The middle… (of our World Cup Adventure in Brazil)

Days 6, 8, 9 – Sao Paulo – Too old for dodgy dorms, guess we’ll just have to stay out at the crazy street party instead

Arriving in Sao Paulo, we very quickly discover the first world perks of most super-sized cities are alive and well here.  The public transport is remarkably efficient – we navigate from the airport to the bus to the metro to our hostel with ease, and more importantly, with speed.  Brazil are playing Mexico in the 4pm game today and (thanks to a flight delay) we’re cutting it super fine to be somewhere to watch it in time.  As we get to street level of our metro stop, feeling slightly vulnerable being laden with our heavy luggage, Jenna declares that it’s like we’ve just arrived in Sarajevo   I take this as a hint to walk a bit faster – but the fast walking is significantly easier with the backpack than the rolly case in any event.  We ward off one shady character who tries to “help us” and make it without too much further trouble to our hostel.  Tucked safely behind a huge brick wall and an iron gate is our little haven that will be home for the next 4 nights. The common areas are all nice and there’s a great bar out the back with the game on.  So far the signs are positive, but the real test is going to be the dorm – neither of us have stayed in one for at least a few years, but keeping to a modest budget amidst crazy inflated world cup prices have forced our hand, and it’s fair to say I’m slightly wary of what we might be up against here.

Just a little sketchy to get to our hostel..

We’re shown to the rather dingy dorm and allocated beds, strangely there’s a top and a bottom bunk that have been kept for us, but they’re not even the same bed.  No biggie really – but just increases the likelihood of us disturbing more people when we leave for Porto Alegre at the crack of dawn the next day.  There are also some other nice features like peoples dirty underwear being hung from the hooks. This is going to be fun.  We waste no time hanging around in there though before heading back down to the bar to watch the match – seems it’s mostly Brazilians staying at the hostel, so the atmosphere is lively for the intriguing 0-0 draw that is played out.  Brazil not really firing us much as the locals might have hoped, but equally, the Mexican keeper having an absolute blinder and pulling off some cracking saves.  Once the match has wound up, we opt to be considerate dormies and go and get all of our stuff ready for the morning – once the alarm goes off at 4am, we need to just get out of there and not faff about creating even more of a disturbance to others.  Little did we know that 6pm was apparently sleep-time for one of our roomies – and that she’d find giving us death stares for daring to pack our bags at this hour an appropriate course of action.  I am more than capable of death staring with the best of them though – so gave her some of her own back and proceeded to make us much noise as I pleased.  How ridiculous to expect silence at 6pm, but I’d have been more considerate had she not glared at us for just unlocking a locker!

I love sleeping in bunks in a dorm – especially when my roomies are considerate enough to type away on their bright laptops between the hours of 10pm-4am

In light of our early start and it looking a bit sketchy nearby, we opt to get pizza delivery for dinner – accidentally ending up with pizza richer than Richard Branson – and way too much of it.  As soon as we’d taken a bite, it was clear our plans of polishing off the leftovers for breakfast were unfortunately not going to work – these were definitely not before noon flavours.  We eat our pizza in the lounge as we watch the 7pm match and chat to the large group of English guys who are staying there for the upcoming England game.  They don’t hide the fact that they think our choosing to fly around Brazil clearly makes us filthy rich moguls, but I guess that’s the difference between travelling at 22 compared to 32.  There’s no way I’m going to get on a bus for 24 hours when I can just fly there instead for $120!    As such, the next day in SP consists of leaving the hostel at 4:15am and returning at 11pm (but fitting in a completely different city and a football match, whilst they just lounged around the hostel.)

Day 3 in Sao Paulo we have tickets to the hugely important England V Uruguay match.  England need to take something out of it to stay in the group – but perhaps even more significant, is the fact that this will be the first time Jenna has ever seen her country play live.  It’s fun to be there to be swept up in her excitement.  I know I’ll never ever forget the first time I saw Australia play live – the incredible match in 2005 where we secured qualification to our first world cup in 32 years (in a penalty shoot-out), against none other than… Uruguay.  It was the 130 minutes of football that night which kicked off my addiction to world cup football in the first place – and led to my attending in Germany, South Africa and now Brazil.  I could go on forever about that night, I still get goosebumps watching the footage…But back to the day at hand.

Given it’s a 4pm game, we think we have time to catch the first half of the first match somewhere before heading to the stadium – but don’t find anywhere particularly exciting within walking distance of Paulista station, so opt to join the throngs of fans already making their way to the stadium instead.  Turns out it’s quite the long ride to get there, and we’re packed in like sardines on a train that’s supercharged with songs to the beats of the Uruguayan drums.  Arriving at the station the chaos continues and we’re herded like cattle towards the entrance – to be honest the fact that it is this ridiculously crowded is a bit puzzling given the capacity is only 2/3rds that of our Olympic Stadium, but it also seems partly to be owing to some of the access-ways they were building not being fully completed in time….whoops.  On the way in, Jenna stars on local TV representing her country in an important display of soccer skills – spinning around with her head down on a pole 10 times before attempting a shot at goal.  Whilst she doesn’t manage to hit the target (with her left foot), I think we’re both quite pleased that she even managed to stay on her feet at all –particularly in light of her dramatic dismount from the bunk that had brought the curtain rails down just 2 days prior.

After drinking sufficient beers to secure the souvenir cups, we make our way to our “seats” in the thick of the balmy army action behind the goal.  This is certainly not going to be a baptism as an England fan by halves!  Our section is particularly cosy as the guys we’re next to have snuck their friend down (from a boring seat somewhere else in the stadium) – it’s a good thing no-one here plans to do any sitting.  You can’t help but be impressed with the volume and enthusiasm of the singing and I do join in with most – though draw the line at the anthem and the England till I die ditty – there are some things you just can’t sing for another country!  Unfortunately the performance on the pitch doesn’t quite live up to the performance of the fans, and the young English team squander a few crucial goal opportunities. Suarez makes no such mistake, slotting his 2 chances away to ensure Uruguay go away victors – and England, for the first time ever, are eliminated from contention after just 2 matches.

In the thick of the Balmy Army at Sao Paulo…. before things started to go from bad to worse

That evening we’ve arranged to meet up with Nikou and Ben for dinner and drinks.  I’ve not seen them since their wedding (mostly due to them moving to Hong Kong shortly after) and it seems super fitting that I should catch up with Nikou at a world cup – given her love of world cup football (demonstrated by her refusal to sleep for an entire month so she didn’t miss a game when we were in school) was what convinced me I should try watching the sport in the first place.  We meet them at their hotel which is conveniently quite close to ours, but given they’ve already ascertained there to be little of interest in the immediate area, we jump on the metro to Villa Madelena instead.  Ben confidently leads to the way to where the action is at – and we gladly follow – grateful for both the fact that someone knows the way, and that there are 4 of us, as the streets are looking quieter than I’d generally like to be walking down at night.

It’s immediately obvious when we get to the spot, as there are people and funky bars and restaurants everywhere.  We decide dinner is the first priority of the evening, so stop at a place that looks decent, but alas, they can’t quite seat us yet so we’ll have to have a drink at the bar first.  Despite the extensive beer list, we agree that we’ve drunk so much of the amber liquid over the past week or so, that a bottle of wine to share would be a nice alternative.  Ordering said bottle proving to be a far greater challenge than ever imaginable.  It’s called vino in Portuguese so it’s not like it should be too difficult to obtain, but it turns out that no amount of different pronunciation attempts, or charades or pointing at wine glasses is going to be able get us a bottle.   Almost at the point of giving up entirely, the man who took our name for the table re-appears, and FINALLY we have someone who understands what we’re asking for!  We secure the wine and before too much longer are seated as well.   We order a good variety of yummy foods to share following the tried and tested “one item from each page of the menu” philosophy – the dynamite sausage a particular hit.

Well satisfied from our meal it’s time to search for the bar Ben has been told about – but to get there we chance upon the biggest craziest street party I’ve ever seen.  Blocks and blocks and blocks of people drinking in the streets.  There’s music playing, drunk people swaying, and alcohol being sold off little carts everywhere.  A real sight to be seen, but we continue on our mission.  When we get to “the bar”, we’re at first almost turned away, but then a look of despair from Nikou is enough to change the door guy’s mind and entry is granted.  It’s a super cool little football bar covered floor to ceiling wall to wall with football memorabilia – scarves, flags, photos, jerseys – and a great Caipirinha menu too!  We devour a couple before heading out to get amongst it in the street – it would be rude not to at least have 1 beer out there – so we do just that and then say our goodbyes, not knowing what country it will be when we next see each other again.

