The Wedding Crashers

Ok, well maybe it wasn’t a wedding, but we do seem to have got pretty good at getting involved in peoples honeymoons. Indeed Parity seems to be a fairly popular destination for honeymooners from various countries, with two newly wed couples staying at our Pousada and several more with whom we ended up spending time.

Before I go any further, I must thank Mendel with whom I used t work at BarCap, as it is he who suggested we spend time in Parity and it is a truly beautiful spot. The Pousada where we were lodging was the top recommendation from Trip Advisor (the travellers Bible) and it turned out to be a beautifully constructed boutique hotel owned by an American former network engineer (maybe that could be a career for me, when it turns out our impromptu travels have destroyed my once promising career!) and his artist wife, who couldn’t do enough to recommend places to go, lend a bike to get around on, or provide maps and recommendations for days out.

We managed to fit in a couple of dives, a jeep tour through the jungle where Siobhán froze under a waterfall, and afternoons and evenings, trawling around the stunning old town, one of which we spent in the company of another Brazilian lady and her American husband at the grandly (if perhaps slightly suspectly) named Academy of Food and Other Pleasures. This entailed three other couples (all newly wed and rather tragically nearly all in Investment Banking), plus ourselves spending an evening in the hosts beautiful home, being taught how to make a risotto and drinking as much red wine as you could handle. It turned out that the chef (the lady of the host couple) has also just written a cookery book, at the request of a publisher and as we speak should be embarking upon a world wide publicity tour for it.

It was on our last day in Parity that we had the good fortune to meet another newly-wed couple who were staying at our Pousada, Ian and Lorraine. Ian an actor and carpenter and Lorraine who is the spitting image of Thandi Newton were given the same advise as ourselves by the Pousada proprietor, of a beach side restaurant and bar that would be a good place to spend the afternoon. We arrived a little after them at the beach and sheepishly introduced ourselves, as we recognised them from the hotel. Within about five minutes we were alll sitting around a table, drinking the strongest passion fruit Caiprinhas you have ever seen in your life and that is where we remained for the following six or seven hours, covered from what had become an unfortunately rain drenched afternoon, but which bearly registered on us as we chatted away like old friends, getting more and more drunk!

The following day we had to head off to catch a bus to Rio, but not before we had exchanged contact details and agreed to meet up in Rio on our final day, when Ian and Lorraine would also be in town. The final bus journey to Rio was again rather arduous, but none the less we finally made it to our hotel, dropped off our bags and headed to reception to ask for a map of the area so we could go and get some dinner. At this point, you may have thought we had just suggested to the receptionist that we would like to take a stroll around Baghdad wearing “I Love Bush!” T-Shirts, such was his apparent dread at what we had proposed. Liking to think we are careful about such things, we heeded the gentlemans advice and took a taxi to a restaurant he booked for us, deciding we would decide during day light hours if Rio was quite as inhospitable as he was attempting to suggest.

By the gleam of daylight (and plenty of rain) it is fair to say, that Rio did not quite match the pictures we had in our heads of tanned beauties and muscle bound show-offs, strutting around Copacabana beach, but at the same time nor did it turn out to be Beirut on a bad day!

We slowly built up our courage over the next few days through visiting the usual sights such as Christ the Redeemer and Sugar Loaf Mountain and had decided that our final evening in Rio was to be spent in Lapa (what is considered perhaps the worst part of town), sampling the local nightlife and Samba clubs, when as luck would have it we received an email from Ian and Lorraine who had arrived in Rio early due to non-stop rain in Parity since we had left. We called them up and arranged to meet in Santa Theresa for drinks . . . well it didn’t take long for us to get back in the swing of things and four hours later we persuaded the perhaps dubious Ian to accompany us down into Lapa at some time approaching midnight.

Four more drink fueled hours swept by and we all got to experience the dubious pleasure of spending time in what can only be desribed as the OAP Samba club in town, getting to watch distinctly old people (even older than my father!) strut, gyrate and grind into positions and poses that may be forever indelibly printed to my rather delicate mind!

Anyway, with that it was time to leave Brazil and embark on what we had both been dreading, the several day journey to the Land of Oz and a visit to Ms. Aisling Twomey!

