All words and images by Jonas Zöller
“The thick concrete walls let you know how monumental this stadium is with every step, and the golden light breaking through the roof seems to shine forever here.”
Brazil: A Journey Fueled by Football
With a head full of football and my backpack stuffed with even more of it, I board the bus toward Brazil. After two weeks of breathtaking nature in Iguazú and Florianópolis, the next stadium visit is finally within reach: São Paulo is calling.
As we cross into the city and the bus heads toward Terminal Tietê, I realise for the first time just how enormous this place really is. The bus crawls through traffic, meter by meter, as skyscrapers rise in endless rows. In my head, I’m already running through the plan for the next day. Just like in Chile and Argentina, it was impossible to get tickets in advance without a Brazilian tax ID. The black market isn’t an option, and entry works only with the dreaded FaceID system I already know from the Monumental.
The Ticket Saga at Corinthian
When I step into São Paulo’s humid heat the next morning, my goal is the Corinthians office. The modern complex surprises me with its museum, shop, and training pitches.
I’m less thrilled about the queue already stretching out from the ticket office, but I join with good spirits, already thinking about how to get to the stadium later.
Those good spirits take a hit when the line doesn’t move after half an hour. Then an hour. Then an hour and a half.
When I’m finally next in line—about three hours before kickoff—I’m already on edge. My situation is easy to explain, but the next two hours leave me soaked in sweat. I speak into my translator, have my photo taken, wait, call a Brazilian friend back and forth, register on platforms, and wait even more.
One hour before kickoff, we give up. The woman at the counter has truly tried everything to get me a ticket, but time has run out.
No football in São Paulo.
It’s the first moment on this journey when I truly feel devastated. I can’t catch a positive thought for a couple of minutes. When I step out of the building, the sky is grey and thin lines of rain fall onto the streets of São Paulo.
A New Chapter in Rio
I arrive in Rio with anger still bubbling, but it dissolves almost instantly on the first Uber ride to our accommodation. Green Day’s Boulevard of Broken Dreams blasts through the speakers as I press my face to the window, watching shirt sellers on the sidewalks and countless football pitches flash by.
The feeling continues the next day. I have never seen so many people wearing football shirts in any city before—black-red Flamengo kits, green-white-red Fluminense tops, and of course the iconic yellow Brazil shirts everywhere.
By the time we reach Copacabana, where everyone seems to have a football at their feet, I can feel it: joga bonito is in the air.
Stepping Into Maracanã
The frustration from São Paulo fades when we step off at Maracanã station. The legendary colossus that holds so much football history looks unassuming from the outside, but the atmosphere is unmistakable as we blend into the Fluminense supporters in the nearby bars.
People are everywhere—drinking beer, laughing, debating. Some Flu fans warn us that the mood is low after their league defeat and Libertadores exit, and the warning proves true as we step into the stadium. Only about a third of the seats are filled, and the energy feels muted.
And yet Maracanã feels special. The thick concrete walls let you know how monumental this stadium is with every step, and the golden light breaking through the roof seems to shine forever here.
Football, Beer, and Lapa Nights
When I learn that Brazilian stadiums serve alcoholic beer, the attendance figures instantly stopped mattering. Finally—football and beer. I’ll admit that I lost track of the match shortly after.
My Maracanã visit ends, fittingly, in the infamous bar district of Lapa.
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