I haven´t been partying wildly - quite the opposite this situation is due to heinously early starts and overnight buses - 3 in week was a bit of a killer.
Since Rio I´ve headed down to BA on a Gecko´s tour. We´ve checked out the rather more cultural side of Rio and snaked our way down via rainforests, waterfalls and island paradises in a bleary-eyed haze.
Rio turned out to have some rather nice areas and a old colonial center that is largely undefiled, although they have imported a spaceship that they installed upsidedown for a cathedral. It is clever inside - a sort of giant concrete ant heap with stained glass forming a cruciform in the skies above you. 2nd clever little feature is the wind tunnelling through to keep it cool without aircon but unfortunately it means the city sirens appear to be sounding alarmingly close; about 2 pews back and a little to the left to be precise!
Having managed to secure a Zbed in the Intercontinental we watched the sunset over Tijuca from the pool with a couple of burgers and hang-gliders circling. It was stunning. From our balcony the favela Rosina was clearly visible and its lights (all illegally powered from the main grid) formed a twinkling blanket against the silouhetted mountains against the burnt skies. Additionally by the pool we found/were found by some charming french boys who turned out to have an equally charming penthouse on Ipanema (where we partied to the Ipanema band in the day) where we spent the next night for their house warming drinking caipirinhas in the jacuzzi until the sun rose and then we ate eggs on the balcony before i hightailed it back to my hotel in time for the tour to leave!
A quick stop in Curitiba and onto Isla do Mel!
Sunday, 28 February 2010
Monday, 22 February 2010
From Samba to Sewage
The samba schools were spectacular at the sambadrone even if Bobs inedible (and expensive in comparison to the golden arches) Burgers where the only supper fare on offer. Tijuca was the overal champion complete with batmen bombing down a mobile ski slope. Their song has been incessantly pounded into our heads since as all the bars have it on repeat.
We may have looked faintly ridiculous but we ensured that we were at least in the company of similar such glittering fools by transforming the rest of the Tucan boys who came with us. After several hours of samba or concrete benches we were a little achy, very sweaty and ready for a cooling drink on our return. You qill have to imagine how we looked (we went shopping around the blocas around Cinelandia in the day) as unfortunately those were the photos stolen!
The next day we headed off to Roschina, the largest favela in Rio (300,000), which turned out to be right next to the Intercontinental where I would spend that night for a favela tour. It sounds a little morbid and several of the elder people on the tour made distinctly nauseating comments that did make you feel voyeuristic. That said, the tour was well executed and in fact I felt that the favela was in considerably better shape than home sweet home lapa. It had energy and felt cohesive, additonally we got the best frango kebab con salsa by a mile we´d had for R$1.50 each. It sounds awful to say but I´d wanted to see something more shocking, so there was an open sewer and the electrical cables almost blot out the sun but I thought I´d gain a greater insight than Waughs guide for the A level geographer had already laid out.
We may have looked faintly ridiculous but we ensured that we were at least in the company of similar such glittering fools by transforming the rest of the Tucan boys who came with us. After several hours of samba or concrete benches we were a little achy, very sweaty and ready for a cooling drink on our return. You qill have to imagine how we looked (we went shopping around the blocas around Cinelandia in the day) as unfortunately those were the photos stolen!
The next day we headed off to Roschina, the largest favela in Rio (300,000), which turned out to be right next to the Intercontinental where I would spend that night for a favela tour. It sounds a little morbid and several of the elder people on the tour made distinctly nauseating comments that did make you feel voyeuristic. That said, the tour was well executed and in fact I felt that the favela was in considerably better shape than home sweet home lapa. It had energy and felt cohesive, additonally we got the best frango kebab con salsa by a mile we´d had for R$1.50 each. It sounds awful to say but I´d wanted to see something more shocking, so there was an open sewer and the electrical cables almost blot out the sun but I thought I´d gain a greater insight than Waughs guide for the A level geographer had already laid out.
Thursday, 18 February 2010
Duran Duran
Her name is RIO and she dances in the sand, oh Rio, Rio baby across the Rio Grand!
Well Rio is an enigma (it´s not even really called Rio de Janerio...........). It both matches exactly with all accounts and yet doesnt quite correspond with my expectations built upon those accounts. Ill try to explain that - the bay is stunning, the polarisation marked, we´ve been mugged, taught samba on the street and watched the parade after sunning ourselves on Copacabana beach! However, Carnival isnt charged like i had anticipated - its a sort of glorified excuse for a city to dress up in drag although at the blocas its crazy (distinctly over the edge of riotous) the rest of the town is drawn.
