Sandboarding, pisco tasting and a wine tour

Huacachina: Image courtesy of wikipedia 

We took a bumpy and not so comfortable overnight bus ride to Ica from Cusco, and after an argument with the driver about our bags, grabbed a little taxi to the tiny desert oasis town of Huacachina. The town is based around a blue and occasionally smelly lagoon in the middle of the desert, flanked by high dunes and sand mountains.

We stayed at a cute little place with a pool, hammocks and pretty lax security, made up for by its bar and delicious guacamole (the guac is becoming a firm favourite on this trip). Despite being knackered we decided to dive into Huacachina life headfirst, and booked ourselves on a sand boarding trip, and a wine and pisco tour the next day too.

Now sand boarding is a sport I could get used to, mostly as you have the option of taking your sand board for a  ride down a seemingly huge sand dune on your tummy, bum or even, if you really want, standing up, surfer style. I tried all three, and loved it so much we did it again the next day, this time on our own, without the jeeps to take us far out. For 5soles (just over a pound) we grabbed a board and a chunk of board wax (in actual fact, a candle broken into chunks...no lies), and practised our sand boarding style for a few hours while the sun went down over the dunes.

The second day we moved to a nearby hotel as the hostel was full (we had only booked one night). It might have been several times the cost of our hostel but it felt like paradise. Towels, more than one pillow, a mattress where you cant feel the slats underneath...not to mention a powerful, hot shower, and the mecca of hotel accessories, a TV with cable TV. So happy.

We set off for a pisco and wine tour with a Aussie- Swiss girl named Steffi, who was great fun. We learnt about the traditional way of making pisco, the local grape brandy, the methods and timings involved, and the yearly grape stomping festival. Naturally, we also sampled a few pisco liqueurs. The wine tour was all together more modern and industrial, but still interesting. Peruvian wine, like its Bolivian counterpart, is much sweeter than you expect.

Our last adventure in the Pisco making region was to the Islas Ballestas, which is also known as the poor man`s Galapagos. We had a short boat trip around the Islas, which I`m not sure was worth it. We saw black footed boobies (that`s a bird, by the way), sea lions, penguins, commodores and lots of other birds. The penguins were tiny and super cute, but the most interesting sight of all was a huge trident or candelabra that has been carved into the rocks, visible to see from far away at sea. Theories abound, but who created it and its meaning are still unknown.

On the way back the boat ran out of fuel (not like that's something you might wan to check before you set sail into the ocean), so we spent a while bobbing about waiting to be rescued.

Next, we're off to Mancora, a beach town near the Ecuadorian border for some rest and relaxation. Here comes the sun!

Trek to Machu Pichcu

It's been almost a week since we trekked to Machu Picchu but we're still riding on a high from the experience.

While we had some initial issues with the company we went with (I probably wouldn't recommend mountain biking with Reserv Cusco to friends) the trekking and our guide were really excellent.

Jules and myself, plus the two couples we've been with since Copacabana (we seem to attract lovely couples, so no complaints there), began with a day mountain biking, mostly downhill, and then followed this by three days trekking to reach the site of the Inca Ruins at Machu Picchu, as above. I look tired, I know. 4am starts do that to me.

Our first day trekking was by far the most challenging. We've done quite a lot of active stuff on the trip, but vertically climbing what seems like the world's most steep mountain was definitely up there in the strenuous stakes. Throw in some foothold paths half way down a sheer cliff face and some ridiculously jaw-dropping views and you've got yourself a pretty stupendous, if exhausting, way to spend the day.

We stopped intermittently for offerings to the Pachamama (Mother Earth, and a very important ritual for Quechans) and at various huts along the way for water and respite. Lots of them have monkeys tied up for the tourists, and at one we had traditional local designs painted on our faces.

Lunchtime came and we fell on it like gannets, devouring some of the most delicious and most welcome food I think we've had this trip. Freshly made, perfectly ripe guacamole with just the right amount of garlic and red onion, hearty soups and a delicious chicken curry, all washed down by lip-smackingly good homemade lemonade. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

Having demolished lunch with such vigour, we were given a welcome break for an hour, collapsing into hammocks for a little siesta snooze. 

The afternoon included some hairy moments, the best of which has to be a canyon crossing from two peaks. To cross the daunting abyss three people must sit in what looks like a metal milk crate. The crate hangs from a pulley system, and you are pushed then manually pulled across the valley, with nothing between you and a certain death fall but a small iron bar. Health and Safety would have a field day.

The temperatures began to drop and the end of day 2 included a welcome sight - three hot spring baths at the end of our route. These outdoor pools vary in temperature, and were paradise to sore muscles. The best one is that wonderful perfect bath temperature, where you sink in and don't intend to leave until your fingers are all wrinkly. Paradise.

