Colonia del Sacramento: Uruguay

There’s a limit to the amount of Buenos Aires any man can take. Our satiation point showed up on the radar after one-and-a-half days… But don’t despair, there’s a fantastic bail-out option available: just imagine a place far enough away to be almost in a different century, but close enough for the tops of the Argentinian sky-scrapers to be just visible, allowing for the curvature of the earth. Another country, another world, another pace of life, another steak!
You can always rely on the good ol’ Buquebus high-speed catamarans to carry you across the broad Rio de la Plata. Due to the phenomenal speed of these vessels, we were able to travel from Argentina to Uruguay in just over an hour. But not just any place in Uruguay! We have really fallen on our feet here, what with the tiny, UNESCO renowned ex-smuggling village having retained the historical scenery and charisma that it’s had since 1682 when it was founded by the Portuguese.
By morning, it’s still fairly sleepy apart from the stray dogs patrolling their marked territories along the narrow cobbled streets and expressing their dominance to other dogs with a few loud barks and the occasional blood-curdling growl. The really keen people are disassembling piles of chairs and setting up their cafés for daily trading whereas the more laid back remain in their doorways drinking ‘yerba mate’, a kind of strong tea where the cup is overflowing with ground up, usually dried and decayed, off-green, tea leaves. This must be drunk through a type of metal straw that sometimes has a coiled end resembling a spring, which acts as a filter so it’s just tea that they drink.
By afternoon, the town earns it’s status of being awake where we see more liveliness in both people and animals alike. The dogs we mentioned have stepped up from chasing their canine neighbours to running along side trespassing cars, barking their heads off as they do so. They don’t seem to have a soft spot for the classic nor the vintage models either and they threaten each automobile relentlessly. The cafés and restaurants start to fill up with locals and tourists, and we notice the interested climbing the lighthouse and scaling the old fortress’ walls.

By evening, nobody starts to eat until the eight o’ clock mark although many don’t start dining until as late as midnight. The restaurants are the only real signs of life at night and as we stray away, we find ourselves in the eerie, yet homely tranquillity of the crazy paved streets that take light from the old, Dickensian-style street lamps. As one walks down these lonely streets, where the only noises emerge from hidden crickets and the gentle breeze from the nearby river, it becomes a real backwards time travel experience as we combine all this with the single storey, stone houses of various colours and the blossoming trees (many of which are bougainvillea) , and even the occasional prickly cactus. In places the pavements are piled high with firewood, and the many quaint, old cars seem to be not just for show, but actually for chugging around in!



As it was time for our evening meal, we decided to get out of the touristy restaurant quarter and stray off down a dimly lit side street where there were only Uruguayan people eating. At ‘El Asador’ the restaurant owner was very welcoming and we chatted, in our improving (but still very broken) Spanish about ‘Argentina’s got Talent’, which was on the television at the time; English football; and finally about how bloody brilliant the meal was! In Argentina and Uruguay, the ‘ll’ sounds as a ‘ssshh’ and so the name of the amazing charcoal or wood barbeque flaming in each restaurant is pronounced “parrrreesshah”. It’s kind-of obligatory to order from it! We ordered the ‘Parrilla para dos personas’, which turned out to be a huge mountain of steaks of various cuts. We both agree that rare steak is the best way to go, but we did forgive him for dishing out medium-rare as it was still award-winning. The various cuts of meat, including various ribs and some flank, arrived with its own charcoal burner to keep it warm as we chomped away. The French fries had been deep-fried in something heavenly-tasting. The cerveza was massive, but it all went down, gradually.

The intense heat of the day was dissipated around dusk by some dramatic thunder and lightening, and a welcome downpour accompanied by deep grey, moody skies. The lush evening felt like a release after the closeness earlier; by morning the rain was in abeyance, yet the clouds remained and a powerful southwesterly wind blasted off the river. At El Torreón, we sat cooling off and staring out across the water, admiring the ancient rafters made from driftwood and the walls of rough-hewn stone.

Buenos Aires: Recoleta and La Boca

There are two ‘must sees’ in this city, and the day was profitably spent seeing them! Moving around the city on the bus network and on foot gave us a valuable insight and orientation of the city. It’s vast, and the tree-lined avenues, stylish shops and bars give it a wonderful, almost exhilarating feeling. We headed for the world-famous Recoleta Cemetery, and just before entering made a cooling visit to the monastery and church of Nuestra Senhora de Pilar, the oldest in the city. The summer heat today is relentless, and the shade of the church precincts gave a small amount of welcome release from the torments of the full sun; the city is known as Buenos Aires for good reason too: every so often, a gentle breeze wafts over from the river (Good Air)! The cemetery was smaller and more concentrated than expected, and the tombs (actually, grand mausoleums would be a better term) more built up than expected. We explored in detail, and then went to find the family tomb of the Duarte clan, especially to see the final resting place of their most famous member, Eva. Of course, her married name was Peron, and every Porteño knows of her by her nickname, Evita. Let’s not get Into the debates on Latin American politics just yet, but I’m sure that this trip will not be complete without a full run down of the battle between left and right, socialism and greed. But not today!



It was then time to visit the famous area of the docks where the Italian immigrants set up there quarter: the brightly painted streets of La Boca. At first we were more than dismayed, we were frankly gutted that it has been turned into an almost Disneyfied version of the heyday! Especially where old, beautiful window shutters were lined with postcards and rickety balconies had various other merchandise hanging from them. But slowly and surely, the magic of this zona gradually overtook us by stealth. It is the quintessence of the real Buenos Aires, and for good reason. We actually managed to find some of these Jenga stacked shacks untouched and in their original glory, and the real finishing touches were the beautiful lantern-style street lights and the sounds of accordions and voices accompanying traditional tango dancing. As we explored the futuristic outer contour of La Boca, we found some real talent in masterpieces of all kinds of wall art; from graffiti on the walls of the local’s basketball court to the carefully painted images of tango dancers and joyful scenes. A coffee stop in an authentic, non-tourist café was well deserved!

