Placenta shampoo, or 'adventures speaking Spanish'

A rainy day in Bariloche, in the Argentine Lake District. After 3 months of almost non-stop heat and sunlight we have finally hit a pocket of English weather! Joe has struck off up a mountain in his walking boots anyway, but I've been a pathetic girl and stayed in to wash my hair and get the dinner ready. Am finding it hard to adjust to being cold again, what a wuss. This does not bode well for camping next to a glacier.

The last three weeks have been a fun whirlwind, and am still trying to adjust to being without sister and friend on the road. Its been amazing to have some company: Hannah, Victoria, Marc, Gustavo, we miss you all! From the tropical Iguazu waterfalls the party of four headed south through the jungle to some beautiful wetlands and on to Buenos Aires. After a few days penguin-spotting in the Peninsula Valdes, Joe and I are now planning our road trip through Patagonia for Christmas and New Year.

Argentina is wonderfully easy and pleasant to travel around: the food is amazing (tasty steaks and empanadas), the wine is cheap and people are friendly and much more 'European', both in heritage and things like music tastes (lots of Rolling Stones, no more electro-samba!!) Everyone you meet claims some Irish/Italian or similar heritage. I feel my Spanish is also improving, although I did just recently manage to buy some shampoo with extract of placenta and tortoise oil. Oops

Aside from the lovely company, my highlights of the last few weeks have been the amazing Recoleta cemetery in Buenos Aires, the wildlife at Iguazu and the huge skies of the Peninsula Valdes. The cemetery was incredible - not dissimilar to other 19th century cemeteries like Pere Lachaise, Highbury and dare I say it, Nunhead, but the mausoleums were just out of this world. Lots were like small sunken churches, all marble and imposing columns but with the coffins in the middle of the floor standing amid shafts of sunlight from broken stained glass windows. In some they were stacked into what looked like bunk beds and covered in stained shrouds like doilies on old-fashioned cakes. The place was amazingly atmospheric - the contrast of the hugely extravagant sculptures and architecture of the tombs with the decay of crumbling angels and macabre open coffins covered in cobwebs.

I had expected the waterfalls at Iguazu to be incredible, but what I hadn't expected was all the wildlife, despite the millions of tourists: coatis, armadillo, and so many and varied brightly coloured butterflies. The falls themselves were dotted with swifts flying under the water and nesting in the clumps of greenery. Along the raised walkways you could see kites and herons and big black catfish in the river. And out first taste of Patagonia has left me dying to see the real wilderness down south. The Peninsula Valdes is like a huge wasteland, covered in low scrub and sand and resembling the moon, or some dastardly quarry that's home to a Bond villain. But the beaches are home to sealions, elephant seals and penguins, and the light is so intense, I've never seen anything like it. The blues of the sea look almost unreal. So it is with much pleasure that after a few days trekking here among the lakes we're off exploring down south in the tyre-marks of Che Guavarra.

Anyway, time to get the kettle on and call out the mountain rescue for Joe.

With Hannah and Victoria in Argentina

So, since the last post we have gone from scorchingly hot to brutally windy; I write this in a little lodge on the Peninsula Valdez, northern Patagonia. I caught another cold so am in, whilst the others are out looking for more birds. And I am eyeing the medicinal-looking bottle of red...

Over the past two weeks we have had two guests with us: Hannah K, nee P, is still with us, and therefore I can say that she has been a wonderful travelling companion, especially with her organisational vigour and fluent Spanish. Victoria left us a day ago, and it turns out doesn't read this blog, and I can therefore say that she was an absolute pain in the backside and no fun to be around whatsoever. Of course I am joking, I don't know what I'll do without my heavy-drinking, carnivorous friend. Miss Barr, a vegetarian when in the UK, made such short work of every steak we have come across that I felt a little emasculated. And I no longer have an excuse for that lunchtime beer which means 'holiday!'

We met up with them both at Iguazu falls, one of those 'must-do's on a trip round South America. We visited the Argentine side first, and I must admit I was a little underwhelmed at first, mostly because they were very dry at the time (I upset people by saying it was a bit like Derbyshire). However, after a few hours of getting up close to the falls and seeing dusky swifts and butterflies wheeling around between the spray and the lush, jungly verdure, I was smitten. And the 'Devil's Throat', the biggest, most powerful fall, was quite breathtaking.

I also became quite enamoured of coatis- snuffling, furry things with long, inverted noses which seemed much less adept at climbing trees in their natural habitat than stealing sandwiches, facilitating our God-given right to snigger at French tourists.

And we saw an armadillo, alas being prodded with a stick by an Argentinian.

From the Brazilian side you don't get so close to the waterfalls, but are able to take in the grandeur of the whole set. Unfortunately this makes for a rather fractious atmosphere, with people jostling to get photo ops in front of the views, rather than taking time to admire it. I nearly got into a bit of handbags with a fat pink European (not sure where) with pokey elbows. It was quite funny, though, seeing men ask their wives to bend themselves double over the railings so that their photo would appear to be just them and the falls.

