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.