Off to Buenos Aires!

We boarded the Espresso Singer bus to Buenos Aires for a 20 hour, overnight journey in Semi-Cama. The straight roads, forests and lakes of the Misiones province provided an awe-inspiring view as we sped southwards, skirting Paraguay. Singing “One way ticket” helped to pass the time before sleep kicked in! And how appropriate!
Flatter ranch-like countryside, abundant with cattle along the border with Uruguay provided the scenery as we woke at first light. Arrival at Retiro bus station was painless, and we navigated the way to the local bus to San Telmo with surprising ease and good fortune! The Sunday market lining all the streets was a fantastic, but tiring introduction to this vast city, and Liquado milkshakes of apple, along with a banana, honey and cinnamon version provided welcome respite.
We reached the Plaza de Mayo and remembered the “Disappeared” of an earlier regime, and Simon’s rosary that he bought from the San Telmo market was blessed after mass in the Metropolitan Cathedral, and we then reached the famous obelisk: is this the widest street in the world? Past hundreds of Parrilla restaurants, each looking better than the previous and along Calle Defensa we meet three corps of Candombe drummers. These rhythms are mind-blowing and hypnotic. We stood dancing Samba-style with one group for about twenty minutes, and then followed the parade of another along the narrow cobbled streets of San Telmo for quite some distance. And, of course, we just happened to stumble across some open air tango!

This city, at first glance so European and sophisticated, has suddenly come alive, pulsating with the exotic tropical rhythms of a whole, distant world. Finally it was time for a steak, some chips, black pudding and sausage, all washed down with an Argentinian Chardonnay. This Bife de Lomo was frankly the thickest and fattest, most succulent steak we’ve ever tasted!

Puerto Iguazu

Crossing between two countries has never been so easy, well, except from our journey from Brazil into Paraguay and back. The half-hourly bus to Puerto Iguazu actually took us to the Brazilian exit point to get our passport stamped, but to our surprise it wasn’t there when we were in the no-man’s land in between the two countries, so we waited another half an hour for the next bus to arrive. However, our tickets showed that we had paid to go straight through to Puerto Iguazu which meant that all we had to do was hop on. At Argentinian immigration the bus waited patiently for us to get stamped in before rolling on.
Suddenly we feel at home: we are quickly befriended by an Argentinian guy called David, who has just completed an important interview with a German singer called Ute Lemper. He talks for hours, especially about his family, and the whole narrative has the makings of a best-selling Latin American novel. He has also taken the trouble to learn Guarani.
Yesterday at the Iguaçu falls in Brazil, it had left us with so many wonderful memories and thrilling moments that we really wished to experience them again. We did exactly this but from the other side of the River Iguaçu this time, in Argentina. How peculiar it was to be looking back over the river to a different country, let alone where we had been standing, open-mouthed at the waters the day before. On the Argentinian side, there is one major difference and that is that our entry tickets came with a free train journey to the important locations around the park. The major stop was the ‘Garganta del Diablo’ where flat, calm river water suddenly appeared to be sucked into a powerful vortex, which was fogged out by the abundant white mist as a result of the mighty thundering mass of water.

Stunning views from the ‘Passeo Inferior’ completed the overwhelming experience along with the large fluttering butterflies and the calm birdlife in the surrounding dense forest, dappled in sunlight. We were sure to keep an eye open for any roaming jaguars that may have been toying with the idea of pouncing on us. The Ministerio del Salud TV crew decided to interview Jon about his opinion on the work that they do around the park against Dengue Fever, amongst other serious threats. Do you remember when Jon was interviewed in the Lost City of Petra by a television crew from São Paulo? He’s starting to feel a bit of a star.

Cataratas do Iguacu

That's right! Iguacu, not Iguazu, because we are on the Brazilian side! Pictures really do speak a thousand words and sometimes words just aren't enough. Have a gander!


Our first view of the Iguacu Falls, a natural world wonder.



A humble quati minding his own business.



Somewhere over the rainbow...



Gazing towards the Garganta do Diabo (Devil's Throat).


Up close and personal.



Finishing off with a great panorama.

A gente vai para Paraguay!