That evening we wolfed down another yummy meal and headed out for Happy Hour drinks and a quick jaunt to the local 'Incateca', purely based on how much we liked the name. Easily pleased!

The next day's walking was a little more tedious, following railroad tracks and tailed by a matted dog who decided to befriend us along the way. Machu Picchu was now in sight, and as it towered above us I think we were all a little daunted by the prospect of climbing such a huge summit. A relaxed dinner in Aguas Calientes and a quick shop at the market for provisions for our final day, we climbed the four storeys (four sets of stairs...my legs were not happy) to our hotel beds and promptly fell asleep.

 Our last day began with the aforementioned 4am start and a quick breakfast before walking in the pitch dark to the entry gates for what, for most of us, would be our final challenge. The walk up to the ruins at Machu Picchu consists of a very steep hike up big stone steps set into the mountain. Much of it you do in darkness, which I think helped, as all you could focus on was putting one foot in front of the other and not falling.

Getting to the Inca city ruins was an exhilarating feeling, and such an adrenaline rush. You feel really smug to have climbed up as the buses of tourists begin to arrive (yes, there's a bus option. It takes 20 minutes of comfort. But it doesn't deliver quite the same feeling of pride.) We had a 2.5 hour tour of the ruins, which are a fair size (see above) and really quite ingenious in their layout, accounting for sun, agricultural benefit and positioning. 

A quick picnic lunch and Steve, Nicole and I decided to climb one of the two summits that overlook the ruins (team extreme, pictured below. My money belt is round my back and makes me look a little misshapen...promise I haven't ballooned in the past few months).

 

I'm not quite sure what we were thinking, as the sun was pretty intense and the walk up to the top of Machu Picchu summit is much, much higher than the more popular Wayna Picchu. However, once we got going it was a case of 'well we've come so far now...' and we soldiered on. I'm so glad we did!

Jules had kindly lent me her iphone so the melodious voices of Prince and Billy Joel got me to the top (you can take the girl out of Fingers Piano Bar...), and I managed to snap some photos as well.

The views made the effort so worthwhile, and we were three of just 15 or so people who climbed both to the ruins and the summit, so we felt a real sense of achievement. 

I'm not sure I'll be ready for another hike for at least a few weeks but this really has been a massive highlight of our trip, and definitely something none of us will forget in a hurry!

The tale of Julia, the hospital and the pensioner

 

Once upon a time a little backpacker named Julia ate some dodgy things. She travelled boldly across Bolivia, and despite her companion´s insistence that fresh fruit juices, salads and tap water for tooth brushing would be fine, she very sensibly avoided such things and ensured she had her handy medical pack close by at all times.

Such was Julia´s prowess in the medical kit stakes, she was known across hostels far and wide for her supplies, distributing dioralite, Imodium and the likes with a generosity not incomparable to Santa Claus himself. Indeed, the aforementioned ´team poo and puke´ of the salt flats would have been lost without her.

But I digress. Our story begins a fortnight before, a doomed 14 days, where disaster repeatedly struck. Food became the enemy of Julia, and while her traveling companion happily devoured packets of wafers, poor Jules could barely keep a Pringle down. By day 14, having shared a delicious home cooked meal of ratatouille but still feeling awful, Julia admitted defeat. Maybe she should see a doctor.

The doctor arrived at the hostel, not on a white horse but in a small ambulance van, and proceeded to cart Julia and her companion off to ´the clinic´. Here Julia was adorned with a fetching IV and spent her day with her companion playing Monopoly, cards and watching US TV. Her companion had a great time, gorged on the hospital food with relish, and delighted in having a double bed in Julia´s room for a sleepover. In retrospect she was perhaps having too much fun at Julia´s health insurance´s expense.

 

Julia was a model patient and very brave the whole way through, even eating all her chicken, rice and jelly for dinner. Her companion rather fancied a second helping of jelly so was somewhat disappointed about that. The pair watched a Harry Potter film, scorned CNN reporting, and became obsessed with Project Runway.  

The nurses and doctor at the hospital were lovely, and Julia´s knight in shining armour, Direct Line Travel Insurance, was very accommodating in paying for her sojourn. The same cannot be said for the artwork in Julia´s bedroom, it being rather scary for a place of recuperation and health...

 

The next day, Julia was let loose into the world once more. Armed with even greater medical supplies than before, the traveling duo decided a trip to a local Irish pub might be in order. Such abodes are widely known to have curative qualities, after all. Indeed, it was here they discovered the restorative powers of Irish chicken soup in a Peruvian city. 

Chicken soup consumed and ready to face the day, a sudden turn of events occurred, heralded by a white haired, middle aged Australian lady. The Oz looked Julia up and down and politely requested Jules place her in a headlock. She had a crick in her neck, you see, and wanted to do Machu Picchu tomorrow. Could she just squeeze her neck a little to help? No, just a bit tighter than that. A proper headlock, yes that´s right.

