I was sad to leave Natal for Fortaleza. I had had fun. Met decent people. Had good conversation.
When I arrived at my hotel in Fortaleza Thursday evening I was even sadder. Instead of the cheerful feminine conceirge men I had in Natal, I was met by an ice-queen of a woman. The whole hotel was dark, gloomy, and sterile unlike the warmth exuded in my previous hotel. When I got to my room, the lights, TV, and air-conditioner were on. I wondered if they had even cleaned it after the last guest. Taking a shower the next day, the water came out with such force it tore at my skin. Well, hello there and good morning to you too!
Thursday evening I went to the FIFA FanFest. Friday I went to the beach. I decided not to wear my swimsuit, the yellow polka dot bikini I had thrown into my backpack at the last minute. It was beautiful on the beach. I could have spent days and days there. I had coconut and cherimoya. I bought earrings and a cloth. I could have just laid there all day and parted with my money with the beach merchants.
My hair was out and with the humidity had started to fluff up. It was becoming a star in its own right. While eating my cherimoya, I looked up to see an older Gernan man just feet away trying to take my picture. No shame or anything. Like I was a specimen on the beach. I quickly looked down again letting my hair shield my face from his view. He actually repositioned himself right in my face with his camera in his hand! This time he spoke to me. “You. Picture”, he gestured. “Macht mir eins auch”, I replied pulling out my own camera. What the hell right? The guy was going to get his picture whether I liked it or not, so I might as well have a copy of this desirable shot.
I had quite a few people wanting to take pictures with or of me. Another German guy who had his wife take our picture, one for him and one for his tochter. He was nice because he asked for permission, and we had some sort of conversation. He was from Berlin. Another was a Brazilian from the Amazonas who also wanted a picture with me and my beautiful hair. Then there was the the trader on the beach who had trinkets to sell. He knelt down next to me and for the next five minutes we had a conversation in Spanish-Portuguese. He asked to touch my bella hair stating he hadn’t seen anything like it before. He was Columbian.
By this time, I had linked up with the Ghanaian friends of my friend…the ones who had accompanied me to the match in Natal. They were with their friends. Five tall/big black Ghanaian men. Everybody wanted to take a picture with us and none of us we even wearing Ghanaian jerseys. A German reporter came by and videotaped us, (well, the men really), asking our opinion on the upcoming Germany – Ghana match.
It was a good time.