From there we headed a little way south to see the ruins of the18th century missions- where the Jesuits went to the rainforests to bring religion to the natives and save them from the Spanish and Portuguese slave traders. The history, and actions of these men, is frankly pretty astonishing, and I tried to watch the 80s film 'The Mission' again (but, as on previous occasions, fell asleep). It is an absolutely beautiful place- ruins always look beautiful, all overrun with greenery, but these were especially amazing because the buildings are comparatively recent, and in a pinkish-red brick. I could have wandered around the ruins for days.

But no, off to another bl**dy wetland area to look at more bl**dy birds.

Luckily this time it was much more pleasant weather, and the place we stayed was a beautiful farmhouse with lovely bedrooms and swimming pool. It was also the 89th (I know: so?) anniversary of the village, so there was a huge festival with all the locals in traditional gaucho garb for a parade, barbecue, and dancing all night. As we should have expected, the locals were as keen on dancing with the girls as the girls were with them. And apparently Gaucho culture is rather gentlemanly, so each felt they had to approach me before asking the girls to dance. I was pimp-in-prime. I decided to stop attempting communication with my extremely weak Spanish, in favour of nodding vigorously, smiling and happily accepting their offers of a swig from their fernet-and-coke cocktails (delicious, but dangerous, especially when served in communal ice buckets). The girls all got their dances and I got to zigzag home.

I understand some birding was done the next morning.

From there to Cordoba. I don't think I have much to say about Cordoba, except there was a quite moving museum/tribute to victims of torture during the 60s and 70s military regime- shocking treatments in relatively recent history. A regime which ended with the Falklands war... I'll get back to you on that.

So after Cordoba we hit Buenos Aires. I love Buenos Aires, I really do, and I hope we will go back. I need a bit of time to reflect on it before writing, and also need to talk about meat and wine and empanadas, but again they deserve more attention than I can muster at present. The medicinal wine calls, so that's it for now from me. Hes might fill you in on her side of things, when she has finished birding...

bit of summing up on brazil

As if to prove I also enjoyed the Pantanal, I am happy to say I can publish ANOTHER top-bird-name-I-have-spotted list. And this time ther are 10!

10: plumbeous ibis
9: bare faced currassow
8: white-rumped monjita
7: chaco chacalaca
6: chestnut-eared aracari
5: helmeted manakin
4: blue-throated piping guan
3: pale-legged hornero
2: campo flicker
1: shiny cowbird

I am also extremely pleased to report that we found the anti-Pantanal in terms of naturey places to be hung over. Hello 'Bonito'- the place so 'bonito' they named it 'Bonito'! a perfect way to get over a night on the caipirinhas (ah, how we'll miss Brazil) is to go out into the steaming hot savannah (as before) BUT THEN climb into a cool, crystal clear river with a snorkel and shorty wetsuit and allow yourself to be gently pulled downstream, listening to the tropical birds in the forest around whilst looking at big, colourful, smiley fishes. Even better than Neurofen and a McDonalds.

incidentally...

Top 5 Brazilian place names and their meanings:

5: Bonito (beautiful)
4: Recife (reef)
3: Minas Gerais (general mines)
2: Tiradentes (pulling teeth)
1: Rio de Janeiro (January river)

I shall reflect further on this country over the coming weeks and treat you to my musings. For now, though, sitting in our final Rodaviaria (bus station, and I never got the pronunciation right), with a bottle of '51 cachaca in my bag and havaiana flip flops on my feet, I can safely say I have loved out time in Brazil. it is a shame to spend our last night on a bus but we will have a little coda on the Brazilian side of Iguacu falls after meeting La Barr and La Big Sister Plumridge on the Argentinian side, so all is good.

STOP PRESS: we have just Ben told our bus is over 90 minutes late. Tsssk- naughty South America!

Jaguar in the Pantanal

Our adventure in the Pantanal started well. On the drive from the city of Cuiaba into the wilderness we had to swerve to avoid hitting a spider. No joking: a brown, hairy bird-eating spider that could be seen from 50 yards away, and was as big as my head. Joe was considerably rattled, and only reluctantly left the safety of the car to inspect said insect.

I have to admit to feeling slightly apprehensive before our little safari. I had spent a lot of money booking us into a remote bird-watchers' hotel and had paid for a guide for the full 4 days - quite an extravagance given our budget, so I was really hoping it would be good. For those that don't know, the Pantanal is the world's biggest wetland, pretty much in the centre of Brazil, and home to crazy creatures such as jaguars and things that look like foxes on stilts. It was something I'd been really looking forward to. And it didn't disappoint - in fact I think it's the most amazing place I've ever been.

To get a sense of how remote our hotel was, the drive from Cuiaba took about five hours, much of which was on a dirt road with railway-sleeper type bridges over patches of marsh and lily pads. We came at the end of the dry season, but by January time the whole road looks like it's floating on a vast lake. Even by the side of the road we saw toucans, hawks, capybara (big ginger guineapigs) and caiman.  And so began four heavenly days. My binoculars worked overtime. There was life everywhere you looked, and just walking about and peering into bushes revealed something unexpected and beautiful.