This translates as 'we are going to Paraguay!' and if you can make a rhyme as classy as that, then why not?! Our flight from Recife to Foz de Iguaçu came with a connection in São Paulo, which made way for a long sleepless night. Being creative with time, we occupied ourselves with a couple of salgados and coconut cakes, and we succeeded in fighting the sandman’s temptation of sleep! With a couple of hours dozing on and off during flight time we managed to get through from being awake from seven-thirty in the morning the day before until a short siesta kicked in at about half past six in the afternoon. We’ll sleep well tonight, that’s for sure! But let’s not forget what happened between the time of our arrival in Foz de Iguaçu and our early evening snooze.
We embarked on a short bus journey to the town centre in search of the cheapest possible hostel. A friendly lady who conjured up a marvellous ‘morango’ milkshake (strawberry) gave us directions to a modest hostel away from the main street, which turned out to be miles better value and had hardly any foreigners. After negotiating our check-in and check-out times we decided that the day was not young enough to venture out to what most people see when they come to this town, so we decided to pop to Paraguay for the afternoon.
From where we are today, the Ciudad del Este is only about thirty minutes away on the bus and it seems to be a very popular destination for the Brazilian people, if only to buy cheap electrical goods. However, we hear that it’s wise to test the product before leaving the shop to make sure that it actually works. The journey there would have probably lasted only fifteen minutes if it wasn’t for the heaving traffic. The bus ride was enjoyable all the same and got really interesting as we saw more and more Paraguayan registration plates and mixed ethnicities during our crossing of the Parana River over the large bridge. After being informed that the bridge is dangerous to cross on foot we remained bus-borne until we reached the crowded market on the other side. We were in Paraguay! Many rainbow-coloured parasols were sheltering grateful Guarani market traders from the intense sun and by comparison with Brazil, the motor madness was much more chaotic. In fact many taxi employees have wised up to this and now the motorbike taxi industry is flourishing just as much as the conventional four-wheel taxi transportation. It was interesting that Portuguese was still being widely spoken but as we wandered much deeper into the market, sounds of Spanish and Guarani became dominant. We squeezed through a mish-mash of people and narrow market stands, most of which were selling cheap sandals, counterfeit watches, undergarments and sports clothes to reach the other side where we made the spontaneous decision of taking a taxi to the Salto del Monday!
Our taxi driver was very amusing and kept us on our toes as we have not yet started going ahead with our good intentions to learn Spanish. He was speaking Spanish to us and we spoke Portuguese back. The best thing was though, that we could understand each other, but when Jon asked him to speak some Guarani in order to get a feel for things, it all went far over our heads. Still, it was great fun trying! The old local buses here are fantastic: painted in a jaunty way to lift the mood of both travellers and passers-by. As we drove out of the city, the whole atmosphere changed abruptly: tiny bungalows, dirty old workshops, non-tarmacked roads, some cobbled, some just unpaved. This was the real Paraguay!
No sooner as we arrived to the Salto del Monday it started to chuck it down with cats and dogs, leaving us completely drenched within the first minute of being outside. The Salto de Monday is a wonderful waterfall located nine kilometres from the Ciudad del Este and the sound of the light brown water crashing onto more water and rocks from these great heights was unbelievably relaxing and filled our brains with endorphins there and then. It fills us with excitement when we hear that what tomorrow has in store for us is supposed to be even more breathtaking, but if you haven’t guessed already, you’ll just have to wait and see!
We lunched very lightly with a small mixed buffet that spoiled us for choice. From this first impression, it seems as though the Paraguayans eat very well! We had a mixture of black beans, curried gnocchi, savoury cakes made entirely of corn, rice (both plain and curried) and a special red beef stew that was almost goulash-like. It was an achievement in itself being able to concentrate on the scrumptiousness of the magnificent feast in front of us as the mixture of people around us was even more fascinating! Who would have thought that we would have been dining where three different languages were being spoken, well, four if you’re including our English!
It was fairly late by the time we had finished our further browsing time in the market and had returned to base in Foz de Iguaçu, so our appetites had to be satisfied yet again. Well, since we had just been to another country, we felt that a celebratory meal was called for. What better than the ‘rodizio de pizza’ just round the corner from our hostel? This entails being seated at the restaurant to chow down on some tasty pizzas, which are brought around non-stop by the waiters and waitresses, and come in all kinds of flavours, from fairly ordinary to outrageously whacky! I hasten to add that I would be awful at that job as there would be no pizza left between taking it out of the oven and passing it the paying customer. Here is a list of the to-die-for toppings that we chomped in order: chicken heart, garlic, ham and spinach, fish stroganoff, chicken and cheese, pepperoni, (very salty) beef and tomato as well as ham and chilli. Oh! And for afters, more pizza followed but the topping were a little different: white chocolate and strawberry, coconut and condensed milk (maybe there was white chocolate in this one too), milk chocolate and coconut, milk chocolate solo and one that resembled a toffee crisp chocolate bar with chocolate pebble dashed with small biscuit balls. It was a great day all round apart from the painful waddle home after the all-you-can-eat pizza frenzy! We might just forget eating now for a few days.

