This morning it was with a rather heavy heart that I packed my bags and left for the station. Rosario is such a cool, safe and interesting place, and to be honest I wasn't sure that I wanted to leave. What I didn't know, however, was that Rosario didn't want me to leave either. Upon arrival at the bus station, we were informed that the forest fires had spread again and, this time, closed both roads to Buenos. Furthermore the rain was hammering down, thunder and lightning (it was very very frightening) going off all over the place, and totally deserted city streets. It felt like I was inside a Stephen King novel. So we have returned to the safe haven of the hostel for another night hiding from the storms, fires and rabid dogs/murderers/ghosts etc.
As promised Friday and Saturday were very much news days, which is visibly evident by the bags under my eyes and the generally vacant look that I am modelling this morning.
Friday night was definitely some beer leariness, starting the a house party of a 'friend of a friend', already tanked on a bottle of vino tinto each, before moving on to the opening of a new club. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to embrace the Argentinian culture and 'interact' with the locals, however it was so loud that conversing in broken spanish/english was not likely to be very successful. A really great night of cuba libres and banter, which went on until well past 7am.
The next night, in spite of being shattered from Friday and having to leave at 10am this morning, "you just can't miss a Saturday night in Rosario". That seemed like a good enough argument for another night out. This time we went to a smaller, funkier club where the music wasn't so loud. A few cuba libre cocktails cured any fatigue, and brought about a new desire for 'local interation and cultural exchange'. In no time we were surrounded by quite a myriad of chicas bonitas keen to practice their English and tell us how much they loved our accents. This was an earlier night, strolling in just before 5am.
From the pittance of a sleep that i've had recently I'm not sure how I've actually managed to stay awake to write this, but I think holding off sleep for any longer is not a possibilty anymore. Hopefully tomorrow Rosario will allow us to leave as a birthday in Buenos Aires beckons.
Sunday, 27 April 2008
Friday, 25 April 2008
Buenos Aires Burns!!!
... feels like the kind of exciting title that a gripping and intense blog should have in it somewhere, and although it is not entirely untrue, it is also not entirely accurate either. In Argentina there appears to be a bit of an issue between the farmers and the Government. The farmers, not to be outdone by complaining brits or blockading french, have taken it upon themselves to start a raging forest fire somewhere equidistant between Buenos Aires and Rosario. Predictably it is now pretty much out of control, and has resulted in the loss of the main route between the two cities, at least three lives, a myriad of wildlife and one travel lodge. For the travelers, this has resulted in 15 hour journeys tripling in length and many having to stay wherever they are until the road reopens. This, depending on the direction of the wind, has left Buenos Aires and Rosario enveloped in smoke at times.
When returning from the sky dive a few days ago, there was a wall of black on the horizon, which the guy driving said was a result of the wind changing direction and that by nightfall Rosario would be covered by it. By nightfall it had arrived and it left us with sore eyes and an aroma of barbeque. This had gone by later the next day but returned last night at around 3am.
By now you will probably have realised that I'm filling in for the fact that it's a no news day. Not much has happened since my last post, life is still great: get up, someone makes a nice breakfast, maybe pass a wee special cigarette around and go for icecream, sleep, read book and some drinks in the evening. The hostel we're in is a bit of a trap as apart from being a bit rude and doing shitty breakfasts, the staff at the hostel also provide you with no information about anything to do or see. When you ask, they say they'll find out and get back to you before instantly forgetting the fact that you exist. For this reason people staying here tend to laze around all day without actually doing much, and its surprisingly addictive. Today however is going to be different! I'm not hungover for a change, have had around 9 hours sleep (which is a miracle in comparison to my average of about 4 hours sleep since beginning this trip), am not touching any of the aforementioned cigarettes and have a burning desire to "actually do something today". Today, my friends, is going to be a 'news day'!
When returning from the sky dive a few days ago, there was a wall of black on the horizon, which the guy driving said was a result of the wind changing direction and that by nightfall Rosario would be covered by it. By nightfall it had arrived and it left us with sore eyes and an aroma of barbeque. This had gone by later the next day but returned last night at around 3am.
By now you will probably have realised that I'm filling in for the fact that it's a no news day. Not much has happened since my last post, life is still great: get up, someone makes a nice breakfast, maybe pass a wee special cigarette around and go for icecream, sleep, read book and some drinks in the evening. The hostel we're in is a bit of a trap as apart from being a bit rude and doing shitty breakfasts, the staff at the hostel also provide you with no information about anything to do or see. When you ask, they say they'll find out and get back to you before instantly forgetting the fact that you exist. For this reason people staying here tend to laze around all day without actually doing much, and its surprisingly addictive. Today however is going to be different! I'm not hungover for a change, have had around 9 hours sleep (which is a miracle in comparison to my average of about 4 hours sleep since beginning this trip), am not touching any of the aforementioned cigarettes and have a burning desire to "actually do something today". Today, my friends, is going to be a 'news day'!
