The Argentine wetlands

We knew Pelligrini was going to be difficult to get to when we had to negociate for the best part of an hour with an entrepeneurial travel agent, her impatient assistant, a couple taxi drivers, the bus driver and his assistant just to catch a bus there.

However when the rickety bus arrived we could see why it was difficult. Four hours of bumpy dirt track driving we arrived in the village of Pelligrini.

Stretching over 80 hectares and with a population of around 500 people, half of which are under the age of 12, Pelligrini was a world away from its closest town.

Shopping for food meant asking neighbours what they had going spare in the shelves or gardens. I must have visited at least 20 houses looking for vegetables and finally arrived at my best purchase, a couple heads of lettuce and spinach, which a woman plucked out of her vegetable patch for me. Finally some vegetables! It made a welcome departure from the standard Argentine diet of meat and potatoes.

We befriended a couple local chaps, Cesar and Fernando, who cooked us dinner in the evenings in return for lunch and both nights we had some sort of variation of meat and potatoes with bread. Although the food was not memorable, the place was.

There is a great sense of community here with everyone sharing everything they have, however little it is, and in a village so small everyone knows each other.

Although the village was a charm, we really came for the wildlife. We took a boat at sunset to watch the nonchalent crocodiles, gracefull birds and entertaining Carpinchos (the largest rodent in the world, basically small child size guinea pigs).

A local gaucho took us out on his horses to wander through the Palmeras and we convinced Cesar and Fernando to take us out on the boat at night to stare at the dense canopy of stars and scare ourselves witless with the sound of crocodiles bumping into the boat and the knowledge of piranas floating beneath us.

It was a beautiful couple of days that made you appreciate the simplicity of life and nature.

Iguazu

You can see how natives would have believed this to be the end of the world. The devil´s throat (Garganta del Diablo) at Iguazu is a large pit of crashing water which creates a cavernous hole in the earth and belches out fountains of water and a billowing fine spray.

Iguazu must be the most impressive of all country borders, seperating Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay with impressive waterfalls and a laden river.

We were lucky with the weather. It had rained for weeks, closing off much of the park, but on the day we went the sun shone (a good omen for Argentina) and we could walk the bridges to view all the falls and the Garganta.

The river was literally bursting its banks with three times the usual amount of water so we could not get to the island in the middle as it was under water. However the excess water made the falls all the more powerful and impressive with red earth tumbling down them highlighting land in motion.

We decided to get a speedboat trip, the only excursion available, and enjoyed getting closer to the falls and getting completely drenched. We enjoyed it so much that we screamed ótra vez´ each time making the driver take us back for another drenching, much to the disappointment of our wet companions.

We spent the afternoon walking around the falls, monkey spotting and drying off.

It is amazing how harmonious everything is here with fragile butterflies flying dangerously close to thunderous waterfalls.

Couchsurfing Chronicles - Part Three

It is turning into a bit of an obsession now. After our first taste of the couchsurfing apple we are desperate for another juicy bite.
We have searched high and low for someone to stay with in Rosario and finally have found a man to take us in, and he has a boat. Or at least his Dad does. We arrive at his flat tomorrow carrying our luggage and wishful thinking with us.
Last night we went out with some couchsurfers who couldn´t fit us in their flat, as they were already hosting a couple, but invited us to a party with them. Awesome. An instant network of friends.
Two sisters and a brother, who regularly take people in, took us out to a slightly insane party. It was a great night and our first encounter with a couchsurfing family.
We eagerly look forward to meeting our new host tomorrow and are looking to voyeur into a new frontier. Boatsurfing.

Buses in Argentina...

We were pretty excited at the prospect of catching the bus in Argentina as we heard you get free food onboard (I guess our excitement indicates how much we have been on buses recently and our poor budget diet). There was clearly a marked difference between Brazilian and Argentine buses however we didn´t expect it to be police checks and complimentary cockroaches.

The journey from Iguazu to Corrientes started out well with a plate of mediocre plane food dutifully delivered to us within twenty minutes of taking our front row seats. However 20 minutes later there was another surprise.

A road blocade and numerous military men dressed in khaki with large guns on their hips stopped the bus and a couple men jumped on board demanded everyone´s passports or ID. Having left mine in my luggage hold I got out of my sleeping bag and went to retrieve it in my pyjamas. As I got outside I could see my bag, and a man rifling through it.