Brazil by Bus

We caught the first if our four buses from the national bus terminal in Foz do Iguazu following a late dinner at a restaurant describing itself as Modern Brazilian . . . from the brief exposure we had thus far experienced, this meant little more than more expensive, with the fare on offer not being dis-similar to our previous meals in Brazil, largely consisting of copious quantities of cooked meats in various guises. Indeed the salad that pre cursed Siobháns meal would constitute a considerable sized meal in any restaurant London may have to offer.

To be fair, I was pleasantly surprised by the bus on which we had booked. Front row, airline style seats, plenty of leg room and no fear of annoying passengers behind when reclining. Unfortunately even the most luxurious of bus cannot turn an 11 hour, overnight journey into something one could actually describe as a wonderful experience and so we were more than happy, when upon arrival in Curitiba at 7 o’clock in the morning that our hotel was a mere five minute walk away and they were happy for us to check in immediately.

The hotel, like the town itself was no great shakes, but we did manage to visit an Oscar Niemeyer designed building, he is the architect responsible for large portions of Brasilia, as well as make a trip to the local cinema, where the usual hapless American hero managed to save the world (by which I mean the American version of it) from an evil computer, hell bent on a logically baffling US genocide!

Just one night in Curitiba and we caught our second bus on to Sao Paolo, the financial centre of Brazil and home to the worlds largest Japanese population outside of Japan, apparently. Whilst nothing spectacular to look at, we spent three pleasant days in Sao Paolo, even managing to find a delicatessen that sold fabulous cured meats and French cheese, the kind of food we have been rather missing since we embarked upon our little sojourn and spent a lovely evening in our little apart-hotel devouring our spoils and washing them down with liberal quantities of wine!

A third, very winding, bus journey took us to our penultimate Brazilian destination of Parity, but that can wait for the next installment (I bet you can’t wait!)

Wet Again

We left Buenos Aires after far too short a period of time and took what was going to be the final of our flights before leaving South America, as we planned to travel by land through Brazil, to Iguazu.

There is only one reason to visit Iguazu and that is the absolutely stunning waterfalls. You can visit the falls from both Argentina and Brazil, as they straddle the border between the two countries. We were flying into Puerto Iguazu first on the Argentinian side and from there were to travel to Foz do Iguazu in Brazil, to see which side offered the best view.

A friendly local called John, who owned a small B&B, had helped organise accommodation for us from Buenos Aires (as his was booked out) and upon our arrival we were met by a taxi driver he had organised for us, someone we were going to become all too familiar with as he took it upon himself to by our designated chauffeur for the subsequent three days.

The accommodation he had organised was not what could be described as the best experience, with an odour somewhat akin to the underside of a compost heap and an air conditioning unit that made my beloved wife fear she was going to contract legionaires disease. This however, was not my cause for complaint, but more that we had unwittingly been booked into a hotel that specialised as a holiday venue for German tourists. We weren’t so much battling them for deck chairs as the usual stereotype would infer, but they did seem to annex the breakfast buffet each morning.

That being said, John was still a more than accommodating host, even though we weren’t stopping at his establishment, inviting us round and plying us with copious quantities of Caiprinhas and introducing us to his guests who we enjoyed a pleasant evening with.

In terms of the two Iguazus there was not much to rave about in either town, although if forced to chose I would say the Argentinian town is nicer. It would be somewhat more difficult to chose between the visit to the falls on each side, with Brazil arguably offering the best views, whilst Argentina offers a better feeling of them as it is from there you can walk directly over them. Having said that unless you’re American you don’t really need to chose as it is easy to get between the two. Our unfortunate trans-Atlantic cousins however, have to pay $120 per person for the privilege of passing into Brazil, which could be a little rich for a different angle of the falls.

On our first visit there on the Argentinian side, we took a boat under the falls, which whilst tremendous fun, did leave us soaked to proportions not seen since biblical times (or our trip to Columbia). Fortunately on this attempt we had seen the likelihood coming and had taken the necessary precautions, so no more electrical equipment needed to suffer an untimely demise. The one thing we hadn’t considered was just how cold it was going to be going under the falls, a phrase involving brass monkeys leaps to mind.