In total we saw 90 species of bird, and our guide never minded me bugging him with endless questions or notes I'd made from his Portuguese bird book. We spent many happy hours under trees just looking up at owls or a woodpecker moving around the canopy. One of my particular highlights was getting up to see the sunrise and watching two hyacinth macaws flying overhead in the stillness. Understandably for a place full of wildlife it's also full of mosquitoes - which aren't scared to go straight for the face - and ticks - which burrow into the legs. It's also, as Joe says, unbearably hot in the middle of the day - which makes putting on all your clothes to ward off insects seem like hard work. But I've never been to a place like it. Our hotel was right on a waterway, covered with luminous green foliage and pale blue water hyacinths. Capybaras and ibis wandered around. Scary old Finnish birdwatchers dragged £8000 telescopes to the top of scaffolding towers to capture barred ant shrikes mating, or something.

For me, some of the best parts were just watching wildlife near our hotel - tiny black and white birds calling in little ponds, incredible prehistoric looking storks in the grassland, and a huge Guinness-type toucan at a bird feeder right outside our room. But the trips out were incredible. We had a mixture of walking safaris, trips on boats, and one in a high-sided jeep. On each occasion it was just Joe and I, our lovely guide, and an amazing old Brazilian cowboy who lived on the ranch. He became a particular favourite, with his happy ways, toothless grin and big paunch. He had a way of smiling and giggling to himself in very nasal-sounding Portuguese, while wielding an enormous machete close to Joe's head. 

Without boring everyone senseless I will just describe one particular incident which will stay with us forever. We were on a little boat cruising down the river, discussing the difference between striated, capped and little blue herons while Joe dozed and cursed the heat. We had been feeding kingfishers and hawks by throwing fish into the water. (Our cowboy would put a bit of meat on the end of a small bamboo rod and line, and within 30 seconds another piranha would take the bait. He would then stuff a water hyacinth bulb down the half-dead fish's throat - mumbling happily to himself - and lob it in.) But I digress. We had stopped to look at a giant potoo (my favourite bird, a nocturnal grey chap with huge eyes, who spends the day pretending to be a branch) and when I turned round there was a jaguar there. Not 20 metres away, nonchalantly walking down the opposite riverbank. We followed her for about an hour. She was hunting, and as she walked down the riverbank we heard jays sounding the alarm, and capybara taking to the water. She was so beautiful and huge and sleek, with a glossy coat in perfect patterns. We saw her swim out before us, all streamlined with her tail in the air. Then she reached a family of giant otters: aggressive types, about four-foot long with big sharp teeth. She crouched and tried to attack one, and suddenly all seven turned on her, rearing out of the water and screaming while she bared her teeth and growled. This standoff went on for about a minute, with water churning and deafening cries before the jaguar backed off. Amazing. 

Other highlights of the trip included seeing a tapir and lots of nightjars on the night safari, seeing a giant anteater from a distance, as well as various monkeys, deer, a tortoise, a raccoon and something Joe swears was a puma. My favourites were the birds, something Joe didn't quite share my enthusiasm for. One or two of the plumper, more tasty-looking ones he called 'Christmassy'. And he made himself laugh out loud with a 'it caiman went' joke. 

The final moment that will stick in my mind was on the car journey back. The guide asked if I'd like to stop in one of the lodges to buy a copy of the bird book. But when we found one it was expensive, so I said no and we drove on. Ten minutes later as we'd stopped to look at yet another bird, he scribbled something in the front of his guide and handed it to us. So now we have a much-loved copy with his notes in it. A lovely gesture, and one which made me cry. 

Rio, Brasilia, and on

With pleasing symmetry I am again in a very happy place writing this, due to lovely experiences, high anticipation of what is to come and another wrigley-family notice- congratulations to mela for somehow persuading the lovely Helen to marry him. Congrats to both. Am intrigued to see what etty can come up with before my next post.

Rio is my new favourite place. I don't know how my expectations weren't higher but how lovely to have them utterly exceeded? The zona sul and centre, anyway, is probably the richest urban environment I have ever come across. Everywhere has either mountain, lagoon or sea, or a combination. Christo Redentor is an incredibly serene and beautiful presence throughout the city. Ipanema and Copacabana beaches have their own distinctive paving patterns which cariocas use as signifiers of local pride. It is all green and bright and it has great food and caipirinhas.

Inevitably this all leads to regret- at not staying longer, not seeing a favela, not getting to a football match. But we did so much: seeing the streets turn green and violet when fiuminense won the league; eating feijoada and kind-of-sambaing in a Sunday night club; enjoying views and beers in Santa Theresa. I hope I'll go back one day. I left my beard there so I have to.

