Gringo in Brazil: A Visual Recap of the World Cup
Durty Harry takes his gringo ass down south to Brazil for some fútbol madness.
Photography by Durty Harry
The plan started simply enough: go to Brazil and be a part of the World Cup festivities (an event decidedly less necessary to the people of Brazil than basic living necessities like food and water).
Before we proceed, I must provide a small fucking spoiler alert: I did not go to any games. So if you’re trying to read a recap about some goal that happened by some dude who uses his feet to make millions of dollars and gain international fame, you should probably go to some other publication. Besides not having the budget for an a thousand dollar ticket, I give a negative hundred fucks about the sport.
Instead, my plan was to travel around and capture whatever I could with my camera in one hand and a caipirinha in my other and get fucking weird.
So what did I get? I got homeless people asking for finished beer cans. Elation in the small ocean town of Paraty after Brazil made its way to the quarterfinals. Young kids running around, begging for change or selling loosies on the street until the early morning. Bums on the steps of Lapa, making Kerouac proud, sitting and singing, drinking and smoking all day and night. Abandoned bricks homes fighting off the jungle. Small pasty joints filled with dirt weed passed between strangers, who didn’t speak the same language. Hoards of Argentineans rioting in the avenues of Rio, before and after losing, withstanding tear gas canisters.
I caught Brazilians and Argentineans chanting against each other and vindicated Brazilians once the Argentineans lost in the final. Graffiti sprayed on every surface and street art posted up in any blank space. Half-naked women in thongs. Dudes in equally revealing bathing suits. Drunks passed out on motorcycles. Police officers dressed in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles army gear. Pristine jungles and beaches undisturbed by it all.
And a grumpy ass dude who ran my decrepit hotel in the middle of Rio and told us to quit partying every night around 5 am (we ignored him for the most part).
Concluding remarks: the images of course will speak for themselves. But what they won’t say is how well received I was down there, despite the overwhelming corruption of FIFA and the Brazilian government. Nothing but love. For that I say to you, Brazil, that I will forever be grateful.