All of the excitement from the England-United States game effectively came to an end immediately after the game. While the US fans were thrilled with the tie and the English were all pissed off with the fact that they couldn't pull out a victory, it seemed like everyone was a little disappointed that there was no winner. There was no loser. Just 90 minutes that resolved nothing really. Aside from a small fight involving a couple drunkards outside the stadium, everything remained fairly calm, probably the result of the tie.
Despite the late night -- we didn't get back to the campsite until around midnight -- we were up and moving early Sunday morning. We walked over to the main site where a television was situated. All of the talk was about the botched save of the English goalkeeper. Every time they replayed the goal, we could actually hear the English fans cringe. And every time the English fans buried their heads into their hands, us American fans just laughed a little bit.
Our glory would be short-lived. Not because the taste of victory (or not losing) would be fleeting -- no, that would remain a good while. The only thing short-lived was our time in South Africa. We had bus tickets out of Pretoria in the evening and we had no reason to stick around the campsite. We stuck around for breakfast and headed down to the minibus station.
One of the things that Richie and I have really come to like about traveling internationally is that almost nobody speaks Portuguese. If we want to discuss something secretly, we can just do it in Portuguese and nobody would know what we're talking about. It's very convenient when trying to decide how much to pay a taxi driver or how to abandon some guy annoying us. You would think that in Rustenburg, we wouldn't run into this problem.
We knew our secret language wasn't so secret when we heard a man -- literally one seat behind ours -- ask for a "Fanta Laranja" instead of a "Fanta Orange". We had to laugh. He was a Mozambican guy who has been in Rustenburg for fifteen years as a taxi driver. He still can't speak English, which is not indicative of how little he has learned, but of how unnecessary it is. He has learned other native tongues in South Africa -- Zulu and Setswana -- which apparently are more than sufficient for getting through life in Rustenburg
On extraordinarily smooth roads, we made it to Pretoria with no problem. It's a shame our bus wouldn't depart for another six hours. There wasn't much sense in trying to walk around Pretoria. We each had huge backpacks and we were both quite tired from a late night. We meandered our way into the closest bar with a television to settle in for the day's football games. There was a huge temptation to try to go the Ghana - Serbia game in Pretoria, but we would probably miss our bus back to Maputo. So, we settled for watching Ghana defeat Serbia 1-0 on a penalty kick.
The bus ride returning to Maputo was about as comfortable as the ride heading to Pretoria. If anything, it was a little easier knowing the Maputo was the final destination. On the way into Pretoria, we didn't know if Pretoria or Rustenburg was the end. That was enough to keep me up for the entire ride. On this ride, I was able to sleep a little bit.
Once we arrived in Maputo, we only had one thing on our minds: a shower. The campsite where we stayed had a running water shower, but it was cold water. Paired with the near-freezing weather, we opted for stinkiness over cleanliness. The shower at the hotel in Maputo was hot, almost to the point of discomfort. Between the two of us, we used about an hour of hot water. It made the fairly expensive price of the hotel worth it. The rest of the morning and part of the afternoon was spent in the Peace Corps office, messing around on the internet, talking to Peace Corps staff about the game.
After a later than usual delicious shwarma lunch, we headed back to the hotel to relax. We were both wiped out from thirteen hours on the bus and the knowledge that we would have about the same thing tomorrow to Vilanculos. We each indulged in another hot shower and passed out quite quickly. I was really hoping to make it to the end of Italy's opening game, but my body knew better.
We were on the move around 6:00 Tuesday morning. It was a pretty late start for trying to head to Vilanculos, but buses usually leave up until 7:30 or 8:00. We may have been lucky. The bus we got on left at 7:38. It might have been the last bus to leave for the day. If it wasn't the last bus, it was probably the slowest and certainly the smelliest. We had the good fortune of sitting next to a baby who cried for the entire trip up, probably from the ocean of diarrhea flowing from her back-end. We thought that she would eventually tire out and fall asleep. She did -- with thirty minutes to go left in the trip.