Nikou & Ben at the football bar

 

Enjoying our reunion in the streets of Villa Madelena

Our final day in Sao Paulo has been set aside for sightseeing – we’re not sure there’s a huge amount we need to see in this big skyscraper city, but stroll down Avenida Paulista and get a dose of culture by going to the big art museum (MASP).  It’s an interesting change of pace, but before too long our minds again turn to where might be good to watch the next match.  We decide we’ll head back to last night’s area as that definitely seemed to be where the action was at, and this time we chance upon a very popular beer place where they just continually put new beers on your table and add another coaster to the stack – this coaster stack later becoming the bill.  Jenna decides she was on to such a good thing with the sausages the previous night, that she might as well order another massive serve of them (in her defence, the description of “sausage sandwich” didn’t necessarily indicate they’d give you a kilo of sausages on a plate and an entire baguette sliced up in a basket)….but still… this 2^nd night in what was to become a 4 night sausage ordering streak really gave whole new meaning to the “sausage fest” that the world cup is often described as.

Day 7 – Porto Alegre for the day – as you do.

It’s an early start, but the first fears of the day are allayed when our flight successfully takes off and lands on time.  Having heard reports of cancelled flights due to fog the day before, we were slightly concerned our plans of arriving on the morning of the match might be cutting it a little fine, but all was grand.  We also had the pleasure of an airport pick-up from professional nomad and fellow NSU faithful Skitch.  Due to a high probability of one or both of us not having a signal or wifi, arrangements were made that we’d walk to the far end of the arrivals section and await a dirty fiat with socks hanging out the window.  Several dirty fiat false alarms and about 90minutes later, we can’t hide our excitement when THE dirty fiat with the Aussie socks proudly flapping in the wind approaches the curb!  After 20 months on the road, I reckon she’s pretty happy to see us too.  I’m then unfortunately placed on navigator duty – but am not provided with a map – rather a continually freezing Samsung tablet with a google map on it and a very misleading blue dot that seemed to have even less of a clue where we were than I did! Round and round in circles we go, never quite finding the exact off ramp we’re after, and impeded continually by a pesky river that we couldn’t just cross, until eventually a joint consensus is reached that we should just ditch the map and follow the signs to the centre and then go with instinct from there.  It’s a method that works surprisingly well – until we get to the part of town where the roads are completely blocked off for the walk to the stadium.  Or so we think.  Turns out it’s going to take more than a few witches hats, a policeman and a swarm of pedestrians to put Skitch off the task – through we go!  Just as I’m leaping out to perform my task of moving said witches hats though, the policeman comes to put a stop to our plans… but Skitch is undeterred, so a bit of Aussie flag waving and pleading “nuestros Hotel” later, he just shakes his head (and I think I may even detect a smile) and moves the hats himself.

Yep, we’ll fly in and fly out in a day – no worries

Car safely in the carpark, we commence our “30 minute walk” to the stadium… clearly it’s a city of fast walkers, as there’s no way we manage to cover the 6kms in 30 mins, but it’s a very enjoyable stroll amongst fellow fans, locals, bands, beer vendors and food trucks to boot.  Porto Alegre, you’ve outdone yourself here!  Dressed in our resplendent Aussie attire does of course also grant us a touch of celebrity status, so we do often need to pause for a photograph with our admiring fans.  Once at the stadium, we arrange our post match rendezvous to be outside Toyota (as good a landmark as any) and hurry inside.  The entry process is frustratingly slow, and despite having landed almost 4 hours ago, we’re somehow cutting it fine to be inside in time for the anthem!  At first I am surprised to find the other Aussie fans are not similarly stressed… but then realise that a large swag of those dressed in Aussie attire are in fact locals! It’s awesome – we DEFINITELY have the swell of support from the neutrals here… nearly brings a tear to my eye when the Peruvian and Ecuadorian guys next to me, who are decked out in the green and gold, start singing along to our tunes.

The game starts off pretty well – the boys are really holding their own and getting into a good rhythm here. In fact, dare I say it, but it would appear the Aussies are actually controlling the game from the early exchanges!  Unfortunately though, the Netherlands remind us that they’re a class outfit (who’d put 5 away against defending champs Spain just a few days prior) and knock in a goal before halftime. But, no sooner had Jenna risen to get some beers to help proceedings, did Timmy Cahill strike back – and what a goal it was!! Fooling everyone by not using his head, and instead waiting for the ball to go almost behind his back before smashing home a cracking volley!  Later touted to be amongst the top 10 goals in the tournament.  I do wonder what on earth we’ll ever do without this guy in the team.  Needs to take some Peter Pan pills or something I think.

We gladly go into the break at 1-1 – dare I say, in a lot better position than expected.  I use the opportunity to duck down for more beers, but unfortunately am in the world’s slowest line and the 2^nd half commences whilst I’m still down there.  Luckily there’s a TV vaguely in view, and just as I’m placing my order I’m alerted to the awarding of a penalty – and therefore a likely impending Aussie goal.  Shaking my head at the upsell and attempting to convey the urgency of the situation, I take my beers, hand over exact change and dart back inside just in time to see Jedinak slot it home.  Australia have hit the lead!! It feels like the entire stadium erupts.  I am beyond excitement!  We are actually genuinely in this match with a chance of winning and who’d have ever thought that was possible?

Beers + Aussies in the lead = Happiness

loved that scoreline while it lasted

Unfortunately the Dutchies get one back before too long though, so the game is again tied.  It’s such an exciting encounter, I am literally on the edge of my seat… no more beer runs are required as frankly I’m too nervous to even remember to drink it.  Both teams have their chances.  Both are playing well.  Then Oar makes a break and gets a great ball down the left flank, he has Leckie in support, it’s 2 against the keeper and from very close range – a simple calm strike from Oar and we’ll hit the lead again… but for reasons he will only ever know, he doesn’t go for the shot, instead volleying it across to Leckie who’s not expecting it at all and can do nothing beyond awkwardly attempting to chest it in.  Not surprisingly the ball is saved.  Devastatingly what follows is a punt straight down the other end and an error in judgement from our keeper leads to a pretty soft long range Dutch goal. In 90 seconds it’s gone from a probable 3-2 Australia, to a 3-2 Netherlands.  And that’s how it stays.  It’s a real shame not to get anything out of the game in terms of points on the table, but boy am I proud of how well they played.  The Aussie fans depart the stadium with beaming smiles – you’d have thought we’d won for sure – but everyone was just so happy with how they played the game, and that in itself made it even sweeter.

We make our way back to Toyota, but not before a random encounter with one of the guys from the football club.  “I know you, you play for North Sydney” he says to me… “Sunshine Coast tournament?”  I’ve not the foggiest who he is, but then he dutifully removes his sunglasses and hat and hey presto, I do know this guy.  A small world indeed.  It seems North Sydney is very well represented at this world cup.  Upon reuniting with Skitch she expresses some concern that she hasn’t been able to properly get in touch with our other NSU friend Quynie to tell her the meeting spot.  The 3 of us are then in the midst of scrambling for our phones to rectify this, when who should walk by, but Quynie and Patrick!  In a crowd of 45000, I don’t think it’s ever been easier to find people you know.  Incredible.  The 5 of us have a beer outside the stadium before jumping on a bus back into town.  Luckily Skitch did a thorough scoping out of the city in her recce earlier in the year and she’s able to lead us to a great pub to watch the Chile Spain game.  It’s great fun catching up with everyone and hard to believe some of us haven’t seen each other for ages prior to this.  It’s also just a simple train ride back to the airport – where I quickly catch up with Ben from work, before boarding the flight back to Sao Paulo.  An Awesome day of good football, good friends and general good times.

The Dutch have a rep for being crazy… but I reckon there might be some Aussies who can give them a run for their money

Catching up with the gang

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Days 10-12 – Curitiba – a city of pleasant surprises     

The sun is shining as we land in Curitiba, but there is a definite winter chill in the air.   Arriving at our hostel (yes, we’re dorming it up again), we find the lounge-room jam-packed with footy fans and pull up a piece of carpet to join them whilst they prepare our room for us.  Like many accommodation places in the less touristy cities, these guys are doing an absolute roaring trade during the Cup and are run off their feet with a relentless stream of check-ins and check-outs.   Once we’re all set, I take the map that the incredibly friendly tourist info lady at the airport had provided me with, and ask the owner where the hostel is on the map.   What follows is a 30 minute run down of everything to see and do in the city, the buses to take, the hours things are open… I stand there nodding and smiling and wishing Jenna was there so we’d at least be able to split the task of remembering all of this!  Some info I do manage to retain (other than the bus to the city), is the location of the 24hour street (complete with a tourist office) and that there’s a German bar near the church that is good.  Given Germany are playing Ghana this afternoon, this sounds like an ideal viewing place – so we set off on our city adventure.