Brasilia was a bit different. Since the government closed down all cheap accommodation it was only ever going to be a flying visit, in on a night bus and back out the same evening, having ticked as many Niemeyer boxes as I could. It  was pretty much exactly as expected and conformed to my opinions on 60s modernism. Crisp, white buildings don't stay crisp and white for long and show up wear and tear very clearly. I don't like shapey architecture anyway. It is boring. And if it is going to be a 'pure form' it had better be perfect or it will look rubbish (I find it normally isn't, and does). There is no acknowledgement of the very unpure vagaries of the construction process, and an almost sinister denial of the effect of contact with those who use it. The same can be said of a city plan of dictatorial symmetry and unconnected walkways. Even the central grand promenade ends abruptly at a 4 lane highway- it is after all a city shaped like a plane and designed for cars, designed for the ages but so soon an architectural relic.

The best buildings were two rectangular ministries (justice and foreign affairs if you want to ggogle them) where the accommodation was within pretty ordinary curtain walling set behind raw, unpainted, sculptural concrete arcades. Telling, also, that it is really the landscape design around them by Burle Marx (see Hester's last post) which 'lifts' them.

Urgh. Ok enough architect pseuding. Soz.

We went from there to the Pantanal, and as it is her New Favourite Place in the World, I'll let Hes blog about that one, but would like to say just this first:

It could be argued that the Pantanal is the most uncomfortably humid, insect ridden hell hole on God's earth. This thought rang true on many occasions, when I almost hoped one of the larger creatures would bite me to offer relief from the smaller ones.

But with that off my chest, it is also utterly incredible. The density, variety and colour of wildlife is awesome. It just doesn't stop, wherever you look. And Hes will detail one heart-stopping event which will stay with me for the rest of my life. It felt like the climax of a David Attenborough documentary and (choosing words carefully to try to avoid hyperbole) I felt privileged to witness it.

Over to Hes...

Rio and the perils of snorkelling

I can only second joe's enthusiasm about Brazil. I'm totally overwhelmed by how beautiful the place is. Three days in Rio and I want to live here - if  I could remember more of the Portuguese I was supposed to have studied...

Had an amazing birthday yesterday:  a visit to the Sitio Roberto Burle Marx just west of town, which are lush tropical gardens and a very cool house full of weird and wonderful artefacts from around the world. While we were waiting to go in we sat and watched two hummingbirds building a nest. And that evening I watched Skyfall AND ate cauliflower cheese. It doesn't get much better than that.

Have spent today watching toucans and marvelling at the botanical gardens. Joe has understandably had it up to here with birds and plants and has gone off to Sugarloaf mountain (or, I suspect, a bar on the beach)

The most amazing part about Brazil for me is just the natural abundance and richness, which you can see even in the cities: pavements are made with huge blocks of stone shot with minerals, furniture and even shutters from stunning hardwood, fruit juice sellers have more flavours than you can be bothered to read, and the trees have flowers on them! Huge shocking pink, red and yellow flowers in the canopies. Wow. Even the swallows are bigger here, and some of the butterflies are the size of bats. Fortunately I haven't seen any of the nasty eight-legged fauna. Us Europeans may have pillaged all the gold and most of the diamonds, but the country is just a natural splendour, and the people we've encountered have a happy, chilled out attitude.

Other good things include roadside caipirinha sellers (who err on the generous side with the Good Stuff), stunning old churches which are like gaudy, over-the-top Italian ones, and sponge cake for breakfast! (A revelation) I think the language also sounds really cool, in a way Spanish and French doesn't. And of course there is the sheer joy of moving through warm, tropical air rather than festering under 2 jumpers and a raincoat.

We have found some idiosyncrasies. Pavements run out, or end in walls too big to climb. A snack is always fried thing, generally fashioned in part of tasteless manioc flour. You have to pay a tax of up to £3 to leave a bus station, and in bakeries you pay in one place then order at another - removing your God-given right to just point to tasty things you want. And of course we have seen very little of the poverty here, so can only speak as ill-informed tourists. 

Speaking of ill-informed tourists, Joe is being wonderful, and proving an ideal travelling companion. This is in part because of his own idiosyncrasies: I find he has brought more hankies than pairs of pants, his beard is going progressively more ginger, and he recently sustained an amusing arse-injury from a half hour snorkelling expedition. But I am too mean, and I am sure he will get his revenge in the next post.

All good here

Joe again:

I am in bed in a lovely hostel in rio about to write almost exhaustively good things about what has happened since the last post. And my sister had a baby yesterday- daisy- who is beautiful. All is good.

After idyllic morro we ventured further down the coast to itacare and had a very pleasant couple of days drinking beer on the beach and snorkelling over coral reefs. We then returned to salvador- crossing back by the ferry at night, a lovely way to reach the city- and spent a night in a great little hostel, where we spent much of the next day grazing at the breakfast spread and umming and ahhing about where-to-next; we had planned to head directly to brasilia and on to the pantanal, but hadn't found the exact right eye-wateringly-expensive location to look at giant otters, jaguars and the like. So instead we took a night bus towards Belo Horizonte, having had a lovely day wandering around town again, seeing incredibly ornate churches we hadn't seen before and the best moqueca (fish stew) yet.