Wednesday, 23 April 2008
Coming Back Down To Earth
Upon arrival in Rosario I managed to secure a wonderful day of sunshine and solitude: a wonderful way to shake off the backpacker blues. I have bought a guitar in spite of the fact that I have no room to transport it but I managed to get a decent nylon strung for 42 pounds so it's hardly going to break the bank if I have to dump her at some point. I have named the guitar blackbird and a couple of artistic types have done some designs for her. As most people seem to get a tatoo on the trail I think that mine will be on my guitar.
Rosario is great and the hostel is cool, as previously mentioned, I had a day wondering around the cool shops, pretty cafes and had a visit to the birthplace of Che 'commie from another mommie' Guevara, but there wasn't really much to see. Upon returning to the hostel I met a few cool people who are here in Rosario thoroughly enjoying the chilled style of the place, and once again obtained a little crew of homies. On the first evening when thinking of what 'chilled' things we could do here, we finally decided to jump out of a plane the next day.
An early morning led to a long wait for an answer on whether we could get the skydiving dudes, and an answer finally came an hour before jump time... It was on! After some quick preparations we were bundled into a vehicle and taken to a tiny airfield. Being the man who organised the whole thing I was given first dibs on when I wanted to go there was only one option: liam goes first! So after a very small amount of preparation in pigeon English, I found myself tightly strapped to a dude in a tiny sesna at 3000 feet giving a thumbs up to a dude with a video camera. I had kind of expected my 'i can do anything bravado' to only last until takeoff, yet it was not until the door burst open that I realised what was about to happen. With my feet hanging over the side of the plane and the dude strapped to me fingering three; two; one, we fell from the plane. We spun headfirst, the sky becoming the ground, becoming the sky, becoming the ground... It was literally out of this world! For around 20 more seconds we dropped before the chute was released. The exhaltation of dropping to the earth was followed by what can only be described as a world of pain. The straps holding me safely against the man returning me safely dug in like a fat girl into tiramasu and it was hardly pleasant. This, however, did not take away from the experience of hanging in the air over miles of golden sun stroked fields, and, in spite of the pain, the landing came way too soon.
The rest of the afternoon was spent lazing drinking beer at the airfield while the other three guys did their jumps, and the evening being unsurprisingly filled by alcohol and exclamations of how manly we all were. An excellent day.
My initial plans were to skip across to Montevideo tonight, however there don't appear to be any buses that can be taken from here, so I returned and booked myself in for another four nights. The weekends are apparently great here so why not. I'm ahead of schedule, so I might as well hang here for a little while longer.
Rosario is great and the hostel is cool, as previously mentioned, I had a day wondering around the cool shops, pretty cafes and had a visit to the birthplace of Che 'commie from another mommie' Guevara, but there wasn't really much to see. Upon returning to the hostel I met a few cool people who are here in Rosario thoroughly enjoying the chilled style of the place, and once again obtained a little crew of homies. On the first evening when thinking of what 'chilled' things we could do here, we finally decided to jump out of a plane the next day.
An early morning led to a long wait for an answer on whether we could get the skydiving dudes, and an answer finally came an hour before jump time... It was on! After some quick preparations we were bundled into a vehicle and taken to a tiny airfield. Being the man who organised the whole thing I was given first dibs on when I wanted to go there was only one option: liam goes first! So after a very small amount of preparation in pigeon English, I found myself tightly strapped to a dude in a tiny sesna at 3000 feet giving a thumbs up to a dude with a video camera. I had kind of expected my 'i can do anything bravado' to only last until takeoff, yet it was not until the door burst open that I realised what was about to happen. With my feet hanging over the side of the plane and the dude strapped to me fingering three; two; one, we fell from the plane. We spun headfirst, the sky becoming the ground, becoming the sky, becoming the ground... It was literally out of this world! For around 20 more seconds we dropped before the chute was released. The exhaltation of dropping to the earth was followed by what can only be described as a world of pain. The straps holding me safely against the man returning me safely dug in like a fat girl into tiramasu and it was hardly pleasant. This, however, did not take away from the experience of hanging in the air over miles of golden sun stroked fields, and, in spite of the pain, the landing came way too soon.
The rest of the afternoon was spent lazing drinking beer at the airfield while the other three guys did their jumps, and the evening being unsurprisingly filled by alcohol and exclamations of how manly we all were. An excellent day.
My initial plans were to skip across to Montevideo tonight, however there don't appear to be any buses that can be taken from here, so I returned and booked myself in for another four nights. The weekends are apparently great here so why not. I'm ahead of schedule, so I might as well hang here for a little while longer.