We come across some markets and make a mental note to return for the mulled wine, and enjoy strolling down Brazil’s first fully pedestrianized street.  We have to admit, for a city we’d have otherwise never visited, it does have a really nice feel to it.    Time is ticking however and the match has already started… we need to find this bar!  Upon getting there the doors are closed and we eventually realise the doorman is saying you can only get in if you have a reservation.  This hasn’t exactly stopped us in the past though, and a few pleading gringo looks later, one of the waiters indicates he’ll see what he can do.  He walks with us around the bar to see if there’s anywhere for 2 people to squeeze in – unfortunately because all the bars here have table service, it’s not like we can just prop ourselves up against the bar.  Just when all is looking to be a lost cause and Jenna ducks to the bathroom before we’re shown the door, a German looking guy in a German jersey approaches.  He speaks to the waiter for a bit in Portuguese, before turning to me and asking in german, whether I’m from Germany.  I remember enough high school german to be able to respond that no, I’m actually from Australia, and whilst he initially seems puzzled by this, he kindly offers for us to join his family and I graciously accept.  I’ve been confused for being german a few times on this trip, but this one is undoubtedly the most helpful!

The banks are quite fancy here in Curitiba

First pedestrianised street in Brazil

 

The atmosphere in the bar is incredible – turns out there’s a huge german community in Curitiba – and they’re all here today (along with the local news network)!  No wonder they expected us to make a reservation.  We choose one of the 100s of screens to look at and enjoy watching the match amidst engaging in some banter with the kind family who have given us a section of their table.  We also waste no time in ordering some pork knuckle and bratwurst to share!  The match is a whole lot closer than anticipated which makes for some very tense viewing.  At half-time we sing the ein prosit song and I really do feel like I’m back in Munich – it’s hard to believe that this passionate german clad crowd are actually Brazilian, but we do later confirm with them, that if Germany and Brazil play each other, they would most definitely support Brazil.  If this is how they are for the 2^nd team, I can only imagine how fun it would be to watch a Brazil match with them!

Before leaving the bar we’re encouraged to try the submarinos (some random spirit – most likely cachaca) in a little china jug dropped in the bottom of a beer.  Tastes rather potent, but not too bad.  We also share their yuka mixed with bacon, because clearly we haven’t eaten enough today.  As the crowd thins out, the guy who’d originally invited us to join his table (and then proceeded to stand for the match because presumably we were in his seat), invites us out with his cousins, but to be honest we’re pretty exhausted from the lack of sleep in Sao Paulo still, so politely decline and make our way back to the hostel, clutching the souvenier t-shirts that the family had also very kindly gifted us.  Opening the door to our female dorm is an interesting sight – mostly owing to the fact that there are a curiously large number of boys snuggled up in the beds.  Bloody Irish backpackers – too tight to pay for a private room!  Thankfully the American girl not so subtly suggests she’d like to turn off the light soon, and they take the hint and leave.

The next day is set aside for sightseeing, but we’re a little slow moving – mostly due to the insanely long wait for a shower.  Not only is there just 1 bathroom for 8 females, but some of the Irish from upstairs cheekily decide they’d prefer to use our facilities too.  The only saving grace is most of them are leaving today.  We eventually leave the hostel about 1, and set off in the direction of the botanic gardens (via the supermarket to buy some chicken and a scone first – it’s either a well-known local delicacy or just the result of some erroneous pointing at the bakery counter….) The gardens are beautiful and the sun is shining so we enjoy a leisurely stroll through them.  We’re also amazed at the huge volume of MASSIVE fish in the water so stop to spend some time marvelling at them as well.

Botanic Gardens

At the conclusion of our garden walk, we head to the tourist bus stop to determine whether the highly recommended hop on hop off bus is still feasible this late in the day.  We ascertain that we’ve really only got time to do one loop without getting off, or at most one stop…. But decide to go ahead with it anyway, as at $14 it’s hardly going to break the bank and at least we should still be able to see a fair bit from the open top.  Our fall-back plan for if we’re starting to get bored, is that one of the stops is the otherwise very out of the way Fanfest, so we can just jump off there and catch the evening match.  The bus journey is very pleasant though as it’s a city full of nice parks and well designed buildings and monuments.  In the end we actually don’t end up getting off at all – we were very tempted by the Italian district, however as it wasn’t one of the stops we thought we were going to care much about, it came and went before we had a chance to make a collective decision that it might be nice to get off there.  When the trip comes to a conclusion we try to get in touch with Skitch as we’re assuming she’ll be arriving in town in time for dinner ahead of the Aussie match the next day.  Unfortunately we can’t get hold of her, but are ravenous, so make a bee line for the market to get ourselves some pre-dinner snacks and a mulled wine instead.  Well, Jenna wanted the wine and I was keen for a hot chocolate – the unfortunate outcome being I got a wine with marshmallows in it.  How on earth can that have been an option??  Note to self: Before returning to Brazil, must improve my Portuguese! As far as snacks go, they have stalls set up with cuisines from all over Brazil and many other parts of the world too.  I find it hard to decide what to have – possibly because it’s difficult to come up with a good accompaniment to a mulled marshmallow wine, but end up settling for a pastel – basically a deep fried square of pastry with some pizza filling inside.  Yum.

Sights from the bus

 

Did get a bit chilly on the bus though

 

Given we’ve still not heard from Skitch, we decide to cab it back to the hostel where we’ll at least have a wifi connection – and it’s also presumably where she’ll want to come to park the car anyway.  Luckily there’s some football on, so it’s very easy for us to pass the time.  It’s an exciting match between USA and Portugal, which eventually ends in a draw.  And just before full time our long lost familiar face pokes through the front door!  She tries to sort out arrangements to just pay for a shower and breakfast and park in their carpark, but when the penny drops that she actually plans on sleeping in the car, unfortunately they declare that this won’t be possible.  It’s getting quite late, and she’s now going to have to drive a fair way back out of town to get to a campsite.  It’s pretty easy to convince her to come and grab a bite to eat with us on the way out though, so we go to the nearest fast food joint “Kharinas” and are clearly a huge novelty to the waitstaff, who go out of their way to serve us well.  It’s almost tempting to make a return visit the following day, if for nothing other than the royal treatment!

The following day however is game day.  Australia are playing Spain!  In an outcome no-one could have possibly predicted before the Cup, both teams have actually already been eliminated, so this game technically doesn’t mean anything – but just try and tell the Aussie fans that.  Not only is it a chance to cheer on our country, but we’ll get to see some of the world’s best players too… and who knows… the way they’ve been going, maybe we’ll even be able to take a point off them?    Skitch joins us at the hostel for breakfast –poor thing looks like she’s barely had a wink of sleep – and the 3 of us and our newly acquired Spanish supporting Canadian friend Stefanie commence the walk to the stadium.  It’s nice to not have to worry about getting transport there.

Why wouldn’t you bring a cat to the game?

As the match gets underway, the Spaniards are looking dominant (I guess not having any pressure is also helping their cause) but the Aussies are hanging in there.  And at least there’s one thing we’re dominating and that’s the battle of the fans!  It appears that a lot of disappointed Spanish fans have offloaded their tickets to the dead rubber, but nothing was going to keep us away.  Some early advantages to our seats are also realised when an Aussie player kindly tears the shirt of Torres for us… and we know all what that means.  He can’t possibly keep that tatty one on now can he?! Cue the Torres strip show – good thing Jenna packed the proper camera!   Unfortunately that proves to be one of the match highlights for us, as with Cahill sitting out on 2 yellow cards, Oar being subbed off injured, and many of our favourite more experienced players lining the bench whilst Ange builds for the future, we don’t ever look much like scoring and eventually go down 3-0.  Still, it was a lot of fun having seats so close to the action – and seeing a touch of class from the Spanish too.

As we make our way back into town after the match, we’re keen to find somewhere decent to watch the next one.  Brazil are playing so good crowds are guaranteed.  Whilst Jenna and I are angling for the old town which we’ve not yet had much of a chance to explore, Skitch can’t get German food off the brain, so we agree to return to the German bar.  Slightly easier (though not entirely straight-forward) to get in this time because at least we are there well before kick-off.  As expected Brazil beat Cameroon… though Cameroon do manage a goal which we accidentally cheer a little loudly for.  We of course want Brazil to win, but are cheering more for the good of the game than anything else.  Luckily we didn’t offend too many people, and in fact, somehow won the hearts of one nearby table of locals who came over to us to gift us 8 free beer vouchers!  Don’t mind if we do! A shame it wasn’t slightly earlier in proceedings though, as between the 3 of us who’ve been drinking since midday and the driver, we don’t really need a whole lot more beer at this point!  Not to worry though, those we can’t drink we decide to locate some good looking guys to gift them to – in exchange for a kiss apparently.  I don’t find anyone who takes my fancy enough for this odd proposition, so leave it to Stef and Skitch to utilise.  Skitch is sold on the guy wearing the beer tailcoat, so it ends up being more of a best dressed exchange – but he is polite enough to come and join us for a drink to say thankyou.  Apparently he’s been sporting this delightful attire since Germany 2006 – well, here’s hoping he actually changed into normal clothes for non-world cup days in between.   Once all the beers vouchers are used, it’s time to say goodbye to Skitch and goodnight to Curitiba – a surprisingly cool city in more ways than one.