From Belo Horizonte we went directly to Ouro Preto, a very pretty colonial mining town in Minas Gerais. It was lovely to settle down for a few nights and see all the baroquery at out own pace- apart from its famous churches the town is incredibly pretty and nice to wander around. I also discovered that the horrible gloopy chicken-cheese egg-balls we had encountered at bus stations were in fact delicious deep fried chicken and catupiry cheese parcels when done right, as from the bar-snacks counter at the local lively bar, where I got p*ssed, naturally.

From Ouro Preto we went, in the pouring rain, to Tiradentes, another much smaller colonial mining town with a reputation for its restaurants. It was good to put the walking boots back on after a few sedentary weeks and head out into the forests around the village in search of monkeys (none seen). We got soaked, so that evening went for a nice expensive meal. I am not normally a pudding man, but we had dried guava, rolled in cashews and deep fried, served with creamy cheese and guava ice cream. It was incredible. Stupidly, we had two caipirinhas each before dinner so by the time we had had a post dinner beer I was, of course, p*ssed.

Which was ok, as Today, in the continued pouring rain, all we had to do was sit on a bus through Minas Gerais to the coast. This part of the country is much more my cup of tea- rolling green hills and forests- like Derbyshire but with more Monkey Puzzles- becoming a proper mountain ridge north of rio. So much so that at the top the were views of peaks popping through the clouds which reminded me of being on top of a piste in the alps. Such rainfall must be unusual- on the way down we passed one flipped vehicle after another. And we just popped out for steak, chips and Brazilian black beans- delicious. Having thought the food here was rubbish I am beginning to reconsider.

So imagine me lying here, smug, a bit fat with steak and dozy with beer, with have four and a half days in rio to look forward to. Then a day in brasilia, doing my architectural tourist's duties, then four days at the perfect eye-wateringly-expensive pantanal lodge before more scuba diving in bonito and on to Iguazu falls. I am quite happy, even though it is rainy. Apologies. And lots of love x.

Braziliaiaia

By Joao

We steamed through northern brazil a bit- one night each in manaus, belem and fortaleza before decellerating in salvador. Belem seemed nice but we were happy to push on after just a few hours. We were a little sad to skip some of the north coast beaches but will reserve this sort of lounging for the end of the trip, and hopefully cheaper places in Columbia. Fortaleza was a happy little place where hes discovered a taste for street caipirinhas, a taste which became lust by the time we hit salvador. three glasses of the stuff saw me in a reggae bar and her in bed the whole next day; she missed several splendid examples of baroque and rococo architecture and sculpture in the historic centre. She was gutted. I also wandered around the pelourinho area quite a lot which was pretty touristy but had some incredible paintings, too, pretty inspiring. Salvador is a lovely city, all in all.

We are now in morro de st Paulo, a beautiful town on an idyllic island to the south. This is our third night and I am feeling very relaxed. It is touristy, a bit clubby, even Balearic, but I think we needed that and I love it. Even though the whole town is like a seaside theme park it is clearly home to lots of natives too, whose kids kick footballs around in the town square or go for a swim of an evening. It reminded me of summer-holiday-evenings down the playing fields and made me think that we Brits would be a slightly less grumpy lot if we had grown up with such activities all year round.

This is just one of the trivial and hardly-ground-breaking musings which this little pause in backpackerdom has allowed. Here are some more (without apologies, I am not making you read this):

The 'backpack' in 'backpacking' is really a style thing, not a necessity. After all, the first thing you do is dump your stuff in a hostel before exploring or trekking*. The next time I go 'backpacking' I am doing it with an executive wheeley suitcase.

* this is not just laziness; a backpack is like a sign saying 'pester me, I am a moneyed European with little grasp of your currency or language'

People Drink Loads Everywhere. South America appears to be on a permanent stag do. They start on the 600ml bottles at 10am, like it is some kind of challenge, then carry on through the day. You can't get a coffee for all the beer. I can't do it. The mistake of the British is to think it is uncouth to drink before the evening, and hence pack it all in to a few hours. We should get on it earlier. I recommend a strong caipirinha at 4pm.

Lager is acceptable and even pleasant in hot countries.

Banana-flavoured things do really taste of banana. I had thought that all the nesquick stuff tasted of something yellow and nice but which didn't really correspond to the taste of an actual banana. In the past few weeks I have eaten bananas that do in fact taste like nesquick banana milkshake.

More nuggets coming soon.

Ups and downs

By Joe 

Having claimed to be a bit sanguine with hummingbirds in a previous entry I should explain Hester's note: in the cloud forest I had seen a beautiful view of the final ascent to the plateau, up a steep rocky slope covered in flowers and beneath a waterfall. Before I could get my camera out we were enveloped in cloud, so I hung back, alone, to wait for it to pass. Moments  later, in the eerie white silence, a loud 'brrrrrrrrr' as a hummingbird appeared, in front of my face, hovered, looked one way, the other, and another still, then disappeared. I felt he wished to commune with me. I must have picked up something of their essence in Trinidad.