Tuesday, 22 April 2008
Like a Rolling Stone
This is it. The plan is all beginning to fall together. I'm sat on a bus, alone, with no company other than my ipod, lonely planet, book and the view to keep me company. Don't know anyone on the bus, and don't know of anyone I know being in my destination city. This may sound a little strange to some but although I've been having a really great time so far, I feel like I have been pulled along by the general ebbing will of the Rio to Buenos Aires backpacker conveyor belt. Allow me to elaborate on this term. Backpacker conveyor belt is the term used for well travelled routes around the world, and it's likely that most of the people you meet are going one of two ways. When you arrive at a new hostel it's pretty much guaranteed that you'll have met a number of people staying there before and everyone coming the other way will virtually lay out where you go next. Everyone says things like "oh yeah, everyone goes to Ilhe Grande/Iguassu etc." and in many ways you find yourself in this backpacker bubble where everything is pretty much sorted for you. Although for new or nervous travellers this can provide a great source of comfort when travelling, it's something that I have been finding somewhat frustrating. My trip was intended to be independent, intuitive and challenging, where I get to interact with locals, learn to speak the language and find my own adventures.
For this very reason I have somewhat broken free from the said bubble, and taken off in a different direction to a city called Rosario. Rosario is said to be an interesting cultural city generally overlooked by the backpacking community. It also happens to be the birthplace of your favourite freedom fighter and mine: Che Guevara. The commie from another mommie, and perhaps synonomously, someone who's life really changed when travelling along an almost replicated route (by me, he got there first).
For this reason I'm sat on the bottom floor of a 15 hour night bus with a renewed sense of momentum and a rather uncontrollable grin on my face. Since all of the other bus travellers have opted for the top floor this leaves me the whole bottom floor to myself. Bliss. Well apart from the Bruce Lee film banging out in dubbed Spanish over the speakers. The bus attendant appears to have noted my elected solitude and keeps bringing me hot cups of Matte (a herbal drink that is very popular with the locals). Without documenting my whole bus journey, while waiting to cross the border to Uruguay (briefly passing through) one of the border guards/soldiers came and chatted to me about life in Bromsgrove (city on my passport) and my travels, while the other soldiers search the bus for drugs, wild animals, nemo and illegal immigrants. Hopefully a sign of general interest and friendliness to come.
Last night was another intense night of partying leading to another night of sleep deprivation. This wasn't improved by my waking at 6am in the dorm to the sounds of a reputedly loose English girl moaning, gasping and descriptively articulating the handiwork of a man I have now knicknamed Morris Magic Fingers. A curious yet rather common aspect of dorm life, that will probably require my recently lost earplugs to be replaced. For now, however, like the proverbial rolling stone, i'm just sitting back watching the world fly by under a myriad of orange and pink sunset soaked clouds. Everything else can be dealt with in due course.
For this very reason I have somewhat broken free from the said bubble, and taken off in a different direction to a city called Rosario. Rosario is said to be an interesting cultural city generally overlooked by the backpacking community. It also happens to be the birthplace of your favourite freedom fighter and mine: Che Guevara. The commie from another mommie, and perhaps synonomously, someone who's life really changed when travelling along an almost replicated route (by me, he got there first).
For this reason I'm sat on the bottom floor of a 15 hour night bus with a renewed sense of momentum and a rather uncontrollable grin on my face. Since all of the other bus travellers have opted for the top floor this leaves me the whole bottom floor to myself. Bliss. Well apart from the Bruce Lee film banging out in dubbed Spanish over the speakers. The bus attendant appears to have noted my elected solitude and keeps bringing me hot cups of Matte (a herbal drink that is very popular with the locals). Without documenting my whole bus journey, while waiting to cross the border to Uruguay (briefly passing through) one of the border guards/soldiers came and chatted to me about life in Bromsgrove (city on my passport) and my travels, while the other soldiers search the bus for drugs, wild animals, nemo and illegal immigrants. Hopefully a sign of general interest and friendliness to come.
Last night was another intense night of partying leading to another night of sleep deprivation. This wasn't improved by my waking at 6am in the dorm to the sounds of a reputedly loose English girl moaning, gasping and descriptively articulating the handiwork of a man I have now knicknamed Morris Magic Fingers. A curious yet rather common aspect of dorm life, that will probably require my recently lost earplugs to be replaced. For now, however, like the proverbial rolling stone, i'm just sitting back watching the world fly by under a myriad of orange and pink sunset soaked clouds. Everything else can be dealt with in due course.
Saturday, 19 April 2008
No, I don't want any fucking socks!
Ciudad del Este was exactly as expected: absolutely mental. A city where literally everything and everyone seems shady, and nothing conforms to any of the outside world's logic. Allow me to elaborate.
After leaving the safety of the hostel for some tasty Argentinian culinary treats, the reputed humdrum and cheap prices of Ciudad del Este beckoned. Our first experience of its madness occurred literally as we entered Paraguay, when the bus did not stop to let us enter the country legally. Instead, he just drove straight on through with a naughty schoolboy grin. After some major general flapping and jumping off the bus, we had to run back to the border control to get our entry stamp. In retrospect it wasn't really a big deal in a poor country like Paraguay, but in most countries the immigration bods don't usually see the funny side of you casually wandering back to the border for an entry stamp.
