Benvindo a Brasil! (part 2)

Brazil photos see here

The famous Rio de Janeiro was next on our adventure line. The same distance as our previous trip from Sao Luis to Salvador, this time it only took us 3 days with constant rides blowing our way with ease; some found at petrol stations (postos) and some while standing on the road and magically stopping for us (magically because drivers are often dubious about stopping for hitchhikers here in Brazil). The first night we slept in the trailer of a truck, in the open air with drops of rain threatening our heads but never quite following through. On the second night we slept in hammocks attached underneath a truck, rocking ourselves to sleep. Making our way through the state of Minas Gerais offered us a changing landscape of vibrant green, bountiful hills and humungous rocks jolting out of the land, arising out of nothing and just us suddenly, disappearing again. We listened to samba, bossa-nova, musica popular brasilaira and forro while making our melodic way to Rio, all introduced to us by our fellow truckies.

Entering Rio from Minas involves a great downward incline that carries on for many kilometres and which challenges trucks with any sort of heavy load. The smell of burnt brakes filled the air as we snailed our way down the stretch of road.

We didn’t stay in the centre of Rio, told many times that Niteroi is not Rio but only a mere 15 minutes away by ferry
from the centre of the famous city, (a very nice way to travel to the centre!). We stayed with a lovely couch who lived in Niteroi, overlooking Guanabara Bay and in the background, Rio. Our first night we drank and ate with our couch and her friends, a cross-cultural couple, the guy being from Oz and the girl from Brazil. They had a beautiful daughter who served to be the basis for some good old dry aussie humour, where nothing is sacred and taking the piss out of everything is part of the everyday chatter… how I have so missed it!

The first four days were overcast and rainy, the complete opposite that is expected out of Rio and offering a different perspective on the city of endless sunshine, parties and beaches. The city appeared grim and dull, abandoned buildings covered in graffiti and used buildings also sprayed by the aerosol cans, from roof to floor. We spent a day with a couch surfer punk in his collective, around the corner from a fabela that had been recently ‘pacified’, i.e. police come in with force and kill all suspected drug traffickers plus others who happen to get caught in the way. Once everyone is either dead, on the run or terrorised and the police have complete control of the fabela, it is then christened ‘pacified’. This is what they are attempting to do with all the fabelas in Rio. Of course, the fabelas are fighting back and many of these communities are experiencing war scenes. The punks braced with their morbid tattoos, black attire, chains and piercings, looking peculiarly like all punks do all over the world, started playing death metal (competing with the fabela who blast funk on Sunday afternoons) which was at the point that we decided to leave.

Copacabana beach showed its rays on the last day in Rio. It sparkled and dazzled its greatness as we drank caipirinha (a cocktail consisting of cachaca, sugar and lime), over looking the coastline and marvelled at why this is one of the world’s most legendary beaches. We stumbled across a samba concert as we were heading home and watched dancers swing their hips in a hypnotic manner that made it seem as if it was a subconscious move, just like breathing. Our last night we hung out with uni students in a square full of outdoor-bars, the air thick with people, laughs, music and excitement, a refreshing shindig to be a part of.

We got very lucky leaving Rio. A couple who never normally stop for hitchers, stopped for us as they were turning onto the main road and offered us a lift all the way to Sao Paulo (which we had decided to go to after we realised how close it was to Rio). They chatted to us the whole way; the guy was a surgeon working in a public hospital in Rio whose work consisted attending to numerous shootings every week and many accidental self shootings. The girl had completed a masters in development studies with the UN in Italy and was looking for work in this competitive field. Both were keen to move to Australia…

We stopped to do a bit of sightseeing and visited the biggest cathedral in the Southern hemisphere. They introduced us to their favourite Brazilian music including to old funk which comes from Rio’s fabelas and some good reggae music. Arriving in Sao Paulo on a Friday afternoon proved to be a trial and tribulation in the immense city (not as big as Mexico DF which is the second biggest city in the world but with the appearance of being much bigger). Traffic piled up on the highway and the multitude of lanes moved at a snails pace. It took us over 2 hours to enter the city, the high-rise buildings endlessly covering the sky scape, with little space in between. I had the impression that I was going to suffocate, buildings closing in on me everywhere I looked, hardly able to see the blue of the sky. Graffiti and tags were just like in Rio, painted all over buildings, often being in the middle of some of the highest buildings with no apparent way of reaching these areas. Helicopters frequently crossed our sky, one of the new ways for the rich and famous to travel in Sao Paulo. Motorcycles screamed past our car, inches away from scraping the doors, they propelled themselves through the middle of two lanes while beeping their horns, some occasionally getting angry when a car wasn’t sufficiently to the left or right side of their lanes and they weren’t able get through smoothly.

We stayed with an old friend who I had met at an eclipse festival in the Oz outback 8 years back! She was exactly as I remembered her; sweet, smiley and a lovely person to be around. She has a beautiful, spacious apartment, tastefully decorated and very closely located to the famous park, Ibirapuera. This great big park has copious amounts of people using it to get away from the concrete jungle and also holds a modern arts museum and consequently, the biennale was exposing. As we walked though the several floors that composed this world class exhibition, we saw a woman with a collar and lead around her neck, being led by a man. Where the man went, went the woman with no indication that this was an abnormal act. Is it art?! We also saw a video on Pixao graffiti (native to Sao Paulo and created as a voice for the most marginalised in society); graffiti artists who climb great heights in the name of tagging high rises, risking their lives for the thrill and adventure. In the video one of the pixadores dies after falling countless metres while tagging. Beco do Batman, an alleyway in the Vila Madalena neighbourhood, has been transformed in an outdoor gallery where you can see lots of very colourful and skilful graffiti.

Thati and her friends took us to some chic Saturday markets in Vila Madalena where we ate cuscus, a savoury cake made with tomatoes, eggs, tuna, olives and spices and pastel, a pastry stuffed with savoury fillings which are very popular throughout all of Brazil. People poured onto the street from all four corners of the market square, bars full to the brim looking very artsy and trendy. What people had said was true. Sao Paulo isn’t a place that people go to for sightseeing but it has one hell of a nightlife.

Brazilians are a very friendly bunch. They are proud of where they are from and carry their flag with beaming smiles. They sing, make music and make a lot of noise no matter where they are. There are many gorgeous people, women who can flaunt it and who normally do and men who are a little presumptuous but can get away with it. As Thati mentioned to me, the men in Australia work very differently than in Brazil. Here they pride themselves on being forward and bold, accosting women at any moment possible whereas in Oz men take a back seat and often women have to do the work. Thati commented that she appreciated the aussie way a lot more as she finds Brazilian men to be arrogant and on the lookout for just sex, with little possibility of friendship. I’m not convinced that aussie men aren’t on the lookout for sex but maybe a mixture of both cultures might be the way forward…!

Going out is a long night affair here in Brazil. Brazilians don’t start moving till very late, 1 or 2 in the morning, unless you’re going to a bar for just a few drinks. Unaccustomed, I struggled to stay awake and retain enthusiasm for the event. In Vila Madalena, once again, streets chock-full of bars with a nice ambiance, people hang in and out of bars, out being more popular, lining the streets with people, obstructing traffic, drinks in hand, often not bought on the bar premises but rather from a cheaper street vendor.

Another thing that Sao Paulo is famous for is for holding the largest Japanese population outside of Japan. There’s a Japanese town in the centre and Japanese restaurants and sushi bars around many corners in Sao Paulo.

Upon advice, we caught a bus from Sao Paulo to the outskirts of the city to give us as much chance as possible to get a ride out of the city. Not a very good spot (we were on the highway with cars rushing past at high velocity) but soon enough a brand new truck stopped and offered us a ride to Curitiba, where we were heading. The truckie was a bickie with a passion for nature; he was definitely not your typical truck driver. His girlfriend is also a truckie, the first time I have heard of a female truck driver in these parts.