Top 5 things about the boat down the amazon:

5. The doors. The doors were a beautiful, Art Deco design and made of some no-doubt-unsustainable non-FSC hardwood.

4. Seeing the carefree jettisoning of all manner of stuff into the amazon. I shall not stress about a yoghurt lid in the regular non-recycling bin again (- fellow Brit passenger fastidiously stubbed out his fag and dropped it in the bin, only to see the whole bin liner thrown overboard minutes later).

3. The inflatable toilet seat- which gave a nice little *pffff* when you sat on it, which happened a lot.

2. The location of the sink close to the bog, as a convenient and cool headrest.

1. We got off. Albeit at 3 in the morning in a dodgy dockside after a sleepless and worrying night* on the high sea outside the estuary, but we got off.

* so much was the boat struggling, Hes had decided on what she would save in the event of our sinking. Her fevered choice was the sleeping tablets, on the basis that they would provide an easier death than being eaten by sharks.

But on the upside, last night we got utterly pished on delicious, knockout 60p caipirinhas and watched some Latino guitar twiddling at a warm and breezy open air concert in Fortaleza. So it's swings and roundabouts really.

Amazon hell

The following entry may have suffered from festering in s small dark cabin. Our journey up the amazon can best be described as hellish, think shades of Heart Of Darkness. I've had the worst flu I can ever remember, and now on day five seem to have passed it on to Joe with an added gift of diarrhoea. Mind you, that may be down to the on-board catering: beef (I think) rice and noodles,  the same chunks of grey meat reheated for five days in different combinations and served in an enthusiastically air conditioned dining room that our new French friends call the 'frigidaire'. The boat is very cramped and the staff could win awards for rudeness. But even though our cabin: a windowless metal box with peeling paint, a bunk bed and a small space to land, offers few comforts, I'm eternally glad we spent an arm and a leg on it, because of the small air conditioning  unit. Have spent much of the last five days gazing at it in various feverish states, watching drips of water run over the fly dirts on the wall and praying it won't pack up. What's been more disappointing is what we've seen of the mighty river itself. I know Manaus is one of Brazil's biggest cities, and I was hardly likely to see river dolphins frolicking in the harbour, but the banks are absolutely covered with rubbish. I learn now that the river fish I had to eat before we boarded is all but extinct, and it makes me feel sick to see the other passengers just chucking their plastic wrappers and cups overboard. There was beauty in Manaus: the bustle of the electronic shops downtown, surrounded by every kind of juice and fried food seller, the square with marbled pavements and theatre that looked straight out of Lisbon, but the place is full of people trying to sell 'genuine' jungle tours, with leaflets full of guides holding a poor sloth aloft by its front legs. Perhaps I'll find the amazon of my teenage wildlife posters and the Manaus of the Lost World when we try again in Peru.

And I'll try not to end on a sour note, because before getting on the boat the six days we spent climbing mount roraima were just amazing. We crossed open savannah with bush fires, then climbed up through cloud forest, and on the top was a wilderness of rock, silence and sweeping views over virgin forest and huge waterfalls. And the top was full of microscopic alpine gardens: the closer you looked the more tiny orchids and carnivorous sundew plants you could see. Joe had a spiritual moment with a hummingbird, and was so excited he couldnt poo for four days. But enough: it was a truly amazing, beautiful place.

Roraima and brazil

So here we are in Brazil. It already seems to be a nice friendly place and we are happy. Except that I now think my nice camera was completely wrecked by Angel Effing Falls (not just the battery). Oh, and my legs are still incredibly stiff from the descent from Roraima. Roraima was beautiful- 6 days of trekking through savannahs, clambering through a cloud forest and onto the table mountain. Hes loved the flora and fauna, she'll explain more. The food was very good and the guides very friendly (no fruity body-shape-comparisons of rock formations but nor was there much scientific insight). Also met some very nice people, proper team spirit-like. And a bed and shower have never felt so good as when we arrived back in civilisation. Will put some photos up soon.

The trip into brazil was pretty easy. The Venezuelan border guards were more interested in talking about the Beatles than looking in our bags. In fact it occurs to me that at no point at all have our bags been searched- not getting on or off the boat or at all since. I could quite easily have brought a big bag of something illegal with me this whole way. I shall keep tabs on how far I could have brought this imaginary bag.

Hes has finally proved to be a worthwhile companion now we are in brazil. She speaks a smidgen of Portuguese. I only know 'obrigado' (or 'obrigada' when I am not concentrating and just copying hes). I keep saying it at people, sometimes twice in a row. I must be getting good at it, I said it at a man on the bus and he asked if I spoke Portuguese.

We went to the opera house in Manaus tonight to see a production of 'the picture of Dorian grey'. Travelling does indeed change you. I can only apologise to those who thought they knew me. Tomorrow we are getting on a(nother) boat, this time up the amazon. I hope that the local spiders' leaping abilities are less than half the width of the amazon and that we sail up the dead-centre. Otherwise this could be a pretty gruesome experience.

