In Brazil, especially in Salvador, we felt we had one foot in Africa and one in South America. Brazilian culture is synonymous with African rythms, food and faces. Just a short hop to Buenos Aires and the landscape changes - that foot is wrenched firmly away from Africa and planted daintily in Europe. The wide, leafy streets and exquisitely ornate buildings have a Parisian flavour, the art galleries are packed to the gills with Rodin, Picasso and Degas, the effortlessly stylish and snooty ladies who lunch with their pedigree poodle poms-poms trotting beside them would be right at home in Milan or Madrid.
You could, for a moment, be fooled into thinking you were in Europe, but for the unmistakable sound of a Latin heart pumping beneath a thin veneer. Under the sophisticated surface you find sultry, melancholic tango on street corners, political grafitti etched onto every available wall, decaying buildings and dilapidated pavements symbolic of a turbulent economy and a lack of public funds. But, for us, this only adds to the allure and intrigue.
We rented a little apartment in the Palermo area and were supposed to stay for a week, but we have extended for a second. The city has seduced us. We have spent the mornings studying Spanish and the afternoons wandering in the sun through art galleries, leafy streets lined with crumbling villas, cute little boutiques with original and creative homewear, clothes and accessories and parks full of stray cats.
We have spent two consecutive Sunday afternoons in San Telmo wandering through flea markets and antique stores and stopping to listen to street performers - one band had the whole street hopping and everyone dancing in the late afternoon sun. We met up with the friends we spent new year with and went to some trendy Palermo bars for drinks and then on to (at 2.30am as the club don´t even open until 2am!) a rather surreal Brazilian club where people were line-dancing to an odd mix of samba and rock in front of a large projected image of hot-pant-clad cow-girls gyrating around a guy in tight, white, lycra trousers with unfortunate VPL. We visited La Boca, a poor docks area where all the houses are painted bright colours with left-over ship paint, and did a tour of the Boca Juniors stadium where the infamous Diego Maradona cut his teeth. We braved a tango class and stayed for the milonga afterwards, watching accomplished locals glide around the dancefloor with their heads stuck together and their eyes closed.
There are just two small things that we don´t like about the city, both unfortunately conspire against Mike. As we stroll along, his architect´s eyes are drawn ever upwards towards the dazzling fenestration. Every now and again I realise I am walking alone and turn to find Mike a block back either sprawled on the pavement after falling into one of the many pot holes, or wiping his havaianas on the curb with that unmistakable look of disgust that only a close encounter with a dog turd can elicit.
The havaianas may never recover, but for Mike and me these small things cannot detract from such an amazing city.
Monday, 19 January 2009
Sunday, 11 January 2009
Where are we?
The beaches are world class, the architecture breathtaking, the people stylish. Gorgeous little patisseries dot every corner. People walk the streets drinking mate - a herbal tea drunk from a cup with an ornate silver straw, and serve up giant steaks from the BBQ. There are cowboys, and lots of sheep. The people are friendly and the grafitti is interesting. The population is 80% white with a smattering of other races but barely any indigenous people.
Yes, you guessed it (or probably not) Uruguay!
There is something fantastic about going to a country you know absolutely nothing about. You have zero expectations and therefore have very little reason to be disappointed. Not that we had any reason to be disappointed anyway, as it happened. Our four day jaunt across the mouth of the Rio Grande from Buenos Aires was thoroughly pleasant in every respect. The capital, Montevideo, was by far and away the quietest, most laid back capital city we have ever visited with tumble weed blowing down the main streets at night and a sleepy atmosphere during the day.
Colonia del Sacramento, a short hop along the coast, was a cute-as-a-button little colonial town with cobbled streets and charismatic restaurants such as the wonderfully named ´El Drugstore´, imaginatively decorated with a fantastic menu. We watched the sun set lazily behind the Buenos Aires skyline from the top of a jauntily painted lighthouse, then dined on a delicious cheese fondue while the live band dished up Sting, Elton and Bob Dylan covers in a dodgy English accent. Ah, Uruguay.