Happily, Julia, pumped full of antibiotics, new superpowers and a few hundred litres of weird IV fluid stuff, cured the Australian woman´s neck problems, received a small koala for her troubles, and is now fully on the mend. Happy days.

Lake Titicaca pics

 

A few phone photos from Lake Titicaca and Copacabana, our last stop in Bolivia before Peru. Copacabana is a place of terrible food but spectacular views. Happily we shared our time there with Steve and Nicole again, of Salta and briefly pampas tour fame, and new friends Jon and Carlene.

Jules, having been unwell on and off for the past fortnight, really got worse in Copa. Luckily our hotel room was dirt cheap but with beautiful views, so she spent a day relaxing while I went off with the others on a 6 hour hike around Isla del Sol.

The Isla del Sol is nestled a two hour boat ride from Copacabana´s shores. It´s a place of over 80 ruins and, as the name might suggest, the Incas believed the Sun and Moon were born in the lake, the sun god on the island. Lots of interesting things to see and a hike that was pretty grueling at times even for five relatively fit people. We were blessed at one point at an Inca sacrificial site, pictured a few photos down. A local chanted over us with water and flowers, and explained the use of blessings and the like in Inca society.

The next day the others went to the Floating Islands in Puno while we took it easy, with Jules not feeling much better, and later boarded an overnight bus to Cusco, Peru, meeting the rest of the gang at a stop off in Puno. Having lived off crackers, wafers and the occasional terrible meal for the past few days, we´re all looking forward to cooking our own food and stocking up on some good old fruit and vegetables when we hit Peru.

  

Above, love the local designs

Below, the view from our hotel room

 Views from Isla del Sol

Looking out on to Copacabana....we took a few swan shaped pedalos out. Wild times!

 

Agricultural formations and Inca ruins, below 

Traditional reed boat on Lake Titicaca, below  

Blessed at an Inca site 

 

 

Pampas Pirates

 

Our next adventure... a tour of the Amazon Pampas! We said farewells to Devon, Sonya and Jon and headed off on a tinpot plane to Rurrenebaque. Rurre is a small town nestled conveniently close for Amazon jungle and pampas tours, and is home to what is quite possibly the world´s most rugged airport.

I should probably admit something here. La Paz airport is very, very small also, and we may have boarded the wrong plane. In my defence, you expect your plane to be the one directly beside your gate, no? Not the one a few hundred metres to the right.

Anyway, we were sent off the wrong plane and directed to the correct one, and just a mere 30 minutes in the air later we began our decent. Rurre's landing strip is basically a clearing in jungle like environs. You climb down on to a dirt track where a clutch of tourists wait to board the aircraft back to La Paz. There's a wee minivan that greets you, your luggage gets chucked on top and it bobs along another dirt track, swerving past cockrels, until you reach the town centre.

We'd played a wild card and decided to rock up and find somewhere to stay rather than relying on the few hostels advertised online, and really glad we did. Found a lovely sun-lit courtyard place with hammocks, cheap as chips and with the yummiest French bakery nearby.

We headed out on our pampas tour the next day, along with an American girl, Rachel, an English girl Emma and four guys who were individually nice enough and together were very ladish. Made me appreciate the lovely, curteous boys we've travelled with so far and how lovely our male friends at home are! Example: most boys do not steal cigarettes, bottles of rum and water at any given opportunity, and their humour tends to extend beyond 'tiiiiiitttssss!´

We stocked up on rum and cokes for the three hour canoe ride to our lodge, and as we were loading on our rucksacks, Jules spotted Steve and Nicole, who we'd met in Salta. Small gringo world!

Anyway, we played Pampas Pirates, sipping rum and cokes and spying all sorts of wildlife on our way to the lodge, from exotic birds to howler monkeys, dolphins to crocodiles. Our lodge itself had its own cayman, who sat and eyes us suspiciously as we played dumb tourists and took photos of him.

The tour included an anaconda hunt (slodging through marshland looking for a giant snake and batting off millions of mosquitos...not my idea of fun), watching the sun set over drinks, pirannah fishing (one guy caught a turtle, which the cayman then went for...cue panic all round) and swimming with dolphins. For me, the tour mostly consisted of fending off mosquitos (what sort of mossies bite through jeans and tropical strength deet I ask you?), but I admit the huge array of wildlife was spectacular.

On return to La Paz Emma and I did some splurging at the markets, before Jules and I headed off to Copacabana. More on that later!

Mountain Biking World´s Most Dangerous ´Death Road´

Every day we´ve seen people come back to our hostel with broken limbs, casts, sprains and tales of the Death Road. What with Jules continuing to have bank issues and Jon and Sonya unsure whether their travel insurance would cover the World´s Most Dangerous Road, Devon and I set off on a day of mountain biking without the rest of the gang.

