She makes the 180 kilometers journey home to Madrid every weekend as she goes in search of life.

Speaking to the children is a challenge in itself as their homes are more like zoos than places in which to live, given the long lists of animals they possess.

I wonder if this place should be twinned, somehow, with Swafield.

Sandwiched between Avila and Plasencia like an unwanted sundried tomato, Hoyos del Espino lives up to all expectations as I didn't have any before I arrived.

I did go for a hike in the nearby mountains which was nice.

Then I got the bus to Madrid.

From a rabbi to Robert Kubicka: A hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy (well, Spain, France, Switzerland and Poland) Part Seven: the return jouney

With the game and my time in Warsaw at an end it was time to make my return journey. Well, I say return journey, I only had to get to Milan as I had a flight from there to Santander. And I say I only had to get to Milan, actually I had a train from Zurich to Milan, and a car from near the Polish/German border through the car sharing website Mitfahrgelegenheit. If you are still with me, great. If you're not, don't worry. Basically, what this meant was I 'only' had to hitchhike from Warsaw to Wroclaw, in the west of Poland.

I say 'only' as I was surprised at how arduous the journey turned out, given Poland's positive reputation regarding hitchhiking.

My best friends turned out to be truck drivers. I think every journey, bar the last one, was via this means of transport.

Despite my lack of Polish, some of the drivers were very helpful. They even negotiated on my behalf via their walkie talkies and, on one occasion, a driver dropped me off before immediately being picked up by the next.

Sadly, my journey was rarely this productive and most of the time it was hours, rather than minutes, between each trip.

Anyway, there is little else to report other than the it took me 15 hours to travel less than 400 kilometres.

I have to say, the overwhelming feeling once in Wroclaw was that of relief. Job done. When or whether I undertake such a journey again is questionable. What was not in doubt is that this was an experience I won't be forgetting in a hurry.

From a rabbi to Robert Kubicka: A hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy (well, Spain, France, Switzerland and Poland) Part Six: pole position in Poland

Cheese fondue: easily the warmest thing in Switzerland

It took a while to find a friendly, helpful local (though some people live in Switzerland for more than six months before they have such luck so I should be grateful for small mercies) but eventually I did. He was willing to help and offered to take me to the nearest city. Unfortunately, that happened to be Lausanne and was six kilometres in the opposite direction to which I wanted to go.

A decision had to be made. And with time of the essence, I decided to accept his offer and then take a train to Zürich. Once there, I was confident of getting a seat in a car with mitfahgelegenheit, the German carpooling website, for the short journey to Munich. Failing that, I could always get the train but that was a more expensive option.

I enjoyed lunch in Zürich and managed to get a lift with a German girl through the aforementioned website. She was happy to talk but, after the border, I could no longer keep my eyes open and I drifted off to sleep.

At one stage I woke up and she was talking to me. I just responded with a couple of yeses and nodded straight back off to sleep.

I awoke in Munich, thanked her for the trip, and got on the metro in the city and raced towards the meeting point, prior arranged with my driver to Warsaw. I was panicking slightly, as I had texted him a couple of times without response. Thankfully he was at the meeting point and we were on our way at breakneck speed towards the Polish capital. Breakneck was an understatement. I asked him if he was familiar with Robert Kubicka, the Polish Formula One driver. He said of course in that inimitable Polish style. I said he made him appear slow.

Anyway, at this rate I was going to have little trouble making the next night's match. In fact, my new Polish friend was going to the match too.

We arrived in Warsaw at around two in the morning. He said, where exactly did I want to go? I said I don't know, somewhere with internet so I can book a hostel. He (sorry, I can't remember his name) said I could use his. Once inside his house he offered me his couch and I was one very happy bunny.

I woke up the next morning, had a shower and was just booking a hostel as my host said to me: "you can go now!" I thought, fair enough. I have used and abused his services enough and I was eternally grateful. I bid him farewell and chuckled to myself at the honesty of his statement in the morning as I hastily departed.

Warsaw: the stadium in all its glory, and in sunshine

I checked into my hostel, proceed to have a couple of beers and headed to the match. Once inside the stadium, I was astonished to find the kick off had been delayed due to a downpour. Initially, by an hour and, ultimately, by 24 hours.

Warsaw: so the closed the roof, of course, with the sun blazing outside

All that rushing, all that carry-on, and there was no need. The absurdity was even greater as the stadium had a roof. But they couldn't close it. Why? Because it was raining. To be fair, the locals were mightily embarrassed and when the game was played the next day, in bright sunshine, the roof was closed. Naturally. Welcome to Poland: the land of the illogical.

From a rabbi to Robert Kubicka: A hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy (well, Spain, France, Switzerland and Poland) Part Five: pulling rabbis out of hats

God's ear: a rabbi points the way to Geneva

I didn't have to wait long before I was on my way again, this time thanks to, you've guessed it, a rabbi.

I asked him if he spoke English. He said "non" so the initial conversation was conducted in French. He appeared so horrified by my attempts that suddenly he managed to muster some English. And it was more than adequate for us to converse until we got to Geneva.

"Are you married?" he asked

From anyone else I would've interpreted this as being a little forward but this was coming from someone who had God's ear, though obviously not Jesus's.

"No," I replied.

"You should marry someone who likes to travel."

"And someone with a car," I mused.

He didn't laugh. I decided to put it down to the language barrier.

"Have you felt the presence of God on this journey?" said the inquisitive rabbi.

"Between Brive-la-Gaillarde and Lyon, quite possibly. But the rest I'm not so sure," I responded.

Not even a smirk was apparent from my driver. Perhaps I was being too smug, particularly for someone whose life was in someone else's hands.

In the blink of an eye Geneva was upon us and I was seeking my next lift. I headed to the lake and sought a trip to Lausanne, or perhaps, if I was to be lucky, Zürich.

A young lad soon pulled up and took me a couple of kilometres to a petrol station where I met a Swiss-French guy who I imposed myself upon.

At first I thought he was going to take me to Lausanne, then Basel seemed to be possible. However, we couldn't communicate in a language either of us understood and, eventually, he dropped me off at a petrol station about six kilometres past Lausanne.

Sadly, the next stroke of luck didn't occur for quite some time. My evening was spent residing in a phone box in an attempt to keep warm, as the gas station was closed and about two cars came through all night.

There was one chink of light, though: I managed, through the wonders of technology, to book a seat in a car through mitfahrgelegentheit (a carpooling website) from Munich to Warsaw. I just needed to get to the Bavarian city by 17:00 to catch that lift. Possible, but I needed a helping hand and this was, on current form, not forthcoming.

I was just ticking off the minutes, which took all night unsurprisingly, until the cafeteria adjacent to the station opened.

When it did I must have asked about 100 people for a lift to Basel, Bern or Zürich but no-one seemed interested in my plight. It was also surprising how few people spoke either English or German, particularly as the latter is one of Switzerland's official languages.

After a further 90 minutes passed by I decided to speed up my journey by taking a step back, to take two steps forward. After all, I had to be in Warsaw within 36 hours.