From Brazil, we decided a second ride under the falls may be a little over the top, so instead went white water rafting just downstream of the falls. It wasn’t the most thrilling of white knuckle rides, but fun was definitely had by all, especially Siobhán who went for a little swim in the icy cold river. I’m afraid I have no pictures to enhance this image as taking a camera would not have done it the world of good and the company charged about £40 for the privilege, which we figured was a little on the steep side.

That pretty much covers our time in Iguazu, take a look at the photo gallery if you haven’t already, as there are some fairly stunning photos of the falls for you all to become envious over, as well as hundreds of butterflys that literally flocked together on the Argentinian side and a few little monkeys. Our next stop would take us into the final country of our South American voyage, this time by bus to Curitiba, a journey of ten hours overnight that I think it is fair to say I was not looking forward to. Anyway, I’ll leave the gory details for the next post.

You know when you've been tango'd

There is only really one suitable description for our first impressions of Buenos Aires, and that is massive. Coming from London you think that not a lot is going to take you by surprise, but the pure size of BA is immense, apparently bulging with the best part of thirteen million residents, effectively twice as many as the capital of dear old Blighty.

Our cab from the Airport to our Hotel took about forty minutes, trailing through the sprawling metropolis to San Telmo, the oldest district of BA and home to those of a bohemian persuasion. Whilst our hotel was a lovely converted town house, it was a little nearer to La Boca, an area reknowned for it's high crime levels and general lack of safety, than is perhaps sanguine. A fact probably made evident by the hotel continually keeping it's front door locked.

On our first day we wandered down to the main square and took in a few of the sights, such as the Presidential Palace Casa Rosada. I was feeling fairly scruffy having up to this point failed to get a hair cut and so we marched onwards looking for a barbers. This turned out to be a rather fruitless mission as I rejected venue after venue as being too girly, but I did at least manage to track down some new clothes, although Siobhán talking me into buying a velvet jacket may have been a purchase too far.

It was whilst wearing both my new jeans and jumper on a walk the following day, that an Argentine couple started gesticulting wildly at us. A few dazed moments later the reasoning for their energetic wavings became clear as we realised that we had both just had the misfortune of a pigeon deciding it needed a bathroom break, leaving us both rather the worse for wear, so much so that we needed to immediately head for the nearest mall and buy Siobhán a new pair of jeans, whilst hoping that with a little care and attention, my jeans and jumper may survive.

As you may expect, in a city the size of BA, there was plenty for us to try and fit into our short stay. We had the obligatory long walks around the city, which has become one of our staple activities on our travels, as well as spending time at an enourmous antiques market, partying in Palermo and spending an evening at the obligatory tango show.

It was during a visit to La Boca to see the Caminito that we managed to make one of our now customary cock-ups. Everyone warns visitors to BA that walking to La Boca to see the brightly coloured buildings of Caminito is fine and perfectly safe, but that in no circumstances should you wander anywhere else in La Boca.

We were following the instructions from our guide book, which indicated you could walk along the harbour in safety however, about twenty minutes into a slum we had just about realised that we may not be in the best part of town . . . this thought was confirmed by a taxi that mercifully drove by, slowed, and gave us rather cusory glances, following which I flagged him down.

The driver was so clearly concerned at where we had been walking and his Spanglish mixed with gestures of being shot in the head made his message clear, as did the fact all of his doors were locked and he wouldn't stop anywhere in the area, happily driving on the wrong side of the road if it avoided slowing down, let alone stopping.

Anyway, as you've probably realised, based on the fact we're writing this, we emerged from the slums unscathed and suitably chastised by our taxi driver, ready for the next part of our journey . . . Iguazu!

Tour Map Updated!

Ok, I know it has taken me until the evening before we go, but I have finally added the Chinese destinations onto the tour map, so click on through and see where we're headed in the final leg of our trip.

I'll also do my best to bring the blog up to date this week. Buenos Aires will be up today and I'll try and fill you in on Brazil and Melbourne whilst we're in Beijing.

Good Food, Plentiful Wine & Goats Galore

So we had finally escaped from the maximum security country that is Bolivia and headed into Salta in northern Argentina. Following our usual level of good luck in such matters we arrived at 23:00 and waited nearly 45 minutes for a taxi from the airport as we had managed to fly in at the end of a religious festival and all the taxis were busy in town!