I think the decline of Rios prominence and drain of government recentralisation in Brasilia has had more than a physical/socio-economic effect. It appears more and more that carnival is escapism- it allows music, dance and community participation for nothing and in Rio this enjoyment has been lacking so carnival fills the void! I had expected a highly religious country but aside from the Christian fundamentalists of the Jesu Christos e o seignor de Estados Reinos the people tend not to have religious convictions at all or are perfectly happy to see a voodoo doctor whilst pursuing alysium. I think that carnival no longer has any higher significance is what makes it appear baseless - hedonism with no pretence.
Our mugging wasnt all that spectacular - we were out in Lapa by our hostel and speaking to a couple of english boys. Two men moved in - one attempting to distract, the other to grab Eleanor´s camera although it was fairly blatent what their aim was. I did actually pull the rather simple looking one off who i´d seen breaking bottles in preparation earlier. His one good eye registered terror, which made me drop him faster than the bottle clasped in his hand. Ironically the topic of our conversation just prior to the mugging was about muggings in Rio; especially how annoying it would be to have a camera stolen. We weren´t hurt but suddenly all of the thousands by the arches were transformed into potential threats so the walk back was a little gruelling!
Well Rio is an enigma (it´s not even really called Rio de Janerio...........). It both matches exactly with all accounts and yet doesnt quite correspond with my expectations built upon those accounts. Ill try to explain that - the bay is stunning, the polarisation marked, we´ve been mugged, taught samba on the street and watched the parade after sunning ourselves on Copacabana beach! However, Carnival isnt charged like i had anticipated - its a sort of glorified excuse for a city to dress up in drag although at the blocas its crazy (distinctly over the edge of riotous) the rest of the town is drawn.
I think the decline of Rios prominence and drain of government recentralisation in Brasilia has had more than a physical/socio-economic effect. It appears more and more that carnival is escapism- it allows music, dance and community participation for nothing and in Rio this enjoyment has been lacking so carnival fills the void! I had expected a highly religious country but aside from the Christian fundamentalists of the Jesu Christos e o seignor de Estados Reinos the people tend not to have religious convictions at all or are perfectly happy to see a voodoo doctor whilst pursuing alysium. I think that carnival no longer has any higher significance is what makes it appear baseless - hedonism with no pretence.
Our mugging wasnt all that spectacular - we were out in Lapa by our hostel and speaking to a couple of english boys. Two men moved in - one attempting to distract, the other to grab Eleanor´s camera although it was fairly blatent what their aim was. I did actually pull the rather simple looking one off who i´d seen breaking bottles in preparation earlier. His one good eye registered terror, which made me drop him faster than the bottle clasped in his hand. Ironically the topic of our conversation just prior to the mugging was about muggings in Rio; especially how annoying it would be to have a camera stolen. We weren´t hurt but suddenly all of the thousands by the arches were transformed into potential threats so the walk back was a little gruelling!
Friday, 12 February 2010
24hours, 4 doctors, 3 countries, 2 xrays, 1 plane, 1 ferry, three taxis and a couple of pizzas later...
So despite passing the ambulences a couple of streets away from the hostel they took 1/2hr to arrive by which stage cooking lentijhes the previous night had paid off - one of the girls i´d feb turned out to be a medic on a year abroad.......... perfect! Having sussed me out the medics were keen to whisk me off to colonia´s hospital but we had other plans (although at this stage eleanor had disappeared off with her disfunctional STA mastercard - might hold off on transferring much through) since we were already late for check-in for the ferry.
Promising to go to hospital in BA we boarded the ferry whilst trying to break the happy news to mum relatively calmly between ice packs pressed to my face and hand. One productive ferry ride later and i´d sorted out a claims no. although further trouble arose when Eleanor realised she´d lost Muriels address and we managed to ring through... and write down the wrong building no. Wishing eachother luck and joking with passers-by about my war wounds we split up - me for the German Hospital and Eleanor for the hostel where her bags were stored.
First task was persuading the registrar that I warranted emergency care since it was out of hours, second was to negotiate a hospital where no-one spoke english whilst trying to keep my trousers up with one hand bound up and the other dealing with papers and luggage.