Recife and Olinda

Just how do you pronounce the mighty city of Recife? We’ve heard so many versions, mainly from the mouths of non-Portuguese speakers. So Charlie Flesch, our new Brazilian biologist friend was able to oblige with the correct pronunciation, complete with authentic accent: Hair-sea-fee. Got that? Ok, let’s move on. We’re in the state of Pernambuco, a narrow wedge of land which is renowned throughout the vast country of Brazil for its amazing carnival and its infectious Forró music. And there’s one other thing which makes this place so special: it was the home of Dom Helder Câmara, one of the most practically influential liberation theologians of the Latin American continent.
Olinda is so called as a result the Portuguese navigator who discovered the fantastic viewpoint overlooking the wonderful scenery of old Recife exclaimed “Oh! Linda!”. This literally translates to ‘Oh! Beautiful’, which were probably sighed out with all his alveolar capacity as he finished his grand hike up to the peak of the mini-mountain on which the small city sits today. It truly deserves its UNESCO Heritage Site status as it is a huge cauldron of old Portuguese-style churches, cobbled streets and brightly coloured buildings. It later became evident that people living there can paint their houses any colour they like and it’s almost like each of the fluorescent dwellings were trying to outshine their neighbours. There’s Frêvo here, there’s Umbanda and Candomblé and Capoeira: just like Salvador, and the brightly painted buildings look the same too. But here it’s much less frenetic, more peaceful, even more beautiful. And the carnival mannequins are huge! We popped briefly into the Museu do Arte Sacra to take a quick look at some relics from the colonial period just to get into the mood.
We stopped by a luring art gallery, where the artists demonstrated such versatility in their work styles. The two artists practiced oil paints, acrylics, clay modelling, watercolours and probably many other styles all hidden behind layers and layers of exhibits. The man, Senhor Calazans was both flattered and eager to deny any plagiarism when Simon likened his painting of Amazon warriors (the mythical women rather than from the mighty river) to Picasso’s ‘Demoiselles d’Avignon’; he was also proud of his painting of the Apocalypse, with an angel top left, Satan bottom right, and the globe being judged in the centre; we were also startled by his fisherman carrying red fish with a yoke, which was coincidentally reminiscent of Jon’s pastel version of a boy running down the lane with fish in Teknaf, Bangladesh. It is definitely inspirational art, and perhaps we will start getting involved in craft when we get home! When the woman in the shop had finished explaining the works of her ‘aquarela’ (watercolour), Jon started to sing a famous Brazilian song called, believe it or not, ‘aquarela’: Numa folha qualquer eu desenho um sol amarelo… She was over the moon and joined in.
Around Olinda we encountered many statues of St Francis with numerous birds, and as throughout this region of Brazil, countless images, bas-reliefs and statues of São Jorge Guerrero: St George in full warrior mode, slaying the dragon. The devotion to him here is something to do with the syncretic cults, and Simon seems to remember that he is the ‘cover’ for a deity in Candomblé, but can’t quite remember his name… In the Praça da Sé there’s a bar called Preto Velho, named after the old slave character in Umbanda, and in numerous craft workshops we encountered the Carnival figure of a Caboclo with a spear, again something more than just a mere legend.
Our friends who came along, including Donald, Dave and Cecilia, and equally ourselves were all impressed with the place and could have easily spent much more time here, but we had to check out parts of Recife too, so we headed for a Rodizio de Churrasco in Boa Viagem, where we could eat to our hearts content if we wanted. None of us did, however, so three beers went down and a Caipirinha whilst we watched the various meats being dished out. Jon and Cecilia took charge of the situation, both displaying consummate tact, diplomacy and hood humour! We only needed a small snack but it was very much all or nothing; so we only had the option to pay thirty-five Brazilian reais for all we could eat or to leave. We left and proceeded to the Casa Cultura: artisans’ shops in the cells of a converted three-storey, three-winged prison to enjoy some ‘salgados’ (small, savoury pastries/breads with various fillings) and pitanga milkshakes. Pitanga is a fruit found in Brazil, which doesn’t translate into English because we don’t have it at home but it tastes like an acidic raspberry.
We enjoyed views of both new and old parts of Recife and clusters of favelas were noticeable on riverbanks. There were even some being kept above river water on stilts. The blend of old and new, rich and poor, branco e preto is just what makes this part of Brazil so invigorating! To do full justice to Pernambuco, Recife and Olinda would take at least a week. There’s music to tantalise the ear, fruit to tickle the taste buds, ceramics, sculptures and carvings to furnish entire houses without fear of repetition: Hopefully there will be a window in the diary for 2012/3 to make a hop over the Atlantic…

Feliz Natal!

Well we’ve made it to the state of Rio Grande do Norte, to the far eastern tip of Brazil, jutting out into the Atlantic and just a short hop over to Senegal! Here in the city of Natal there is an historic, colonial core with some brightly painted and well-preserved churches. We stumbled upon an oasis of calm in a Franciscan monastery, exploring the small church and secluded cloisters, and then on to the Metropolitan cathedral, a concrete barn thrown up in a hurry and on a tight budget, where the roof didn’t quite meet up with the walls: in this heat, it’s not such a problem. We checked out two shopping malls, the first totally modern, massive and smart with fierce air-conditioning; the second more laid back with expensive fast food joints.
Meanwhile, back in the old part of the city, on the higher ground and known as the Cidade Alta, we halted on a street corner at a tiny café for a quick pit stop: salgados (fried savouries such as empanadas and pasteis) fresh pineapple juice and an avocado vitamina. One of our goals was to locate a Terreiro do Candomblé, but the address was far out of town and time was against us. But round the next corner was some consolation, for down an atmospheric side-street we found the Casa do Orixas, a small shop devoted to statues of saints, religious artefacts and all the paraphernalia associated with the cult of Umbanda. Here the statues were of dancers, old slaves and nestling on a lower shelf was Exu. But isn’t he a Candomblé deity rather than Umbanda? Syncretic cults can be confusing, and it’s not really possible to do anything more than just scratch the surface. But at least we’ve managed to make contact!
Wandering lost through narrow streets proved to be a great decision to round the day off as little did we know that we were shortly wandering alongside notorious favela territories, where the inhabitants gave us a mixture of looks; some smiling beside others that were dubiously straight-faced. To see the favelas close up was intriguing! Narrow paths winding up through no-go dwellings which locals had built from the basic bricks that they could find, the vast majority being terracotta except from the few houses that brightened up the scene with their brilliantly bright paint colour schemes. We were sure to stop and overlook the river where the fishermen were balancing on the thin, broken concrete ledges of the harbour side, forcibly hauling in their nets using all reserve muscle power. The multicoloured fishing boats with their unique names painted on their sides and rims tended to bob gently as a gentle breeze created weak rippling movements on the water’s surface.