With that particular drama out of the way, the next mission was to actually get around without being robbed or constantly harassed by grubby locals with menacing eyes. From the offset it was clear that there was only one thing on their minds: socks! To begin it was actually quite amusing, wandering around in flipflops being followed around by a lady jabbering in spanish that her 'genuine' nike socks are this year's must have item. However after the 40th person unable to understand why you don't want their socks, it began to grate a little. In hindsight wrongly so, because these people are just trying to sell what they can to feed their families in a country in shock from many years of economic freefall, but you just can't stop yourself saying "leave me alone, I don't want any fucking socks" to the 41st local.
There were, however, some local wares that I did have my eye out for... A guitar. If you're one of those who's crossed paths with me over the last few weeks then you'll likely have seen me hanging around whichever wayward traveller has had a guitar. Although providing some musical comfort, I've decided that a guitar is something that I can't really do without on my travels. However, despite there being ample cut-price instruments to choose from there, I decided to wait a week until I reach Buenos Aires. This is no light decision.
I did however purchase myself a 'genuine' puma watch for £1.50 which has a light and everything! Everyone is loving the astounding time telling ability of the poo-mah in the hostel. Although to be honest I'm just happy I got back to the hostel. The returning bus which is meant to be every 20 minutes took 3 hours to arrive and also happened to be the last one back to Argentina. After 10 minutes of relentlessly begging the bus driver in broken spanish to wait while I got my exit stamp from Paraguay he caved in and stood good to his word. Cituidad del Este is really not the kind of place to be stranded in the dark on your own.
It was a relief to get back to the hostel and doubly so when I saw all you can eat steak on the menu. Three days on the trot! Get in!
Today the weather is rubbish so i'm chilling, working on my spanish and just watching the world go by. Tomorrow I think i'll leave for Uruguay as 5 days in Iguassu is probably enough.
After leaving the safety of the hostel for some tasty Argentinian culinary treats, the reputed humdrum and cheap prices of Ciudad del Este beckoned. Our first experience of its madness occurred literally as we entered Paraguay, when the bus did not stop to let us enter the country legally. Instead, he just drove straight on through with a naughty schoolboy grin. After some major general flapping and jumping off the bus, we had to run back to the border control to get our entry stamp. In retrospect it wasn't really a big deal in a poor country like Paraguay, but in most countries the immigration bods don't usually see the funny side of you casually wandering back to the border for an entry stamp.
With that particular drama out of the way, the next mission was to actually get around without being robbed or constantly harassed by grubby locals with menacing eyes. From the offset it was clear that there was only one thing on their minds: socks! To begin it was actually quite amusing, wandering around in flipflops being followed around by a lady jabbering in spanish that her 'genuine' nike socks are this year's must have item. However after the 40th person unable to understand why you don't want their socks, it began to grate a little. In hindsight wrongly so, because these people are just trying to sell what they can to feed their families in a country in shock from many years of economic freefall, but you just can't stop yourself saying "leave me alone, I don't want any fucking socks" to the 41st local.
There were, however, some local wares that I did have my eye out for... A guitar. If you're one of those who's crossed paths with me over the last few weeks then you'll likely have seen me hanging around whichever wayward traveller has had a guitar. Although providing some musical comfort, I've decided that a guitar is something that I can't really do without on my travels. However, despite there being ample cut-price instruments to choose from there, I decided to wait a week until I reach Buenos Aires. This is no light decision.
I did however purchase myself a 'genuine' puma watch for £1.50 which has a light and everything! Everyone is loving the astounding time telling ability of the poo-mah in the hostel. Although to be honest I'm just happy I got back to the hostel. The returning bus which is meant to be every 20 minutes took 3 hours to arrive and also happened to be the last one back to Argentina. After 10 minutes of relentlessly begging the bus driver in broken spanish to wait while I got my exit stamp from Paraguay he caved in and stood good to his word. Cituidad del Este is really not the kind of place to be stranded in the dark on your own.
It was a relief to get back to the hostel and doubly so when I saw all you can eat steak on the menu. Three days on the trot! Get in!
Today the weather is rubbish so i'm chilling, working on my spanish and just watching the world go by. Tomorrow I think i'll leave for Uruguay as 5 days in Iguassu is probably enough.
Friday, 18 April 2008
Goodbye Brazil; Hello Big Steaks
Along with kittens and warm woolen mittens, I'm not sure I'd put Brazil on my list of favourite things if I'm honest. Maybe because I've had a shitty cough since Rio and have never been a big fan of large cities, which were predominant in Brazil, but also because I have no comprehension of Portuguese beyond saying thank you. Ilhe Grande was magical and definitely has a place in my heart, but it felt a world away from the Brazil that I've travelled through.