Submarinos – not to everyone’s taste

The beginning… (of our World Cup Adventure in Brazil)

Day 1: Recife – Onde está the World Cup?? 

Its day 1 of the big event, so I wake early in Olinda.  Plan is to collect my laundry, eat breakfast and hop straight in a cab to my hotel for the night in Recife.  I want to have as much of the day as possible to explore the town and scope out a good spot for watching the opening match.  It’s a bit of a hassle shifting places for just a night, but the towns are side by side, traffic is notoriously bad, and I have a super early flight in the morning, so would rather be 90 minutes closer to the airport.  The plan meets its first hurdle when I discover my laundry is dirtier than when I left it 36 hours ago – it seems the only progress made has been to put it on the floor.  Thankfully a computer with a good online translator is on hand to resolve the confusion.  They’d decided not to do my washing yesterday because it wasn’t very good weather, but can do it now if I can wait 4 hours.    Not ideal, but I desperately need clean clothes, so reluctantly agree.  By the time I’m on the road, traffic is total chaos.  The day has been declared a partial public holiday, so 1pm is the new peak hour. Awesome.  Its 3 o’clock by the time I reach the hotel.  Plans of exploring Recife have to be scrapped, the important thing now is to just find a good spot to watch the match before kick-off.  The hotel is decked out in all sorts of world cup paraphernalia and the reception staff speak English, so I’m pretty confident that my mission should be achievable.  I ask the friendly staff member for some recommendations, but she just shakes her head.  No, nowhere nearby good for the match. No restaurants, no bars, no fan fest, nothing.  To say this isn’t panning out to be the exciting opener I was expecting would be an understatement.  As I’m standing there in disbelief contemplating my next move, an excited Japanese girl comes up to me to confirm I’m Australian – she also lives in Sydney, but has been in Recife the last few days, and also says there is absolutely nowhere near to the hotel to watch the game – but that I can share a taxi with her and her other friend to the shopping centre as that’s where they think will have the most chance of some decent screens.  Whilst not thrilled about the prospect of being stuck in a shopping centre for the world cup opener, their logic does seem quite sound – the shopping centre is massive, has many restaurants and does contain the Fifa ticketing centre.  The other plus side is there should be a means of actually getting back to the hotel at the end.

At the shops, I do manage to find a restaurant with a very large screen and quite a few people, so order a steak and sit back to watch the match.  Despite my original thoughts of how nice it would be to see Brazil do really well in this tournament (and frankly, given the strong ant-fifa sentiment of the locals, the tournament NEEDS  them to do well), as the match progresses and the referee makes one shockingly bias decision after another, I find myself (silently) cheering on Croatia.  Brazil controversially come away with a 3-1 victory and I hot foot it out of there to grab a taxi before it’s completely chaotic.  Ducking out of the way of the random fireworks that people are setting off, I find a taxi and head back to the hotel, where I order some room service and call it a night.  I’m confident things will get more exciting once I get out of Recife the next day! They have to!

Days 2-5:  Salvador – A friend at last!

I’ve been looking forward to this day for a while.  After a couple of months of solo travel, it’s going to be great to see a familiar face again.  I arrive in Salvador in the morning, and Jenna is due in around lunchtime.  My mission before she arrives, is to figure out the best way to get from the airport to our accommodation in Barra, and to find a good spot to watch the afternoon matches (I will NOT be watching the Aussies play in any old shopping centre!)  Sounds simple enough, the only trouble is that the Netherlands are playing Spain in Salvador at 4pm, so the airport is a super hectic sea of orange, and finding transport that doesn’t go to the stadium is like trying to find vegetables in Buenos Aires.  I think the dutch have possibly commandeered every single ejecutivo bus in the city and there’s no way I’m going to be able to get on a regular bus with the amount of luggage I’m carrying.  4 hours later I finally make it to the pousada.

Thankfully part 2 of my mission is far simpler. Jenna has managed to unknowingly book us in a place that’s just 400m from the Fanfest – a giant screen showing the game, live entertainment, ziplines, beers, atmosphere, some grass to sit on and the beautiful lighthouse and ocean behind you… what more could you want?  Mission accomplished, I enthusiastically tuck into an all you can eat buffet lunch before heading back up the street to pick up Jenna from the bus stop.  A happy reunion takes place in the middle of the road and I attempt to fill her in on all that’s happened in the last few months, whilst she attempts to keep her eyes open.  To be fair, she’s actually in remarkably good form given her journey from Sydney has involved stopovers in Singapore, London and Rio and commenced more than 2 days ago.

Why of course there’s a zipline in front of the screen

We get out to the Fanfest, the first beers are going down well, and we’re enjoying proceedings until the heavens start to open.  Apparently there is something missing from this perfect set-up – and that’s a roof over our heads! We optimistically sit in the rain for a while before deciding that it isn’t actually easing up and that we need to find ourselves a more covered venue.  It seems though that we’re not the only ones with this idea and the one nice place within easy walking distance is completely rammed.  Our mission to find an alternate venue leads us in a complete circle –but the plus side is that crowds have dwindled slightly and they can now squeeze us in.  We proceed to accidentally order 20kgs of potato topped with cheese (a curious outcome when we thought we had a chicken parmigiana and some jerked beef coming) and eagerly await kick-off.  The Aussie team is full of fresh faces and it’s fair to say global expectations of what they might achieve here are very low.  The Chile match is thought to be our best chance of getting a point in the tournament (bit tough when the rest of your group is made up of the previous world cup finalists) and frankly I’ll be pretty happy if we can just score a goal.  Donned in all the Aussie attire a backpacker (& her kind friend) can possibly carry, I proudly sing the anthem and sit back to watch the opening minutes in horror.  Only 14 minutes have passed and we’re already 2-0 down. To Chile.  At this rate we’ll be down a dozen before the match is out, and heaven help us when we face Holland and Spain!!  To their credit though, the boys rally and somehow we turn the match around.  They’re passing the ball, maintaining possession and then GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAALLAAAAAAA! Timmy Cahill you bloody legend. 2-1. We have a game on our hands.  They continue to create chances, and then he scores again!! 2-2 – the pub are going wild… until we realise actually he was off-side and the goal is disallowed.  So close.  Then Chile score again and it’s all over.  Still, 3-1 is a lot more respectable than what it could have been given the opening exchanges, so we’ll take the positives and build for the next match.  We’ve also made a couple of new American friends who we’ve allowed to sit at our table in exchange for them buying us a drink or 2 – seemed like a fair enough trade.  At the end of the match they are keen to kick on, but Jenna is struggling to keep her eyes open and I’m happy to also call it a night.

The next morning we swap the Aussie attire for some England garb ahead of the big England V Italy match.  Jenna has kindly supplied me with an official England jersey, which I tentatively put on.  Still half asleep, I’m trying to reconcile with my conscious that I’m not in fact betraying my own country by wearing that of another, when I’m startled by a series of flashes.  The paparazzi are here.  Never mind what I think, the judgement is going to come on facebook.  Surprisingly I don’t cop a lot of flak from my Aussie friends (it seems we all share a common hatred of Italy in football) and all the comments are from English friends who seem to like the new look. The game is not until later though, so after we’ve had our fill of ham, cheese, eggs and cake, we jump on the bus to head to the Centro Historico.  With my kindle out of charge (coupled with the debacle of having donated half my adaptor to the socket of a wall in Fernando de Noronha) we’re flying a bit blind in terms of what we should actually be seeing and doing here, so we strategically tack on to the back of a German tour group who lead us to the good spots.  We’ve not got very far on our tour hijacking mission though when we’re distracted by some music in the square with a group of guys doing martial arts style dancing and a Caipirinha stand.  Auf Weidersehen meine Freunde – we’re going to stay here for a bit.   Again though it seems the weather has other plans, and no sooner have we said salud when the rain starts again.  We stick it out with the help of an umbrella until we’ve finished our drinks and then again begin a quest in search of some shelter.  The restaurant showing the football on the edge of the square is of course jam-packed, but Jenna is undeterred and we hover long enough to generate an invitation from some Americans to join their table.  Unfortunately the service at this place is nothing short of horrendous, and the food, when it comes isn’t much better – but at least we have a good view of the screen to watch the Colombians dominate Greece.

Scoping out the sights in the old town

Should I really be wearing this? Why didn’t I take a photo yesterday?!

The dancers

After the match we continue our meander about the old town and are impressed by all the colourful old buildings and character-filled streets.  We do however overhear some slightly concerning chat from some English fans about the match not being shown at the Fanfest, and whilst we wishfully suspect it might be false, we do set out back to Barra before too much more of the afternoon has passed, to allow us more time to find an alternate venue if this crazy rumour proves to be true.