Fortaleza

We’ve arrived in a city of 2.4 million people; the capital of the Brazilian state of
Ceará. As first impressions go, it was quite breathtaking to see the golden coastline hugged by rather futuristic high-rise blocks. Once on the ground it was a completely different story and from this aspect we became aware of the deceptive beach front and the underlying real life that many of the locals enjoy simultaneously with endurance. As it was Sunday when we arrived in Fortaleza, the city was comparatively silent by Brazilian standards and everybody seemed to have headed out of town to enjoy the idealistic lifestyle of a beach bum.
The local bus ride into the city centre was bewildering! We saw beauty and happiness in the street children, some of who were playing futebol whilst others were ‘soltando pipa’ (flying single-stringed kites). When Jon was living in the Zona Norte of Rio de Janeiro, he became involved in the joyful pipa game. Onto the roof of his house he climbed to set up for the contest, taking in an unforgettable view of the local Carioca neighbourhoods and favelas at the same time but also trying to spy out other peoples’ kites with whom he would play. To start playing, one has to fly their kite and if they are the only one doing so, somebody is guaranteed to eagerly join them within seconds. Once there are one or more kites high overhead, the aim of the game is to cut each others kite strings. The one remaining with their kite still flying is the winner (though some cheaters roll their cords in glass shards to give them that extra boost).
After disembarking the bus we admired an aqua blue and brilliant white colonial building before wandering up to the Mercado Central to admire some local handicrafts and re-hydrate. Curios stray cats and optimistic dogs scoured through clusters of rubbish that seemed to appear every so often along the way and we were always sure to cross to the opposite side of the street for fear of potential rabies transmission. The occasional street child looked at us imploringly, and the level of malnourishment was startling: perhaps even worse than the children we came across in Bangladesh. The market itself had many cheap t-shirts with humorous phrases printed on, plenty of clay figurines holding drums or accordions to illustrate the Forró music culture, and finely detailed wooden carvings of religious scenes, wildlife, architecture, you name it! We could have easily blown our life savings in that place but with a little discipline and willpower, we wandered across to the Cathedral without looking back. It was rather plain and was all white apart from the numerous beautiful stained glass windows and the crucifix which was illuminated with electric-blue lights from behind. Attentive church-goers watched as the bishop of Fortaleza was enthusiastically running the service, and a couple of needy street children walked by with open palms. Then it was off to a small street market with cobblestones covered with sand, plenty of beachwear for sale, and a coconut vendor who was able to quench our thirst handsomely!
The district of Iracema is slightly down-at-heel, and so we moved onwards via a supermarket, where we bought a variety of local chilled drinks, to a beach-side bar for ice-cold Chopp and chicken hearts. Yes, chicken hearts, and they were extremely tasty! Sundays in central Fortaleza are slightly tricky: our visit to the Centro Cultural Dragão do Mar proved to be fruitless as everything was closed! So what to do…hang on, this is Brazil, so off to the beach! The local buses are fantastic, and the journey past favellas and tiny streets with colourfully painted houses with red-tiled roofs and ad-hoc games of futebol captured the mood perfectly. The Praia do Futuro was packed: many thousands of people doing one of the things that Brazilians do best of all! This is the life! Had we been hungry here, vendors plied their trade in lollipops of cheese to whack upon their tiny, portable barbeques, almost like thuribles containing hot charcoal and swinging from a chain.
Meanwhile, back on the trail, we hit the Meireles strip just as the sun was setting. This can be best described as a cross between Miami beach and Benidorm. Past the tiny fishing beach, off which jangada fishing boats with their curved masts were anchored and accessible only from the tiny rowing boats piled up on the beach, and on to the large craft fair which commences each day at dusk. Fortaleza was gradually springing into life, and the promenade became highly animated with passers-by, street artists and circus acts. Suitably fortified with a fat tapioca, condensed milk and coconut delicacy from two elderly women pushing a street-vendor’s cart, we pushed onwards along the strip, taking in the vacation atmosphere of this massive resort, and enjoying the balmy, tropical evening.

Santarem and Alter do Chão

The city of Santarem is sited at the confluence of two mighty rivers: the Amazon and the Tapajós. The Amazon water is dense and muddy, laden with alluvial deposits and vegetable matter, whilst the Tapajós runs almost clear, and appears much darker to the eye. Just to the east of Santarem it’s possible to see the Ilha Grande do Tapartu and the place where the two rivers meet, flowing side-by-side for many miles, but refusing to mingle! Our goal is to travel further upstream of the Tapajós to the small village of Alter do Chão in search of a little slice of fluvial paradise. But will we find it?
Pink river dolphins were a great start to the nature of the Amazon. The numbers of this freshwater dolphin species have unfortunately been diminishing and they are such beautiful creatures. As the name suggests, they really are pink and most have grey markings on them too.
We made a visit to the large blue cathedral of Santarem founded by the Jesuits, and then straight to the fish market to check out some amazing varieties of Amazon river fish, one of which seems to have eyes decorating its tail fins! This may possibly be to deter predators. For one, these eyes appear much larger than the fish’s real eyes and an attacking predator may be fooled into thinking it’s much larger than it actually is and therefore may have consequences to pay should it decide to move in for the kill. Another reason that’s just as likely is that these spots are actually to mimic an animal’s head, thus disguising it as a tail. As predators are likely to attack the head/body regions, the advantage to this would be to grant the fish one final chance to escape. A small tear in the tail is certainly better than a wound to the head. In this case, these adaptations didn’t seem to outsmart the fishermen. The food hall within the market provides a few aromas to savour and salivate over.
As the noon heat began to scorch, we decided to crack on with things. We waited patiently for our bus to stop on Avenida Rui Barbosa. The time flew as we were also busy taking in the daily grind and awing over the ‘sorvete’ stands. So many ice-creams in so many flavours. Oh Yeah! Must keep an eye out for the bus! It was sometimes very unclear where some of the buses were headed for, be it small writing or no writing! A couple of times Jon held his arm out to flag down a bus and shouted “Isto onibus vai para Alter do Chão?”, but on both occasions they were going elsewhere. Moments after a bus approached speedily with “Alter do Chão” written boldly across the sign on the front. This was it! We were starting our hour long journey to a small oasis within the thick of the tropical rainforest. The journey was a little hair-raising as the driver seemed to be ignoring the speed limit signs and dust flew in through the windows when the good quality road transformed itself to a red dirt track. Travelling past the dense topical rainforest gave us the rare opportunity to compare it with our experiences in the Taman Negara of Malaysia and the slice of the Lowacherra rainforest we visited in Bangladesh.
We paid our bus fare at the end of the journey, exiting through a turnstile just like at a football ground and clambering down from the bus onto an intersection of the village laden with bars, cafes, small restaurants, pousadas and gift shops. All seemed to be closed for siesta time, and perhaps made this village seem rather more touristy than we had been led to expect. But the main praça revealed the magnificent vista of the river and the inviting Ilha do Amor, with its pristine white sandy beaches and glistening, blue water. The praça also contained plenty of small stalls which looked like they could spring into life at dusk, as well as a pretty colonial church.
We headed down a sandy dirt-track road, past the vultures waddling around, in search of our intended lodgings for the night: the Albergue do Floresta. Through a gateway in a fence made entirely from dried palm fronds, we entered into a small haven of tranquillity away from the bustle of village life, a world of brightly coloured hammocks and tiny blue wooden cabins, where only the chirp of a few insects could be heard. They assured us that there were no mosquitoes here, and that nets were unnecessary. So we bagged a hammock each and decided to swing around for a good few minutes to get used to this new, tropical method of relaxing, chilling, and later (much later…) sleeping.
Right then, let’s explore around the praça of Alter do Chão! We settle down for a quick pit stop of Frango Empanado (large chunks of chicken breast deep-fried in breadcrumbs) which arrive together with lashings of mayonaise jazzed up with plenty of ketchup, and an orange coloured Brazilian chilli sauce which, when poured liberally over the chicken, makes it sing in the mouth! Back down at the water’s edge, the time came to cool off with a small ice-lolly (picolé) before we paddled over to the waterside bar. Well actually, it’s more IN the water than beside it. You could easily swim right up to your table! Here we cool down once more with an amazingly flavoured refrigerated soft drink called Guarana.
By early evening we had managed to find an almost deserted beach to enjoy an astonishing sunset over the Rio Tapajós. The sun descended as a massive flaming ball, even penetrating through the cloud cover as it began to dip beneath the horizon of virgin rainforest miles away beyond the still river. The water in Amazonia right now is at a very low level, so the beaches stretch quite some distance and the floating pontoons stand marooned on the sand. Later in the year it will be a very different story. We start to explore once more around the centre of the village, ultimately seeking food but stumbling upon some amazing shops specialising in colourful local handicrafts, from brightly painted wooden macaws, to small latex armadillos amidst countless tribal spears, blowpipes and drums. Fantastic!
We opt for food local-style, not gringo style; you should know us by now from the last two years worth of blogs! A small stall with a roadside barbeque of magnificent skewers of roast chicken on the churrasquinho proves to be exactly the right choice. These kebabs can then be sprinkled liberally with crunchy corn-flower (farinha) and plenty of chilli sauce. This might just be the best BBQ chicken we’ve ever tasted! They asked us to try some passion fruit juice (maracuja) to wash it down with, and it would have been silly not to accept! And yes, mais dois se faz favor! Just a few paces away is a terrific ice-cream stall with a bewildering array of flavours to choose from. Jon finds tapioca ice-cream, which has a lush, rich flavour and an astonishing texture from the little pearls of tapioca hidden in each lick. The passion fruit ice cream was equally delectable, too!