For the above reasons, I went to town on convincing my temporarily attached fellow travellers to skip straight over to the Argentinian side of the falls. Barely over the border and my mind turned to what any red-blooded testosterone-filled males would turn to: Steak. Big, juicy, tender, grass-fed, loved, cuddled and cared-for-until-it-hit-your-plate Steak. It became more of a quest than a desire; forget the holy grail, it was one man in search for the biggest and tastiest steak in Argentina (meaning the world since Argie steaks are the best a man can get).
But first I had to conquer the most dramatic waterfall in the world: the Iguassu. Setting the border boundary between Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay, the Iguassu Falls consist of a shed load of rivers converging at the Garganta del Diablo (the meaning was lost many years ago, but some say it means a whales penis... or 'Devil's Throat' if you so wish). Once inside the national park we caught two cheeky little trains straight up to see the bad boy, and the bad boy we saw. It's difficult to put into words the indescribable awe in watching the main part of a river plummet into a white, roaring mist of nothing, and sadly my pictures will probably not show it in its full glory either, as within moments of whipping out my camera it was soaked by the ubiquitous spray that comes from the waterfall.
After being soaked, broken and humbled by the devil's very own throat, a silver tongued park guide took the golden opportunity of selling us every tour under the sun (or mist as it was), and we were soon being paddled through a preserved part of the park seeming with toucans, spiders and other weird and wonderful things. Next up on our array of "tours of a lifetime" was 'the shower', which consisted of a speedboat whisking you off under a waterfall to have a ton of river water dumped on you. Pretty banterous and definitely worth the few pounds that it cost.
Upon returning to the town where we were staying, we came upon a funky looking bar with possibly the most strange and lazy service mankind has ever seen. When asked where the biggest and best steak in town was, the proprietor, strangely enough, confessed in a cautiously low whisper that his steaks were possibly the biggest hidden treasure of Argentina. This was enough to get my blood flowing and my 9 companions and I placed ourself at the table. However when returning to the bar for the menu, was told by the proprietor that he was "a little busy" and handed me his order pad to take down the food and drinks required. My heart sank almost as low as the size of his tip, yet I still had to try this hidden treasure of Argentina at any cost. I duly took the order of 10 steaks and returned to the bar, where the proprietor proceeded to tell me that he only had 5 and that we'd have to go down to the second best steak house in Argentina which, funnily enough, happened to be just down the road. The steak was very tasty and we all left happy in the end.
Today I'm taking a day off my busy and troublesome existence as this shitty cough won't go away and some time reading, chilling and watching the rain pitter-patter on the pool may help it dissipate. Tomorrow I'm back on my own again for at least a short period of time, so I'm going to go to the bustling humdrum of Ciudad del Este - a reputedly mental but cheap bazaar town where you can buy anything and everything dirt cheap. From there I'm looking to try and get myself off the conveyor belt between Rio and Buenos Aires and visit some old Jesuit Mission ruins in southern Paraguay. Exciting times ahead!
For the above reasons, I went to town on convincing my temporarily attached fellow travellers to skip straight over to the Argentinian side of the falls. Barely over the border and my mind turned to what any red-blooded testosterone-filled males would turn to: Steak. Big, juicy, tender, grass-fed, loved, cuddled and cared-for-until-it-hit-your-plate Steak. It became more of a quest than a desire; forget the holy grail, it was one man in search for the biggest and tastiest steak in Argentina (meaning the world since Argie steaks are the best a man can get).
But first I had to conquer the most dramatic waterfall in the world: the Iguassu. Setting the border boundary between Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay, the Iguassu Falls consist of a shed load of rivers converging at the Garganta del Diablo (the meaning was lost many years ago, but some say it means a whales penis... or 'Devil's Throat' if you so wish). Once inside the national park we caught two cheeky little trains straight up to see the bad boy, and the bad boy we saw. It's difficult to put into words the indescribable awe in watching the main part of a river plummet into a white, roaring mist of nothing, and sadly my pictures will probably not show it in its full glory either, as within moments of whipping out my camera it was soaked by the ubiquitous spray that comes from the waterfall.
After being soaked, broken and humbled by the devil's very own throat, a silver tongued park guide took the golden opportunity of selling us every tour under the sun (or mist as it was), and we were soon being paddled through a preserved part of the park seeming with toucans, spiders and other weird and wonderful things. Next up on our array of "tours of a lifetime" was 'the shower', which consisted of a speedboat whisking you off under a waterfall to have a ton of river water dumped on you. Pretty banterous and definitely worth the few pounds that it cost.