Explaining that it was my bag, that I needed my passport and asking what the hell he was doing, the officer told me that I didn´t need to worry, all they had found in my bag was clothes so they were moving on to the next one.

After ten minutes or so the engine started up again and we set off once more. It only took another twenty minutes though until we stopped for the next military blocade and identity check. We started to fear this would be a long journey...

The slightly bitter and camp trolley dolly didn´t particularly help either with his bad case of OCD, he felt it necessary to mop the floors soon after our arrival and then again half an hour later. He ensured that the floors were clean and wet but somehow failed to notice the cockroach on Rhia´s window. I think he was also expecting an applause when he gave us a little rundown over the tanoy of the Michael Douglas film (I think Douglas is contracted to play on every bus film in South America), casually chatting away and cracking sarcastic jokes.

Another 8 identity checks over a nine hour night journey ensured we didn´t get much sleep before arriving in Corrientes at 6am. Then it was onto the next bus where at least we got free coffee, just enough to keep us awake to watch the increasing crack on the windscreen...

20 hour bus journeys...

I have learned that the best thing to do on long bus journeys in Brazil is try your hardest not to identify that smell...

Spiked in Sao Paulo...

It tends to happen to me in cities that I like. In London I got mugged; in Naples I got punched in the face; in Sao Paulo I got spiked.
Fortunately Rhia immediately recognised that, although my dancing styles clearly evolve during the night, ´slow mo´collapsing on the floor was not my new Brazilian dance style. So her and our friend Paulo dutifully took me home from the Samba club after realising that a plain coke had not done this to me.
It didn´t put me off though. Sao Paulo I still maintain is a great city with good people. It was an interesting weekend altogether, very busy with lots of people, including additional crowds from Formula One, a football match and a tattoo convention happening just down the road. Although I gather this is not unusual for SP.
Saturday was my favourite day with a visit to the Mercado Municipal which was a huge food market buzzing with people and flies, offering some great food such as the ginormous Mortadella Sandwich which was 80% mortadella and only 20% sandwich.
We didn´t have room to try the mortadella though as working our way through the stalls we picked up enough tasters to last us until the early evening including cheese, sausage, dips, marinated vegetables and my favourite of sashimi and prosecco (ah, at last!). There was a great sense of community in the market with people sharing all their food and drinks with fellow stall holders and greeting everyone, colleague and customer alike, with a kiss on the cheek and a big slab of cheese. My kind of place. Especially when my plastic wine tasting thimble got upgraded for a large wine glass - genuinely made my day.
That afternoon we wandered into the mayhem of the day markets and visited a gallery before cooking dinner and going to the aforementioned Samba club.
What most annoyed me about being spiked was that: a) I had paid to get in on the principle of dancing lots and couldn´t even stand; b) We had to go home early and I can´t even remember it; c) I had paid to get in (this is a serious point considering our budget), d) I couldn´t dance (again worth repeating), e) I was unable to take full advantage off all you can eat Sushi the following day for feeling a bit sick; f - z) all you can eat sushi!!!!!!!!!! a massive missed opportunity - heartbroken.
Despite my groaning stomach, we still managed to make an impression. My last Brazilian rodizio, and sushi - how couldn´t you? We worked our way through a couple sushi boats, two plates of gzoyza, tempura, more sashimi, large california wraps, and even more sushi.
And that was it, the end of Sao Paulo, and Brazil. Ciao Brasil! Obrigada!
I hope that Argentina has the same appetite...

The Couchsurfing Chronicles - Part 2

Tiago responded to our nervous first request to surf his couch with a polite and positive yes. I think mainly influenced by our offer to cook him dinner.
We exchanged a few friendly emails and phone numbers and a couple of days later, Rhia and I found ourselves waiting at a bar near his University anxiously guessing what he would be like and how it would all turn out. As we had only seen a picture of his teeth we were also predicting what he may look like and be wearing. I am pleased to say we were only right about his teeth and otherwise completely wrong.
A quick call on Rhia´s mobile, and there he was - our knight in shining armour, ready to let us crash on his couch. But not before a few familiarisation beers...
Lots of beer, a giant pasty and some revealing food conversations later we had basically planned a weekend based around food and booze with a couple of cultural bits inbetween. Perfect.
When we got to his apartment and found a very clean, spacious place with our own small room, we felt we had fallen on our feet.
Together we had a great weekend, Rhia and I entertaining ourselves inbetween Paulo´s classes, and the three of us quickly bonded together. It is amazing how couchsurfing works so well and it was such a rich experience staying with a local and learning more about the city.
Tiago was a great host and we couldn´t have asked for anyone better to break us in for our first time.
From the first couple of minutes there was a clear respect and trust invested in eachother and such a great experience has certainly converted us to this new way of travelling.
We are already perusing the profiles of future hosts and have requested a couch, at rather short notice, in Argentina this week.
We look forward to our next couch, but both shed a tear as we waved goodbye to our first, and most memorable, couch host.