The night in the hammock was quite frankly magical! All the insects of the forest had struck up their nocturnal symphony, which would continue until dawn. There would seem to be an infinite number of positions you can adopt when lying in your hammock, and it was fun trying out as many as possible until sleep would eventually intervene, but then at various points throughout the night you would re-adjust and then nod off again. A soothing tropical rain shower had helped lower the temperature around midnight, and whilst it was still pitch-black at 6 am, a rooster made sure that we stirred to great the coming day. Breakfast started for us along the river front with a fried tapioca pancake laden with condensed milk and coconut, progressing to a table at a tiny café on the square with a batida de abacate (avocado milkshake), a café preto and a cafezinho. As we chilled out here for a while we admired the bird life. One delightful specimen that caught our eyes had a shimmering mustard yellow belly and head, and was gliding through the air showing off its black wing and tail feathers. It was the size of a small blackbird but it’s ego was the size of an albatross!

This is what Brazil is all about; the friendly people, the awesome food and the spectacular wildlife.

Sailing up the Amazon

The sea was blue, the tropical Atlantic, as we travelled Southwest from French Guiana along the Brazilian seaboard. And then it was green, and perhaps grey, as the storm clouds gathered, as is the norm during the afternoons. But then something rather strange happened: the water started to change colour, and it gradually became quite a murky brown. As the shadows started to lengthen, we spied a procession of tiny white boats with green sails: a family flotilla of Brazilian fishing boats! As night drew on the water became calmer and much browner, becoming just like milky-white coffee. The scent of tropical rainforest humidity wafted on the night airs, as cicadas and bioluminescent insects flew round our heads, and up above the stars twinkled in the spacious firmament. We had crossed over the ‘bar’…
By morning it all became clear: we were slowly penetrating the heart of the Floresta Amazonica, past Macapa and along mangrove swamps, loose water hyacinths, floating grasses and magnificently tall, towering trees with the occasional cluster of vultures circling above. But as if this wasn’t quite enough, we were shortly to be greeted by friendly natives on their shallow, carved wooden rowing boats, waving excitedly at us. They had emerged from tiny river tributaries that had small, wooden huts (just like the Malaysian kampongs we discovered last year). We took no notice of a ghostly cloud of what appeared to be a thick mist which approached us from behind, give or take the twenty minutes of its stealthy approach. We were soon enjoying a thorough drenching of cool tropical rain, a soothing respite from the intense equatorial heat of noon. We also became acquainted with a hawk moth, many large beetles and a bee which landed on Jon’s arm, but resisted the temptation to sting him!