A 6am start and a quick breakfast later, we were joined by three others - an Irish man, and English man (this sounds like a bad joke, I realise), and a Portuguese guy. We´d opted to go with Barracuda Biking, and when we arrived at the starting point for the day´s biking I was really relieved we had. I might have been the only girl in our small group of five, plus the guide, but the other groups were huge, and it was fantastic to have that little bit more attention.

We started the whole affair with a blessing to Pachamama, Mother Earth. Our (fantastic) guide Jubbi produced a small bottle of 90% proof alcohol, and we each had to dribble some over our bikes and the ground, before taking a swig, so as to ensure our safety on the road. We had a dry run on our bikes, testing out the super sensitive brakes. The most common injuries come from not paying attention and braking too fast...and with the last mountain biking death a year ago we were all pretty keen to stay firmly attached.

The death road is almost 70km long, a small part of it being paved and the rest gravel. It´s still used by motorists, although there is a new, much safer alternative route. 200-300 people die a year on the road (mostly in vehicles), which is an insane number, emphasised all the more by the frequent crosses of remembrance and barriers where people have gone over. One girl recently fell 200ft from her bike down the mountain and survived.

On that cheery note, I´m happy to say that while I found the paved section more difficult, I loved the gravel, and (hurrah!) didn't keep the boys back. You ride from the very top of the mountain, down through the cloud line and eventually through the jungle. The scenery is incredible, and it was difficult not to become distracted by it all. Luckily, Jubi the guide was on hand to take photos and videos as he went. The guy is a nutter but great fun, and he took us through waterfalls, pouring rain and blazing sunshine. We had a few stops along the way, doing ´the llama´pose (see below), getting snaps on cliffs and the like. Completely exhilarating and one of the highlights of South America so far.

The stories Jubi told of the road were fascinating (and morbid), from the van police had discovered was crammed full of drugs, plantation busts in the jungle to whole buses simply going over the cliffs. Wreckages of smashed vehicles can still be seen which made for a heart fluttering viewpoint, as we craned our necks down sheer drops.

At the end of the ride we relaxed with a drink, a shower, and a meal together at a little lodge where we spotted a parrot, monkey and went hunting for some puppies. On return to La Paz we found the others playing darts, with the loser having to down shots or wine. Guess who´s really, really terrible at darts? Jules has a charming video of me necking wine which I very much hope never makes a public appearance.

Next we´re off to the Amazon, where we´ll spend a few days on a pampas tour before making our way northwards to Peru.

Sucre

 

So here´s the thing. We didn´t do a huge amount in Sucre. It´s a UNESCO city and a University one too, and very pretty when there´s a fleeting moment of calm in the crazy traffic and hoards of people in the streets. We did try to be cultural, but ended up going places when they were closed and eventually resigned ourselves to a few days relaxing - not exactly a hardship.

We moved hostels to a place called Wasi Masi, which, despite having some less than friendly staff, was lovely - rooftop terrace where we drank rum one evening until the sun went down, BBQ area, big sunny courtyard. Really fantastic people staying there too. We had a huge BBQ one night (correction: óssado´, Argentinian style) and I learned a lesson in drinking Pisco Sours at altitude.

Our last day was spent lazing about (mostly in a hammock in the courtyard, my saving grace for the day) and getting snacks for our 15 hour overnight bus jounery to La Paz, Bolivia´s capital. Was super excited when Jules found me some quinoa cereal bars for the road. 

We paid less than 14GDP for a ´cama suite´ seat on the bus, which meant we could sleep fully reclined. Really quite impressed by it, watched a little Lincoln in Spanish and dozed the whole way. The beauty of being a non driver means I was oblivious to the many hairy moments and near misses for the whole journey. 

We´re now in La Paz, and having spent the best part of 3 hours in a bank trying to explain the ATM had swallowed Jules´card yesterday, now having a sightseeing day, hopefully money/bank/cards stress free. Booking Pampas tour and Death Road mountain biking too - bring it on!

Hola Bolivia! Salt Flats Capers

Salt Flats Tour- tree of stone

Firstly,typing this on a keyboard with no letters (a few have kindly been tippexed on, ever so helpful), so apologies for typos etc from what might possibly be the slowest internet connection in the world.

We made it to Bolivia! Having taken an overnight bus from Salta, Argentina, and worked our way across border towns, we are now safely ensconced in Bolivia. We met a few people on the bus - along with the 3 guys from our hostel we buddied up with an English couple and a Kiwi, and did the Salt Flats tour with them.