Upon arriving back at the Fanfest site, there is certainly some activity there – but it’s not the right kind.  The workers are taking the signs and staging down (has anyone told them it’s only day 3?) and the fanzone is swarming with young people singing about Jesus.  We’re hoping they’re praying that the city will see some sense and actually screen tonight’s massive match there, but it’s seeming increasingly unlikely.  I employ some of my best Portuguese to ask a staff member what’s going on – and am told that they’re only going to screen matches on days when either Brazil plays, or when teams are playing in Salvador.  I’m not sure it could get more ridiculous – screening matches on days which are less busy because people are actually at the game… what’ll they think of next?  I roll my eyes, tell her it’s loco and walk off shaking my head.   First Recife tell Fifa they’re not even going to have a Fanfest, then Salvador build an amazing one – and decide to only use it for less than a third of the tournament.  Guess this is what can be expected when you award a world cup to a country whose citizens don’t want it.

Luckily we’d spotted some decent looking restaurants/bars a bit further up the beach though so head to those before it gets too close to kick-off.  Jenna is feeling quite nervous for the team and it’s important that we order and eat before the game, rather than be distracted during it.  The place we like the look of the most is again “full” with a massive queue spilling out the door.  But this is where Jenna really comes into her own – side-stepping the queue to ask a couple of Belgians if they’d mind us joining them – which is of course no problem at all and we’re in!  A table AND some new people to chat to.  Before leaving one even asked for a photo of his favourite English fans – we do what we can.  Unfortunately the game didn’t go quite as well as the table securing, with England somehow going down to those pesky Italians who really played quite dull football for the duration.  So we finished our drinks and went home. None from 2 for our teams so far.

For the remaining couple of days in Salvador before moving on to our next match destination, we watch some more football, check out the beach (deriving quite a bit of amusement from all the vendors who sell everything under the sun there – pun intended) and we also tried our hand at securing some Germany V Portugal tickets outside the stadium.  It was no easy task because zee ticket-less Germans were there in force – and were prepared to pay a lot more than we were to get inside.  The added challenge of course being that the police were confiscating the tickets and cash from any transactions they witnessed – and the police presence was absolutely HUGE.  In fact, of all the host cities we went to, we would later realise that the Salvador force was indeed the largest and most imposing of them all.  Rows and rows and rows of them with helmets on heads and machine guns in hands.   It was hard to know whether we should feel safer or more frightened by it really.  End result was we didn’t get a ticket (not prepared to pay $500 to see Ronaldo get smashed), but were able to watch it in a restaurant right outside the stadium which was choc-full of atmosphere and we were definitely happy no violence did break out – as one wonders what that amount of gun power could have led to if things had kicked off.

Disaster Unites – Failed GOL flight 1798 leads to unexpected friendships in Fernando de Noronha

It’s 4pm on a Friday afternoon and I’m feeling a mixture of exhaustion and excitement.  I’ve been up since 4am to get my flight from Sao Luis, but I’m buzzing from the excitement of having just collected my world cup tickets in the time between flights, and know that it’s just one more short 50 minute flight until I’ll be in paradise and can relax on some amazing beaches for the next few days.  I’m also in seat 4A which seems pretty good to me – until I get on the plane and that seat’s taken.  I don’t know how to say it in Portuguese, however I give the international sign for “I think that you’re sitting in my seat”… and there appears to be some confusion.  They legitimately think it’s their seat and it is all seeming like a hassle to move, so I indicate I’ll just take the aisle…though I’m feeling very uneasy about it as I’ve watched one too many episodes of Air Crash Investigations, and consequently have a rather superstitious fear of what happens to those who meddle with fate and switch seats.   Thankfully they eventually realise they have actually made an error and insist on swapping to their assigned seats.

Some nuts and a drink are served and before you know it my ears are telling me we’re descending.  Then comes the announcement of switching off all electronics and preparing for landing.  We get our first glimpse of the beautiful archipelago… and the rather short runway… but I’ve not felt the landing gear engage and we seem to be going straight past it.  I assume maybe we’ll circle back.  The plane does start to turn and gets a bit lower, but still no landing gear.  This is odd.  Next thing you know, the engines start to roar and we’re ascending again.  What the?  As each minute ticks by and we hear nothing from the cockpit, I start to get increasingly nervous.  Why can’t we land?  Is there something wrong with the plane?  The captain would only be keeping us in the dark this long if he had to really concentrate… which can’t be a good thing either.  The head air hostess is attempting to get through to the cockpit on the phone but to no avail either – so she disappears in there herself.  I’m starting to feel quite sick.  After what feels like an eternity, there is finally an announcement – he goes on and on and on in Portuguese and the only word I understand is Recife.  Then silence.  Despite all other announcements on the flight being repeated in English, it seems this impromptu one – the only one we were remotely interested in, is not going to be translated.  I desperately look to the seat swapping ladies next to me and ask “voce fale ingles?”  It’s met with a resigned shake of the head, but it’s clear they want to help me understand.  Somehow through a combination of hand gestures and my minimal Portuguese, they’re able to communicate to me that we’re going back to Recife because of the rain and they don’t know yet when we’ll try to return.  I’m missing about 95% of the captain’s message, but am relieved to hear the cause was just weather related – so landing back in Recife isn’t going to be a problem.  What happens after landing is going to be the problem – because I have no idea where to go and what to do and it’s starting to get pretty obvious they’re not going to be able to tell us anything off-script in English.   Once we’re safely back on the ground there is an announcement about baggage and a collective groan – I understand enough to know they’ve told us we need to collect our bags (and therefore clearly mustn’t be going to try to fly back any time soon).

The paradise we’re desperately trying to get to

Back at the airport its total chaos.  Everyone wants a piece of the airline staff.  All I want to know is what we’re actually supposed to do – I suspect everyone who speaks Portuguese knows this, and pretty soon I find myself congregating with a group of confused English speakers.  We come from Australia, England, Germany, Holland and Belgium so most of us don’t share a first language, but we’re united by our common lack of ability to speak Portuguese – so each of us shares the little bits and pieces of info that we’re able to glean from the other passengers who can speak a little English (who are few and far between).   After a couple of hours, finally there is an English speaking staff member who comes and finds us and informs us that they’ve been able to put on a new flight at 9am the next day, and tonight we will be put up in a hotel in Recife and they’ll take us there and back in a bus.   I feel an immense wave of relief – there is a plan to get us to the island early the next day – AND importantly, I actually know what we’re meant to be doing now.

The flight the next morning takes off and lands without a hitch.  This is met with cheers and a huge round of applause from all on-board.  The next problem we have though is it would seem no-one has told the town taxis that there is an unscheduled flight arriving.  So we stand there haplessly waiting for nearly an hour before the word gets out and they start to trickle in.  I share a cab with my newfound Belgian friends and arrive at my Pousada to a lady screaming something at me in Portuguese about payment.  I show her the email I have from Expedia very clearly stating a nil balance owing, but she continues on her rant – and I’m understanding none of it.  Thankfully another guest is fluent in both languages and comes to our assistance – she explains that the lady is saying expedia have not paid her any money yet (which frankly is between her and expedia and shouldn’t involve me)… oh and by the way, you need to stay your first 2 nights a few doors down, but come back here for breakfast and your last night i.e. we’ve over-booked, but instead of apologising to you, we’ll just yell about how bad expedia are.  It’s a hassle to have to move between places, but frankly I can’t wait to see the back of that lady, and the owner of the next place is significantly more friendly – she doesn’t speak English either, yet it’s easy for us to communicate – it’s all in how much effort each person is willing to put in.  For the benefit of anyone reading this who is going to travel there, I’d strongly advise against Pousada do Guilherme.

After a drama-filled 24 hours, I know I should be trying to organise my activities for the rest of the time on the island, but all I want to do is hit the beach – so that’s what I do.  I head for Cachorro which is just a 5 minute walk away and it’s divine.  It may not be rated the best beach on the island, but it has white sand, turquoise waters, calm waves and a bar – I’m sold!  I spend the afternoon alternating between the water and the sand and reading and sleeping.  It crosses my mind that I should perhaps walk through the rocks whilst the tide is out to check out the next beach along, but I dismiss it as too much effort for day 1.  Little did I know at the time, at that next beach along Kaka was playing a game of football with a bunch of tourists!! Bugger. What a missed opportunity!

Baia Cachorro – not a bad spot to spend an arvo

The next day I set off in search of the TAMAR tortoise research station… apparently the first thing one should do upon arriving at the island is find out if there will be a hatching taking place – as this is not to be missed!  The heavens unload as I’m walking there though, so I arrive thoroughly drenched and dishevelled. Through some sign language and broken Portuguese I’m able to ascertain that I’ve just missed one, so basically there won’t be another during my stay.  Either that or she just wants the drowned rat to exit the building.  Never mind, next stop is the port – to try to organise a boat/snorkel trip.   But I get there and everything seems closed – it is a Sunday mind you, and I’m fast learning that nothing happens in South America on Sundays.  I decide to stay there for some fresh fish in the hope that something will open after lunch, and thankfully it does and I’m able to book a trip for the next day.  It then starts raining again, and I come to the realisation that nothing much beyond booking a boat trip and getting drenched is going to be achieved on day 2.  One positive to come out of the hassle though, is I learn how easy/safe/common it is to just hitch-hike to wherever you need to go on the island!  Everyone’s driving dune buggies that you can just jump in the back of, and as there is really only one main road on the island, most people are going past where you want to get to – finally something that being a solo traveller is advantageous for!