Pre-mountain

By hes

Sat in a guesthouse and forced to choose between a Venezuelan cooking programme and a soap opera, I have decided to update you on Joe's antics. The national park surrounding angel falls was so beautiful, an idyllic little village with lagoon, beach and waterfall backdrop. Our guide, a Pemon Indian, was explaining to us about the trip upriver and how we'd be alone in the jungle. Joe, who sometimes switches off when the Spanish gets heavy going, counters with 'Hay un bar?' Actually, beer consumption has been pitifully low. Hoping that will change in brazil. This not going out in the evening lark is no way to live.

the camera was an unfortunate casualty of the waterfalls, but I got to feed a baby tapir with carrots, which was possibly my favourite part of the holiday so far (except for setting an oilbird free). Having a well-deserved pre-hike pizza this evening, and a night of scratching our bites. Wa-hey! then off up the Lost World mountain tomorrow.Not as apprehensive of spiders and hardcore climbers as I was- the only thing is that our supplies are entirely composed of brightly coloured sweets and luminous raspberry biscuits. Venezuela seems to be the land of food colourings. Anyway, internet is a bit of a struggle here so will sign off. Late-afternoon dip in the pool perhaps.

Venezuela

Venezuela (by Joe)

There are a lot of very upset people here. I'm talking about the election result of course. It isn't just the security issues, which affect us most. It is difficult to tell how much of the fear we have come across is founded and how much is the sort of daily-mail-fuelled stuff we get in the uk, but I suspect it is the former. People are genuinely afraid to be out on the streets at night.

That is in the cities- we were just in canaima to see angel falls, and in the countryside it seems very safe. It made a pleasant change. Also, having heard pretty average reports we were actually pretty pleased with the whole trip- river boat trip, walking under waterfalls and all. Maybe we are yet to be spoiled by the rest of the continent.

Off next up roraima, sans nice-camera which got wasted in the monsoon-like rains over the last two days. iPhone photos will do of the 'wind-sculpted moonscape' at the top. I am hoping that the guide will be more informed than the guy in the largest-cave-in-Venezuela we visited, home to (more) oilbirds. Whilst hes was hoping for working knowledge of the reclusive beast, we instead got descriptions of the stalact(gm)ites a la 'this one looks like boobs/a penis/a bum.

Ps we feel very safe in spite of it all, following advice etc everything seems fine enough. Don't worry all.
Pps am very proud of hes who has twice boarded a Cessna plane and FLOWN.
Ppps it has occurred to me that rough guides and lonely planet books are sometimes written in the tone of someone who has gone on a rather expensive holiday and is trying to make the sights they have seen sound more than they were (see cave above). I shall try my utmost not to engage in that in this blog.

Laters.

across the atlantic, through trinidad and into venezuela

post by joe...

The boat

Not really knowing what to expect of the next fortnight we were a bit worried as the taxi driver took us through tilbury docks.  we were also a bit nervous that she had sailed (not having a clear leaving time is a vagary of container-ship travel) and we couldn't see any likely looking vessels  between the hangars, containers and  cranes. When we did spot it, and find the right pier, the guy behind the desk at the gate seemed to smirk as if we didn't know quite what we were getting into. But from the moment we stepped aboard things got better.

Our room was high up, just below the bridge, and with windows unobstructed by containers. Already a positive. It had a comfy bed and sofa and our own bathroom. Tick. There were deck chairs scattered around the, er, decks and a swimming pool which would be filled with warm water once we reached the azores ( as it happens we steered a long way north of the islands to avoid hurricane nadine). We met our friendly steward, Arnold, at dinner, and realised we had practically limitless wine-good wine, too (advantage of a French boat). Thus sealed my pro-ship travel evangelism with which I will ever more bore people.

 The crew were mostly filipino and the officers ukrainian, who had apparently been drilled to wish us 'good appetite' whenever they entered or left the mess hall. They delivered it without feeling but were friendly enough. Those who were tasked with looking after us were great. Arnold was Jeeves-like in anticipating our wishes, so much so we thought he may have bugged us. the chief officer, esat, was extremely jovial in that Balkan throw-your-arms-wide 'enjjjooooyyy' kind of way, and even took us on a tour of the ship. our captain was similar, but left the ship at rouen and was replaced by a 'master', who looked like a bond-villain-henchman and wore black leather gloves to pump iron by the pool. but he was nice too.

Our fellow passenger, David, a self-proclaimed grumpy old sod, was anything but. Even though he was taking a 40 day round trip to avoid his own seventieth birthday party, he turned out to be a very friendly and funny man, with some nicely entrenched opinions (much like other old sods I know and will probably become). Here is his website: http://www.grumpyoldsod.com/

We titted around in northern France for longer than was surely necessary (though it was quite good fun steaming down the seine to Rouen, dwarfing pretty villages and their car-ferries by the riverside). And it turns out we were loading high explosives and other hazardous materials. we worked out that these were for shipment to the french space launch site in guyana. 