The Salt Flats Tour is quite a bit more than just the Salt Flats, which are spectacular in themselves but make up just one of the four days of the tour. The four days were fantastic. We´ve been extremely lucky in that our group of seven got on like a house on fire. There´s been a lot of chat, banter, inside jokes, and as is inevitable with altitude sickness and Bolivian food poisoning, many, many conversations about bowel movements. (On that note, I seem to have a stomach of steel, and one of the few without issues....long may that continue!)

Each day we got up early, saw spectacular sights and stayed in the most basic of accommodation, from what we think was a village hall to a place where the beds, walls and ceilings were made from salt. There are too many silly incidents and amazing sights to mention, so I´ll leave a selection of highlights here so as not to bore you all to pieces....

• The Swedish twosome, Thor and Freddie, who smoked, boozed, played their guitars, caused capers and pretty much did everything you´re advised not to at high altitude, and were completely fine. All this while wearing traditional ponchos and yelling ´hola perro!` to every dog we passed.
• Very, very cold nights, where an hour of electric light in the evenings paved the way for a regular ´team penguin huddle`. Six people encircling the seventh, making strange penguin noises (we sounded more like seals) with the sole aim of keeping warm (at this point perhaps the altitude got the better of us). I slept in at least three layers every night, plus a sleeping bag and four blankets.
• Regular bowel updates and epic games of ´would you rather`. Much of this based on ´would you rather see another blooming lagoon,or....`(we saw a lot of lagoons. A lot.)
• Gladys, our cook and object of our affections. Liked us until Devon, struck down by altitude sickness,  vomited outside her bedroom door, after which she probably cared less for us, but still cooked some pretty yummy nosh
• Traditional pipe music and singing from local children, and a very persistent little boy who made us play hide and seek, blew bubbles in our faces and eventually stormed off (see below)

• Breathtaking scenery (even the thousands of lagoons were pretty cool), extinct volcanoes, dips in thermal springs, llama spotting, dangerous driving, ´bano naturales´, abandoned haunted town
• The incredible night´s sky on our last night - have never seen so many stars.
• Seeing sunrise over the Salt Flats on our final day, and taking some ridiculous photos based on the tricks of perspective created out there. Jules and I have lots of me holding her in my hand, her blowing me down, the whole team being eaten by Jon from a spoon. However, the best has to be the boy´s very impressive ´evolution of man´, as below. David, our crazy driver who had a real love affair with 80s power ballads, loved it. Gladys, thankfully, took this moment to snooze in the other car.

We´re now in Sucre, enjoying the luxuries that are electricity, lie ins, mobile phone signal and internet. Having travelled about 500km for about 6 GDP to get here, we´re relaxing and wandering about before taking an overnight 15 hour bus to the capital, La Paz, tomorrow evening. Last night we treated ourselves to a bottle of rum and had drinks on our hostel roof terrace, before being told to either go to bed or go out at 10.30pm.  Friendly! Tonight´s plans revolve around a BBQ with some others from the hostel, so we´re off to the market to buy provisions. 

More updates soon(ish!). 

Horseriding in Salta

A gaucho cowboy with Sayta: photo courtesy of the lovely Jen Fielden

Sorry posts have been a little thin on the ground of late: we have less downtime now we´re moving around a bit more. So, the journey to Salta. Being cheeky, and having booked flights well in advance, we negated travelling for over 24 hours on several buses and instead flew. Considering our plane over from Madrid was about as old as me and had just a few communal TVs, the Aerolineas Argentina plane was pure luxury. A few hours in the sky and I had watched all the How I Met Your Mother episodes on offer on our private individual screens and generally had a lovely time.

We took a local bus from the airport into town. No bus signs, so we walked out of the airport, onto the motorway and to a space on the adjacent dirt track before flagging down a bus (happily my Spanish is coming on leaps and bounds for me to understand such vague directions!). We hadn´t change so the bus got together, volunteered someone to pay on his bus card and we handed over the equivalent of a 50p note to our kind saviour. A good first impression of Salta!

We´d decided we were just going to relax in the picturesque town, plan and generally get our heads together after our day of doom in Iguassu. Luckily, our hostel (7 Duendes - reccomended) had a few large chilling out areas, including a garden with BBQ and cabana so we spent out time eating steak, drinking wine and generally just making friends. We´re hoping to meet up with one couple for the jungle tour, and have travelled on to Tupiza, Boliva, with three others.

The highlight of what was otherwise a very lazy few days in Salta was our day horseriding. We went with Sayta Horseriding, and were joined by one of our new friends, Nicole, and Jen, a girl from England travelling alone, with whom we´re meeting up with in Cusco for her birthday. One of the owners picked us up and drove us into the beautiful Argentinian countryside, where we joined about ten or so others and sat down to a hearty breakfast.