At the port to book a boat ride

That evening, the weather has cleared a bit so I decide I should at least head to the beach to take in the sunset.  As I’m leaving my pousada I bump into one of the Aussie guys from the plane, so we get chatting and as his plan only extended as far as going to the supermarket, he decides to join me.  The beach bar with the sunset views is less than happening though (make that: not a single person in there), so we wander down to the beach where there’s another bar – still nothing – so we commence a walk along the beach/pub crawl, but they’re all completely dead.  Sunset happened during the adventure and was definitely pretty – but a little curious that no-one seems to want to enjoy it at the bar! Then again, it is Sunday, everyone is probably at church.  So instead we decide to pick up a 6-pack at the supermarket and drink it at the park – which might sound dodgy, but it at least has some people playing some music in it.  The bottle-opener keyring from my Pousada comes in handy too.   After drinks, I sensibly announce that I’m going to need some food, so we hit up the pizza place next to church – and hey presto, there’s people here!  Not long after arriving, we see some other “friends” from the plane walk in (one of the Brazilian couples who could speak English) so we invite them to join us – but they’re already joining another couple they met on the plane, so instead we join them.  This aborted landing has created quite the community!  It’s interesting talking to the Brazilians about the world cup as they have a completely different perspective on it – basically they are all very angry that so much of the country’s money has been diverted away from health and education and will instead be lining Fifa’s pockets.  It’s a real shame that a country that loves football and loves to party is dreading the world’s biggest football party.  We finish up our pizza and beers, listen to some Samba and then it’s time to call it a night.

Day 3 finally feels like an organised one – I’m getting picked up at 8:15 to head out on the boat and the weather looks like it might actually cooperate.  The sun is out and the views from the boat are delightful – then the engines are cut and there’s a whole lot of gesturing towards the left hand side of the boat.  No less than 50 dolphins are swimming alongside us.  It’s magical.  Even if the snorkelling totally blows, this trip has been worthwhile.  About an hour or so in, we get to the snorkel spot – none other than “Brazil’s #1 beach” Baia do Sancho.  The water is warm and crystal clear – visibility is a crazy 40m or so, and I happily swim amongst the colourful fish for about 45minutes before it’s time to hop back on the boat.  As we make our way back to the port, we’re asked if we want to try our hand at planasubbing too.  Essentially it involves holding on to a plastic disk that is attached to a 20m length of rope and you get towed along behind the boat at high speed with your mask and snorkel on – or if you want to speed below the surface you just flip it over and down you go.  I decide I might as well give it a shot, and am glad I did.  Whilst a large part of the time I’m only holding on one handed (the other hand is required to ensure my bikini isn’t ripped off and deposited somewhere in the Atlantic), it’s quite the rush and we even get to see turtles and a manta ray and an old shipwreck.   In summary, I’d definitely recommend it – though it should come with a warning about appropriate swimwear choices!

After grabbing a bite to eat, I decide I should make the most of the snorkelling gear that I had on day hire and head down to Baia Sueste.  It’s known for its turtles and pushy snorkelling guides – but word on the street is that it seems to just have a whole lot of sharks at the moment.  Turtles or sharks though are both pretty cool in the snorkel stakes, so I’d be happy with either.  When I get there the weather has turned completely feral, but that doesn’t stop one of the snorkel guides from rushing over as soon as I’ve entered the front door (yes there’s a door and you have to prove you’ve paid your $75 national park fee to enter the beach) trying to sell me his services – muy tranquilla he assures me.  I give him a look that says “bullshit” and tell him I’m going to sit and have a drink and wait and see if the sun comes back out.  Eventually he realises his repeated claims of “muy tranquilla” aren’t going to win the job, and he leaves me in peace to get my drink.  Drink purchased, I’m walking towards the tables when I see the English guys from the plane!  These 2 I’d actually gone out for a couple of drinks with when stranded in Recife, so I wasn’t shy in just walking right up and joining them (and the rather large group of Americans they’d befriended) and was glad for the company – clearly snorkelling wasn’t going to take place, so might as well make something of the afternoon.  The other stroke of luck was that they’d hired a dune buggy for the day – so I officially had my transport for the rest of the arvo sorted too.   We sat there for a bit, then did a couple of cliff hikes looking for sharks, then headed back to the port to return the snorkel gear.  As luck would have it, it also came up in conversation that they were going to try the sunrise trip to the dolphins viewpoint the next day – which is exactly what I was planning too – so instead of having to fork out the extortionate $50 cab fare to get there, I was able to line up a 5:30am pick-up in their buggy. Gold.  Had a very nice steak for dinner that night in Flamboyant restaurant and officially had the friendliest waiter of the trip so far.  When I complimented him on his English and asked where he’d learnt it, he excitedly replied “New Zealand!” – Mystery solved, no wonder I liked his version of English.

The weather starts to turn

When the alarm went off the following morning at 5:10am and it was dark and raining, I thought to myself “these bloody dolphins had better make a good showing” – I think the fact that I’d lined up a lift with the guys (who I had no means of communicating any change of plans with) provided an excellent source of additional motivation though – so I jumped out of bed, packed some breakfast, binoculars, and beach gear and set off on my way to the agreed meeting point.  After a few car troubles, we arrived at the entrance to the viewpoint right on 6 (exactly what time we’d been told was best to get there), only to discover it was closed.  We looked around for an alternate entry, consulted the map, and then made the executive decision that it was unlikely the dolphins were going to wait for the doors to be opened, so we scaled the fence instead.   After about 1km on the trail we arrive at the viewing and the biologists are sitting there with their binoculars and clipboards awaiting the show – one wonders why they’re there and the place isn’t open for public yet, but we of course don’t query this out loud – it doesn’t seem the appropriate time to volunteer we’ve had to jump fences to get here.  We instead pepper them with all sorts of stupid questions that I’m sure they love politely answering each day – how many dolphins are there, what time do they come, will they definitely come, where will we see them? The more questions we ask, the more we realise there’s actually a significant chance we’ll see nothing – and we do start to query the sanity of getting up so early and driving so far for such an unpredictable event.  About 40minutes later a few more tourists roll in – clearly signalling the gates are now properly open – and at least giving us some new people to chat to whilst we play the dolphin waiting game.    At 7:30 there’s finally some signs of life! “Look there, there!” “Where???”  Thankfully they’re coming towards us from quite a distance so there’s plenty of time for those of us with untrained eyes to eventually spot them.  The guy with the clicker is going berserk – clearly either he’s seeing things we’re not, or he’s satisfied that every minor disturbance in the water constitutes a dolphin – while we only give credit to the actual dolphin sightings.  No surprise then that the English guys and I conclude we must have seen a good 20 or so – only to be later corrected by the biologist who informs us there was “315 this morning”.

Dolphin viewpoint: Crack of dawn

Dolphins done and dusted for the day, the guys announce they’re going to head back to their pousada for breakfast, so we part ways as it’s my last day on the island and I’m quite keen to return to “the #1 beach” via the scenic coastal track that starts at the viewpoint.  I’m glad I did, because the beach – only accessed via either the sea or a series of ladders – is magnificent, and better still, I have it all to myself for over an hour!  A beautifully relaxing hour of lying on the untouched golden sand and swimming in the gorgeous turquoise water.  It’s only when I’m putting my shoes back on to head back up the ladders that the first of the other tourists start arriving for the day.  I’m also lucky enough to hitch a ride back into town after not too much walking – so the timing works out perfectly as I’m back at my pousada, showered, packed and ready for the 11am check-out – a productive morning indeed!  I keep my swimmers on in case I can’t resist another swim before my flight out at 4pm, but end up finding a great table at the dog bar overlooking the beach where I relax with my book, a few beers and a nice lunch instead.  Arriving at the airport, I’m rather glad that I’ve at least not gone swimming, as it appears I missed the memo that the appropriate dress-code here is short sequinned dresses and towering stilettos.  What on earth was I thinking arriving at an island airport in shorts, t-shirt and thongs?  Guess I’ll know better for next time…

Baia do Sancho from above

Brazil’s # 1 beach – all to myself!