The crossing itself took  seven incredible days. Every day we had a 360 degree flat horizon and could see far enough to discern completely different weather systems in every direction. The sea was pretty much a millpond the whole way, yet i couldn't have imagined the variety of land(sea)scape provided by just water and sky. We saw whales blowing and dolphins jumping in the wake (so high they seemed in danger of flopping onto the deck). and from the bow (the best place on the ship) thousands of flying fish trying to escape us. All this made us feel more remote than ever, right in the middle of (and at the same time outside) a completely alien ecosystem. Honestly. Something else.

After a brief and boozy stop in st Maarten we we eventually arrived into port of Spain, at the start of a bank holiday.

Trinidad

My memories of trinidad will pretty much fall into two categories: food and birds. This is perhaps a little unfair to the incredibly friendly people and beautiful landscapes, but that's just how it was.  The food is of a rich ethnic mix, Indian and creole. So I'm not going to describe all these as you can just google them if you are interested, but here are my top 5 in reverse order:

5. Corn soup

4. Roti

3. Callaloo

2. Doubles

1. Bake and shark

As for the birds, that's obviously her field. That said, i'm not sure i ever thought i would see a hummingbird. i have now seen about ten species of the things (male and female). they are pretty cool you know. they move like little sci-fi hoverbikes and you can see them stick their tongues out, and see their little necks bulge as they gulp down the nectar. Happily, a very annoying and geeky Yorkshire couple with their high-tech 'bins' and birder talk (he's showing/flicking') kept my cynicism for the pastime at a healthy level. They were cooing over some red capped priestbird or something, and then a black hawk. I wanted to tell them I had practically tripped over one on a walk in the forest the previous day (true) but they were beneath me so I didn't.

Here are my top 5 favourite bird's names of those I have seen.

5. The common potoo

4. The Bananaquit

3. The Brown booby

2. The Oilbird

1. The Black breasted whistling tree duck

We visited port-of Spain, mt st benedict, point-a-Pierre, blanchisseuse, maracas bay and the north east coast (inc toco). You could google those too.

And finally, a bit of mouthing off: Trinidad is a fantastic place filled with a lot of nice people. But you can't help but feel that they need to get their act together pretty sharpish. You can see that the effects of the petrol-windfall have been good but there seems to be nothing at all in line to replace it when it ends in a couple of decades' time. There's deep mistrust of the government and suspicion of corruption in all areas from everyone we met- the fact that jack Warner is still a high ranking minister is a bit of a tell-tale. The taxi driver who took us through town on our last day had seen someone shot dead that morning.

Anyway, that's probably ill-informed claptrap but this is a blog after all. And it's Venezuela next so god help us.

post by hes 

A few more bits to add to Joe's rant about the boat... Firstly, I can't recommend travelling by container ship enough! It's travel on a much more human scale than flying - birds follow you, you get to sense the air getting warmer etc. Waking up with nothing to do except read, swim and watch the sea and the sun rise and set is blissful. Plus there were some quite comedy aspects to the trip: weird hybrid Ukrainian/Philipino lunches of tempura prawn, garlic squid stir-fry, boiled cauliflower, potato salad and horseradish sauce. Watching a Godfather DVD with Croatian subtitles. And swimming in a small on-deck pool with water drawn from an ocean 5km deep. Incredible. Watching a still sea covered in fog is also amazingly beautiful. Most of the time the water was so flat it looked as if you could walk over it to the horizon

Anyway, we're in Venezuela now, after a hairy (and tricky with beginners' Spanish) journey from a port in the rural north-east of the country. We've seen some incredible colonial architecture, and are staying in a guest house that could be a museum - high ceilings, carved mahogany everywhere, still air and a huge internal courtyard complete with hot sleeping dogs. It's still very early to take impressions of the country, but people are more guarded than in Trinidad - both in their initial interactions with you, and literally, in houses with bars on the windows and doors. People we meet say the country is much less safe than it was 10 years ago, our last hostel owner said he doesn't go out at night, and there's a lot of crime. Today is the presidential election, and the whole country is excited and fiercely divided into the two separate Chavez and Capriles camps. Chavez has spent a lot on housing and medical care for the poor, and I think I can understand what he wants to do: take control of the country's natural resources, and use them to improve everyone's 'lot'. But it must be hell to live through: there are queues outside the banks, soaring prices, crumbling roads and the shops have very little selection of goods except a host of cheap plastic imports from China. The currency is worth far less than half the official exchange rate, so people earning bolivars are effectively trapped in the country and desperate for US dollars. Anyway, Chavez's rival is a man who looks and dresses like a US golf pro, with a scarily intense way of public speaking, but he seems to have the support of many of the middle class people we've met so who knows how the vote will go. We're currently in Ciudad Bolivar, rather fittingly as it's the place where the liberation of the continent from the Spanish began. The results from the vote are due later this evening, so we might wait up  - if our rum lasts that long.

Tomorrow we are off to Angel Falls early doors for a few days, and then climbing Mount Roraima near the border with Guyana and Brazil for 6 days, hopefully into a table-top plateau full of carnivorous plants, valleys of quartz and cloud forest, but more likely into swathes of biting insects, rain and crawly things. Urgh. I also keep having to remind Joe to have a shower - enough said.