Yes, you guessed it (or probably not) Uruguay!
There is something fantastic about going to a country you know absolutely nothing about. You have zero expectations and therefore have very little reason to be disappointed. Not that we had any reason to be disappointed anyway, as it happened. Our four day jaunt across the mouth of the Rio Grande from Buenos Aires was thoroughly pleasant in every respect. The capital, Montevideo, was by far and away the quietest, most laid back capital city we have ever visited with tumble weed blowing down the main streets at night and a sleepy atmosphere during the day.
Colonia del Sacramento, a short hop along the coast, was a cute-as-a-button little colonial town with cobbled streets and charismatic restaurants such as the wonderfully named ´El Drugstore´, imaginatively decorated with a fantastic menu. We watched the sun set lazily behind the Buenos Aires skyline from the top of a jauntily painted lighthouse, then dined on a delicious cheese fondue while the live band dished up Sting, Elton and Bob Dylan covers in a dodgy English accent. Ah, Uruguay.
Monday, 5 January 2009
Don´t mention the war
As a postscript to today´s post:
We met three Brits this evening who were also denied access to Argentina today by someone sounding suspiciously like our man at border control. His reason? The Falklands War. The one word that Mike and I did pick out was ´island´and we had thought there was some confusion about Northern Ireland which appears on the cover of our passport. I have written to the FCO in Argentina and await their response.
Thatcher has a lot to answer for.
We met three Brits this evening who were also denied access to Argentina today by someone sounding suspiciously like our man at border control. His reason? The Falklands War. The one word that Mike and I did pick out was ´island´and we had thought there was some confusion about Northern Ireland which appears on the cover of our passport. I have written to the FCO in Argentina and await their response.
Thatcher has a lot to answer for.
Sunday, 4 January 2009
Please let me in Argentina
After a lovely last day in Salvador sunning ourselves on a schooner touring some islands in the bay we arrived in Foz do Igaucu yesterday for some waterfall fun and games. We spent the afternoon looking at the thundering Igaucu falls on the Brazilian side and this morning headed for the Argentinian side where you can get up close and personal with some of 175 waterfalls and stand above the devil´s throat, a mesmerising arc of relentless water. Well, that was the plan.
We cruised out of Brazil, crossed the river to Argentina whilst I sang the first of many refrains of ¨Don´t Cry For Me Argentina¨(this will replace ´The Girl From Ipanema´ which has been on the internal duke box for the past three weeks) and presented ourselves at immigration. The guy in the kiosk stamped our passports and we passed to the next guy who was checking cars for imported electronics, drugs, pet monkeys stored in the boot etc. After a brief chat with him in which we understood not one word but in which we bleated repeatedly ¨soy britanico/a¨ he issued a word back in portugese which I did understand ´voltar´. Go back.
Our taxi driver, without comment zoomed back towards Brazil and handed us some re-entry forms. At this point we began to protest to him to take us back again. ¨But we are British¨, we said indignantly to each other, as the British do so well. The taxi driver reluctantly turned around and went into the main office to argue our case. After lots of shouting and waving of arms between our taxi driver and a guy on the desk the manager was called and he waved us through saying of course we could enter. We got in the car and tried again. We were refused. We were given no explanation. He didn´t even find the monkey.
Mike and I, international refugees in the making, came up with a cunning plan to circumvent the system. The taxi driver could drive through and we could simply walk through and meet him at the other side. It worked. We spent a day in Argentina as illegal immigrants and successfully made it back to Brazil for dinner in one piece. We are going to Argentina again next week, via the slightly circuitous route of Paraguay and Uruguay and we can try our luck with the Argentinian immigration officials once more.
And the falls? Amazing. The sun shone, the water sparkled, we walked for miles to see the many little falls that make up the whole. We stood awestruck peering down into the devil´s throat, we took a boat up the base of one of the falls and got sprayed with a huge wall of water which wet us through to the underwear in seconds. We had a blast. Tomorrow the Uruguayan border - wish us luck.