There was only one hope for saving an otherwise horrifying travel day: pizza. Exhausted, there was no way we were going to walk the couple of miles to get pizza. They would have to deliver it to us. Normally, New York Pizza delivers, but on this night, they weren't delivering. Well, this day is wrecked. We cooked up some rice and a can of beans and surrendered for the day.
Without pizza, there was only one victory to draw from the day. This trip up north, barring a major medical incident, was the last time that we would travel north up the EN1. As we begin to wind down our service -- a mere five months to go -- we're going to start doing things for the last time. It's a nice feeling.
Before heading back to Machanga on Wednesday, we had some very important shopping to do. We were on the hunt for two main items: sliced Parmalat cheese and boneless chicken breast. In one store, we found both! Yes, we spent almost a thousand Meticais for these two items, but this is an investment into our health and happiness. As an added bonus, the market also had avocado, but since they are now out of season and imported from South Africa, they cost an obscene twenty Mets. Again, happiness trumps thrift. We would have delicious Mexican food tonight.
The only trick to buying frozen food is getting it back to Machanga in a relatively frozen state. Especially with chicken, which we really can't have defrosted, we were a little concerned. Thankfully, the chicken survived the ride. It wasn't solid frozen, but it was still frozen enough. Either way, we are going to eat some of it tonight, and freeze the rest for future meals.
As if things weren't going great already, I had six packages waiting for me at home. If I had known that would have four bricks of Velveeta sent by family and friends, I wouldn't have invested a huge chunk of money into a huge chunk of cheese. We are officially stocked. Of course, we will probably have to buy cheese next month.
As expected, the Mexican food we cooked up was delicious. It was a nice way to transition back into life in Machanga. Under normal circumstances, we would entertain ourselves with a movie, but we were too tired to sit around. We crashed fast.
Even though we both slept well, there was no way that we were going to teach on Thursday. We're both mentally checked out for the week. Richie has the good fortune of missing only one day. I'd have to cancel Thursday anyway to balance out my classes, but Friday is going to be nixed also. Thirty-one hours of traveling by bus over three days will put a person out of commission for a little while. Plus I have absolutely no lesson plans. Things will get going again next week.
There was still plenty to do to keep busy. We had a ton of magazines that arrived in one of the packages. We could now catch up on news from January. Tragic. Still, it's nice to read some cogent English writing. I also started putting together a document that we need to turn in when we check out of here. The Volunteers that follow us will be handed a small report about our site. This was a document that we did not get, so we had to figure out everything for ourselves. Much like leaving the house as it is, instead of emptying it out, we want to leave the next Volunteers with enough information to make their lives a little easier.
Alexis swung by our house right around lunch time. Between her trip to Beira and our trip to South Africa, we hadn't seen each other in quite a while. It was nice to catch up with her and she was the beneficiary of our cooking. The place where she lives cooks the same crappy fish and xima everyday. She was thrilled to get some potatoes and eggs.
Late in the afternoon, we walked over to the market to pick up some bread and spaghetti. Our tomatoes are already being harvested, so we were kind of pigeon-holed into making tomato sauce. On the road from the bread place to the market, we came across three or four cars. In a town where two cars is a lot, four is downright suspicious. The muzungu invasion had begun. At least fifteen white people rolled up into Machanga. What are they doing here? Missionary work. I made the mistake of asking why they chose Machanga. They answered, quite frankly, that "God led them here". If I were them, I'd be pissed off at God for leading them here of all places. In a place that already has a Catholic mission and huge number of believers in animism or traditional religions, they will be hard-pressed to accomplish anything.
We returned home right around dinner time and promptly cooked up out spaghetti. We also made garlic bread which, topped with some tomato sauce, was delicious. I was really hoping to stay awake through the France - Mexico game, but I didn't have it in me. It was apparent that recovery would require at least one more day. I grabbed a magazine and read for a bit before crashing.
In spite of a good night of sleep, I was still not fully recovered from all of our travels early in the week. I'd like to blame this on jet lag, but there was not a single plane used in our thirty-one hours of traveling. I think we can just call this travel exhaustion. Magazines in hand, we passed the morning reading until lunch time.
