That night Lisianne and I had some interesting conversations with the nightly guests of the hostel. There was the Chinese cleaner who was working at one at night (poor guy), the blonde dude that made strange kung fu clapping moves in order to get the lift to open and walked a dozen circles around the table (strange guy). After that we had conversations on the judicial system with a big Brit full of tattoos, who also confessed he smoked weed with speed and the Belgium guy that worked behind the desk that admitted he wasn’t able to travel as he was unable to save money.
When the clock showed three in the morning, we went to put on our five layers of clothes (some of them orange) and walked to Darling Harbour. Even though we arrived an hour in advance, the entire harbour was packed, and we were forced to stand.
After watching some weird fan contest, which two Koreans in Borat swimsuits won, the football pitch finally showed on the screen. I have never been more stressed during a football game in my life. My heart was racing every time one of the teams even neared the goal. In the mean time we saw it become light in the harbour and flocks of birds flew over, not aware of the hundreds of adrenaline filled supporters beneath them. We were so sad when Spain scored in the last minutes of the extra time. My football knowledge is not that extensive, but I think both teams could have won. I do know that Nigel de Jong should maybe consider a career in karate instead of football. While the city around us woke up, we walked home disappointed. I found my pillow at eight in the morning.
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