We cruised out of Brazil, crossed the river to Argentina whilst I sang the first of many refrains of ¨Don´t Cry For Me Argentina¨(this will replace ´The Girl From Ipanema´ which has been on the internal duke box for the past three weeks) and presented ourselves at immigration. The guy in the kiosk stamped our passports and we passed to the next guy who was checking cars for imported electronics, drugs, pet monkeys stored in the boot etc. After a brief chat with him in which we understood not one word but in which we bleated repeatedly ¨soy britanico/a¨ he issued a word back in portugese which I did understand ´voltar´. Go back.
Our taxi driver, without comment zoomed back towards Brazil and handed us some re-entry forms. At this point we began to protest to him to take us back again. ¨But we are British¨, we said indignantly to each other, as the British do so well. The taxi driver reluctantly turned around and went into the main office to argue our case. After lots of shouting and waving of arms between our taxi driver and a guy on the desk the manager was called and he waved us through saying of course we could enter. We got in the car and tried again. We were refused. We were given no explanation. He didn´t even find the monkey.
Mike and I, international refugees in the making, came up with a cunning plan to circumvent the system. The taxi driver could drive through and we could simply walk through and meet him at the other side. It worked. We spent a day in Argentina as illegal immigrants and successfully made it back to Brazil for dinner in one piece. We are going to Argentina again next week, via the slightly circuitous route of Paraguay and Uruguay and we can try our luck with the Argentinian immigration officials once more.
And the falls? Amazing. The sun shone, the water sparkled, we walked for miles to see the many little falls that make up the whole. We stood awestruck peering down into the devil´s throat, we took a boat up the base of one of the falls and got sprayed with a huge wall of water which wet us through to the underwear in seconds. We had a blast. Tomorrow the Uruguayan border - wish us luck.
Click here for photos of Brazil and the falls
Friday, 2 January 2009
Happy New Year
Ah, New Year in Brazil, there´s nowhere quite like it. When your average quiet Tuesday night out ends at 5am doused in sweat and ten lecherous men in a samba club it must be difficult to raise the stakes for New Year. But yet they managed it.
We spent the evening in the Barra district of Salvador at an all night street and beach party. The evening began at about 8pm with a few round of caipirinhas at the hostel with three lovely Australians - Noonie, Kate and Nancy - and a brilliantly bonkers Austrian called Sven. Mike and I had entered into the Brazilian tradition of wearing white and as we headed out to the streets we joined throngs of revellers also dressed in white. Hundreds of street stalls were set up, music pumping from all of them and we tucked into the second of many (I forget how many, funnily enough) rounds of caipirinhas from a dancing topless bartender-street vendor (a man -sorry boys).
We meandered up the street towards the lighthouse where a massive stage was set up featuring, amongst others, big names such as Mariene di Castro, samba legend. We danced on the streets with the locals until midnight. As we samba´d into 2009 a huge firework display erupted out at sea and we were pushed along in a wave of people heading down onto the beach to jump over seven waves, as is the tradition. The beach was floodlit, yet more cocktail bars were set up - complete with tables and chairs. The music pumped, children and adults splashed in the water, couples canoodled on the beach - the atmosphere was amazing. We sat with our feet in the sand, sipping caipirinhas and sucking it all up. What a night!
Hope you all had a fantastic new year´s eve wherever you were and all the best for a happy and healthy 2009.
We spent the evening in the Barra district of Salvador at an all night street and beach party. The evening began at about 8pm with a few round of caipirinhas at the hostel with three lovely Australians - Noonie, Kate and Nancy - and a brilliantly bonkers Austrian called Sven. Mike and I had entered into the Brazilian tradition of wearing white and as we headed out to the streets we joined throngs of revellers also dressed in white. Hundreds of street stalls were set up, music pumping from all of them and we tucked into the second of many (I forget how many, funnily enough) rounds of caipirinhas from a dancing topless bartender-street vendor (a man -sorry boys).