A torrential rain appeared as we were dropped off 20 kilometres away from Curitiba. It tainted our efforts to continue to Curitiba by ride. Finally, we were able to go by taxi, a rare occurrence for us these days.

The reason to visit Curitiba was for its reputation for being one of the most ecological cities in the Americas and for its famous and prided public transport system. The city has a bus system which is made to operate like a metro. The buses have partial control of the traffic lights and there are bus lanes all over the city. Space aged bus stops are everywhere where you climb into a clear plastic bubble and pay on the spot before getting on the bus. You can transfer buses as many times as you desire without having to pay again and it’s damn cheap! All of these factors make bus a better option than driving. This has also been maintained by installing pedestrian streets in the centre which cover the majority of the streets, making it easy to walk everywhere and car free. Parks line many of the streets providing much urban green space for its citizens to enjoy including its well-known botanical gardens. Governments from all over the world come to visit Curitiba to see first hand these innovative initiatives in collective urban planning.

Another curiosity is the free environment university which the government installed for the general public. It’s located in a national park and gives free courses to educate the community on ecological issues.

Generally in Brazil, there are many gay people to be seen in the big cities. In Curitiba it was surprising to see many very young lesbians (under 18), walking around hand-in-hand all over the city. It’s not a site that is seen in general and one is more accustomed to see gay guys than lesbians showing affection in public. Go girls!

Leaving Brazil was the same as arriving in Brazil: challenging. 600 kilometres took us three days, the same it had taken us to do 2000 kilometres in previous weeks. Agustin became antsy at the thought of being so close to his country but still not quite there yet. We did get a ride with a trailer that was transporting cars and slept in one of them for the night, something I had always wanted to do for some reason! 130 kilometres away from the border we got caught in the rain again and after quite a few hours we gave up and decided to catch a bus. The bus took us to the border town but it was too late to cross and so we slept outside the bus station, being looked after by the station security guard. The next morning, we finally took the bus and crossed over into Spanish speaking world again, after two months of understanding only bits and pieces and making up the rest.

Puerto de Iguazu was where we landed first in Argentina. One of the seven natural wonders of the world, Argentina shares the national park, Parque Nacional Iguazu with Brazil which holds a number of waterfalls that are an incredible site not to be missed. On the Argentinean side there are numerous waterfalls to be seen, the most spectacular and well known being la garganta del diablo, a set of waterfalls that hold such force and grandness. The spray that emanates from these cascades creates rainbows on many occasions.

Agus felt back at home again, appreciating his countries idiosyncrasies and especially, the food. Being familiar with the way his country functions, the ways of the people, their speech and lingo and reconnection with his culture was what made me feel homesick and out of place. I longed for a reconnection with my country and my culture but was far from being home. The homesickness subsided a little as the new country I found myself in caught my attention me and I became interested in discovering where Agustin was from.

In Misiones, we stayed with some couches whom helped to form my introduction to Argentina. We exchanged trivialities about our countries as we discovered that the couple we stayed with were very different from each other causing some tension between them. The conclusion I came to is that one is to learn to accept differences as they will always arise. This shall be my new challenge thanks to this couple!

We took El Gran Capitan train, an old style train that is up and running again, all the way to Monte Caseros, Agustin’s village where his grandmother resides. It took 14 hours to do the 500 km’s but enjoyable hours they were. The train merely chugs along at a very pleasant and tranquil speed allowing for good countryside viewing. The large windows open widely and so it feels like you're almost part of the landscape, as you are half hanging out of the window. There’s time to get to know people on the train as you walk around looking for a way to pass the time. The train has a reputation of often being held up by such things as cows passing time on the train trucks or a train coming from the opposite direction, etc. We were only stopped for an hour while we waited for a train to pass us, which gave me the opportunity to take photos. Finally we arrived at Monte Caseros. Only a handful of people got off with us, the rest of the passengers wondering what there was to see in this small town. The afternoon sun hit down on us hard as we made our way from the quite train station to the empty streets of the village, everyone being inside for siesta. We were a surprise for his grandmother, not having contacted to say that we were in the country. And what a surprise it was. Tears strolled down her face as she hugged her grandson with joy and gave me a welcoming kiss.

Benvindo a Brasil! (part 1)

For the first time in many a while, I felt a little threat as we walked around the night-lights of Belem port town, looking for a public phone that worked. A big fiesta had taken place in the plaza de la republica square and remnants of teenage Brazilians and rubbish were splattered around the gathering ground. A phone that worked presented itself but Portuguese pronunciations of streets names confused our heads and gave us little to work with. We set off in a direction with unsure feet to find ourselves being followed. We stopped and turned around, the followers walking past us glancing in our direction frequently.

One taxi ride and phone call later we made it to the ‘Aussie in Belem’s' house. Here I was reunited with some distinguished aussie culture and euphemisms…in the Amazon! A 3 storey apartment with a ‘college day’ appearance, beer bottles clattering corners, piles of dishes waiting to be washed and at least a couple of weeks of messiness hanging about. We slept our nights on the roof, under the stars with a glorious view of the city. One night we watched the street light catch on fire after a small explosion took place. It was attached to a fuse box that looked awfully close to the flames to not explode. Luckily it didn’t.

The aussie in question is a singer. She ended up in the port city of Belem by accident after following a band who’d hired her to sing. She has been on the road in Latin America for 5 years and was able to get residency in Brazil by sheer luck, a new law in place for immigrants from surrounding poorer countries, not created for aussies! She has now developed a love for Belem, it’s constant concerts and outdoor events, the heat, the musicians and friends she has met and the night lifestyle that she holds. Without loosing her Australianisms she managed to pick up a Portuguese sprawl that runs out of her mouth like a true Brazilian.

Belem has an amazing market with a wonderful variety of Amazon fruits, vegetables, herbal tinctures and remedies, fresh fish, traditional items such as straw hats and baskets and of course, big bowls of acai, the wondrous antioxidant-rich palm fruit that’s eaten along with fried fish and farofa (toasted manioc flour that’s served with every meal in Brazil).

Our attempt to hitchhike out of Belem lasted a mere 6 hours after being kicked out of the petrol station where we were asking truck drivers for a ride at. At this point we were worn-out, especially of hitchhiking with little success but also of moving every couple of days, living out of a backpack, having fleeting friendships and not having a place to call home. Brazil was meant to be our last big trip before arriving in Argentina; it was meant to be enjoyable, but instead it was being challenging and demanding on the both of us. So, we decided to reduce the amount of stops that we were to do in Brazil so as to try and enjoy what we were to visit; quality not quantity.

Sao Luis, our next stop after Belem, is the capital of reggae in Brazil so we were told and so it was true. With its strong African influence reggae is in all corners of the centre, leaking through the cracks of the beautifully, flaking, nostalgic buildings that give Sao Luis its reputation. Laneway gigs emerge around many corners and singers take a seat at bars under the stars while liquids are consumed and sounds are swung to. Sao Luis is also about beaches: 5 km’s of it such as Sao Marcos which stretches out from the tip of the centre of Sao Luis, wide and long, pure sand and sea with nothing else polluting it.

A night market greeted us one dusk where we were offered a variety of traditional Brazilian street food. Famished, we ate beiju, a tapioca and coconut pancake, tapioquinha (tapioca with cheese and coconut), tapioca flan and guarana de amazonia, a guarana, banana, avocado, milk and cashew smoothie. All so good!

We stayed in a studio with two other couch surfers squeezed into the room. Along with this we had 100 reales to last us a week as I waited for money to clear from my transfers. It was a challenge and one which we united with the task of visiting the sand dunes and oasis in Santo Amaro, 250 kilometres from Sao Luis.