Our trek lasted 3 hours, and meandered throughout the Argentinian landscape. Thankfully it catered for all levels, so we got a few gallops in as well and a lot of walking or trotting. Felt good to be on a horse again! Our gaucho guides were great fun, and were very patient in explaining how to ride gaucho style - reins in one hand being the biggest difference. You encourage the horses to go faster by making a big squelchy kissing noise...weirdly very difficult to do.

We arrived back from our excursion to the farm and feasted on local wine and the most delicious spread of never-ending steak, salads, homemade pesto, bread, local lentil things and vegetables. Oh, and more wine. Came back very full and just a little drunk. Happy days!

Hitting a few bumps...Last days in Brazil

Santa Teresa, Rio

We had a really fantastic last few days in Rio. Loved the city, and massively encourage anyone to visit. We both had people tell us so many horror stories about safety (the worst includes a tale of tourist murders...cheers for that) and can honestly say at no point did we feel threatened, intimidated or in any way unsafe. We were both really relaxed, pottered about all over the city by subway and bus, walked for miles and generally embraced it all. Yes, there's little English spoken, and I wonder how that'll work when the World Cup and Olympics take centre stage, but learning a little Brazilian Portuguese was part of the fun.

Our last few days were busy - we got up early every day in an attempt to see the Christ the Redeemer statue only to be foiled by clouds and the like, so opted instead for meandering walks around the lovely Santa Teresa area (pic above), parks, beaches and the Botanic Gardens. 

In true Carioca spirit, those final days in Rio also featured a lot of caiprinhas and generally having fun with our new friends from the hostel (side note: Stand Fast hostel highly recommended, good staff, rooms, extras). Great night out at a club including samba dancing, hostel hook ups (not me I hasten to add, but obviously I was first with the gossip the next day), and leftover pizza at 4am. Waking up the next day to the sounds of someone drilling into concrete outside our door was not well received.

We're a little knackered now - Rio has sapped us of our energy, we crammed so much in. I'm writing this from our hostel in Iguassu. We flew here today (internal flight with Gol airlines, most confusing boarding procedure ever), met an English guy at the airport and shared a taxi to the hostel. We hit the ground running, visiting the Brazilian side of the falls as soon as we dumped our bags. They were breathtaking - photos below. I feel like I've been spewing out the hyperbole about the sights we've seen but I promise it's merited!

 

Everything had been going so smoothly up until today, so I guess it was about time we hit a few bumps. The airport was stressful, but fine as soon as we were actually on the flight. Unfortunately in our rush to pay the taxi, sort out our bags etc, I seemed to have lost the little bag I keep my cards and major banknotes in (these are usually hidden in my bra - little tip from a Rio local which has served me well), and a frantic search came up fruitless. I paused both cards within about ten minutes of realising...then found everything partly hidden under a blanket on the top bunk bed a few minutes later. Unfortunately one card can't be reactivated without a new one being sent to the UK and then onwards to South America, so I'm solely reliant on the STA Cashcard over the FairFX one, which has better rates. Oh well!

Our next incident came when I asked Jules to double check we were definitely flying to Salta, Argentina from the Brazilian airport, rather than the one across the border. She hadn't realised there were two (and I hadn't bothered to mention, which I feel awful about), and lo and behold, we fly from the Argentinian one. Cue an evening negotiating hostel cancellation here, booking a new one on the other side, and figuring out what to do with the Braziliian Reals Jules had just withdrawn. 

Tomorrow we cross the border to Argentina, and Saturday on to Salta. Looking forward to some time to catch our breath there. I'm aiming to consume nothing but steak and wine for the entire duration.

Iguassu Falls, Brazilan side (apologies for phone-quality photo)

Favela tour and colourful Lapa

Yesterday we got up early with a few others from the hostel, determined to beat the crowds and the hours of waiting to see Christ the Redeemer in the Corcovado area. We arrived only to find that the torrential storm

the day previously had taken down trees, which were now blocking the line for the cable car. "Leaves on the line"...sounds very Scotrail doesn't it?

Instead our Corcovado group opted to go on a Favela Tour. I was a little unsure about doing one of these - it seemed a little voyeuristic. In any case we were convinced by rave reviews and assurances that some of the profits go to charitable projects there, and so went along with another seven or so people. Our group included a middle aged couple who looked like they'd perhaps been expecting something else, two Brits, one of whom was gunning for a Napolean Dynamite look and the other channelling Russel Brand, and a heap of Canadians and Americans who made us cringe every few moments. I've never seen anyone get so excited about a big KFC as they did.

Anyway, the tour. We went to Rocinha, Rio's biggest favela, housing approx 100,000 people on a steep hillside. It's a chaotic place, where everything is taken up on foot, as the streets are so narrow walking side by side is often impossible. While there are no roads there's an abundance of Sky HD satellite dishes, a bizarre sight. 