We meandered up the street towards the lighthouse where a massive stage was set up featuring, amongst others, big names such as Mariene di Castro, samba legend. We danced on the streets with the locals until midnight. As we samba´d into 2009 a huge firework display erupted out at sea and we were pushed along in a wave of people heading down onto the beach to jump over seven waves, as is the tradition. The beach was floodlit, yet more cocktail bars were set up - complete with tables and chairs. The music pumped, children and adults splashed in the water, couples canoodled on the beach - the atmosphere was amazing. We sat with our feet in the sand, sipping caipirinhas and sucking it all up. What a night!
Hope you all had a fantastic new year´s eve wherever you were and all the best for a happy and healthy 2009.
Saturday, 27 December 2008
How to be a Brazilian beach bum
Nowhere in the world seems to have the beach culture of Brazil. I am usually bored on the beach after half an hour but here I have been kept entertained for hours people watching whilst Mike slowly rotates like a hot sausage. If you´re ever heading to Brazil there are a few things you need to know.
For her
Wax it, wax it some more, buff it, polish it, and put it out there. Big bottoms, small bottoms, it doesn´t matter, get that tiny bikini on and strut. If you´re under 70 and it´s covering your cheeks, get a smaller one or you´ll feel like an OAP at aqua aerobics at the local leisure centre. If you don´t look like a supermodel, walk like a supermodel anyway and you´ll fool half the people on the beach. Take with you to the beach: your bikini, a sarong to lie on, a tube of sun cream, a lip gloss, shades and a hairbrush. Leave the towel, the i-pod and the book behind and under no circumstances wear your underwear, shorts and t-shirt to the beach and wriggle around under a towel trying to change. If you really must wear something, make it a very small and floaty beach dress. Your dry underwear will not be needed as you will travel home wearing your bikini, the sarong, and a thin covering of sand. Your hair needs to be long and it needs to be worn down. If you go in the sea tilt your head back so it streams down your back. If you dive through the surf, stick your pretty litttle bottom in the air and point your toes. Splash about and giggle. If you are on the beach with your girl friends, preen and chat, point to your breasts, then your friend´s. Fiddle with your bikini straps. Brush your hair. Wiggle your bottom as you turn over on your sarong again and again. Rub sun cream onto each other. Ignore the adoring looks of all the men around you. If you´re with your boyfriend/husband bring the lip gloss as at least twenty minutes of passionate kissing is required per hour. Children nearby? It really doesn´t matter, just get in there.
For him
You have two choices - board shorts and a surf board or tight trunks. Bring with you: a sarong, some suncream, a bat and ball game and a sun umbrella in a nifty shoulder bag. Leave all of the above on the sand and go for a stroll. See something you like the look of? Just stop and have a good look, no need to be discreet. If you´re with your friends, go to edge of the sea, wrestle and kick some sand. Dive masterfully through the big waves. Kick a football about. If you´re with your wife/girlfriend see above re. kissing. If you´re feeling a bit self-conscious because you´re no Brad Pitt, dont worry - you will more than likely end up with a girl that looks like Gisele and tourists from the UK will lie on the beach wondering how on earth you pulled that one off.
What are you waiting for? Book that flight!
(Photos to be added soon)
For her
Wax it, wax it some more, buff it, polish it, and put it out there. Big bottoms, small bottoms, it doesn´t matter, get that tiny bikini on and strut. If you´re under 70 and it´s covering your cheeks, get a smaller one or you´ll feel like an OAP at aqua aerobics at the local leisure centre. If you don´t look like a supermodel, walk like a supermodel anyway and you´ll fool half the people on the beach. Take with you to the beach: your bikini, a sarong to lie on, a tube of sun cream, a lip gloss, shades and a hairbrush. Leave the towel, the i-pod and the book behind and under no circumstances wear your underwear, shorts and t-shirt to the beach and wriggle around under a towel trying to change. If you really must wear something, make it a very small and floaty beach dress. Your dry underwear will not be needed as you will travel home wearing your bikini, the sarong, and a thin covering of sand. Your hair needs to be long and it needs to be worn down. If you go in the sea tilt your head back so it streams down your back. If you dive through the surf, stick your pretty litttle bottom in the air and point your toes. Splash about and giggle. If you are on the beach with your girl friends, preen and chat, point to your breasts, then your friend´s. Fiddle with your bikini straps. Brush your hair. Wiggle your bottom as you turn over on your sarong again and again. Rub sun cream onto each other. Ignore the adoring looks of all the men around you. If you´re with your boyfriend/husband bring the lip gloss as at least twenty minutes of passionate kissing is required per hour. Children nearby? It really doesn´t matter, just get in there.