We accomplished the mission and managed to hitchhike most of the way there apart from the last 36 kilometres which we thought we could walk. The midday sun hit as hard as we set off down an off shoot road, leading us through endless barren landscapes with houses dotting the scenery on occasion but with not a soul to be seen. Two hours later we arrived at a village where we did meet some people. Their laughs greeted us when we shared that we were planning on walking all the way to Santo Amaro. “You will be met with knee-high sand for kilometres” said one. They all agreed that it was an impossible task and convinced us to sit and rest and wait for the jeep that was to come in a few hours. Minutes later one appeared. We tetrised our way through the sand and held on during the 2 hour drive of bumps, swerves and out of control veers.

That night we camped on the sprawling sand dunes, the fine sand sticking stubbornly to our bodies while the moons reflection slithered in the small lagoon that we had come across (the dry season drying up all the oasis’s). In comparison to daylight, the night bought a cool breeze which gave us an excuse to make a campfire and enjoy the flickering flames.

The next day we walked the vastness of the sand dunes, the undulating beige hills creating a beautiful contrast with the crisp blue sky. Not a soul was to be seen for miles. We headed back to town and watched the women washing their families clothes in the river while the kids played by their side. Cashew trees offered their fruits to us as we walked the streets of Santo Amaro.

We managed to hitchhike back to Sao Luis in just a few short hours as the daylight hours were dwindling; one of our rides was a taxi driver who offered to take us if he didn’t find any paying passengers (which luckily he didn’t) and we proceeded to have a ‘lost in translation’ conversation, e.g. explaining what joven (young) meant for half an hour in various ways until he finally understood and said the very same, exact word with a slightly different accent. That night we saw two roadside gatherings, one where an 80-year-old woman had been robbed, raped and very sadly, murdered, her body found in a trench on the side of the road. The other where a car had fallen into a gully after being pushed off by a passing truck. The driver was unhurt but the car on the other hand was squashed in a very awkward position.

From Sao Luis we set off for a long 1900 kilometre adventure to Salvador, which lasted 4 days. We got a ride to the outskirts of Sao Luis by a postie who had given us a lift a few days back to the sand dunes. It was nice to see a familiar face again!

My one year and a half of travelling clocked off on this first day of hitchhiking from Sao Luis, waiting in Magnolia petrol station with little hope of moving after being repeatedly told by truckies that the public holiday the next day meant that no one was going anywhere. After most of a day of asking truck drivers for a ride in our portoñol (Spanish/Portuguese), luck blew our way and a truckie named Marcos, agreed to take us who was heading most of the way to Salvador with a stop to pick up cargo along the way.

He turned out to be the slowest truck driver this world has ever seen and perhaps the laziest. A mere four hours of driving a day was all he had in him and the rest of the time was filled with stops for water bottle refills, toilet needs, meal stops, oil checks, tyre checks and any other excuse that came to mind. On the road mango trees dangled, dazzling their ripe fruits in our eyes. We stopped and harvested a bucket full of the sweet fruits and the rest of the trip was mango filled, covering our faces with the fruit, the fibres wedging themselves in our teeth, quenching our hunger and thirst and providing for laughs for when we had nothing to say to Marcos in our minimal Portuguese.

The landscape on the journey was mostly barren, roads continuing on for many kilometres, straight as rulers with dry and bristle bushes sketching the land. Heat emerged in the early morning and became unbearable by midday. No man’s land was what we crossed, with few towns and villages to be seen. The two nights we travelled with Marcos we slept in our hammocks tied up in petrol stations, passing noises causing me a bit of angst but generally sleeping tranquilly. Marcos was to pick up a bulldozer but when we arrived, the paper work wasn’t ready and another night was tallied to our journey. To add to this, the reverse gear was playing up and Marcos announced that we would probably arrive in Salvador three days later than what we had planned. That was the tipping point for me and after some conversing with Agus, we decided that the we would search for another ride the next morning, a mere 600 kilometres away.

Our conversation with truck drivers was amazingly quite complex at times considering how little Portuguese we knew. But Spanish is very similar to Portuguese and so you’re able to figure out many words as they may be different by only a few letters or it’s the accent that changes. Of course this is not true for everything and I found it harder than Agustin to understand truckie conversations especially as many had quite distinct accents and spoke quickly, restraining from opening their mouths.

The next day I turned 28. I spent it on the side of the road waiting for a ride, acquiring one amazingly quickly but a mere 100 kilometres on the journey, being told that the paper work wasn’t complete for us to pass the state border, causing us to wait for many hours for another ride and finally being picked up by the same truckie who had bought us there, papers all sorted out this time. Not the way I had envisaged the passing of the day, I grouchily got through the hours, weary after day four of non-stop travel.

But vivacious Salvador da Bahia was near. We arrived on a Friday morning, the chaotic streets full of life and animation. The Afro-Brazilian culture bubbling and at its strongest in this part of the country, influencing the food, the music and the energy of the place. The first capital of Brazil, it is known as the happy state for a reason. People are always outdoors, enjoying the sun, countless parties and home to the best carnaval in Brazil. Our couch Pareta, a street artist who reads poetry out to the masses on buses and at bars, is an eccentric, born to be an actor with a big heart who lives to talk and has a smile for all occasions. We stayed with him in his shoebox apartment but with a view of course!

Beaches is what we mainly visited in Salvador. End beautiful they were. Bahia’s reputation is upheld to have some of the nicest beaches in the world. And right on the doorstep of the city of Salvador, the beach culture blending with the everydayness of day-to-day living. But many other faces are apparent in Salvador apart from the beach. The historical centre in the cidade alta is made up of cobbled streets and colonial architecture, impressive and charming but with a distinctive tourist feel to it. The street stalls and markets (with a lot of cheap tropical fruit available) is where a lot of life is effused, sellers calling out with voluptuous voices, their goods and their prices; people eating acaraje, a deep-fried ball stuffed with shrimp paste, cashew nuts, tomatoes and chilly sauce while drinking beers (what I consider to be light) on the street or coming back from a beach trip from one of the many islands and being amongst a sudden bus drumming and singing session which materialised out of thin air.

The traditional food of Bahia is one of my favourites, usually involving seafood or fish such as the famous moqueca, a seafood stew consisting of fish, onions, garlic, tomatoes and coriander, cooked slowly. The cocadas made from sugar and coconut (gives you a good energy boost) or abara a type of tamal made from cowpeas and served like acaraje (my favourite food which I ate every possible day that I could!).

Brazilians are very loud and boisterous at any moment and time, yelling, shouting, laughing loudly, over anything and nothing, showing much more emotion than your average Joe. This is especially true in Bahia and is part of the many things that make this place special. Another thing that makes this place unique (Brazil in general) are the men’s swimming trunks that are fashioned on the beach. Almost no Brazilian male goes swimming without them, sitting a little longer on the leg than Speedos, it allows men to tan their legs and is actually really not all that bad if you ask me! Of course it goes without saying, the Brazilian bikini is sported by many, girls doing all sorts of activities in them from jogging on the beach to beach volleyball and lying with tanning oil under the blazing sun.

a coninuar...

Heading south…

To see photos click on this link

With inspiration renewed, and new skills under our belts, we set off for south, firstly to Panama. A day and a night of travelling by thumb, we met all sorts of people during which we encountered our first woman driver who gave us a lift as well as a religious truckie who preached to us for most of the way and told us how he converted himself six months ago (being a smoker, drinker and frequenter of brothels) while watching an Adventist priest on TV telling him, “you are the next one”, and he got down on his hands and knees and accepted this as a sign to convert. We arrived 50 kilometres from our destination in the dead of the night. Sleepy heads were jolted up and a surprise policeman took us under his wing, giving us refuge from the Panamerican highway and providing each of us with a mattress. Welcome to the cops bunkroom.

A few days of camping on the beach followed, a welcomed treat after some hard work on the ranch. Every night god’s light bulb was shining on our heads and the waves caused a rhythmic sound to which to sleep to.