  The enormous Rocinha favela

We visited a roof top, and art area where we viewed artwork painted by locals, including teens, a bakery, were entertained by dancing and music and visited a local daycare centre supported by  funds from the tour. At each stop there was an opportunity to support the community in some way - buy a piece of art, a handmade bracelet, a bun from the bakery, or even just by placing a few coins or notes in the daycare centre donation box. There were some interesting insights - areas are cemented over to prevent landslips in the rain, for example.

We'd been told from the outset a few rules, some common sense dos and don'ts. The most stressed rule was simply not to take photos of any adults in the favela, as some will still be involved in the drugs trade and wouldn't take kindly to it. It seems pretty common sense, but unfortunately one of the brahser guys with us didn't follow the rules, and ended up in a little altercation with a guy who couldn't have been any older than 20. He went crazy when he thought he'd been photographed while in a play fight involving cable ties with his friends. Whether he had or not I don't know (the guide checked the camera).

I'd love to know more about how the favela was pacified- how do you turn around a culture and structure of drug lord rule? The guide explained a whole new raft of policemen were trained up to counteract the old corrupt police regime, and 700 new ones are placed in on a regular basis, I guess to prevent corruption. The marks of warfare between the police and drug gangs are very visible, with bullet holes in the walls and the like. Interestingly, with the favela being on the hills, they could see the police coming at a distance, and would let off fireworks to warn people of police raids.

All and all, an interesting insight into life in the favela, and hopefully something that helps promote economy within the area rather than deplete it.

After the favela tour we decided to forgo an afternoon nap in favour of Lapa's infamous colourful steps, the Escadaria Selaron.

Lapa's colourful steps...spot the loser in the red waterproof

Created as a tribute to the Brazilian people, the 250 steps are adorned by weird and wonderful tiles, with the Simpson's sitting beside pictures of Diana, depictions of Brazilian women and sayings in all sorts of languages. I could have stayed there all day taking photos - wish I'd had my SLR instead of my little digital camera (it's a tough life...afternoon naps and digital cameras, waa waa waa. I realise how lucky I am!). The place is fascinating, made all the more fiction-like with the mysterious death surrounding the step's creator, Jorge Selaron, who was found dead on his steps, with burn marks on his body. 

A bit of home...torrential rain!

We made it home just before the storm we'd seen forecast hit...the rain is so intense that standing a few metres from the window you're still pelted. It's pretty spectacular, and gave us an excuse to wear the waterproof jackets taking up space in our bags.
Off to bed now after feasting at a pay-by-the-kilo restaurant...eyes bigger than stomach...

Sugarloaf... and a bikini named Kimberley

Today we went off in search of the ultimate Brazilian memento...a brash, crass bikini. Julia was on strict instructions to find the most offensive piece of swimwear possible for a friend, and the once-weekly Ipanema hippie market was an obvious place to start our search.

Having navigated the bus successfully (second time lucky), we spent a good hour wandering around the market and came out with the most ugly two-piece of all time. Kimberley, as we've named her, is crochet. White crochet. She's a petite thing, and best of all, she's adorned with wonderful shimmering fake pearls. I wish I had a photo to share, she really is something special.

My first Brazilian coffee (a nutmeg and cinnamon concoction...not my favourite!) and a brief sojourn searching for a bank later, we decided to tick off one of our Rio top 5 - Sugarloaf Mountain.

At 3,100ft above sea level it's pretty obvious the views from the top of Sugarloaf are going to be spectacular.The mountain earned its moniker from Portuguese settlers, who compared it to mounds of sugar. The journey to the top is done in two parts, and the wiring was originally created by people simply scaling the precipice a small distance at a time. Brilliantly, the first person credited with climbing it was a British nanny in 1817.

By the time we reached the top, concerns about weather abated, as the storms we'd seen forecast didn't come. The very top of the mountain has a great 'woodland walk', which looks more jungle than woodland. We spotted a little monkey family along the way, including a baby monkey who was super cute. The hostel owner here says they often have them popping down to say hi from the trees above the courtyard - she says monkeys here as as about as ubiquitous as pigeons at home.

Fun fact of the day: Coca Cola marketing here is on fire, cans are emblazoned with a selection of popular Brazilian names. Apparently they don't do Lisa. Yesterday I was Carlos, today Joyce.

Tonight's plan is a little up in the air, but tomorrow we're getting up early and ticking off two more Rio hotspots: Christ the Redeemer and the Botanic Gardens.

Rio: Day One

Having had the smoothest journey to Rio ever (no hold ups, access to all the lounges, bags arrived safely, taxi diver there as promised), it's probably no surprise that things didn't go entirely to plan today. Having had a caprihina (on the house - sign of a good hostel, surely?) to end our journey last night, we woke up around 9am today, downed a quick breakfast and decided, seeing as the sun was out today and forecasts for the rest of the week don't look to promising, we'd give ourselves a relaxing day at the beach.