Thankfully i found another friendly stranger - this time the doctor who saw me who locked my luggage up in his office. Despite joking about the iodine moustache and goatee he was painting on he saw fit to ask me out for a drink when i returned in March. I think he´s more likely to see me in emergency care! after getting rather lost between departments not really knowing where i was meant to be headed in any case i emerged with an even larger bandage and no antibiotics - the farmacias both in and opposite the hospital being closed.
Getting into my taxi I reached the aching awareness that i hadn´t yet taken any pain killers and that they were locked firmly in the trunk whilst my natural pain blockers cooled down from their marathon screaming match of ´it really doesn´t hurt that much!´ On route I fielded a call from Sabrina to say that her aunts address was 1845 rodriguez tena not 45 and that eleanor had arrived in tears (later realising she´d also lost her backpack on route) at least there was steaming pizza on the table (even if Eleanor had to cut it into babysize chunks for me as writing and cutting just doesn´t happen atm).
A trip to FarmaCity and a kip on the sofa preceded our taxi to the airport at 2:30am. Despite not being able to fill out any forms and signing in a baby scribble with my left hand I got to Rio to Lapa. The Place to be at night but apparently not so much in the day!
Promising to go to hospital in BA we boarded the ferry whilst trying to break the happy news to mum relatively calmly between ice packs pressed to my face and hand. One productive ferry ride later and i´d sorted out a claims no. although further trouble arose when Eleanor realised she´d lost Muriels address and we managed to ring through... and write down the wrong building no. Wishing eachother luck and joking with passers-by about my war wounds we split up - me for the German Hospital and Eleanor for the hostel where her bags were stored.
First task was persuading the registrar that I warranted emergency care since it was out of hours, second was to negotiate a hospital where no-one spoke english whilst trying to keep my trousers up with one hand bound up and the other dealing with papers and luggage.
Thankfully i found another friendly stranger - this time the doctor who saw me who locked my luggage up in his office. Despite joking about the iodine moustache and goatee he was painting on he saw fit to ask me out for a drink when i returned in March. I think he´s more likely to see me in emergency care! after getting rather lost between departments not really knowing where i was meant to be headed in any case i emerged with an even larger bandage and no antibiotics - the farmacias both in and opposite the hospital being closed.
Getting into my taxi I reached the aching awareness that i hadn´t yet taken any pain killers and that they were locked firmly in the trunk whilst my natural pain blockers cooled down from their marathon screaming match of ´it really doesn´t hurt that much!´ On route I fielded a call from Sabrina to say that her aunts address was 1845 rodriguez tena not 45 and that eleanor had arrived in tears (later realising she´d also lost her backpack on route) at least there was steaming pizza on the table (even if Eleanor had to cut it into babysize chunks for me as writing and cutting just doesn´t happen atm).
A trip to FarmaCity and a kip on the sofa preceded our taxi to the airport at 2:30am. Despite not being able to fill out any forms and signing in a baby scribble with my left hand I got to Rio to Lapa. The Place to be at night but apparently not so much in the day!
(Picture accredited to Drage; weapon of mass facial/dexteral destruction)
An unexpected souvenir...
Colonia we quickly discovered had rather more to offer once by the river or within the barrio historico. Despite being armed with a guidebook we wandered around the old cobbled streets and went wherever took our fancy - at 70 pesos to cover all museum entries there was no urgency to go and check out every tile in the museo azulejes.
Highlights definately included the faro (lighthouse) which rises out of the C16th ruins of the covento san francisco and the old port. Where a ruined residence served as our sombra (shade) since, although it was beautiful under the willows on the waters edge, the acidic green algae gave off quite a stench!
After an absolutely delicious lunch at El Drugstore opposite the Iglesia Matriz on Plaza des Armas, pescado del dia and gnocchi where we started off lunch in a converted vintage car on the street (sorry dad i don´t know what it was but there are pictures!) but moved as it was boiling to the equally ecletic interior (think suspended grand pianos and carribean colour) Rio de la Plata beckoned. Armed with a couple of bikes from the hostel we set off for the locals beach although due to a lack of breaks I had to walk my bike for all of the downhill / crossroads. It is MASSIVE as in can´t see the other side (and BA) at all, since we rather needed a workout so jumped straight in, disbelieving that it was fresh despite the mud underfoot further out. the stormdrain was perhaps not it´s most enticing feature, fortunately i wrote my postcards lying on the sand...!