A mini Carnaval greeted us at the Festival de la Mejorana in Guarare (named after a small guitar with 5 strings originating from the region) where we danced in the rain while watching and being part of the parade, floats passing by with girls dressed in colourful, traditional dresses with long plats sitting on either side of their necks, celebrating the many traditions that make up Panama. Many pageant queens were displayed on podiums while drums and bottles of rum and aguardiente were being swigged. The kids performed traditional dancers of the region, the boys dressed with a straw hat and a peasant costume, pranced around while the girls rustled their colourful dresses. Some of the ‘couples’ were no more than 5 years old. We watched on with a lot of laughter as some of the boys missed their steps while they became distracted by a fly or adjusted their hats, leaving their partners hanging.

On our way back from the Carnaval, we jumped into the back of a ute with a friendly driver and his friends. A few minutes into the drive, I could sense that we were swerving from side to side, veering from our lane on a very constant basis. The drivers friends were both drunk and I figured so was the driver. I became tense and wanted to jump out. In an instant, we were on the opposite side of the road with oncoming traffic heading our direction. I yelled at the driver to move back to his lane and at the last second he swerved back onto the right side of the road. Hearts beating I asked for the car to stop and we got out, the ute continuing on with no thought of what had just happened, what could have happened.

From Panama to Colombia we flew, a simple 2 hour flight that took us all day to accomplish but got us a little closer to our destination, Venezuela. We arrived at the border between Colombia and Venezuela in Cucuta, greeted by some couch surfers who went out of their way to pick us up from the airport, two hours later than the planned arrival. Taken to what seemed like a palace that night in my tired daze, we were presented to the gang of friends that never left each other’s side. Andres, Paula and ‘Los gordos’ treated us like kings, chaperoning us around Cucuta, presenting us to everyone they knew and making us stay out late on both nights we were there. Andres, a journalist, knew everyone in town and is an obvious candidate to be a politician as he so wishes. With great pride, he showed us his city and took us on a wild goose chase from place to place, stopping by for aguardiente shots at the university hangout. Andres, Paula and one of the ‘gordos’, Sebastian, about to set off on a long trip from Colombia to Argentina filled us with question about our travels. Most people had little faith that Paula and Sebastian would make it very far, use to being at home and looked after by their parents, Paula’s parents especially feared that she was destined to doom and the trip was a running joke between all. But they set off on their trip as planned and are still going strong.

While in Colombia, I was made aware that Colombian men manicure their hands and take great care in the appearance of their nails. While we were sitting drinking cheap beers in Venezuela having crossed over from Colombia for the night, the nail topic came up and we were with surprise, shown the five or six pairs of men’s nails from the group, all with varnish and looking much prettier than mine. On the other hand, men seem to pay less attention to their weight as they do to their nails, many surprisingly obese or close to it.

In Cucuta, we learnt how Venezuelan politics had affected the city and reduced trade between the two countries. We crossed over to Venezuela and discovered some more about the politics of Chavez and its implications.

Most people in Venezuela are either Chavistas or anti-Chavistas. There are no fence sitters. The legislative elections that recently occurred showed that Chavez is loosing power after 11 years of being in government, with the opposition winning more than one-third of the legislative seats and 52% of the popular vote. Chavistas are usually able to see that Chavez has contributed positively and negatively in running the country. Anti-Chavistas call him crazy and just want him out as soon as possible, not admitting to any positive changes since he has taken power. On saying this, the people we usually interacted with were people from the middle class. Opinions might vary dramatically with people from low economic backgrounds, Chavez initiating many positive changes for this particular grouping of people.

Merida, a mountainous city known for its lakes, snowy peaks and villages set up in the hilltops, is where we ended up after crossing over from Colombia to Venezuela. A day up in the mountains to El paramo, we ate strawberries and cream and got a ride back to Merida with a young guy who’s view on Chavez was that he has good politics but no one to support him in government and no one who knows how to confront him on his bad policies.

Days later, we set off for Maracay to visit our new friend Fabiola that we had encountered on our way through the last time, going up to Costa Rica. We set off in the early hours of the morning and luck seemed to be on our side, offering us a second lift straight to Maracay! A few kilometres later, a sudden stop occurred. A picket line had been erected and was blocking our way forward. The picketers were requesting for a block to the take over of the company by government forces and had blocked many roads all over the country. Cars and trucks piled up and waited. Hours passed and the day grew on, sometimes the sky tricking us and threatening rain and the sun then reappearing hastily afterwards. At around 5pm, the burning tyres were put out and a space appeared on the road to which everyone hurriedly rushed through.

Maracay was about Fabiola and her apartment, cooking fancy foods, making ginger beer, Spanish misunderstandings, catching up on emails, travelling chats and a trip to Cayo Sombrero in the national park of Morrocoy with its breathtaking islets of paradise. The beach culture in Venezuela isn’t one where you relax but one where you bring your esky overflowing with beers, spirits and mixers and your entire family and/or friends set upon a day of becoming inebriated. People sat in the crystalline water that felt like a giant bath, the sun shining on top of them with drinks in hand, no waves to be seen for kilometres, the Caribbean being well and truly present. Chairs were placed in the water and sometimes even a drink float was put into use for easy accessibility of drinks within the water.

Traditional foods of Venezuela were plentiful on the street, normally consisting of an areperia (just like in Colombia but with many different versions such as wheat arepas which are delicious!), empanadas such as filled with caraotas (beans) and cheese, tequenos which are a cheese filled bread roll, deep-fried (my favourite especially when hot!), cachapas, a corn pancake served with soft, white cheese, plantain salad where the plantains are boiled than grated served with olive oil and other salad greens, cocada which is a milkshake made out of coconut and pizca andina which originates from Merida and is made from milk, potatoes, eggs and parsley.
Venezuela ended up finishing in Maracay. We decided that we didn’t have the money to go to La gran sabana and visit El salto Angel, the highest waterfall in the world measuring over 1000 metres and Roraima, a mountain where the continents first separated from (Agustin assuring me that it’s spectacular having done it a few years back).

A day attempting to catch a ride out of Maracay was a complete failure; sizzling, weary, thirsty and hungry, we made our way to the dreary bus terminal and caught a bus towards the South of Venezuela. The next day was another day of attempting to move hitching with little luck. A beautiful soul stopped and although could offer no lift, forced money onto us for a bus ride to the border. 100 Bolivar’s richer, we ended up catching a bus to the border town of Santa Elena and arriving at night, we hitched our tent in the bus station and made night there. After a few disagreements we set off on route for the border and passed through an hour or so later after being thoroughly searched by Brazilian border police, disturbing my meticulous packing and making it very complicated to fit everything back in again.

On Brazilian land we got a lift after quite a few hours out in the sun, to Boa Vista. With hopes high, we thought we might be able to arrive in Manaus by the next morning. Unfortunately no trucks were willing to stop or were heading that way. On saying that, the Brazilian warm nature shined through and many people greeted us and indicated that they weren’t going very far, at least responding to our request. That night we spent the night at a petrol station that seemed to be the hot place in town to hang out. People driving through and stopping to have a few beers right next to the petrol pump and then driving off happier than when they arrived. A couple of guys shouted us to some drinks and we found a small corner to huddle in and see the night through. More and more cars came through, blasting louder and louder music, most probably having a battle about who’s stereo is loudest. The next morning we set off bright and early with renewed hope that today would be the day for a ride to Manaus. An hour into our attempts, a motorbike crashed into the back of a truck that was turning and hadn’t put its indicator light on. The woman passenger bolted off the bike and ran to the safety of the footpath. The driver, laid in the middle of the road motionless. Cars stopped and blocked traffic from passing. The woman wailed and screeched as she attempted to comprehend what had happened to her partner. The shock of the accident shook me and I lost some inspiration for our task ahead. We lasted 6 hours out in the sun. Our hunger and thirst for shade and water made us head back to the petrol station. We spent the afternoon asking trucks that had stopped if they were going to Manaus but none of them were. We were told by one truckie that there probably wouldn’t be anyone going for three or so days. With this new piece of information in hand, we decided to fork out the $120 it was to catch the bus.

