The South American Diaries: Part 13. Under Brazil’s Final Floodlights

All words and images by Jonas Zöller

“Catching the last glimpses of the fading floodlights in the distance.“

It began, as so many journeys do, with football — but quickly became something else entirely.

Across South America, the game became Jonas’s entry point: a reason to wander, to ask questions, to follow floodlights into unfamiliar neighbourhoods and cities. Stadiums turned into landmarks, fixtures into excuses, and matchdays into moments of connection. What unfolded, slowly and unexpectedly, was not just a record of football grounds visited, but a diary of places, people, and passing feelings.

From vast concrete bowls to hillside stadiums carved into neighbourhoods, each stop revealed its own identity — from Chile to Argentina, and finally Brazil, where the journey draws to a close. There were nights when the noise felt endless, afternoons when the sun baked the stands into stillness, and countless conversations shared with strangers who needed no common language beyond the game. Football, in all its contradictions, opened doors — to generosity, to history, to joy, and sometimes to discomfort.

The journey was never just about romance. It carried the weight of South America’s past and present: colonial legacies etched into city centres, inequality visible long before kick-off, and the uneasy presence of modern football creeping into places that once felt untouchable. Somewhere between beauty and brutality, the game reflected the continent itself — emotional, communal, chaotic, and deeply human.

And then, almost without warning, it was coming to an end.

The final chapter unfolds in Salvador, on the last night before returning home. A day of hesitation and doubt, of resisting the pull of football altogether — before giving in one final time. One last stadium. One last set of floodlights. One last reminder of why the journey mattered in the first place.

This is not a conclusion, but a quiet landing. A moment of reflection beneath fading lights, where the journey’s many threads — football, trust, unease, connection, and belonging- briefly come together. The South American Diaries end not with a grand statement, but with a familiar feeling: standing in a stadium far from home, feeling exactly where you’re meant to be

A Final Day in Salvador

Wednesday. It’s our last day in Salvador before we head back to cold Germany.

The day before, we experienced the brutal beauty of Brazil’s north one final time on Ilha de Itaparica. The island, with its white beaches and blue water, felt almost like a postcard version of everything we’d seen over the past weeks.

Maybe that trip left me a little too relaxed. Maybe it’s the many colourful colonial buildings and former mansions in Salvador that keep reminding me of the role white Europeans once played here, and how strongly that past still shapes the city today. But somehow, today, I don’t really feel like football. The match I had in mind is a bit outside the city, and once again, buying a ticket in advance isn’t possible.

Doubts, Decisions, and Modern Football

I argue with myself, weigh the pros and cons, and probably take out my phone twenty times to Google the stadium and the club. The decision finally falls in one of the souvenir shops, when I spot yet another Manchester City logo hidden among the EC Bahia merchandise. A quick search confirms what I already fear: the club is 99% owned by the City Group.

Thankfully, during my visit to Arena Fonte Nova, I didn’t notice any signs of the takeover yet — but I immediately felt connected to their city rivals, Vitória. My dislike for modern football and its multi-club ownership runs too deep.

So I decided to visit Barradão. One last match on this journey under Brazil’s floodlights. The thought is too tempting.

On the Way to Barradão

On the drive there, I feel uneasy at first. The stadium seems to sit right in the middle of a favela. At the same time, I’m annoyed at myself for this inner unrest. If South America has taught me anything over these weeks of football, it’s friendliness and helpfulness from complete strangers. I have no reason to feel unsafe, and I owe the people here my trust.

A little later, that trust is confirmed again at the ticket counter. As before, the process for foreigners seems absurdly complicated, but the guys and girls working there take care of me with almost touching dedication. Soon after, I’m holding my (digital) ticket.

When the Stadium Reveals Itself

I take one last lap around the stadium, shoot a few photos of the street vendors, and pass through the turnstiles just as the sun begins to set. What I see when I step inside hits me within a fraction of a second — that same rush of happiness I’ve felt so many times in South American stadiums.

The pitch lies a hundred metres below me in a deep basin. Three stands are flanked by picture-book floodlights and look as if they’ve been carved directly into the surrounding hills. The stadium is still empty, so I wander around.

When I stop to take a few photos, someone approaches me quickly. Within minutes, I’m nerding out with a Vitória fan about football. I’ve had this thought a few times on this trip, but here it hits particularly hard: being 12,000 kilometres from home and sharing a passion with someone I’d never met before.

Unease in the Stands

The stadium fills slowly, but even after kick-off, the stream of people moving down the steep stairways doesn’t seem to stop. It must be the 20th or 30th minute before the stands finally reach full capacity. Even then, the place feels like it refuses to settle.

There’s constant movement between the stands and the endless food stalls, and I start to realise that the sporting situation plays a role too. Vitória are sitting in the relegation zone and playing poorly, despite desperately needing a win. The crowd grumbles and murmurs, waving arms and shaking heads with every misplaced pass.

Ecstasy Under the Floodlights

The unease carries deep into the second half, until the redeeming 1–0 finally arrives. The sky above the torcida seems to explode as hundreds of flying beer cups catch the floodlights, and suddenly the tense atmosphere bursts into pure ecstasy.

I catch myself sharing the crowd’s collective relief as the referee blows the final whistle, and I make my way out.

The Long Way Back

Caught in the thick traffic around the stadium, I retreat into my own thoughts. The visit to Vitória hits me with the full force of South American football romanticism. My mind jumps between memories from the past months, and a warm sense of contentment rises as I step into the final stadium Uber of my journey — catching the last glimpses of the fading floodlights in the distance.