Upon returning to the town where we were staying, we came upon a funky looking bar with possibly the most strange and lazy service mankind has ever seen. When asked where the biggest and best steak in town was, the proprietor, strangely enough, confessed in a cautiously low whisper that his steaks were possibly the biggest hidden treasure of Argentina. This was enough to get my blood flowing and my 9 companions and I placed ourself at the table. However when returning to the bar for the menu, was told by the proprietor that he was "a little busy" and handed me his order pad to take down the food and drinks required. My heart sank almost as low as the size of his tip, yet I still had to try this hidden treasure of Argentina at any cost. I duly took the order of 10 steaks and returned to the bar, where the proprietor proceeded to tell me that he only had 5 and that we'd have to go down to the second best steak house in Argentina which, funnily enough, happened to be just down the road. The steak was very tasty and we all left happy in the end.
Today I'm taking a day off my busy and troublesome existence as this shitty cough won't go away and some time reading, chilling and watching the rain pitter-patter on the pool may help it dissipate. Tomorrow I'm back on my own again for at least a short period of time, so I'm going to go to the bustling humdrum of Ciudad del Este - a reputedly mental but cheap bazaar town where you can buy anything and everything dirt cheap. From there I'm looking to try and get myself off the conveyor belt between Rio and Buenos Aires and visit some old Jesuit Mission ruins in southern Paraguay. Exciting times ahead!
Wednesday, 16 April 2008
Boats and Buses
One of the most prominent aspects of this journey is travel, and with around 14,000 miles to cover my time on trains, buses and boats will be plentiful. As I write this post I'm 14 hours through a 16 hour bus journey, but we'll return to that shortly.
The morning came to leave Ilhe Grande and in the hot sun the return ferry took place over the speedboat. This took much longer, but with a guitar to play and the morning sunshine a fitting way to leave such a wonderful place. We (myself and five norwegian girls) soon transferred our shit onto the bus and settled into an uneventful 7.5 hour bus journey.
We arrived in Sao Paulo (referred to as 'Sampa' by the locals) late that evening and transferred to a hostel in a supposedly nice area of the city. The hostel was very nice, however the surrounding area was riddled with beggars, prostitutes and other nocturnal creatures and a short walk for some food was more than enough exploration. After a day of washing, internet and necessary provision acquisition we would be leaving on the nightbus to Foz de Iguassu (the Iguassu Falls) in the far south of Brazil on the border with Argentina.
The morning came to leave Ilhe Grande and in the hot sun the return ferry took place over the speedboat. This took much longer, but with a guitar to play and the morning sunshine a fitting way to leave such a wonderful place. We (myself and five norwegian girls) soon transferred our shit onto the bus and settled into an uneventful 7.5 hour bus journey.
We arrived in Sao Paulo (referred to as 'Sampa' by the locals) late that evening and transferred to a hostel in a supposedly nice area of the city. The hostel was very nice, however the surrounding area was riddled with beggars, prostitutes and other nocturnal creatures and a short walk for some food was more than enough exploration. After a day of washing, internet and necessary provision acquisition we would be leaving on the nightbus to Foz de Iguassu (the Iguassu Falls) in the far south of Brazil on the border with Argentina.
Paradise Lost; Paradise Found
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. A miracle has occurred: An occasion has occurred that rendered me speechless. Not just the kind of speechless that happens at feeding time, but one where something strikes you enough to actually clear your mind of everything. This occurred when I was presented with Paradise.
After fleeing the Dengue Fever ridden Rio, complete with wet washing after the laundrette gave us our first experience of 'manana', we (a guy called Adam and myself) were driven through some of beautiful Brazil that had been relatively absent in Rio. That is not to say that Rio wasn't interesting, intriguing and an engaging experience, but a city nonetheless. I felt like I needed an opportunity to unwind and contemplate the journey ahead. Plus big cities usually mean big expenditure, especially in Brazil.
In wht seemed like virtually no time at all we arrived in a bedraggled yet charming port town, where two men and a beast of a speedboat were waiting. After loading ourselves, our bags and our wet washing we were on the open water rocketting towards Ilhe Grande. While Adam was content with kicking back soaking up the sun and scenery, I was itching to get the locals to let me steer the beast (not a metaphor for anything else). Luckily another passenger had similar thoughts and we were soon taking the wheel by turns. A brilliant experience!
In the excitement of it all I almost managed to not notice the aforementioned haven that we were rapidly approaching: Paradise. After checking in to our lovely rooms, right on the water, the dizzying pace of things dramatically changed. That evening involved eating local calamari, some unclad night swimming (the plankton lit up in the moonlight like green stars) and a guitar called 'prudence' being passed around for midnight music. The next day I took a little time on my own to dry my wet, smelly clothes in the sun and kick a drift-lemon down the whole beach: a perfect day for unwinding.
After finally getting more than two hours that night, and an amass of steak, I awoke the next morning to set off on a trip to the blue lagoon. The constantly stoned captain of the boat slowly steered us towards beautiful beaches where we dove into the crystal blue water and dried on the beach. Before long we were 'jammin' our way to the Blue Lagoon as clear as a bottle of mineral water with more fishies than Captain Birdseye's frozen food factory. Equipped with my snorkel and mask I found nemo, or eight million of him, and touched a starfish. Overall a perfect day in perfect surroundings. The next day I would be leaving that magical place and travelling to Sao Paulo.