Life´s a beach on Parati

Parati would have been a beautiful old fishing town if it wasn´t being dug up. But despite the bulldozers it still held a certain charm.
Cobbled streets and colourful doorways lead you through the old town past artisan shops, cachaca shops and candle-lit restaurants with live music pouring out.
On arrival on Tuesday afternoon we wandered throught the streets soaking up the atmosphere and cachaca. I took a caipirinha masterclass and can now make a delicious passionfruit caipirinha. We had dinner at a restaurant with some (bad) live music and delicious cheap fish.
In the morning we headed out to Pènha to explore the waterfalls. Taking a jungle path up the hill we arrived at a waterfall which had flattened a large slice of rock with its fast waters. Deciding to use it as a waterslide we sat nervously at the top debating the health and safety issues. We finally took the plunge and pushed off to slide down and splash into the pool of water at the bottom. We then did it six more times. Visit to see: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Umk-7vAuJO4
In the afternoon we went to a neighbouring beach to our hostel and covered ourselves in mud, sliding around and sinking in the deep silt bed. After a couple mud slinging matches and a snail´s pace race we washed off and took a surreal 40 minute swim back to our beach at dusk.
In the evening we feasted on a fruit and fish dinner, having taken full advantage of the cheap fillets at the peixaria that afternoon.
An overcast morning gave us the perfect opportunity to wander around the town again and we were curious to see the town in floods from the high tide. As we headed back to the hostel the prophesy of the crackles of thunder came true and the clouds poured down fat tropical rain. We caught a taxi to the bus for Sao Paulo.

Cristo redentor

Christ the Redeemer - the most iconic image of Rio de Janiero, probaby of Brazil and possibly even South America - completely whited out.

We could barely even make out his toes for all the cloud, unhelped by the scaffolding that covered the entire base of the statue just to add to the experience further.

As for the view... we could make out some of the other disappointed tourists but no luck in seeing any of the spectacular views that were illustrated on helpful stands pointing out what you should see in the distance.

It could have been quite atmospheric, seeing Christ shrouded in mist, but a sound check for a performance that evening put an end to that possibility. The sound technicians played loud pop songs over the tanoy while discussing their weekend plans.

One of the other members of the crew finally piped up and suggested that they weren't creating the best ambiance for this sacred setting and so a debate ensued over the microphone about which songs were more appropriate.

Rhia and I decided to give up though when a tour guide began telling us all the inappropriate English words he knew and the crew started to play the Brazilian national anthem...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6zwMMiRDpHA

All you can eat Brazilian style

Pizza Rodizio (all you can eat) sounded like a challenge to me. A case of man (or amanda) conquering pizza and fitting in as many slices as you physically can.

After doing the obligatory minute of starjumps to build up an appetite, I sat expectantly with Rhia and Fernando at the restaurant for the pizza to start coming. Waiters bring around large pizzas and you take a slice of whatever you fancy, however many you can handle.
The first to appeal was a rocket and sundried tomato pizza which went down well and fueled me up for the next one. Second I tried the prawn with catupiry (tangy soft cheese) - a real goody. After that I tried the aubergine with egg and bacon, something I quickly regretted. Greek breakfast on a plate wasn't what I really fancied so I quickly grabbed another slice to ease the memory.
Chicken with catupiry was a wise next choice, then another regrettable one with tinned mushrooms, swiftly recovered by a tasty carne seca (jerked beef) slice.

By Slice 7 the pizza honeymoon was just about over and I was in a bit of a daze. Still feeling some room in my gut I powered on and then got my second wind.
Garlic pizza, pepperoni pizza, palm heart pizza and even the odd crepe... I was on good form.