From Manaus we were to catch a ferry that would take us to Belem. The day we arrived we were informed that we had just missed the ferry to Belem and that the next one wasn’t until five days later. A ray of light shined through as we were told that we could catch a ferry to Santarem and then catch another ferry to Belem from there. We decided that this was better than waiting in Manaus for five days.

That night we were offered free tickets to the famous Teatro Amazonas by some theatre students who took a liking to us. We went to see a play called Gilda, about a prostitute and her interactions with her parents and lovers. The theatre is glorious; paintings highlighting the ceilings and gold rims trimming the seating. A pleasant extravagance and change from the five days of travel that we held behind us.

The two-day ferry ride to Santarem gave us time to make macramé bracelets and near the end of our trip, sell them to other passengers. Arriving in the early hours of Monday, we were informed that there was no boat to Belem till Friday. Shocked, tired and irritated we investigated to see if there was any way to catch a ride to Belem with a truckie, knowing that there are roads going through this part of the Amazon. Unfortunately there aren’t many trucks who make the two to three day trip and none to be found who were undertaking the journey.

Luckily in our angst to get out of Santrarem, we bumped into two artesana girls who divulged that they were staying in a very beautiful place 40 minutes from Santarem which holds one of Brazil’s nicest beaches: Alter do Chao

Indeed it was beautiful. Not your typical beach, it’s set on a river in the Amazon and has islands of white sand amongst crystal clear waters which are at a beautiful temperature to swim in and are completely tranquil and still. Small bars offer their tables in the shallow waters, cooling your feet as you sip or munch. The vibe is very chill in Chao, a small and pleasant village, at least during the week and out of holiday season, with hardly any souls to be seen. Here we were introduced to the cashew tree and its succulent, juicy fruit that was in abundance all over Chao. We also tried the traditional meal of tacaca which consists of a soup with goma (a tapioca gummy substance which is interesting to eat), tucupi (a broth made from cassava), dried prawns (white river ones in this case) and jambu (a para cress). It´s served very hot in a cuia, a bowl carved out of a gourd.

It’s amazing how things work out at the perfect time. Staying in Chao was exactly what we both needed after a non-stop week of travelling. I was close to cracking into pieces after little sleep, living on sandwiches and heat stricken. We were led to this beautiful place, to relax and rejuvenate when we were unable to offer this to ourselves. The reason for our visit to Chau was money orientated (as it was cheaper than staying in Santarem) but instead we were offered a holiday in paradise.

On our last night in Chao, a small gig took place on the beach with traditional music from the state of Para called Carimbo. A vibrant assortment of drums (made from tree trunks) and singing with a strong African influence, girls dancing in long, colourful dresses which they hold the ends of in their hands and the men dancing around them in circles, re-enacting the ritual dance. Definitely recommended for those musos out there!

Our ferry to Belem was waiting for us on the Friday morning as we rushed to walk from one port to the other with our heavy packs and the hot sun stumping our stride. It cost us 140 reales for the both of us instead of 200 reales which was the price in the port that we left behind (a saving of $40). The two days that it took us to arrive in Belem navigated us through the Amazon once again, passing many houses situated on the riverbank amongst the jungle, isolated from the rest of the world but located in a dazzling setting. We saw a lot of shipping of timber taking place on large platforms being pushed up or down the river. Small villages based entirely around logging companies were spotted along the way, the destruction of the Amazon rainforest sadly taking place right in front of our eyes but legal logging is not the biggest culprit, strictly monitored and operating under demanding guidelines; clearing for cattle pasture and agriculture are the most destructive as well as illegal logging.

On the last night at sunset, we encountered canoes waiting for our arrival. Small plastic bags filled with food were being thrown into the water by passengers, the canoes manoeuvring to fish them out of the river and take home the goods.

We arrived in Belem to a full moon rising from the river, tremendously orange with the appearance of a bush fire sun, it slowly made its way up into the sky, looking magnificent in its splendour.

Ranch article

An article i wrote on my experience at the ranch... click here to read

Rancho Mastatal

To see photos click here

So three ½ months have elapsed and there’s been very little news from me. Why may you ask? Have I forgotten about this blog altogether? Have I gotten bored of relating my fascinating experiences and captivating thoughts that engross you so much!? Ha Ha! Don’t you worry... I have not tired of this. What’s happened is that I’ve been living on a rural ranch (www.ranchomastatal.com) in the tropical rainforest of Costa Rica working as a campesino and learning lots of new and useful skills such as carpentry, natural building, mosaicing, gardening and farming, baking, fermenting foods and much much more!

So what exactly did I do everyday at this ranch?

Well the day normally started at 6.45am to be in time for breakfast at 7.00am. On saying that, a couple of times a week we would get up at 5.30 am to cook breakfast for somewhere between 15 – 40 people. This would normally involve making some sort of eggs (egg toasties on occasion which is where you cut out a hole in a slice of bread and toast it with an egg in the middle…mmmm! So good!), kefir (a type of yoghurt that’s meant to be much healthier for you), fruit, pinto (which is typical Costa Rican food consisting of rice and beans) and perhaps pancakes or muffins or another delicious breakfast food like French toast.

Meals were buffet style and were always plentiful. Everyone had the tendency to over eat and go back for seconds and thirds just in case that the meal would not appear again or out of pure gluttony.

After breakfast the 7.30 meeting would happen (Agustin making a habit of loudly reminding everyone with his Argentinean accent that it was 7.30 and time for meeting; people would sleepily finish off their breakfasts looking a little flabbergasted at the sudden need for movement). Meeting involved going over the daily tasks and people putting themselves forward to do them. This might involve turning the bokashi (a Japanese fermented fertiliser that gets used in the garden), baking sourdough bread and bagels, planting fruit trees, working on a carpentry project such as making a table, feeding the bio-digester with a bag of manure (a toilet which creates methane out of peoples ‘deposits’ and feeds this gas into a gas stove that is used to cook off), making ginger beer, making candles, making soap, cutting bottles to make glasses, daub dancing (mixing sand, manure, clay and straw to build walls out of), feeding the goats and chickens, cooking, etc, etc, etc.

So once you had chosen the tasks you were interested in and meeting was over, you would go about starting your work day (which really didn’t feel like work most of the time, being such a great opportunity to learn something new everyday). You worked till lunch which was called with a conk shell (at about 12:30) and once again, you stuffed yourself stupid with amazing, delicious foods such as pumpkin tart and sauerkraut (a fermented cabbage), yucca burgers, burritos, or empanadas, all coated with a heavy layer of homemade garlic or chilli mayonnaise.

Once you fell into your food coma, a couple times a week the chocolate man Jorge would come with his temptations and everyone would gorge themselves on the indulgence while sitting about and waiting for the afternoon to start. The rains would normally accompany the afternoon work which prevented from most outdoor activity and kept people busy inside (the rainy season taking place between the months of May – November). Mammoth storms would at times take place with lightning strikes and thunderous thunder causing landslides and road cuts. .

Sometimes you may have a lunch or dinner cooking shift which involved cooking with two local girls (normally Katia and Roxy) for approximately 3 hours (this is the time it takes to cook for so many people!). The girls would chatter about town and ranch gossip while they would skilfully and quickly prepare meals and you assisted in the matter. The work day finished at the time that you wished, depending a lot on what you were doing and how committed you were to finishing the task but normally around 5.00pm. People would either have a shower (once every three or four days is what most of us became use to showering – dirty buggers!) or having a beer and appreciating the sunset hours.