After fleeing the Dengue Fever ridden Rio, complete with wet washing after the laundrette gave us our first experience of 'manana', we (a guy called Adam and myself) were driven through some of beautiful Brazil that had been relatively absent in Rio. That is not to say that Rio wasn't interesting, intriguing and an engaging experience, but a city nonetheless. I felt like I needed an opportunity to unwind and contemplate the journey ahead. Plus big cities usually mean big expenditure, especially in Brazil.
In wht seemed like virtually no time at all we arrived in a bedraggled yet charming port town, where two men and a beast of a speedboat were waiting. After loading ourselves, our bags and our wet washing we were on the open water rocketting towards Ilhe Grande. While Adam was content with kicking back soaking up the sun and scenery, I was itching to get the locals to let me steer the beast (not a metaphor for anything else). Luckily another passenger had similar thoughts and we were soon taking the wheel by turns. A brilliant experience!
In the excitement of it all I almost managed to not notice the aforementioned haven that we were rapidly approaching: Paradise. After checking in to our lovely rooms, right on the water, the dizzying pace of things dramatically changed. That evening involved eating local calamari, some unclad night swimming (the plankton lit up in the moonlight like green stars) and a guitar called 'prudence' being passed around for midnight music. The next day I took a little time on my own to dry my wet, smelly clothes in the sun and kick a drift-lemon down the whole beach: a perfect day for unwinding.
After finally getting more than two hours that night, and an amass of steak, I awoke the next morning to set off on a trip to the blue lagoon. The constantly stoned captain of the boat slowly steered us towards beautiful beaches where we dove into the crystal blue water and dried on the beach. Before long we were 'jammin' our way to the Blue Lagoon as clear as a bottle of mineral water with more fishies than Captain Birdseye's frozen food factory. Equipped with my snorkel and mask I found nemo, or eight million of him, and touched a starfish. Overall a perfect day in perfect surroundings. The next day I would be leaving that magical place and travelling to Sao Paulo.
Monday, 14 April 2008
Finally Some Pictures...
Hurrah... an internet connection that allows me to pop on some photos.
looking out over Rio...
... as was Jesus ...
Driving a PIMPING FAST (!) speedboat to Ilhe Grande
Paradise
Swimming at a secluded beach
The view from my room in Ilhe Grande...!
The view from my window in Sao Paolo... desperate poverty everywhere...
Right, just a quickie for now as I wanted to get some pics up. Currently in Sao Paolo but it's horrible; prostitutes, beggars and poverty everywhere! Catching the night bus to Iguazu Falls later so will finish writing the MASSIVE blog to cover the last five days, and post it up in the next internet cafe I come across.
Tuesday, 8 April 2008
Life is such a Beach!!!
Man life is so shit at the moment! I just can't put into words how rubbish this trip has been so far...
Take today for instance; I awoke to beautiful sunshine pouring through the window of the hostel from over the large rock of which Copacabana is nested below. My head was sore and eyes so bleary from the amazing previous night of drinking games, banter and singing/gee-tar with around 16 other like minded travelers. After going and hitting the coffee machine like Mr-T on a bad guy I donned my straw hat and sunnies for some well overdue Liam time on the Copacabana Beach... Yes, of course there were beers; yes of course I had to lick ice-cream while watching Brazilian thong-clad ladies. It was tough work.
Then I ended up being dragged into a very important meeting in the Jacuzzi with three Scandinavian girls before popping up for a quick snooze in time for the forthcoming all-you-can eat barbecue. I think it's probably Tuesday... (well actually i just had to ask the guy on the computer behind me). As I said, life is so horrible at the moment...
Off to some paradise surf spot due south tomorrow so may not be able to post the blogs for a few days...
Take today for instance; I awoke to beautiful sunshine pouring through the window of the hostel from over the large rock of which Copacabana is nested below. My head was sore and eyes so bleary from the amazing previous night of drinking games, banter and singing/gee-tar with around 16 other like minded travelers. After going and hitting the coffee machine like Mr-T on a bad guy I donned my straw hat and sunnies for some well overdue Liam time on the Copacabana Beach... Yes, of course there were beers; yes of course I had to lick ice-cream while watching Brazilian thong-clad ladies. It was tough work.
Then I ended up being dragged into a very important meeting in the Jacuzzi with three Scandinavian girls before popping up for a quick snooze in time for the forthcoming all-you-can eat barbecue. I think it's probably Tuesday... (well actually i just had to ask the guy on the computer behind me). As I said, life is so horrible at the moment...
Off to some paradise surf spot due south tomorrow so may not be able to post the blogs for a few days...
Monday, 7 April 2008
Sick of the Rain... Sick in the Rain.