One good nights sleep in Salta and we were off again, taking a bus to Cafayate with a lone ambition of getting free booze as we were heading for wine country and as many free wine tasting tours as you can shake a stick at!

We took a small bus for the four hour trip, with some glorious scenery and beautiful weather to help us make the way. Unfortunately the young lady sitting in-front of me appeared to be under the mistaken apprehension that I had no legs and Siobháns aversion to any road with a bend in it made for a less than pleasant journey. None the less, once we arrived, the accommodation we had booked was just round the corner from the main square and was beautifully decorated, leaving us to while away the afternoon in the sun with very few concerns.

The evening came and we headed for the restaurant in town most recommended for steak and I think it is fair to say we were salivating at the prospect of finally getting a good meal following the gastronomic wasteland that is Bolivia. It is hard to describe how truly happy we were as the side of cow was place in-front of each of us and I started my long awaited recovery from the mere waife of a boy I had become . . . anyway, getting back to reality it is clear to see where Argentina get their reputation for the worlds best steak, so our trip to Cafayate ended its first day on more than happy terms.

The second day brought with it the prime purpose of our little jaunt, and so it was that we came upon renting the worlds most uncomfortable bikes in all of creationdom. The little vineyards were not far apart from each other or town, but this did not prevent my poor behind from becoming more battered than a cod from the local fish shop!

A small trifle such as this was not about to prevent the goal of free wine however, and so it was we made our way to the first vineyard which was . . . shut – damn it! Never mind onto the one next door, definitely open as it had tour buses outside so we set about our quite unsuccessful mission of making ourselves understood to the Spanish speaking employees and spectacularly failed for a second time to get so much of a sniff of the juice of the gods – double damn it!

Feeling somewhat beaten and a little weak at the knees from the dehydration brought on by our lack of liquid sustainance we headed for our third stop, the first proper bodega (they make the wine but don’t have vines). Glory be to God upon high if they weren’t open (if only just as it was approaching lunch) and surely enough they filled our glasses as we nodded sagely and made appropriate gurgling sounds to show our approval. We were clearly getting in the swing of things as we made it to our next bodega within a 50m walk (again just squeezing in before lunch) and worked through our little routine again, nodding to each other and sniffing in a suitable theatrical manner.

The wind had clearly turned in our favour, allowing us to cycle back to the first vineyard we had tried for which we had now figured out the opening times and this time we were met with success, not just more wine, but also a tour around the facilities. We made ourselves sound rather knowledgeable to our lovely hostess by mentioning Napa Valley and Stellenbosch and before you know it we were making our way back into town rather pleased with our days efforts and very much more unsteadily on the bikes, partly I suspect from the wine, but I fear more so from the bruising endowed to my poor bottom!

During our little adventure, we had bought a bottle of wine from each stop (just to be polite you understand) so we had a cunning plan to drink the first of these in our hotel that evening prior to dinner, but for this we felt we would need a little accompaniment.

Now before I go further, I should warn Joe and Rav that they should perhaps not be reading this at work as the excitement and jealousy they are about to feel may get them some odd looks as they start to perspire and go red (just to clear up any misunderstanding for the rest of my probably limited readership, I should point out that during a previous trip to Croatia we discovered an unhealthy bond between the gentlemen named above and the creatures I am about to mention below).

I have previously promised to Joe that I would provide a picture of a nice Alpaca to make up for the lack of Goat pictures I had managed to get for him (check the comments on previous blog entries) and indeed during one of our wine stops I did indeed get the picture as promised however, someone was clearly thinking Joe and Ravi deserved better than this and so it was we discovered just 1Km out of town a . . . Goat Farm!

Siobhán and I got some pictures for you lads [see the full collection here], but be warned some of those goats pictured are minors (by which I mean young, rather than working under ground) and so should be afforded the appropriate level of respect.

Anyway, now I have the little in-jokes with the gang back in London in print (can you say in print when it’s in a blog?), I will attempt to return back to the details of the day. We had a tour round the farm and purchased some very pleasant cheese to go with our wine, making for the end of a rather successful, if painful day.