So far, so good. Ok, so we needed to hunt for an adaptor (we both bought South American ones...Brazil is, however, different. Obviously.), which we failed miserably at, but hey, our hostel isn't in a touristy part of town, what can you expect. We discovered a fantastic market on our fruitless adaptor search though, stuffed to the brim with fruit, veg, fish, meat and the like. The most fascinating thing, aside from the sheer variety, was that most of the stall holders accepted credit card to pay for purchases. Credit cards. Market stalls. This really tickled me.

Next stop: catching the bus. The helpful guy at reception reassures us there's no way this can go wrong; it's simply a one way street, just hop on the 157. Once we go round the lake, go over bridge and press the bell. Easy.

We dutifully wave the 157 bus down, get comfy, admire what we assume to be the Lago...and while it veers off a little we assume this must be traffic calming or similar... Until the bus stops at a terminus. Centro terminus to be exact. The opposite direction to where we want to be, and, according to the Dutch girls we met last night, not the most salubrious area for two peely wally backpackers to find themselves in. (As an aside: can you believe that? First people we meet are Dutch. Oh the irony.)

Anyway, to cut what is evidently becoming a long and dull story short: we were miles away from where we wanted to be, completely lost and with the bare minimum grasp of Portuguese. A fifteen minute subway journey later and we were back on track, and walked out to Copacabana Beach...wow.

The landscape looks like some crazed video game designer has gone a little wild - there are peaks and island mountains all over the place. I spent a good while playing in the waves, which were huge, with a belligerent current to match. And by belligerent, I mean 'hang on to your bottoms' sort of waves. I saw two bums today, and the first, an extremely paunched man closer to 60 than 50, was not a pretty picture. The second was riding his bike commando along the promenade. As you do.

We wandered along to Ipanema, another equally picturesque beach. It's an interesting place just to people watch. There are beach gyms where puffed up guys do pull ups, people jog along or play volleyball with a real competitive edge. All shapes and sizes peacock about, from wrinkled nut brown pensioners to young guys and girls with year-round tans and tiny swimwear. My bikini felt very British and tent-like in comparison.  There's vendors selling coconuts with straws for coconut water, freshly cooked corn on the cob, bikinis, something that looks suspiciously like Frazzles and almost everything else in between.

Most envious of people bodyboarding and paddleboarding - incredible to think this is how you'd spend your weekends living here. My camera has been playing up unfortunately, but even if my photos turn out ok, it's so hard to do it all justice. Maybe I'll have to just buy some postcards instead.

A final observation: they love little fuzzy dogs here. Each one I've seen is adorned with little trinkets: bootees to protect their paws, pink clips and sparkly clasps in their fur.

Tonight we'll have a few drinks in the hostel bar and hopefully see if anyone's keen to go to Lapa, which is the best area to go out, but preferably not on your own. Friday night is the big party night apparently, so we've just missed it, but hopefully this should be just as fun.

We have until Wednesday here, so we're looking to tick off Christ the Redeemer, Sugarloaf and possibly a favelas tour before we go. Embarrassingly I have a little red nose from today's sun...I blame 9 months of vitamin D deficiency in my old windowless office...clearly skin as translucent as mine needs higher than factor 30. Lesson learned!

Living it up in the lounge

Julia's hundred or so flights in the past year have allowed us access to the BA lounge. Massive win! I kept it decidedly classy and took an unnecessary amount of reading material (free magazines...heaven), mixed four cereals together for breakfast and generally stuck out like a sore thumb.

Next stop: Madrid.

The powers of fernet

What's the sensible thing to do in a recession? Definitely give up a good job to swan about in South America for a few months. That saying about regretting what you hadn't done and not what you have is oft repeated for a reason, and so, with the help of a few glasses of wine Julia and I began planning our adventure. Each session has been punctuated by the paint-stripper effect of the most horrific digestif known to man - fernet.

Jules is convinced I will grow to love it, and considers it a gross offence to our South American plans, particularly our Argentinian jaunt, if we don't consume the traditional shot each time we meet. A little lazy googling (aka wikipedia reliance) has found the best description of fernet I can find....

"The easiest way to explain the taste is to imagine Jägermeister without the sugar. You shoot it, immediately getting a strong hit of mouthwash - drying the mouth out, stinging the tongue. Its kind of like getting hit in the nose. Your brain hurts, your eyes sting and water, you cough a bit. Then, as soon as it begins a warm wave of relief washes over and you are left baptized in Italian herbals and golf ball eyed awake" http://www.metrowize.com/fernet-branca-sf-liquer-of-choice

Yep, that sounds about right....countdown: 11 days.