Brazil

So, Brazil is done and dusted for us, and we are a little sad to be leaving...

On the whole, it appears to be a great country with many diverse cultures living within its borders. The weather hasn't been too kind to us, but it is the end of Brazilian winter so we can't really complain.

Our time here however has thrown up a few things that we can definitely remember the country for:

When you think of Brazil, you conjure up images of petite women strolling around in revealing swimsuits, and tanned hunks in speedos. Healthly living and even heathlier diets. I'm sure that during summer you would see much more of this, but to be perfectly fair, its more about 'face like baywatch, body like crimewatch' here. The locals are distinctly podgy, which happily for us, made it all the more easy to blend in. Obviously this doesn't apply to absolutely everyone, but in fairness, its not that surprising that they pile on a few pounds...

It's all about the grub you see. In portions that would make most people cry. Everywhere you go is either 'All You Can Eat' or 'Kilo Pay', usually for very reasonable prices. The people in our first hostel were absolutely hanging out for a Curry night that was being held, and we couldn't really see why. But it's all gradually becoming clear... The menu's generally go as follows:

Burger with Salad...
Burger with Cheese and Salad
Burger with Bacon, Cheese and Salad...
Steak Sandwich with Salad...
Steak Sandwich with Cheese and Salad...
Steak Sandwich with Bacon, Cheese and Salad... (you get the idea).
All of the above served with rice, salad, fries (loads), potato salad...

And it's like that absolutely everywhere. Every other building or shop is an eaterie of some kind, and the industry must cater for about 80% of their employment.

And we have never seen sweet toothes like it. You get cake (in many varieties) with pretty much every breakfast. Then there are stalls in major districts or high streets at every 20 yards; serving the likes of Tapioca cakes, popcorn, chocolate bars, peanut brittle, donuts, filled scones and the suchlike. We saw one woman throw 3 spoonfuls of sugar into her 3 year olds orange squash one morning. Yet despite all this, you would be extremely hard pushed to find a dentist. It is crackers (or it would be but they're probably not sweet enough).

It's not all bad though. Brazilians are on the whole a very clean nation. They're always wiping down surfaces, mopping floors, washing things. It makes for a much more pleasant dining experience when you see the levels of cleanliness. And if they're not doing that, they're building things. It doesn't matter what it is, they just build. Hammering, sawing, drilling. Making a general racket is all good.

The people though have been extremely friendly and helpful. Random acts of kindness are not something people from London are generally used to, which is why we've found we are always looking for the negative in someone's actions. Hopefully this kind of thing won't stop just because we are leaving Brazil. A few times however, we have been approached in the street by locals who can clearly see we are a bit lost or looking for something inparticular, but the instant reaction is to back away and say ´no thankyou´... basically because the guidebooks make you believe everyone is out to mug you or rip you off in some way. Don´t get me wrong, there are certain times when you are walking at night in a quiet street when you don´t want to be giving away the fact that you´re English. But, as many of you will know, the idea of keeping Sarah quiet for longer than a 30 second stint is slim at best. Elbow-digs to the ribs just tend to produce louder bursts.

I can deduce however, that they do have issues with their own language. Most of the time, the amount of slurry words makes it sound they are a little drunk. It is appreciated that our South-Eastern English twang is never going to get across the most authentic of Portuguese requests, but their adeptness at looking completely blank is amazing. Pronounciation for us is a big problem, and on a number of occassions we have actually given up trying and just shown them the phrase we're trying to convey straight from the book, in their own language, only to be looked at like we're from a different planet. There's only so much pointing at their own Portuguese words we are willing to do before losing the will to live.

So basically, in a nutshell, if they´re not serving, eating or drinking, cleaning, building or looking blankly at struggling foreigners, they're driving like maniacs to get the passengers to their next meal.

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Florianopolis was the next destination on our list. Billed as a bit of a seaside resort where Brazilians and Uruguayans spend their summer holidays, it seemed like the perfect place to chill out for a few days en-route to Uruguay. We were greeted at the airport by Marcus who quickly dragged us into his little office so we could peruse some of his accommodation options. Soon we were being whisked away to the North of the island where we had read that the beaches and resorts were a little better. The apartment we arrived at was nice with it´s own kitchen, bathroom and television, and we´d managed to broker a small discount from him which meant we were only paying 12 quid a night. All seemed rosey, and although it was a little overcast at the time, we were hoping that we´d see some sun in the next few days and be able to indulge in a little beach action.