Immediately after lunch, we put some beans on the stove. Whenever we cook beans, we never quite cook them all the way through, and they are never as soft as the beans Mozambicans cook. We may have learned to become patient here, but when it comes to food, we are still not nearly as patient as they are. Today, though, we were committed to cooking them to completion. We would cook them most of the way through in the afternoon and finish them off at night.
In the interim, we had a big soccer game to watch. The U.S. was matched up against Slovenia. This should have been a gimme game for the Americans, the game that would vault them into the knock-out phase of the tournament. Unfortunately, nobody told the American defense to show up for the game. By the end of the first half, Slovenia -- a nation of fewer people than San Diego -- was man-handling the Americans and holding a two goal lead. This game was effectively over.
Instead of sticking around for the second half, a few of us headed over to the villa to drink away our sorrows. By the time we got there, however, the Americans had put a goal on the board. Whatever their coach said to them at halftime was clearly effective because they were playing like a better team in the second half. Late in the game, the Americans hung a second goal on the board. They appeared to have won the game with a late goal, but a phantom foul was called. Everyone on the American side was enraged, some louder than others.
In the time the Americans complained, the television station replayed the disallowed goal at least three times. The argument that using instant replay, regardless of the sport, would add significant time to the games is a ridiculous. I would rather sit around for the extra couple of minutes, knowing that the call was correct, than have some referee or umpire fuck up the result.
In truth, though, I'm happy that the Americans didn't win the game. Yes, they worked hard in the second half, but you don't win games by only playing one half. They should have learned this in the Confederations Cup last year, when they only showed up for the first half against Brazil. No matter how good the team is, you need to play for the full time. Luckily for the Americans, the English side failed to show up against Algeria. The Americans remain in second place in the group on goal differential. The still control their own destiny, though. If they defeat Algeria in the last game of group play, they'll advance.
Machanga seemed to be dead Saturday morning, which was strange considering a final felt alive. The couple days of relaxation did me well. A few good nights of sleep finally got me up to speed, just in time for people to disappear from here. This was fine by me. Since the arrival of packages on Wednesday, we have plenty of reading material to keep our minds occupied. Finally, around lunch time, people started to come out of the woodwork.
Early in the afternoon, Richie headed to the villa to go drinking with some colleagues. My attention, however, was drawn to a football game of great interest for me: Ghana against Australia. Ghana is my team in this tournament. I have my connection to Ghana through my study abroad experience during college and I think they can make a huge splash in this World Cup. They are the youngest team in the tournament, but they have great players. I think, in all seriousness, they can go as far as the semi-finals.
I am also pulling for Ghana because they seem to go against the popular belief that every goal scored has to be a work of art. More than the ridiculous diving that occurs every game and the fact a ton of games end in boring draws, this is what drives me nuts about soccer. Players seem to want every goal to be gorgeous, even at the expense of passing up a decent shot. The Ghanaians, practical as they are, believe that the prettiest shots are the ones that go in the net. I agree with this thinking. A shot on goal from distance is a lot better than no shot on goal from ten yards away.
Ghana's goaltender, by far the weak link in the team, failed to handle a shot and Australia netted a goal to put them ahead. Ghana fought back to tie it at one, and seemed to be in control of the game, doing everything but scoring. Late in the game, Ghana's defense fell asleep and Australia had a shot from point-blank range, but the goaltender made up for his early mistake with a spectacular save. The game ended in a draw at one.
Richie came back from the villa in time for dinner. He was eating fish that Sozinho cooked, leaving me to eat some of the food that arrived in packages. He, along with a colleague, was going to head back out to the villa, and managed to rope me into it also. I didn't really want to go out. Back to back nights is a little excessive and I was feeling particularly uninspired. I still went, like a good soldier, drank my beer, and came home. It wasn't worth the while. I would have much rather been in bed, which is exactly where I ended up within minutes of arriving home.
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