Single White Female

As an Aussie girl, I’m used to blokes who are about as forward as Tony Abbott’s policies.  Or for those readers not familiar with Australian politics (lucky you), just picture a car trying to progress up a hill in neutral.  Oh and emotion is only acceptable when your footy team are playing (and that’s league, afl or rugby for the avoidance of doubt), or when the Melbourne Cup is running, or when we’re competing against England in cricket.  So I always knew travelling alone to South America was going to be interesting – there was certainly no shortage of warnings that I should expect the latino men to be a lot more forward with their advances and affections.  The problem this presents however, and one which is further compounded by my limited Spanish, is in determining which guys are just being nice, which are interested in more, and which are just downright sleezes and/or axe murderers who should be avoided at all costs.  My natural protective instincts are to put them all in to category 1 or 3 and move on – however I realise that in doing this, I am potentially missing out on being that person with the great story about how they met “the one”.  So I thought, why not blog about some of my more ambiguous encounters and allow others to give feedback.  I’ll endeavour to update this post from time to time depending on how things go.  In terms of scope, for the benefit of concerned parents, I’ll leave out the stories of the encounters with deros/drunks/hobos as I am well practiced in identifying (and eventually getting rid of) those ones.  I may also leave some others out, because hey, I’ve gotta have some stories to tell over a medium more personal than this one!  So, without further ado…

Encounter 1:  Matt, Buenos Aires, Argentina

Following the wise recommendations of Paula Nolan, on one of my days in BA I booked myself on a street art tour.  Only trouble was picking a day that it wasn’t going to be raining!  On the morning of my chosen day, the gloomy weather that had drenched the city for the previous few days is persisting, however I’m optimistic that the forecast is for it to clear – and that by the time 2:35 rolls around it’ll be just lovely.  Turns out though that the rest of the bookings for the day didn’t share my optimism, as I receive an email from the company asking whether it is possible that I might be able to change to another day, because everyone else had pulled out already and the weather was looking a bit dodgy.  Unfortunately it wasn’t possible for me to change days, as I’d already made plans for my remaining time in the city – and by that I mean, I’d saved the majority of outdoor things I wanted to do for when it was forecast to not be pouring with rain – so I asked if we could still go ahead as originally planned.   And that’s how I came to have a private tour for a few hours through the (sunny!) streets of Buenos Aires for the bargain price of $20.  Any fears I had about a one-on-one art tour being a bit awkward (bearing in mind I can’t even draw a stick figure) were quickly put to rest when I met Matt – my friendly guide from…. England?   Admittedly this blog is just intended to cover the latino encounters, but he had been living in BA for about 5 years, and to look at, you could definitely mistake him for being Argentinian, so perhaps he did have some of it in the blood.

The tour itself was fascinating.  We jumped on the train and he took me around showing me some amazing artworks, telling stories about each – stories about the artist, the art itself and how it came to be there – whether it was illegal, commissioned, or in some cases where the artist had just knocked on the door of the homeowner and asked for permission to paint their wall.  This latter approach a surprisingly common one in BA.  Being a private tour and there of course being plenty of time between art stops, we also covered many other topics – my job, my travels, football, his previous jobs as a football journalist and his work for the BBC, his book, the Argentinean economy – all manner of things really!  The time seemed to fly by and before I knew it we were back in Palermo where the tour was due to finish.  At which point he asks “what time are you meeting your friends? I’m going to go and grab a bite to eat at a nice vegetarian place near here if you’d like to join me?”  Caught a bit unaware by such an unusual tour ending, my gut reaction was that he was just being nice, and that I should politely decline and let him go about the rest of his day – which I did (and I note, despite being English, he has adopted the Argentinean kiss goodbye very comfortably) – however on later reflection I did wonder if maybe he did actually want me to join him – and maybe I should have gone.  The few hours had after all been thoroughly interesting and conversation had flowed really easily.  Then again, what were the chances of this tall, fluent Spanish speaking, oxford educated writer actually being single?  Was my gut reaction the right one?  Or was that a missed opportunity?  In retrospect I think the most likely scenario was that he’s already spoken for but just fancied my company over eating alone… but I guess I’ll never know

Encounter 2:  Stefan, Colonia, Uruguay

Based on the recommendations of both Karina and the guide books, I decided that one of my days in BA should in fact be used to make a day trip to Uruguay.  I was promised an enchanting old town on the other end of the ferry ride, and hey, it’s not every day you get a chance to just pop to another country for a day!  So I rose at the crack of dawn and boarded the 8:30am Buquebus (ferry) to Colonia.  We arrived an hour later and my first port of call was to find a place to rent a bike for the day.  That mission accomplished, I set off on the 6km ride along the “beach” to go and check out the old bull ring.  The bull ring had been built many moons ago by some crazy rich guy who took a punt on putting a super exclusive resort out there – it didn’t exactly take off and the bull ring was rarely used, however it’s still quite an impressive (mini) Colloseumesque structure.  After the bull ring I rode past the (now) decrepit resort itself and then headed back along the waterfront to check out the old town.  Whilst at times a bit challenging on the cobblestones, the bike proved a fun way of exploring as it allowed me to pretty much weave my way in and out of every single street – stopping of course for photos when stuff looked cool.  Only trouble was, that within a few hours I think I’d covered the entire town, so other than lunch, what was I going to do with the rest of the day?!

Thankfully the sun came out in the afternoon (as it had been a chilly 9 degrees for most of the morning), so I decided as I rode past a lovely park bench by the water that I should just sit and relax reading my book for awhile.  I enjoyed a peaceful 10 minutes or so of this, until a guy walks past and does a bit of a double-take, turning back to ask where I am from.  He then makes some captain obvious remark about me having been cycling, hesitates a little further, before asking if he can sit down.  I’ve summed up in the opening 30 seconds that I’d rather not engage in further “conversation” with this guy, but figure I can’t exactly deny him from sitting on a public bench, so I gesture a vague approval by pointing at the seat and then resume reading – hoping he might get the message.  Every other minute however, my reading is interrupted with a question.  What is my name, how old am I, am I single, why am I in Colonia, where have I been riding, what am I reading, is it a good book?   Thankfully his English isn’t good enough for these to be rapid fire questions, so each time I give a short answer and resume reading.  Surely he will get the message soon?  He volunteers that he is also single, 33 (though that could just be a convenient age to pick having heard mine), works in a hotel but doesn’t have to start until 6, has just come from lunch at his parents place so is very full, and he has a bike and knows some really good places to cycle.  I continue reading and he continues sitting there – this is starting to get awkward.  As well as the fact that the incessant questioning is most definitely not the relaxing afternoon I had in mind, I start to get a bit uneasy that there aren’t actually very many people around at all, and for all I know this guy who is sitting next to me could be a thief, con-artist, rapist, axe murderer….ok likelihood low, but I just found his desire to keep sitting there odd enough to make me sceptical.  So I waited until the next moment that there were a few people around and quickly closed my book and got on my bike saying I was off to explore the town some more, that it was nice meeting him (polite lie) – and (importantly) goodbye!  He says he can duck home and get his bike and come and join me if I like.  Really dude?  I doubt I could have been any more obvious that I was not interested if I tried!  Told him thanks but I was just going to do touristy stuff which would be boring for him and then sped off as fast as I could.  So, verdict on this one?  Would riding with him have uncovered some secret parts of town and made for a much more interesting afternoon?  Had I not feared his intentions, would I have found him more attractive (he was actually quite good looking)? Or did I do the right thing in successfully avoiding getting myself into a dangerous situation…?

Encounter 3: Edvan, Sao Luis, Brazil.

Arriving in the Sao Luis old town by taxi is an interesting experience – I become quickly aware that there are pretty much no street signs nor house numbers anywhere, so the fact the cabbie has been driving around in circles for 10 minutes looking for the place I’m staying, is a little concerning but not hugely surprising.  Luckily on about the 3^rd time we turn down one of the streets, we see a guy frantically waving at us – he’d watched us go round and round in circles and found the whole episode highly amusing, and I gather told the cabbie as much.  He then turns to me and unleashes an excited explosion of words which are all completely foreign to me.  I nod and smile and wait for him to finish before coming out with a broken nao falo portugues.  He looks desolate.  Then asks “Italiano”?  I shake my head again (I don’t think being able to say my name and address and sing Incy Wincy Spider really counts).  “Francais?” ahhh “j’ai perdu mon sac magique”.. That’s all I’ve got… I think that’s a no as well.  So I try to give the guy a hand, “Ingles?” … now it’s his turn to shake his head.  “Espanol?”…. still nothing.  And it’s at this point we both run out of options and just proceed to step inside.