Dinner would be served at around 7.00pm but would be preceded by circle time which involved everyone getting together around the long dinner table and maybe saying thank you to someone for something that they had done that day or saying goodbye to someone who was leaving the next. At first I hated circle time and always felt uncomfortable but after a while I saw the value in doing this exercise and enjoyed listening to peoples thanks and comments that were made. A nice way to finish the day even if a little hippy!

Bedtime would be shortly after dinner as you struggled to stay awake maybe due to the work that you had accomplished or the early hour that you had woken up. Everyone would retreat back to their respective accommodation scattered around the ranch, set amongst the jungle with the noises of the many frogs chirping away. On some nights the full moon would be shinning down and lighting the beautiful landscape, making it easy to walk the paths back to our houses, other nights it would be pouring down in gallons and you would try and not slip over the muddy paths on your way back home.

The wildlife was in close contact with living spaces, everything being open with mostly no doors and few windows. As I lied in bed, I often could hear huge insects buzzing around in my room, attacking the mosquito bed or flying in circles until they found their way out again. Spiders would establish their space and became pets that we greeted hello to on a daily basis. Scorpions would find their way into dark little corners, especially under clothes, or in and around wood. Toads would be hopping in and out of the main house and sometimes frogs would also make their way in. On rare occasions, snakes were seen around living quarters. The rule was if they were poisonous they had to be killed in the name of our protection.

The working week was between Monday to Saturday and Sunday was a day off. Brunch was held on Sunday allowing people to sleep in if they wished and then scatter off to an entire day of community football games or go for a hike to one of the many waterfalls or rivers surrounding the ranch.

So what did I accomplish during my time there?

I made (in conjunction with others!):
- A table in the shape of an anchor for the house that I lived in which was named after a song called starship cork
- A gate for the Choza (Tim and Robyn’s house)
- Cubbies for the main house
- A mosaic sink for the bio-digester bathroom
- A daub floor for the Cork
- Lime washed (an alternative to paint) the Chozer house and bathroom
- Planted lots of trees!
- Lots more that I’m not going to bore you with anymore…!

Some of the happenings in the 3 ½ months at the ranch:
- Agustin cutting his finger on a table saw in the first couple of weeks of arriving at the ranch and managing to cut his tendon leaving behind a nice big scar and a bent finger
- Warren acquiring an allergic reaction to mosquito and ant bites mainly obtained on the goat slope and covered with a very nasty rash
- Chepo proudly killing a poisonous snake and posing for pictures with his collared shirt unbuttoned, his signature style
- The permaculture design certificate course taking place half way through the internship, being a challenging 15 days of back-to-back classes (being use to manual work by this point and finding it hard sitting down in class all day long). We presented our extravagant permaculture designs for a porn client and ninja centre and passed. I am now a permaculture designer!
- Holding down the fort while the owners (Tim and Robyn) and most other interns went to the beach for a holiday and seeing first hand what it’s like being in Tim and Robyn’s shoes, showing around and answering the numerous questions from the new volunteers
- Tim having a bot fly squeezed of his back while a team of us squirmed and squealed at the sight of this alien tadpole looking animal popping out of his skin
- Sole’s favourite words (the daughter of the owners of the ranch Tim and Robyn): “No hay paso!” “Pupuya” “Caca de vaca!” “No importa!” “No hay campo!” “Vaya” “Yo quiero” “Poquito” “Adonde?”. A very smart two and a half year old who knew everything that went on at the ranch, where everyone was and when to speak English or Spanish depending on who the person she was addressing
- Making enough gnocchies to feed all of Mastatal to celebrate gnocchi day in Argentina (the 29th of each month)
- Warren dressing up as a goat for superhero pizza night
- One of the goats dying on us upsetting many
- Agustin falling out of the ute on the way back from harvesting mangoes, being flung off by the force of the harvesting pole getting stuck in some trees
- Michelle’s excitement whenever Michael Jackson was played and her very good dancing impersonations that she entertained everyone with
- Lina being my housemate at the cork and sharing chats on random afternoons
- Mary’s dry and sarcastic humour that took everyone by surprise at first and entertained people for the rest of our time together, especially when she impersonated Chris, our permaculture teacher’s class habits on pizza night
- Eileen playing with Sole and attentively looking after her on most days with much joy and eagerness
- Kassi falling head over heels in love with an eccentric and quirky permaculture translator, mini Chris, who’s exactly that, very mini but also loud and entertaining
- Andrea running off to live with her Costa Rican boyfriend in a village up the road from the ranch
- Vikky recounting numerous stories of her life back home in the UK, her family and her time at the ranch before we all arrived, especially her numerous encounters with jungle insects
- Robyn and her incessant care of Sole even while she is sick, addressing her every need, speaking to her like every parent should: with patience, attentively and as an intelligent human being
- Tim and his ceaseless dedication that he gives to the ranch, always willing to help anyone who needs help with great attention and care
- Eileen breaking her toe while playing soccer and being in constant pain and limping for weeks
- Tim and Robyn’s dedication to the ranch and their ceaseless hospitality, friendliness, humbleness and sharing of their home with everyone who comes through
- Amy and her very high work ethic and dedication to the task, always keen to do the shitty jobs and… “anyone want to plant vetiver?!”
- Rachel committed to the task of planting the entire ranch out to fruit trees and being an endless source of knowledge on gardening
- Bert and his cheeky smile and raised eyebrow stating that he’s finally finished building the kakhut shit shack
- Agustin coming up with a word of the day in Spanish to encourage people to learn Spanish in a primarily English environment
- Bea and I wearing matching clothes on several days and having chats about the future
- John, otherwise known as Mr. Musclos, strutting his stuff around the ranch while the numerous girls oohed and ahhed at him flexing his muscles while doing ‘manly’ work
- Mario known as the strongest man on this earth climbing up 20 metre high trees to cut down branches and harvest food at the age of 50
- Hana farting and burping her way around the ranch and sharing her bountiful knowledge on plant and animal life
- Listening to Kassi sing as if it was a professional performance at a bar, her beautiful voice affecting all of us
- Everyone tikaring themselves up for one of the two village dances occurred while we were there with the disco mobil!
- Junior and his many flings with many gringas and his amazing skills at carpentry
- Katia, the leader of the women in the village sharing her amazing cooking skills with us at the ranch
- Roxy checking out the new meat (volunteers) that kept on coming into the ranch
- Ty working tirelessly and silently on the new community library
- Agustin playing basketball and twisting his ankle and crowned accident man during his time at the ranch
- Finishing the Choza gate on the day before leaving the ranch, just in time!
- Jason hospitalised for 5 days after being stung by a strange insect and getting infected, his leg swelling twice its size
- Tiburon talking peoples ear off while at dinnertime as they slowly tried to get away
- Playing in cow poo on a regular basis in the name of natural construction!
- Eating a lot of pejibaye in all kinds of different ways… till we were truly sick of it!
- Candice coming to visit me in my second last week at the ranch! So nice to see a friend again!

Amazon adventures

To see Amazon photos, click on this link

A 36 hour bus ride took us out of Lima, north along the coast and finally through the jungle to the end of the road where the river meets and you only have the option of travelling by ferry along the Amazon river or staying in the port town of Yurimaguas. The ferry left the next day and we stayed in a dodgy looking, but cheap hotel that reminded me a little of a hospital ward. Down at the port we slipped and slid over the slushy mud that had formed from the previous rain, which eventually took us to the ferry we were to board. We left that afternoon, slowly propelling ourselves into the famous river that is known for being the river that carries the greatest volume of water. We swung on our hammocks where we were to sleep and watched the sunset over the murky water that characterizes these rivers. Luscious jungle on either side interrupted only by a village now and then, where kids run to the shoreline to salute as the ferry passes by. Time was spent being creative, making jewellery out of macramé and reading books. We met some nice folk who coincidentally knew someone who we had gone to the meditation course with us – a small world we live in! We exchanged new macramé techniques for string and ate chocolate cake with peanut butter while smoking a little at the back of the boat. Sunsets were incredible as were sunrises which we got up for as breakfast was being served and a terrible noise could be heard of people moving and talking, not allowing you to sleep. Meal times were mostly disappointing consisting of rice and little else along with bread and margarine and a soup like consistency of porridge with very little porridge to be seen. We did taste juanes, a yucca mash with bits of fish swimming within it, wrapped in a bijao leaf and resembling a tamale, as well as camu camu, a bean like fruit which contains 40 times more vitamin c than the kiwi fruit, grilled on the barbecue and tastes rather good. Remarkably, pink dolphins were spotted at a distance as well as grey ones; I was ignorant to the fact that fresh water dolphins exist. My one-year of travel was celebrated on the boat, a fine way to bring in another period of travelling. Talks were had about joint plans for the future: Argentina with Agus after the ranch... and a new commitment was made between us.