As it turned out, the whole effort turned out to be a little bit of a jinx. The sun never emerged in four days, the shower was generally ice cold, and the resort was completely dead, with only a few shops and restaurants even bothering to open. We did attempt to get into the city centre one day, but after waiting for just over two hours for a bus, were then told by a friendly passer-by that we were waiting for a service that doesn´t run on a sunday. Slightly annoying to say the least, and why the thirty other passers-by didn´t tell us this sooner we cannot be sure.

It was nice little resort, and we´d imagine that in the height of summer, when the beaches were packed and the whole town opens for business it would be lovely. Unfortunately, after a couple of days sitting around watching bad movies in the apartment, all we wanted to do was move on to Uruguay. We did however manage to get some pants washed, so it wasn´t a complete waste of time...

Porto Alegre

Jinxed forever (or so it seemed at the time), the bus for Porto Alegre was delayed slightly, which meant we couldn't pick up our connecting bus to Montevideo and so had to walk the streets at 10pm trying to find a reasonable hotel for the night. We had intended to skip Porto Alegre as we hadn´t heard a great deal of positive things about the city but it seemed we were destined to have at least one day there whether we liked it or not.

As it turned out, it was quite an interesting place to wander through. Similar to Rio, the shouty little Brazilian men were in abundance, and there were many markets to peruse for trinkets and souvenirs. It was our last stop in Brazil so we savoured the moment and just spent to the whole day walking and taking in the last pieces of Brazilian culture. A disgraceful all-you-can-eat barbeque being a must obviously.

There were small entertainment shows going on in the main squares which were interesting (a man diving head first through a ring with about 100 knives sticking towards the middle) and then what we thought was a show, but was actually a Gaucho-looking character menacingly waving a machette at a rather scared homeless man. It was only when we noticed his equally destitute friend sobbing uncontrollably that we realised the spectacle may not have been for artistic purposes. Luckily, (according to Sarah anyway) the police arrived before any blood was spilled. I personally, have never seen someone have a limb sliced off and thought it might be one to tell the grandchildren...

That was more or less our trip down the coast of Brazil. Not really how we'd intended on spending our last few days but sometimes you just have to take what is thrown at you... unless it´s a 3-foot curved blade possibly.

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We arrived in Foz do Iguacu after a particularly poor overnight coach journey. Basically, if the fella in front wants to recline fully (which he cleary did), then you find yourself in a bit of a straightjacket-type scenario, only slightly less comfortable.
Three different bus journeys to the Hostel in commuter rush hour, standing all the way, wasn´t exactly ideal either, especially as we were embarrasingly kicking up a little (hey, it had been a long day), but not quite as much as the large Brazilian man next to us however who had clearly neglected to freshen up before work.

Finally, we reached our Hostel (The Paudimar) and were pleasantly surprised to find a nice holiday camp style vibe going on. Nice little chalets with outdoor hammocks, a footy pitch, lovely gardens, and a swimming pool with accompanying bar. Sort of like Butlins, but without the knife-wielding teenagers and extortionate beer prices. Two nights for 25 quid - bargain. A lazy day around the pool was much called for, and luckily the sun had kept his hat on. It wasn´t quite what we´d missed out on at the Copacobana, but it did the job, and has helped us look a little less transparent.

Suitably refreshed, the next day we took a tour to the Argentinian side of the falls. A few others from our hostel had also booked this tour; namely four girls from France, two French speaking Canadian girls, and a German girl. All the French girls tried exceptionally hard to say only ´Euurgh?´ every time anyone spoke to them, and by all accounts, had been working hard on perfecing their collective ´smacked a*se´ look for some time. The German girl however seemed nice, and was equally displeased with the company, and so at the first opportunity we left them to do our own thing.