By Slice 14 I was in a league of my own, ordering off the menu and creating crazy combinations. My favourite of which became prawn, chicken, rocket and catupiry. I decided to finish on a good note at Slices 17 and 18 with two slices of my favourite.
No rest for the wicked though, and then it was on to the sweet pizzas. By this point sadly my camera had given up on the food photography but with Rhia and Fernando as my witnesses I was not going to be disheartened and carried on to try the sweet spectrum.
Apple and cinnammon pizza, smartie covered chocolate pizza, banana and white and dark chocolate pizza, and a large strange mozzerella cheese and pastry ball covered in chocolate and cinemmon.
After Slice 22 I threw the towel in. I was more than feeling the bulge, and to be frank I think Rhia and Fernando wanted to go home, so we stood up feeling victorious and bloated and waddled home.
Looking and feeling quite pizza pregnant I retired my round self to bed recapping on the evening. Fond memories of Slice 4, 10 and 17, not so fond of 3, 6 and 21; but all in all a challenge well borne I felt. I just hope the memories are worth it as three days later I am still waiting to deliver my pizza baby...
And I need to make room for the Sushi Rodizio next week.

The Couchsurfing Chronicles - Part 1

In a bid to save money - or rather not spend money we don't have - Rhia and I have decided to try our hand at 'couchsurfing' our way to Buenos Aires. For those not in the know, this is basically staying on strangers couches for free. Sounds dodgy? Yes, it really does, but I guess we will find out.
I have never got into internet dating, but I imagine it is pretty much the same. First you have to create a profile - of course using your most attractive or eccentric picture of yourself - and detailing your interests: long walks on the beach, cold winter nights by a warm fire etc.
I filled in my profile and tried very hard not to be too sacastic in my responses detailing my 'mission', 'personal philosophy' and 'amazing things seen/done'. Profile complete, I started surfing for couches.
Looking first to Sao Paulo I browsed through some potential candidates to host us for a couple nights. Flicking through all the profiles I felt like I should really have a glass of wine and a matchmaker by my side. "Hmmm, he may be tall and enjoy hiking but with those chubby cheeks and your double chin imagine what your kids would look like..."
After flirting my way through about 200 profiles, I drew up a shortlist of three. A Brazilian chap called Patiago who seems very keen on drinking and eating (the fun option); an apparently 99-year-old lady - she looks more like 40 in her photo - who is a buddhist, chocoholic and aspiring vegetarian (the safe option); and a student with some floor space (the last option).
Deciding with Rhia that fun would be our first intention on our travels we emailed Patiago. Sending a message that was hopefully polite and friendly, without giving too much away or the wrong impression, we said we would like to surf his couch. Now we await nervously for a response to find out if he will be the one to pop our couchsurfing cherry...




Brazilians and their bikinis

You know how some cultures steal things and words from other cultures and make it completely their own? Well Brazil has done it to the bikini... Bikini was first of all a French word and phenomonon and then Pammy Anderson and the Baywatch crew clearly made it theirs (even though they mainly wore red swimsuits), but now the bikini trophy is firmly in Brazil's hands. Or cheeks.
Bikinis are in a whole other league here. Every colour, every style, every animal print... they have pretty much sussed every possible combination although the one thing that they seem to have little flexibility on is size. The smaller the better and there's no room for modesty.
Although nude and topless sunbathing in unbelievably illegal here, it is a shameful thing to cover more than 40% of your arse cheeks.
As my dear friend Rhia kindly pointed out on my first beach outing, my bikini was far too British. I needed something smaller and quick. So off we troddled to the shops.
Walking into an unassuming brown building block, of what I thought was flats, I found myself looking up at 12 floors of shops - with about four bikini vendors on each floor.
This was clearly going to be a military task. So whipping out my paper and pen we started from Floor 12 working our way down each level scoring every bikini shop on the way.
After three hours and a sandwich stop we took the lift back up to the top to start trying them on. First of all the bottoms - the nemises of British bikini wearers. A piece of skin that rarely sees the sun and which we are all desperate to keep covered up, even myself as a reasonably daring bikini wearer.
I picked what looked like a very modest black number on the hanger, asked for a large just in case (it is always more flattering to ask for a smaller size later), and took it to the changing room to give it a whirl. A few awkward moments later and I asked in a shy voice to Rhia whether they did it in a bigger size. She translated to the shop attendant who laughed out loud: "Bigger? They don't exist here!"
So that was it, no option.
Despite a builder's bum, I now have a new bikini that is just about acceptable in Brazilian terms but still managing, only just, to cover all my British bits.