Guyene Francaise - French Guiana

We’re in one of the most sparsely populated countries of the world, exploring the paradise of Ile Royale, 10 miles off the coast! Well, almost paradise: the dense and varied vegetation, the undulations of the small hilly island and the fascinating animal and bird inhabitants make the place feel very special indeed. In fact, without even trying, Ile Royale has given even the Seychelles a run for their money in terms of atmosphere and experience. Our visit to the Iles du Salut have coincided with a massive tropical downpour (it’s the rainy season right now) and getting thoroughly drenched by cool rain in this incessant heat only adds to the magical experience. But here there are one or two things which detract from that first impression of paradise.
Firstly, there are no real beaches so to speak of, and the coastline is rocky and dramatic, which churns up the waves as they approach the shore. Swimming here would be impossible, the sea is so violent, and it’s far from that enticing turquoise blue of just a few days ago; it’s more green which reflects the dense palm forests which tumble down to the rocky water’s edge. But swimming would be a bad idea for the other obvious reason: these are shark-infested waters!
Perhaps that’s why the French established a prison colony here over 160 years ago. Nobody would ever be able to escape…
The tropical rain beats down as we explore overgrown paths, careful to avoid the falling coconuts, and weave in and out of the derelict buildings that remain from the prison. It was such a curious experience to be trekking both off and on road with the few gingerbread-like sandstone paths that actually exist probably having been built for the prison guards by the convicts that had been banished from France.
Ile Royale has a fantastic array of wildlife including the green-winged ara macaw, capuchin monkeys, even pheasants and cats (that had probably been introduced from France), but most of all, agoutis. Not to be missed! This is a species of rodent that resembles a slightly oversized ginuea pig with short front legs and disproportionately large hind legs. Goodness knows how they scamper so bleeding quickly! Their bristly pelage merges from a slate colour at the front to an almost ferric orange behind. In fact, one of us did comment on how it looked as if these agoutis had coconuts permanently capped over their hides. We were also fortunate enough to get a close up of an iguana, and just as fortunate not to have got so close to the lake below that caimans inhabit!. Anyway, it was the greenest iguana either of us had ever seen! Sadly we couldn’t get a picture as Jon stopping Simon in his tracks and almost winding him, just centimetres from where the iguana was perched, caused the iguana to twitch and she fell to her watery bed. The poor creature will have to spend a very long time climbing up again! Deepest apologies.
Out of the three Islands that make up Iles du Salut, the Ile du Diable (Devil’s Island) is the most difficult to access and is notorious for being the primary prison for French criminals of the past. The prisoners were often subjected to a lonesome stretch of time in small and uncomfortable individual brick huts, where they had a sea view from a window comparable to that of an artist’s viewfinder, if they were lucky. Not even a criminal deserves to be cooped up with barely any space to move around, with no escape from the intense tropical heat and humidity, nor from the invasive insects that no doubt caused intense aggravation from their bites, stings and just simply crawling over them. There couldn’t have been a moments peace.
Despite this inhumanity of the past, Devil’s Island remains very beautiful and untouched with coconut palms and rocks being it’s only inhabitants, although rumour has it that there are swarms of irritable bees there these days. We were fortunate enough to get a phenomenal glimpse of this Island from the Ile Royale, where we were. Our time there was just too short, but now we’re moving onwards to explore a sandy beach over 400 miles from the sea…

Trinidad: Port-of-Spain

The very first experience we have of this city is a steel pan band. It’s deafeningly loud, and exceptionally good! Then in the crowds around Frederick St, a local guy called Marcus strikes up a conversation with us about Manchester United. Immediately, Jon senses a ploy which might prove costly in terms of finance and time-management, so we quickly disengage. We walk right up to the north of town, up towards the hills which seem to look like the ridges in northern Venezuela. Well, geologically, they must be pretty much identical, for mainland Venezuela lies just 7 miles to the south of Trinidad.
At the Botanical Gardens we meet Lewis, who offers to drive us up into the mountains, but taxis are frankly a bit more expensive than converse and pavement, so we move onwards, drenched to the skin by a tropical storm, and happy to have found Jonny’s Coconut stall.
We arrive in Independence Square tired and hungry. How about trying the most important and famous street food of Trinidad and Tobago, ’Hot Doubles’? These consist of layers of fluffy pancakes upon which is spooned plenty of chickpeas in a fiery pepper sauce. Wow! There’s a strong chance that these might just be THE taste sensation of our entire expedition, and it’s only the second full day… Hot Doubles are in fact SO tasty that we return to the same stall an hour later for a repeat prescription. Back in Frederick St we manage to stumble upon a food hall where we try Callaloo, a very thick soupy dish made with okra. There’s a distinctive Indian presence here on the island, which extends from the shop owners to the local delicacies. But more of this later.
“Hey London guys!” Well it’s a small city centre, and Marcus had found us again.
“What you lookin’ for?” he drawled, and somewhat foolishly Simon started to answer the question: “Roti”
“Ok, come on!” and with that Marcus had already shot off, parting the crowd and beckoning us to follow. Slowly it began to dawn upon the travelling duo that at some point in this new friendship, money would be changing hands, and not necessarily in the credit column of team Jon and Simon. But what can you do? And after all, part of this trip will be ALL about the people we meet down on the street, and wow, this guys is being greeted by just about everybody he passes, so he must be a very familiar face around these parts. As the walk with Marcus progresses, the questions Jon is asking him start to illicit quite detailed information about his background. Yes, of course he’s a ’guide’ but not an ordinary sort of guide, he is part of an organisation which specialises in connecting tourists in Port-of-Spain with real Trinidadian life. So clearly Marcus had identified us in the crowd earlier and picked us as likely dudes for his services, but then this is a good thing, because what he knows and what he wants to show us is pretty much what we want to know and experience.
He’s served in the US Navy on the Alamo, and now he works with the underprivileged sectors of urban society and builds bridges between life in the ghetto and visitors to the city. But aren’t we on a sophisticated island, maybe part of the developed world, rich in bourgeois western values and lifestyles? Well lets just walk a few blocks east and take a hike down Charlotte St and down into George St. Woosh! We’re back where we love life best, it’s the street scene of the developing world, with its frenetic pace, distinctive aromas (not least of peeled lemons wafting on the breeze), pumping music, market stalls and the hardships of lives lead permanently in the shadow of poverty. And to the east of George St. lies a series of tenements riddled with barbed wire on every balcony. Marcus tells us that here is the no-go area, with gangland warfare, drug deals, gun-point robberies and high speed chases. We’re safe here with Marcus, they all know him, and he has an instinctive feeling for where we can go and when. We even pass a large workshop devoted to the production of steel pans. All this exploration has worked up some pretty strong hunger pangs, and so back in Independence Square we manage to track down a Roti shop, where we ask for the works. This is a whole meal wrapped up in a massive chapati, complete with some tasty pickled mango still on its stone and some chicken with many, many bones…
It’s time to buy some rum before we leave the Caribbean (until April, that is!) and we meet a wonderful elderly couple who run a liquor store: a sophisticated Indian gentleman, who, just like Simon’s dad, had spent his career working for ICI and his wife who is also the Philippino Consul to Trinidad. They have a great framed photograph of the time they met Prince Charles, and it turns out that she had even worked with Mother Teresa when they lived in Calcutta. We exchanged stories for quite some time!