Despite the dry conditions currently being inflicted on this part of the world, the falls were an amazing sight. They usually receive 2000mm of rainfall every year, yet up until now, they´ve only had 400mm (so the guide said anyway - we haven´t been self-initiated enough to check the stats ourselves). This means that many of the smaller falls are non-existent, but the main cascade at the 'Devil's Throat' was still raging strong. We could have stood watching them close-up for hours, so apologies if many of our photos are of the falls. They were truly mesmerising, and we doubt that they will truly convey how it felt to stand next to them.

We also took a speedboat tour up the river. Although a good ride, the water levels meant that we could only get within 500 metres of the main falls, whereas usually they take you within 50 metres. The guide was kind enough to show us a photo of "what we could have won", for the same price, a year ago. That went down a treat with the paying crowd as you can imagine. Generally though, a great day out, some beautiful sights to behold, and a highly recommended excursion.

For our last day in Iguacu we went into the town for a mooch and a decent meal before our nine hour coach ride back to Curitiba. The guidebook recommended ´Buffalo Branco´ and so we made our way there. Within seconds of being seated we were presented with Chicken Thighs straight from the skewer and told to help ourselves to the extensive looking salad bar. On returning to our table some Rice, Fries, Breaded Bananas (random) and a selection of breads appeared during roughly our second mouthful of salad. Something reminiscent of a 10oz Sirloin was presented two minutes later. Soon followed by a Filet Mignon or two. Then a lump of tasty Roast Pork. A little Lamb. More Beef Steak. Sausage. More Chicken. Pork Rib meat. A spot more Beef for good measure. Cooked Pineapple (Random again). After approx 15 minutes we could have started a farm. We soon realised that the waiter would happily see us die at the table, and wasn´t going to stop until we called a halt to proceedings. This was an effort in itself by this point. Unfortunately the bulls testicles that the guidebook had promised didn´t surface. We´d saved room especially too - shame.

Dessert was an option too, but we just couldn´t do it. As it turned out, the waiter was just finishing his shift, and was hanging out so desperately for his 10% tip that the bill was shoved promptly under our nose before we´d finished our hastily delivered coffee. On a different night, this 25 quid extravaganza of grub could have been great - dished up at a slower pace, the lovely food would have gone down a treat, but all we wanted to do was chunder, sleep and use the loo. Any particular order would have done. The ensuing coach ride was a pleasant and warm experience for everyone that night...

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09/09 - 11/09
Curitiba was our mid-way stop between Rio and the Iguaçu Falls. We weren´t quite feeling up to a 22 hour bus ride yet, so we opted for the 12 hours to the capital of Paraná state. Curitiba is one of the three cleanest cities in Latin America (not sure how they measure that exactly) and is regarded as one of Brazil's model cities for quality of life. The culture here is heavily influenced by its large immigrant communities including Japan, Poland, Germany, Italy and the Ukraine; and seemed like a nice point to break up the journey...

We hadn´t booked anywhere to stay but knew we had the whole day to find ourselves something reasonable, and so took a taxi to a road we knew housed a couple of hostels. The driver however, didn´t seem to have a clue what we were on about (something we´re getting used to) and so we jumped out about mid-way down the street, in front of the swanky looking San Juan Hotel.

On entering to enquire where the hostel might be, the manager (whose name we forgot to get, so for the purposes of this tale will call ´John´) told us that being a weekend, he could do us a special rate for one of their best suites. The five little stars on the plaque outside told us it would be a waste of time, but Sarah being Sarah, she went for a bit of nose anyway. As expected, it was quite pleasant, and John offered us a night for 30 quid, with an extra breakfast thrown in for good measure as we had arrived early. Hard to argue with that really. John, as it turned out, was quite a decent lad, spoke good English (a luxury by this point) and spent a good amount of time with us to hand out directions and handy hints and tips about what to visit.

So that first day, we just had a stroll around the centre, and then on checking out the following morning, left our bags at the hotel and, by Jonh's advice, headed by local bus to the Botanic Gardens. This is where our little mate Augustus came into play. He sidled up to us slyly at the bus stop and asked us where we were from and where we were heading. Obviously, being pessimistic Brits, we thought he was out to either mug us, or swindle us in some way. Quite the opposite in fact - he told us we were better off getting the tourist bus and a 15 Reais (4 quid) ticket that takes a 42km route around the city and allows 5 jump-on/offs. (Obviously we're feeling pretty let down by John at this point). Augustus got the local bus to the Gardens with us, jumped off where we needed to, and presented each of us with tickets with four stops left on each. A "Brazilian Gift" he said. Good lad really, and in no way reminiscent of a common thief or conman.