For him
You have two choices - board shorts and a surf board or tight trunks. Bring with you: a sarong, some suncream, a bat and ball game and a sun umbrella in a nifty shoulder bag. Leave all of the above on the sand and go for a stroll. See something you like the look of? Just stop and have a good look, no need to be discreet. If you´re with your friends, go to edge of the sea, wrestle and kick some sand. Dive masterfully through the big waves. Kick a football about. If you´re with your wife/girlfriend see above re. kissing. If you´re feeling a bit self-conscious because you´re no Brad Pitt, dont worry - you will more than likely end up with a girl that looks like Gisele and tourists from the UK will lie on the beach wondering how on earth you pulled that one off.
What are you waiting for? Book that flight!
(Photos to be added soon)
Sand blindness on two continents
Since our last post we have left the developing world and entered a month of sea, sun, sand and surf all wrapped up in a package of nice little guest houses, comfortable beds and creature comforts. Backpacking for grown-ups. The budget has suffered.
After Uganda we flew to Zanzibar and after a little blip where I had an adverse reaction to something, broke out in a rash and spent a night having involuntary convulsions in my sleep due to the itchiness while Mike lay awake working out how to spend the insurance pay off when I popped my clogs, we had a lovely time there. We paid a bit more than usual for accommodation and spent an idyllic week at the Blue Oyster Hotel on Jambiani beach lounging around and doing very little. The highlight for me was swimming with dolphins. We woke at the crack of dawn to beat the crowds, set off in a rickety little fishing boat and had the dawn -and the dolphins - all to ourselves. We swam with a school of 50 or so and it was truly amazing as they scratched their backs on the coral and signalled to each other through the water, as they zoomed out to sea for their breakfast.
After Zanzibar we popped back to London for three nights, enjoyed the cold weather and the Christmas decorations and ignored the doom and gloom about the economy before jetting off to Rio via Terminal 5. We were expecting sun, surf and caiprinhas, the fabled itsy-bitsy bikinis on Copacabana beach, and the beautiful people of Ipanema. Instead we got interminable rain, deserted beaches and a dengue outbreak. Still, it is to Rio´s credit that is an alluring city even from under an umbrella and we spent a fantastic few days exploring the sights, dancing all night to Samba with some lovely Brazilian friends we made at the friendly Tupiniquim Hostel and eating countless delicious cakes in picture-perfect cafes (this seemed to be a bit of a theme - we have no idea how the mouth-watering array of sweets on offer converts to the mouth-watering array of beautiful bottoms on the beach).
We have also enjoyed a particularly warm welcome wherever we have been due to our name. Porreta (pronounced Por-hei-ta) means ´really cool´ or ´awesome´in Brazilian Portugese, as in ¨this party is Porreta¨. People find it absolutely hilarious that this is our name. In our hostel every single person staying there knew who we were and we were instantly popular as soon as we arrived. In Paraty a Brazilian guy we met stalked us around the town popping up and shouting ¨PORRETA¨at the top of his lungs whenever he saw us.
From Rio we made a small detour to Paraty, a breathtaking colonial city on the coast and spent a lovely few days there wading along the flooded streets and splashing in the surf in torrential downpours. For a few hours we even got to put the umbrella away.