Having chanced upon a circus and funfair and indulged ourselves by climbing the abandoned ferris wheel etc. we then chatted with the workers and helped weld the bucking bronco back to life before setting off at which point DISASTER. Going at a fair speed i couldn~´t be sure of making the corner between Eleanor and an oncoming moped so cut the grass verge to pass eleanor on the inside. This was the intention anyway. Unfortunately the nice grassy verge didn´t have quite the same agenda and turned out to be harbouring some rather large concrete blocks. Omniously i was swearing before i´d even hit them (no brakes...) and exhibited a perfect forward flip over the handlebars and into a full face plant.
Fortunately no loss of consciousness `Eleanor is my nose broken?` were my first words. Immediately people showered down in torrents (not disimilar to the dark pools of blood forming) to help and at this point i realised with a tweak of the nose and a quick teeth scan that the major in fact lay with my knuckle which was exposed to the bone but being tenderly washed by my good samaritans. Off another nameless helper whisked me to the hostel where the medics were called.
The only thing broken coincidentally were the H&M sunglasses that appeared to have shielded the old nose and eyes in their final sacrificial moments.
Highlights definately included the faro (lighthouse) which rises out of the C16th ruins of the covento san francisco and the old port. Where a ruined residence served as our sombra (shade) since, although it was beautiful under the willows on the waters edge, the acidic green algae gave off quite a stench!
After an absolutely delicious lunch at El Drugstore opposite the Iglesia Matriz on Plaza des Armas, pescado del dia and gnocchi where we started off lunch in a converted vintage car on the street (sorry dad i don´t know what it was but there are pictures!) but moved as it was boiling to the equally ecletic interior (think suspended grand pianos and carribean colour) Rio de la Plata beckoned. Armed with a couple of bikes from the hostel we set off for the locals beach although due to a lack of breaks I had to walk my bike for all of the downhill / crossroads. It is MASSIVE as in can´t see the other side (and BA) at all, since we rather needed a workout so jumped straight in, disbelieving that it was fresh despite the mud underfoot further out. the stormdrain was perhaps not it´s most enticing feature, fortunately i wrote my postcards lying on the sand...!
Having chanced upon a circus and funfair and indulged ourselves by climbing the abandoned ferris wheel etc. we then chatted with the workers and helped weld the bucking bronco back to life before setting off at which point DISASTER. Going at a fair speed i couldn~´t be sure of making the corner between Eleanor and an oncoming moped so cut the grass verge to pass eleanor on the inside. This was the intention anyway. Unfortunately the nice grassy verge didn´t have quite the same agenda and turned out to be harbouring some rather large concrete blocks. Omniously i was swearing before i´d even hit them (no brakes...) and exhibited a perfect forward flip over the handlebars and into a full face plant.
Fortunately no loss of consciousness `Eleanor is my nose broken?` were my first words. Immediately people showered down in torrents (not disimilar to the dark pools of blood forming) to help and at this point i realised with a tweak of the nose and a quick teeth scan that the major in fact lay with my knuckle which was exposed to the bone but being tenderly washed by my good samaritans. Off another nameless helper whisked me to the hostel where the medics were called.
The only thing broken coincidentally were the H&M sunglasses that appeared to have shielded the old nose and eyes in their final sacrificial moments.
Wednesday, 10 February 2010
Of giant frogs and neo-colonialism
´Living with hippies in Uruguay, no phone, no electricity, just love. ´
Eleanor´s facebook status essentially summed it up, however, the tale continued...
My stay at Bouland taught me more than the mas rapido routas to the bottom of a pot of dulce de leche, amongst my rapidly expanding spanish vocabulary (not difficult when you start at yr 9 spanish class memories) now includes useful phrases like ´did you remember the forks?´ and ´there is a giant tree frog under my bed´ although not yet ´is it poisonous?´ which was the next step. this said sab and eleanor find it hilarious that i just guess what sounds alright from a latin/spanish base and assert it as truth until it´s falsehood is uncovered!