The Botanic Gardens comprised strangely enough of some gardens, and a large Greenhouse structure, apparently modelled on Crystal Palace in London. Strange inspiration to say the least...

The Tourist bus then took us to get shots of a space-ship like Art Gallery (The 'Museu Niemeyer), we jumped off at Tangui Park (a nice open space out in the sticks with a large man-made waterfall thingy), their equivalent of the BT Tower (unimpressively small though), past some more lovely looking open park spaces, and 24 Hour Street (the name says it all, although for what it was, they really shouldn't have bothered). A nice day out all in all, and at Zero pounds, good value too... We finished off the day with a few beers and some dinner at a local streetside cafe. That evening, we took our overnight coach in the general direction of Iguaçu Falls.

14/09
On our return from the falls, we had return tickets booked for the Train to Morretes; described in the book as one of the "most impressive railways in South America". A bold statement, although in fairness, trains are few and far between out here so it didn´t have much to beat. So, at 8am we boarded the pretty basic carriage and chugged away to the outskirts of Curitiba and into the surrounding hills. It was pretty stunning to say the least. There were long tunnels carved through the mountains, and suddenly you would appear overlooking deep gorges and forest streams. It also passed through a number of mountain villages where the local kids chased the train and did lots of waving and stuff. One little boy however let the side down and gave the middle finger. There's always one. Generally though, all very nice, if a little long. It was a hot day (up to 30 degrees we were told), so by the time we arrived in Morretes four-and-a-half hours later, we were a little weary to say the least.

Quickly befriended at the train station by a local girl, she took us up to town centre and pointed us in the direction of a good restaurant overlooking the river. She then informed us that it was possible to get an hour-long bus-ride back to Curitiba if we so wished. The return train tickets in our packs chuckled quietly at us. Lunch was nice, in a slightly predictable Brazilian way (meat/rice/fries/potato salad) and after a short stroll around the pretty colonial town it was time to board the train again.

The setting sun made for some really nice views and picturesque moments as we clawed our way back through the mountains, but as you will see from the photos, we were eventually forced to find ways to amuse ourselves (it´s one of those ´you had to be there to see the real entertainment´ moments). Luckily, the return clocked in at a mere two hours and fifty minutes, so we had a couple of hours before our next bus left for our next destination, Florianopolis.

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As we landed, the first thing that struck us about Rio was the fact that it was p*ssing down, and a little bit nippy. A poor start to say the least, and not exactly what we'd expected, or packed for. The images we had in our heads of whipping out our luminescent thongs and mingling effortlessly with the bronzed locals of Copacobana were slowly becoming just a dream, as the first thing to come out of the backpack was our macintosh.

As soon as we made it through customs we were jumped on by an overly keen taxi driver, who promptly pointed us in the direction of his mate `the trolley handler`, who could change our money without charging commission. We politely declined, and hurried on to the `Real` Bus which we had read would take us into town and hopefully somewhere near our hostel.

For city driving, New York was bad enough, but Rio has to be one of the craziest places on earth to use public transport. Generally, 4 lanes of traffic compete in an endless race to make it to a non-existent finishing line. And the bus drivers are the worst, basically living out Michael Schumacher fantasies in 30-feet Volkwagen wagons - Lots of fun, but you wouldn´t fancy hiring a car.

We made it to our hostel, checked in, and found ourselves in an 10 x 8 feet box room, with a small balcony, and portable tv.
(On talking to others, we later discovered that the balcony and the tv were a bonus). It seemed like a nice enough place though, with friendly staff, and plenty of information to help us negotiate the coming few days. After being forced into sawing through one of our impressively broken combination locks (handily, there was a chap building things in our corridor so I half-inched his hacksaw), and as the rain was still pelting by late afternoon, we went for a very short stroll to the beach, before heading back for a spot of grub in a local ´Kilo-bar´. The concept is pretty simple: Look lost, manager hands you a soup bowl and waves at the buffet counter. Fill your bowls with hot sloppy stuff, and your plate with steak, chicken, salad, potato thingy's (various shapes and sizes) and whatever else takes your fancy, a soft drink and a beer, weigh it up, and pay the lovely checkout girl a whopping 30 Reais (7 Quid) for the privilege. By no means a Gourmet affair, but ´hearty´ would probably be an apt description.