The somewhat impenetrable party sprit that came over on the plane has taken a little bit of a knocking over the last few days. After the first mental night and a hazy hungover day in the hostel, I took it easy and only stayed in the bar drinking until 1.30 am, which is the equivalent to saying that you`re going home at 9pm in the UK.
the next day we went to see Flamengo vs Vasco play at this amazing stadium, which despite being a game where the two teams had nothing but rivalry to play for (due to their group status), was still loud, intense and volatile.
Upon returning to the hotel I discovered that I had an amazing new party trick - the ability to vomit profusely in the toilet and not hold anything down - sadly resulting in another early night and a rather poorly traveller this morning. Plus this cough I seem to have had FOREVER does not want to leave me to do my journey alone.
The weather is still terrible and I fear that I may not get to see Rio as it should be seen, bathed in glorious sunshine, but if worst comes to worst I will just have to take it on the chin and take my snaps of sugarloaf mountain, christ the redeemer and ipanema in the pissing rain. A few more days here to chance it, and then on to an island paradise.
But thus is life and as I have learnt before, and will surely learn many more times, rain, illness and the odd missed opportunity are all part of the travelling experience.
the next day we went to see Flamengo vs Vasco play at this amazing stadium, which despite being a game where the two teams had nothing but rivalry to play for (due to their group status), was still loud, intense and volatile.
Upon returning to the hotel I discovered that I had an amazing new party trick - the ability to vomit profusely in the toilet and not hold anything down - sadly resulting in another early night and a rather poorly traveller this morning. Plus this cough I seem to have had FOREVER does not want to leave me to do my journey alone.
The weather is still terrible and I fear that I may not get to see Rio as it should be seen, bathed in glorious sunshine, but if worst comes to worst I will just have to take it on the chin and take my snaps of sugarloaf mountain, christ the redeemer and ipanema in the pissing rain. A few more days here to chance it, and then on to an island paradise.
But thus is life and as I have learnt before, and will surely learn many more times, rain, illness and the odd missed opportunity are all part of the travelling experience.
Saturday, 5 April 2008
It Begins: Rio In the Rain
So here we are and here I am. The journey which has been so long in the planning has finally moved from the theory box to actually doing it. The flight was a typical long haul flight: long, tiresome and despite getting regularly chastised by Maria Ortega - a feisty old air hostess who clearly wanted to ruin our trans-Atlantic plane party/pillow fight.
Rio, upon arrival, was hot, muggy and already dark and after being whisked to the Hostel by a man with a board, looking for Lianne Cahill. After checking in to the Mellow Yellow, a hostel that is touted as being a hedonistic backpacker haven, and certainly lived up to its name. From the offset.
My bags were barely in my locker, and my tired weary body was barely functioning, but this was no excuse whatsoever for not being in the bar hitting the cocktails. After slotting into a rather large group of travelers and taking on some drink which is apparently banned in quite a few countries I was temporarily rejuvenated and raring for a party. We were taken in a minibus to the Llappa Street Party, drinking various exciting rum-based beverages and eating indiscriminate meat from street vendors. It was absolutely chucking it down all night, which is nothing more than a slight inconvenience to the multitudes of Street Dancing Brazilians. By 4am I was done, and so was the evening,
Unsurprisingly I am now feeling pretty rubbish after 3 hours sleep, after about 24 hours of being awake... which is probably no excuse whatsoever for not being in the bar right now hitting the caipirinhas. I´m not too sure whether I have another night in me tonight, however we´ll see how this particular leaning manifests when I go up to the bar after finishing this
Mellow Yellow seems a pretty excellent place to party with some cool like-minded souls, who can top me up with enough knowledge to work out whether to go north or south next, so I´m thinking of hanging around for a few extra days.
Rio, upon arrival, was hot, muggy and already dark and after being whisked to the Hostel by a man with a board, looking for Lianne Cahill. After checking in to the Mellow Yellow, a hostel that is touted as being a hedonistic backpacker haven, and certainly lived up to its name. From the offset.
My bags were barely in my locker, and my tired weary body was barely functioning, but this was no excuse whatsoever for not being in the bar hitting the cocktails. After slotting into a rather large group of travelers and taking on some drink which is apparently banned in quite a few countries I was temporarily rejuvenated and raring for a party. We were taken in a minibus to the Llappa Street Party, drinking various exciting rum-based beverages and eating indiscriminate meat from street vendors. It was absolutely chucking it down all night, which is nothing more than a slight inconvenience to the multitudes of Street Dancing Brazilians. By 4am I was done, and so was the evening,
Unsurprisingly I am now feeling pretty rubbish after 3 hours sleep, after about 24 hours of being awake... which is probably no excuse whatsoever for not being in the bar right now hitting the caipirinhas. I´m not too sure whether I have another night in me tonight, however we´ll see how this particular leaning manifests when I go up to the bar after finishing this
Mellow Yellow seems a pretty excellent place to party with some cool like-minded souls, who can top me up with enough knowledge to work out whether to go north or south next, so I´m thinking of hanging around for a few extra days.
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