From there we returned to Rio and flew further south again to the island of Santa Catarina, more commonly known as Floripa, to spend Christmas and Mike´s birthday. And the sun finally came out (except, unfortunately on Mike´s birthday when after a lovely lunch of fresh oysters and prawns on a sunny terrace we were hit by a massive storm and it rained for the rest of the day). This is where Brazilians and Argentinians come to spend their summer holidays and though a breathtakingly beautiful island it is choked with guest houses, tourists, and associated traffic. We managed to get away from the crowds when we wanted and also to get right in the midst of them too for some first class people watching (I won´t elaborate on which part of the people Mike seemed to be focusing on, but let´s just say the bikinis in Brazil are somewhat smaller than we are used to, and about 40 pictures of pert bottoms seem to have appeared on my camera, not taken by me.). More about life on the beach in a separate post.
That brings us rapidly up to the present where we are preparing to head up to Salvador for New Year. It will be a huuuge party so we are told. See you in 2009!
After Uganda we flew to Zanzibar and after a little blip where I had an adverse reaction to something, broke out in a rash and spent a night having involuntary convulsions in my sleep due to the itchiness while Mike lay awake working out how to spend the insurance pay off when I popped my clogs, we had a lovely time there. We paid a bit more than usual for accommodation and spent an idyllic week at the Blue Oyster Hotel on Jambiani beach lounging around and doing very little. The highlight for me was swimming with dolphins. We woke at the crack of dawn to beat the crowds, set off in a rickety little fishing boat and had the dawn -and the dolphins - all to ourselves. We swam with a school of 50 or so and it was truly amazing as they scratched their backs on the coral and signalled to each other through the water, as they zoomed out to sea for their breakfast.
After Zanzibar we popped back to London for three nights, enjoyed the cold weather and the Christmas decorations and ignored the doom and gloom about the economy before jetting off to Rio via Terminal 5. We were expecting sun, surf and caiprinhas, the fabled itsy-bitsy bikinis on Copacabana beach, and the beautiful people of Ipanema. Instead we got interminable rain, deserted beaches and a dengue outbreak. Still, it is to Rio´s credit that is an alluring city even from under an umbrella and we spent a fantastic few days exploring the sights, dancing all night to Samba with some lovely Brazilian friends we made at the friendly Tupiniquim Hostel and eating countless delicious cakes in picture-perfect cafes (this seemed to be a bit of a theme - we have no idea how the mouth-watering array of sweets on offer converts to the mouth-watering array of beautiful bottoms on the beach).
We have also enjoyed a particularly warm welcome wherever we have been due to our name. Porreta (pronounced Por-hei-ta) means ´really cool´ or ´awesome´in Brazilian Portugese, as in ¨this party is Porreta¨. People find it absolutely hilarious that this is our name. In our hostel every single person staying there knew who we were and we were instantly popular as soon as we arrived. In Paraty a Brazilian guy we met stalked us around the town popping up and shouting ¨PORRETA¨at the top of his lungs whenever he saw us.
From Rio we made a small detour to Paraty, a breathtaking colonial city on the coast and spent a lovely few days there wading along the flooded streets and splashing in the surf in torrential downpours. For a few hours we even got to put the umbrella away.
From there we returned to Rio and flew further south again to the island of Santa Catarina, more commonly known as Floripa, to spend Christmas and Mike´s birthday. And the sun finally came out (except, unfortunately on Mike´s birthday when after a lovely lunch of fresh oysters and prawns on a sunny terrace we were hit by a massive storm and it rained for the rest of the day). This is where Brazilians and Argentinians come to spend their summer holidays and though a breathtakingly beautiful island it is choked with guest houses, tourists, and associated traffic. We managed to get away from the crowds when we wanted and also to get right in the midst of them too for some first class people watching (I won´t elaborate on which part of the people Mike seemed to be focusing on, but let´s just say the bikinis in Brazil are somewhat smaller than we are used to, and about 40 pictures of pert bottoms seem to have appeared on my camera, not taken by me.). More about life on the beach in a separate post.
That brings us rapidly up to the present where we are preparing to head up to Salvador for New Year. It will be a huuuge party so we are told. See you in 2009!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