Our buses to Colonia via montevideo went perfectly smoothly and although $17 they did take us the whole way across country. That said the standing room on the way to Montevideo became increasingly squished whilst eleanor had managed to sweet talk the conductor into giving her his seat! The poverty of the 1m (1/3 of Uruguay´s population) in Montevideo was evident by the street performers and beggars roaming the streets but since we only had a 2 minute changeover i largely missed this 1/3 of the country! Arriving at our hostel (El Viajero) we whipped out a squash, onion and tomato bought in the la barra market along with the puy lentils + chicken stock that had been slow cooking in my bag from victoria road - delish and made a few friends to boot! At a local bar on Flores we sipped on cafe colonial (grappa, secret ingredient and coffee) and poured over the lonely planet guide for the most important feature of the next day... lunch!
Back at our hostel we were relieved to find that the naked engineer had decided that staying in his bunk was a better plan. However, around midnight the snoring from the bunk below eleanors became so loud as to rival dad at which point a starkers Eleanor hopped down and pinched his nose with a hiss. This appeared to startle the man somewhat unsurprisingly although it did mean we all got to sleep before the next outbreak... little did we know about the builders awaiting us!
()
Back to Bouland
SOY URUGUAYSSER! Bouland (literally the ´land of chill´) is the eco-compound where we have been not so much staying but living. Fonch and Pitu, the owners, have been showing us (Eleanor, Sabrina and Me that is, as their only paying clients) about the place; teaching us to surf, treking over the hills (and when the battered old jeep conks out, i.e. frequently,back through the woods), teaching us sushi making, collecting mussels for supper, generator maitenance, tourist sights, cliff jumping, to Bob Marley tribute concerts (¿as bemused as you?!) and star gazing!
Pitu´s real name is Dolores (Pitu, incidentally means Smurf), by which we´d all presumed a homely mama baking away but turned out to be a 23yr old stunner albeit one who baked us bread for breakfast in the outside kitchen in the hand-built mud oven!
After hectic days and collecting mussels for supper by sunset we managed to fall asleep over supper and going out time on our last night and were unamused to have missed out on supper but it did make waking up at 7 for Sab to get her bus rather less affrontive! Eleanor and me (after a sunbathe and some dulce de leche) then brought empandas and hopped on board the jeep for casapueblo the house (and work) of Vilaro which was awesome after our picnic on the beautiful beach by the cliffs at Porto Ballena (like Gairloch but hotter and with a view of punta del este). After we visited the tree museum on the hill, where we studiously avoided comprehending ´probhibitar subir´and climbed up the watchtower (vertical drop ladder - utter disregard for elf and safety) where the innocent but illiterate english girl act was sussed rather quickly by the fireman on duty who happened to have worked in Ireland. Fortunately he didn´t mind the imposistion of 3 girls on his lonely watch so we enjoyed the view without fines or arrest! Finally onto the bus(es) for Colonia!
x x x
Pitu´s real name is Dolores (Pitu, incidentally means Smurf), by which we´d all presumed a homely mama baking away but turned out to be a 23yr old stunner albeit one who baked us bread for breakfast in the outside kitchen in the hand-built mud oven!
After hectic days and collecting mussels for supper by sunset we managed to fall asleep over supper and going out time on our last night and were unamused to have missed out on supper but it did make waking up at 7 for Sab to get her bus rather less affrontive! Eleanor and me (after a sunbathe and some dulce de leche) then brought empandas and hopped on board the jeep for casapueblo the house (and work) of Vilaro which was awesome after our picnic on the beautiful beach by the cliffs at Porto Ballena (like Gairloch but hotter and with a view of punta del este). After we visited the tree museum on the hill, where we studiously avoided comprehending ´probhibitar subir´and climbed up the watchtower (vertical drop ladder - utter disregard for elf and safety) where the innocent but illiterate english girl act was sussed rather quickly by the fireman on duty who happened to have worked in Ireland. Fortunately he didn´t mind the imposistion of 3 girls on his lonely watch so we enjoyed the view without fines or arrest! Finally onto the bus(es) for Colonia!
x x x
Saturday, 6 February 2010
2 hours until D-day...
So this is the scene of carnage in front of me and fortunately the finger looks slightly better now. Can't wait for a 5 hour nap on the cold floor of Madrid airport on route to Montevideo where I shall employ my newest phrase... Dónde está la estación de autobús más cercana? and find a route out to sabrina, eleanor and the beach.
Friday, 5 February 2010
ahhh...
freckles are out in force and mum's lost on ken high not a good start to the day/blog. By-the-by glad you've hit upon my travel blog!
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