Woah! We're going to Barbados!

It’s almost two years since we flew on Virgin Atlantic, first time around to Mauritius. Well, their version to Barbados was every bit as good! In fact, it was just like the song, and it felt as if we really were on Coconut Airways… Before we set off, there was time in the early hours of the morning to stop by Rockies in West Hounslow for a mind-blowing pizza laden with bird’s eye chillis just to get in the mood: this place is a great find and a must-visit whenever you are travelling from LHR, it’s run by a Sikh family and everybody speaks Punjabi, including all but two of the customers…
During the aircraft’s final approach to Grantly Adams International Airport, it was clear to see below us the turquoise blue sea, the white powder sand, the palm trees and the chattel houses lining the narrow roads. What a perfect image of the REAL Barbados; and pretty soon our task will be to connect with some real Bajan people and experience the way of life on the island rather than the enclaves of the all inclusive resorts…
We touched down at Bridgetown just as the sun was setting, and decided to hit the ground running and explore the capital of Barbados in-depth as night drew on. “’Sup, big man” was the greeting offered to us from a tall and imposing guy on the main street, and he went on “Is there anything I can get you?” Now that was kind, wasn’t it? He gave us the creeps but ’m sure he was just in need a little extra cash or a cigar. Within seconds we were fighting off offers from taxi drivers and well meaning chaps who offered us all manner of diversions and entertainments. But this wasn’t quite what we had in mind. But one thing was very refreshing: here there was no hard-sell, no obvious hassling or hustling; it’s all completely laid-back, chilled out and matter-of-fact. We located a great little row of rum stalls, doing a slow trade with just a few languid hangers-on, but two Polish guys were enjoying the local lager of the island, ‘Banks’ and seemed intent on finding a party. They wondered if we could help them, and the offer of a bottle of Banks seemed like quite a good idea under the circumstances. So we learned that Arek and Daniel were engineer cadets on a large cargo ship bound for Grenada.
Luckily for us another Bajan man had previously directed us to a party that was located just around the corner, down a side street which had a few people walking and cycling, and the occasional loner sitting on an empty plastic beer crate, dwelling on times past. A pool table caught the eye of Arek and so we ended up having a round of that before trundling away in search of the Heineken Bar that was apparently close by, according to the Polish men. They were pretty merry so to say, so I guess they can be forgiven for dragging us far to the outskirts of town to bar that didn’t exist. In fact, had it not been for this wild goose chase, we would never have stumbled upon a tiny, wooden shack that sold fish by day and beer by night, complete with two local Barbadians to pass some time with. The Polish guys didn’t seem to want to stay and hang so they wandered off into the distance in the search of another bar.
Meanwhile, we were invited to pull up one of the metal chairs each and exchange stories of our past trips with one of the Bajan guys who was casually sipping on a beer. This man had certainly been places! He was born in Barbados, but lived in the Bahamas, Canada and France, where he practised and sold his impressive artwork. He used to play football, but these days I think he prefers to chill, since experiencing the agony of a dislocated shoulder and another injury to the collarbone. He mentioned that when in France, the pain returns to where he was injured and stays, but when in Barbados or elsewhere in the Caribbean, the pain magically disappears. Maybe it’s a sign that Barbados is his true home and it’s where he’s meant to be.
The next morning, we headed straight into town to catch a glimpse of Bridgetown by day before checking out some of Barbados’ coastline. We followed some routes along the busy coastal roads, but crossing the roads was no hard task as every driver was so polite that they stopped in their tracks just to facilitate us in traversing the street. We found ourselves strolling along a beach where we found many weird and wonderful things, from sapphire blue and turquoise waters to a sand-smothered motor boat that seemed to have made some sort of emergency crash landing on the shore… Photo opportunity!

As we continued in our strides we noticed that this strip of beach was coming to an end and so we had to return to the road for a short while before getting back to some sand and sea. This section of beach wasn’t so large either and before we knew it we found ourselves scaling the historic walls of a characteristic fortress complete with rusty cannons. Perhaps we were following in the footsteps of pirates some 300 years before? Climbing up over the fence to where the cannons were was definitely our best and only option, since we were approaching a sharp cliff. Little did we know that by this time we had successfully trespassed into the Hilton Hotel’s swimming pool complex and their private beach. I must admit that I had started to feel a little guilty, but the sheer bliss of the beach took me to a whole new level! We stopped for a refreshing dip in the sea after walking a little further in the fine, talcum powder sand.
On the way back to base, it suddenly became compulsory to taste a ‘roti’, this being a mild chicken and potato curry all wrapped in a chapatti. It was really tasty, but it’s in Barbados, so we won’t be stopping there for a while.
This first Island-hop is slowly getting us used to the tropical heat, and it’s almost impossible to remember that cold winter that we just came from. Right now, some of that cold weather would be welcome, I say as drops of sweat from my forehead pounds the keyboard in front of me!