So, with our oils and slingbacks at the ready, Tuesday morning came, and we were expecting some sunshine. Unfortunately, it wasnt to be - overcast, but slightly better than the previous day. We headed in the direction of Botafogo, lost the will to hunt any further for the tourist information and carried on walking in the general direction of 'Centro'. As expected, we managed to get a little lost (it was a bad map of course), but hopped on a bus with the help of a pleasant, if slightly confused (he said he supported Newcastle) Portuguese chap, and eventually found what we were looking for: a large area, very similar to London's West End, with lots of shouty little Brazilian men standing on street corners. Still not sure what they were shouting about, but it didnt seem to bother them. The more we looked confused, the more they shouted. Had lunch/dinner in a nice little Italian; again, ridiculous prices, although we are told that Rio is the most expensive South American place to eat and sleep!

On Wednesday, the sun finally arrived, so we took a walk to Copacabana beach, followed by neighbouring Ipanema. Both are pretty impressive stretches of sand, but it still wasn´t quite warm enough to get the locals packing them out. There were however a few strange old men in leotard-style suits doing stretches and using the beachside gym set-ups. All a bit random. Stopped for a 'Coco' after seeing about a million locals with one, only to discover that it's a pretty bland watery-coconut drink. Sat in traffic on a bus back to the hostel for 2 hours and arrived just in time for our pre-booked trip.

Christ The Redeemer (O Cristo Redentor) is a 100ft high, 30ft wide, 700 tonne stone statue which sits atop Corcovado, a 2,100ft hunch-backed peak. Since its eventual completion by French engineers in 1931, this figure has been one of the most famous symbols of Rio and is visible night and day from most of the city's neighbourhoods. This however does not prepare you for seeing it up close, and the general panaoramic views from the top. Well worth the visit. Our guide, Paulo, was a good lad with a host of bad jokes for his tourists. The strangest part however, was getting off the coach and being presented with a series of escalators which take you to the monument. It seems Otis get everywhere these days...

Thursday was Brazilian Independence day, but we were told that the various shops in Santa Theresa would be open for business. This seemed as good an option as any, so we made our way to the Tram stop by Metro (a cleaner, safer, and air-conditioned version of London Underground). The Tram itself takes you high up into the hills of the colonial 19th Century suburb, winding its way through narrow, tree-lined streets. Its the sort of ride that throws you about a bit, and the guidebook said to jump off when everyone else does. Great advice, unless no-one actually jumps off. We had been going roughly 20 minutes when the driver declared (or so we are told) that he was now turning around, and we had to either pay the 90 cents return fee or be left stranded in the hills. 25 pence seemed like a small price to pay.

That evening, I (Dan) had booked to see a game at the Maracana, one of Brazils international football stadiums. It was a South American Cup Game between Botafogo and Fluminense, two local Rio rivals, so the atmosphere was always going to be pretty good, but nothing really prepares you for a South American football match. Arriving at the stadium and finding our seats was a very intimidating experience ("don´t look at anyone" was the advice), but once we were actually in the ground the locals made us feel very welcome. Teaching us some of their rather inventive local anthems such as ´Go F*ck Yourself Fluminense´ was enlightening to say the least. I think its safe to say that we were lucky it finished 1-1 with a second leg to play, as the Botafogo fans were getting a little restless at 1-0 down.

For us, that was Rio done and dusted. We would have loved to have spent a few more days there, but time is against us. We missed Sugar Loaf mountain, the Tijuca Rain Forest and I´m sure many other attractions but it gives us a good excuse to go back at some point. It´s an amazing city, with friendly people and a lively feel. We feel that the guidebooks use scare-tactics to help tourists stay safe, but I can´t say that we felt even slightly intimidated when walking the streets. I´m sure that crime exists, like it does in any other big city, and admittedly we weren´t wandering the streets late at night. Learn a smattering of Portuguese, and the locals will invariably reward you for it, but possibly have a little laugh at you on the way...

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