We arrived in Iquitos, the world’s largest city that is unreachable by road, after two days of travel. A little exhausted from not sleeping properly in a shared hammock, we dived into the city and were met by a million motor taxis, roaring their engines in all directions. Quickly, we made it out of the hoard of activity and headed to a couch surfers house called David who is like a puppy dog, full of energy and excitement but also very inviting and friendly, just like his wife Rebeca. He was very sincere and open with us, telling us intimate details such as that his wife is 20 years older than he is, the disapproval of his parents and how they met and fell in love. Another storyteller lover, David told us some legends and beliefs of jungle communities in the Amazon, such as that of the pink dolphin (bufon) that impregnates pretty young girls. He told us of his cousin who apparently had this happen to her, as it’s happened to many girls in the Amazon. A famous doctor in Iquitos collects specimens of the fetuses of these aborted babies, which are apparently half human and half dolphin!

Iquitos is a city full of mysticism, traditional beliefs, shamans and motor taxis of course! A visit to the immense and chaotic Belen market will present you with a variety of exotic fruits such as poma rosa/mammee apple (a red fruit with white flesh) or aguaje (small red fruit with orange flesh), jungle fish such as the famous paiche (one of the world’s largest freshwater fish), an egg drink called ponche made out of eggs and condensed milk, tacacho made out of mashed or roasted bananas. Further along is the pasaje paquito, a passage of stalls selling traditional herbs, plants and medicines, beads and where you can find such things as san pedro and ayahuasca (a psychoactive shamanic ‘medicine’ which is prepared using two plants native to the Amazon) or any other herbal concoction to suit your needs. Impressive! Heading towards the river, you come across barbers, which are set up on the street with nothing more than a chair, scissors and a mirror set up in the outside light. Along the river in Belen, are the famous floating houses built on rafts that make up Belen shantytown. During the rainy season, people use canoes to go from one house to the other and during the dry season, many of these houses sit in the mud. It makes for a pretty spectacle watching the daily activity of people selling their goods on the river, traversing to each house in canoes. Bars, shops, churches and schools also are amongst the floating community consisting of approximately 7000 people.

On one day we met up with Alexandra, the pregnant girl in my room from meditation, who lives in Iquitos with her Shaman partner Wagner. We visited the Shamanic centre that the family owns (Capitari, centro de investigation) which has the reputable shaman, Don lucho or Luis (Wagner’s father) performing ayahuasca ceremonies and ayahuasca diets. Situated within the jungle, a quick 30 minute boat ride away and a 30 minute walk over a muddy, slippery path into the jungle, allowing you to arrive covered with mud up to your knees. People come from all over to try ayahuasca, believing in its effervescent healing properties or simply, for a hallucinogenic experience.

Wanting to get out to the real jungle, we went with David (our couch surfer) and his new and very small tour company, to a small community of 22 families called San Antonio. We glided over the Amazon river to smaller run offs that we traversed, encircled by thick jungle on either side that we could almost touch. Exactly how I imagined a jungle adventure! We spent two days walking through the jungle, spotting scattering tarantulas and their intricate webs, large termite mounds, listening to the amazing knowledge of plants that our guide holds, pointing out each plant and tree and describing what it’s used for: medicinal properties, food, construction material, etc. We adventured through as tarzans and janes and drank water from a vine while climbing up another. These vines were thick and long, launching themselves up trees and then swinging down and helping other vines to climb up. We also went on a night walk and although couldn’t see much, we heard the amazing sounds that the jungle has to offer: a variety of birds, monkeys, frogs, crickets and a rare moth that apparently has a selling price of $100. The darkness enveloped our sight and the only thing that could be seen was a half glowing leaf. The mystery that is bought about by the night made me remember the books I loved when I was little, telling of magic communities that come alive only at night, situated in the dense forest or jungle. We also went for another canoe ride but this time making our own path through the vegetation, ducking and bending down to avoid the trees and shrubs growing out of the river and reaching out at us. While watching the local final soccer championship in a community called Gen Gen, I was attacked by a white bearded monkey while I was taking its photo. I fell in the mud and made a fine spectacle for the people watching nearby! Over the soccer field, while the game played on, majestic macaws flew over of brilliant vivacious colours of blues, yellows and greens, a magnificent sight to watch.

Our boat trip to Brazil was a quick two nights where once again, we met someone hammocking next to us who was from the same community as one of the girls from the meditation course and with whom we chatted about the philosophy behind the meditation and how to live in the present moment. Another coincidence in this small world that we live in. Arriving at the three-frontier border between Peru, Brazil and Colombia, we crossed to the other side of the river and arrived in Brazil.

The ferry from the border of Brazil took us up the Amazon river over a three day journey and dropped us off in Manaus, the capital of the Amazons in Brazil. The ferry, much more luxurious than the Peruvian ones we had taken (but also much more expensive), had a sundeck and bar and served a buffet which didn’t have any vegetarian options but seemed much more substantial than what we obtained in Peru. Luckily we made friends with one of the kitchen staff (Lucia) who spoke very fast Portuguese as I looked blankly at her and smiled politely, making out a few words here and there from the similarity it shares with Spanish. She shared some of her food with me (she’s also a vegetarian) including soya and a big fish steak that would have been enough for two or three meals.

The Brazilians are much more generously proportioned than most other Latin American nations. This is obviously partly due to the fact that they eat bigger portions and a lot more meat here. They are generous with the amount of cheese that they place in your empanada and give you a big serving of eggs on your rice and yucca as well as a lot of chocolates in your famous Brazilian Garotos chocolate box. The girls wear a lot less clothes here, showing off their beautiful tanned skin and curves, with their hair gracefully slithering over their backs. Everything is much more ordered here than, for example Peru. Police in appearance, seem to perform their job properly, searching us to the full extent before boarding the ferry to the point where he was opening my condoms and lifting an inquiring eyelid at my Cuban cigars or my little bottles of homeopathy. The traffic glides with greater symmetry (or at least in Manaus) and drivers have a respect of pedestrians with no incidences of acceleration while crossing the road. The music here is full of life and vivacity; strong voices, bold and very rhythmic. To match the music is a big drinking culture of beer. The beer here is light which encourages people to drink as much as possible as it flows like water especially with the heat of the day.

Manaus was a stepping-stone to continue north up to Venezuela and making our way back up to Costa Rica. We took a short bus trip out of the city on one morning and waited on the side of the road for a ride. Cars passed us by and signalled to us that they weren’t going very far but none stopped until 3pm in the afternoon. A Brazilian/Italian/German (Luis), chatted to us in his broken Spanish mixed with Portuguese, telling us about the indigenous jungle community near the lead mine where he works, which still practices its traditional customs and traditions and has been known to be a little aggressive at foreigners (understandably), and that there’s a pulp mill (Jari project), which was bought over from Japan, built in the form of a ship, which holds tree plantations the size of Germany and Belgium combined. This is the sad state of affairs in the Amazon which we also observed in Peru, seeing vast amounts of deforestation either caused by companies or locals trying to make a buck or two, chopping trees to make charcoal. He took us to a petrol station, located five minutes out of the indigenous reserve. It was five pm by this point; the sun was setting and transmitting glorious light over the sight.