One further day was spent in Cafayate, before a further bus journey back to Salta and a second anniversary dinner in Salta, where the extremely nice owner showed us round his wine cellar, we drank champagne and puffed a fine cigar (well I did anyway). I will leave this entry here, next up Buenos Aires . . .

Escape from La Paz

Breaking out is impossible . . . breaking in is insane!




Ok, so as Siobhán may have mentioned in her last post, we had discovered that getting to our intended next destination may be a little more difficult that expected. Political unrest in Bolivia meant that there were a series of strikes taking place and wild fire political action to block roads as the result of disagreement between the newly gas rich states and the rest over President Morales plan to more evenly distribute the wealth to help the indigenous poor.

Never the less, we were not to be deterred and so it was your favourite, daring globe trotters booked their tickets, packed their bags and made their way to the bus office (carrying their own bags and everything, not a porter or concierge in sight!)

Following a 20 minute wait, we were asked to follow the lady from the office to the bus. Now we assumed having been asked to meet at the bus office it may be somewhere near by, at least in the same postal code. This was clearly a foolish assumption on our part as we walked so far across town with our bags, that we were beginning to wonder if the company's cunning plan to get by any road blocks was simply for us to walk the entire way.

Eventually, a bus, or something that at least resembled a bus did appear and we were ushered inside. Now I believe my beloved mentioned in her last post, that the last bus smelt rather unfortunately of the toilet. This little problem was not to be repeated as the bus company had come up with a brilliant solution for the four hour journey, no toilet!
I accept this may not seem like an end of the world situation, but I have yet to mention that we may have been experiencing slightly upset stomachs since we entered Bolivia, possibly related to the world class cuisine we had come to endure.

The journey to La Paz that followed, continued fairly uneventfully, with the only event of note being at a gas station the bus took a 15 minute break at, where a Japanese gentleman travelling on our bus thought it would be a good idea to light up a cigarette whilst wandering around the petrol pumps.

Once arriving at the vast sprawl that was La Paz, the bus company had one final cost saving measure up their sleeves, which consisted finding a more suitable venue to park than the bus station. The chosen venue was a practically vertical hill, which doubled up as one of the busiest roads in La Paz and barely big enough for a car to fit down, let alone squeeze past a parked bus on. Fortunately our bags were quickly off the bus and Siobhán managed to fight her way past the thronging crowd and launch herself into the only cab visible in the entire street, much to the consternation of some of our fellow passengers.

Before long we had made our way to the next hotel, The Ritz (what? we deserved a little luxury after the bus!)

The next 5 days were to be spent in La Paz. We had clearly not thought this entirely through. La Paz doubled up as both gastronomically bleak and something of an entertainment free zone, but it was not done messing with us there! We had a plan to travel through Bolivia and on into Brazil, but had not booked our onward travel. It turns out it's even harder to leave La Paz than to enter it and our options boiled down to a propable combination of several very slow bus and train journeys, likely to total around 30 hours through the eastern states that were currently the centre of the troubles. Indeed by the time we needed to leave 9 people had been murdered and the President was trying to arrest the leaders of the troublesome state.

With all of this in mind we decided to fly out of Bolivia, but even this seemed practically impossible, with no international flights out of La Paz, forcing we either fly all the way back to Peru, or go via Santa Cruz (capital of the problem state) which we were kindly informed by the sales assistant in the travel office was occasionally taken over by the protesters.

Well, to be honest things weren't as bad as I enjoy making them sound and we decided that our best route of escape would be to add Argentina into our itinerary and we made the necessary arrangements to fly into Salta, followed by Buenos Aires, which would make it straight forward to carry onto one of our intended destinations of Iguazu.

The day to leave came and in the mean time we had bought a painting. We needed to visit the art gallery on the morning we were to leave and so headed back to the gallery to finish the paper work and organise shipping. Upon nearing the gallery it turned out we were walking straight into an organised rally against the gas rich states. To make things more fun it transpired that the march was to continue straight past our hotel and so it became a race to see who would make it there first, us or the march. It turns out it was pretty much a tie, leading to us being escorted from the hotel to a back street where they had organised for a taxi ready to make it out to the airport.

Alright, if I'm honest I'm making it all sound far more exciting and dangerous than it really way, but after all you wouldn't want to read a dull blog!

[btw click here if you don't understand the picture / tag line]