We had little hope that we would get a ride at this point but the gods were working in our favour that day and sent us an angel disguised as a truck driver (Juan Carlos), who was going up to the border (a short 18 hours away!) and then continuing to the North Coast of Venezuela, exactly where we were heading! Not believing our luck I smiled internally at how things work out. We crossed the reserve with great caution. The road being broken up by plummeting potholes and regions of skimming mud that at times, trap your tires into their dreaded depths. Weaving from one side of the road to the other, trying to miss the holes in the ground, we listened to tales of onza sightings on the road (a feline) and spotted a snake and several alligators crossing the road in the pitch black. The jungle looked amazingly thick and wild, the type that spits you out in pieces after entering. In comparison, the Iquitos jungle we visited now appeared tame; training wheels until your ready for the real thing. Rain poured down in gallons at various intervals during the night, adding to the difficulty of the task of driving and spotting the potholes. The rattling of the truck due to the situation of the road and the lack of suspension, made it hard to sleep in the sleeper, fitted with a full sized mattress. But I managed to rock myself to sleep and woke up to the light of day, Juan Carlos having slept just one or two hours throughout the night and still being in fairly good shape. He has 28 years of experience being a truck driver, crossing the Amazon jungle and visiting many countries on his jobs, learning Spanish as he negotiated with the border crossing guards. Originally from Brazilia, he moved to Manaus and found himself an Amazonian in exchange for his previous wife.

A couple of hours before arriving to the border, we acquired a flat tire on the front wheel and had to stop to change it. It was a complicated process that took a good hour and involved taking out a lot of tools, a lot of strength to get the tire off and a lot of grease. The job complete, I was alarmed to see Juan Carlos throw the old hydraulic jack across the road and into the wetlands, contaminating the water in an instant with grease, oil and grime. I asked him why he would do something like that and he responded simply that it was now useless. Agustin interrupted and quietly told me that it wasn’t the time to be saying anything after a frustrating hour of defying tires, strong sun and with little sleep the night before. A very sad sight all the same and something that many do in these parts without a thought.

Arriving at the border at midday, we were told by Juan Carlos that we had to part ways as crossing the border for trucks involves a lot of paper work and a few days of waiting for approval. Surprised, we jumped out of the truck and with little enthusiasm, went through the process of getting our passports checked and stamped from the countries we were leaving and arriving to. Having no luck with rides after an afternoon of standing in the sun once again, we camped near the bus station in a family’s front garden and rose at first light to try our luck again. Ready to catch a bus out of Santa Elena, I was surprised that someone stopped to offer us a lift 300 kilometres up the road. Little was said until halfway through the trip when Antonio started to chat to us, maybe as he became more trusting of us. We exchanged banalities on how much money things cost, the military and the excessive checkpoints along the roads (we were stopped four times and asked for our passports, checking the contents of the truck in a small 200 kilometre radius). He dropped us off in a village called El dorado where once again, the sun hit down on us like fire. Two young social workers who work for the government gave us a lift to Turemne, a town where we could catch a bus from. They chatted to us about the positives of the fairly new socialist government in place in Venezuela. They were 100% behind Chavez and believed in the reforms that the government is currently undertaking. They explained that their work comprised of helping communities to organise themselves, to take control of their situation and address their needs according to how they see fit. They claimed that the government has provided the country with free education, free health and is encouraging the population to be actively involved in politics and managing the country. They admitted that this was just the start and that time is the essence of change. They also admitted that there is a lot of resistance including within the government, where there are many who are quite comfortable in their positions and don’t want to loose any of their control or benefits to the communities. They recited to us the new socialist ethics declared by Simon Bolivar which are at the basis of the Venezuelan national project, both seeming very passionate and dedicated to their work. At Turemne we were about to buy our bus tickets when I proposed to wait half an hour for no particular reason, and within this time, we got a ride to Tupata with Gregorio who likes to sing in English and has a talent for languages. With a big smile and an inquisitive eye, he dropped us off at Tupata bus terminal where we made it just in time for the bus to Maracay. A passenger on the bus informed us that the bus that we were to catch from Turemne had broken down which meant that all the passengers had to wait 24 hours till the next bus. I had followed my instincts on this one!

The next week was spent in Fabiola's apartment (an amazing couch surfer who has healed herself through meditation and now organises empowerment workshops for women), with a little break at the beach for a spot of fighting, a touch of getting robbed while camping and a bit of baywatch action by Agus when a drunk man got himself in a tussle and had to be saved from drowning. We shared many laughs, stories and meals (including pizza made by Agus in celebration for my one year of travelling!) and Fabiola told us about the changes that she had noticed since Chavez took power. She mentioned that sometimes there are some food basics lacking in the shops such as milk or butter, that there is less freedom such as not being able to have more than a certain sum in US dollars and that people seem to be unhappier than before.

With one camera down and one hero lifesaver made, we left Maracay as the rainy season was commencing and dodged the rain as rides took pity of us from time-to-time. Difficultly, we searched for a ride at a petrol station, asking everyone we came across and obtaining various responses, few being positive. Manuel was one who was. He took us from Velencia to Savaneta and chatted to us, like most people are willing to do in Venezuela, about the political situation here. There seems to be two clearly marked camps; those who are in support of Chavez and those who are opposed. Manuel, like many whom we had met, is against for various reasons. On the up side, petrol costs 4 cents per litre in Venezuela, cheaper than water, it's given away, encouraging people to drive everywhere - not such a good thing considering environmental issues.

People carry deep rooted fears of the stranger here, the media constantly talking about the gangs that are apparently growing more and more out of control and this idea has submerged people's heads. One truck driver gave us a lift after I came looking for a ride during the early night at a street eatery outside a petrol station. The girls serving convinced him (or forced him) to take us. He told us that in his three years of working as a truckie, he had never given a ride to anyone for fear that they might attack him. That night, we spent what was a very long night on the road, next to a police check, waiting for the bus that never came which was apparently going to the border. We eventually made our own way there and left Venezuela 10 days after arriving, having seen very little but with the craving of wanting to see more from the country of belleza, much nature and gorgeous people!

Santa Marta was one of two stops we made in Colombia this second trip around, mainly for the Caribbean beaches available here. It is the oldest city in Colombia constructed by the Spanish and has a relaxed tropical atmosphere about the place. I had forgotten how friendly the Colombians are, full of life and energy, they make cities especially on the coast, vibrant and entertaining. We met an artesano who lives off selling macrame jewelery, living a nomadic lifestyle, travelling from one country to the next, he taught me a new knot, showed us his intricate necklaces and bracelets which he had made and entertained us with his stories of life as a gypsy.

A few days later, catching the plane from Cartagena (Colombia) to Panama, we were told that we wouldn't be allowed entry into Panama if we didn't have a ticket out of the country. We didn't and frustrated and angry, we were forced to buy a ticket online with five minutes to spare before check-in closed. In Panama, we mainly got to know some of the couch surfing group there who were very welcoming as usual, and big partiers. After many months of not going out, we went out two nights in a row and I was reminded how it felt. Meanwhile, a huge fiesta was happening in Sydney that same weekend for Mun's 40th Birthday, saddening my heart that I wasn't able to be there for it.

We had another adventure heading to Costa Rica catching many rides in the pouring rain and a late night sleep at a small town's petrol station where we slept for a maximum of 2 hours. In the early morning we hitched with a kind bus driver and managed to make it all the way to the small community of Mastatal where there's very little transport (but got lucky and got a ride with the school teacher). Now we enter a new chapter in our journey: Rancho Mastatl, working as a volunteer for 3 months at this ranch located in the Costa Rican jungle...!