He shows me around and where breakfast is and also to my room – all very achievable without a common language – and then we go to the lounge-room where he gestures for me to take a seat.  I’d thought we were pretty much done with the check-in process, but it seems he desperately wants to have a conversation, despite how challenging it’s going to be.   He speaks slowly and with hand gestures and I get the gist of most of it, as when spoken slowly enough, the similarities with Spanish can be picked up and then I’m fine.   I respond equally slowly, with hand gestures and in Spanish and he seems to get the gist of most of what I’m saying too….and offers the Portuguese equivalents – somehow my afternoon seems to be rapidly transforming into Portuguese class – which I’m grateful for as it’s desperately needed, but at the same time, I’m absolutely ravenous and keen to get out and buy some lunch.  It’s now 2pm and anyone who knows me well, knows that if I’ve not eaten for more than a few hours things can start to get ugly!  We’ve covered topics such as how white my skin is, how green my eyes are, the Australian climate, a map of the town and the fact that it’s pretty much closed because it’s Sunday, what I’m doing in Brazil, why I’m by myself, what world cup tickets I have, how old I am, how many brothers and sisters I have (this one was my own fault as I volunteered how close his name Edvan was to my brother’s name – Evan) and the vital piece of information that he desperately wants to communicate – the whereabouts of the owner (who actually speaks English).

Eventually I find the words to ask if there’s somewhere open where I can buy some lunch, and thankfully this is met with an affirmative response.  Thinking that’s my cue to politely exit my Portuguese class to go and buy some food and explore the closed town, I am quite surprised when it becomes clear that he intends to come to lunch with me (it’s not like the place was going to be that hard to find – just 2 blocks down the street we were on!), but in what is either a display of the most amazing customer service ever, or, more akin to a first date, it seems he plans to walk there with me, point out the food, and sit and watch whilst I eat it.  It’s an incredibly nice gesture, but to be honest I’m starting to feel exhausted.  I’d been up since 4am to get my flight from Rio, and given I still find speaking Spanish challenging, trying to pick out the similarities with Spanish in the Portuguese, then translate that into English, then respond in Spanish (Many times having to re-phrase sentences to find a way of saying it that is the one similar to Portuguese) is not exactly a walk in the park!  This guy is showing no signs of fatigue though – he’s either super keen or just has the patience of a saint.  Or both.

When we get back from lunch I gesture that I’m going to go to my room for a bit, and that seems to do the trick.  Time for a lie down!  Feeling refreshed from my power nap I decide it’s time to go and at least take a look at town, so I attempt to quietly make my way out – It’s at this point that I learn, that for the duration of my stay, I’m not going to be able to come or go anywhere without him intercepting me and finding a reason for at least 5 minutes conversation.  I’m ok with this – as long as I can keep it to just 5 minutes – sometimes very challenging.

The other aspect of his attentiveness is in the watch he keeps from the balcony.  Whenever I come home each night, he’s always up there looking out… and is then either opening the door for me, or sitting on the couch when I come in.  To be honest this one I’m rather grateful for… as the last few blocks walk home feel decidedly sketchy at night… it’s not far enough, nor are cabs plentiful enough to warrant getting one, but I’m acutely aware of how extremely poor the people in this area are – and that someone like me walking past (clearly with a lot more than they have) might be too much of a temptation.  Nice to have someone looking out for you in situations like that.

As the days go on my ability to understand him improves and he is clearly thrilled.  Voce Fale Portugues! he keeps exclaiming.  Ummmmm not exactly, but I have at least made some progress.    He is sad that I’m leaving, but is sure I will love the next place and is very careful to make sure he understands exactly what time I need to get the cab as he’ll arrange all that for me.  Turns out he’ll also get up at 4am to shower, style his hair and prepare me breakfast.   Unbelievable.  He puts me in the cab and we do the brazilian double kiss goodbye (hard to keep track of all these different customs!!) and then he says a whole lot of stuff in portuguese… and I’m back to the nod/smile/blank stare response.  He’s clearly a little sad I didn’t understand – but seriously, it would’ve been nothing short of a miracle if my language skills had progressed that much in 5 days. A super nice guy… but gosh it was tough work with the language barrier so big.  So the question is, is he always like this and do we therefore need to go ahead and award him with a gold medal for exceptional customer service? Or did I somehow charm him with my green eyes and complete inability to speak any Portuguese?

Fresh Air, New Sports and Great Tucker

Since my previous posts have potentially painted a less than favourable picture of times spent on the back of a horse, it seems only fair that I blog about a new horse activity that I have found to be more to my liking.    Allow me to introduce, “Argentinean Polo Day”.  It’s a sunny Saturday morning when Pablo (or “Poly” as he likes to go by) arrives at my hostel to pick me up.  Already in the car is “Shi” from Canada.  As is the case with most Canadians I meet, we instantly get along and are jabbering away like old friends when Poly eventually senses one of us pausing for a breath, and takes the opportunity to cue the “Introduction to Polo” dvd.  The dvd details the history of the sport, it’s importance in Argentina, the main rules of the game and then gets into the specifics on technique – I’m not sure how much of this is going to be repeated later so pay close attention and wonder as they’re rattling off the very extensive list of dos and don’ts, whether I’m perhaps in over my head.

About 50minutes later, we arrive at El Camino Polo club – a picture perfect country setting.  As I breathe in the fresh air and am handed a glass of Malbec and an empanada, confidence is restored – I’m not in over my head at all, this is where I belong.  So we sit on the couches outside sipping away at our bottomless glasses, and Poly gives us his own “Introduction to Polo” …. This time the focus is on just the basics that we’ll actually need to know – both in terms of the rules and the various shots – and also the important things we’ll need to know about positions should we be looking to meet a Polo player.  Number 1 is akin to the striker – they’re the most highly paid player on the field, and by the sounds of it, also the most arrogant.  Then you have #2 who is also an attacking player, but their main objective is to protect the princess, I mean, #1.  Sort of the team thug, if you will.  #3 is the captain and strategist on the field – calling all the shots, while #4 is essentially the fullback.  I decide #3 is most likely to be my type, and file this information away for any later encounters with polo players.

Having been shown the basics, it’s now time to watch a proper game.  We’re more than slightly concerned when they bring over a horse for each of us, as it feels way too soon to be getting involved.  Turns out though that the horses were merely a method of transporting us over to the VIP seating area, without us having to walk through the mud.  Important that we keep all nice and clean – at least for part of the morning anyway.    I toss the ball into play and the chukker begins.  A game of polo is divided into 4-8 chukkers each lasting 7.5minutes (fully timed).  At the end of each chukker, the horse is all hot and sweaty so they switch to a new one – wish I got a new pair of legs during the breaks in my sports!!   The fact that each team needs a minimum of 16 horses just to play a game though, gives a bit of an indication as to why this is a sport dominated by the rich.  The action is pretty fast-paced – however perhaps not as much as usual due to the very muddy field they’re playing on.  During the breaks, we get a chance to practice our forehand and backhand (from the safety of the ground) and to say hello to all the horsey subs.  In the end Yellow beats Red 4-2, and so it’s LUNCHTIME.

   

 

Lunch is (not surprisingly) a delicious bbq – a never-ending supply of different cuts of meat keep finding their way to my plate and I’m at a bit of a loss for words as to how and when I can start declining some of it.   Then comes mate time – the Argentinean tea tradition whereby a bitter and herby concoction is passed around and everyone shares from the same metal straw.  I’m very careful to ensure I’m one of the first to get some, as the first aider in me can’t help but sit there thinking about all the various diseases that can be passed through saliva!  Yes, admittedly that probably takes some of the cultural sociability away from it all.

Once so much food and drink has been consumed that we can barely move, it’s time to mount the horses and play some polo!  We start off with some coaching and general “perfecting” of our technique, before moving on to the game.

    

A proud Aussie moment, when upon whalloping the first ball that came into my path, Poly comments “What is it about Australia that makes you all so good at any sport you try?”  Now, I’m pretty sure that statement isn’t entirely (or even remotely) true, but I’ll take it! Aussie Aussie Aussie!!  What followed was not a particularly competitive game… let’s just say the locals were doing anything and everything to avoid actually scoring themselves, but I put away 3 to Shi’s 1, so it was victory to Australia and time for some more Malbec.  We finished the day with a trip out to a beautiful other property that they own and checked out the super old farmhouse as the sun went down.  Ahhh the serenity.  All in all, a fun sport (much more entertaining than just sitting on the horse) and a great day out.

“The boobies are the ones that flap” – Adventures in the Galapagos

A couple of hours after ending the “Tapir” tour, we meet for our welcome to the “Tortuga”.  Everyone is pretty excited for the Galapagos portion of the holiday – as for most people it’s the whole reason behind their trip in the first place.  We also have 3 new people to welcome to the group – a nice young couple from Bristol on their honeymoon and a single guy from West Virginia who Stef is excited to meet (fair to say she wasn’t exactly expecting him to be a much older retired FBI guy).  We order dinner first to allow them time to cook it whilst the tour briefing takes place.  A smart move – turns out I could have nearly done the entire tour before my food arrived!!  On the plus side though, we do get free drinks out of it.  And I do love free drinks.  The important things we learn during the briefing are: that it is more environmentally responsible to order a Pilsener Grande as the big bottles get re-used but the small do not; that there is both duty free and ATMs we can use at the airport in the morning; and that our guide Zambo has the most beautiful hair on the island.  Two of these facts at least turn out to be true – let’s just say we follow the beer advice religiously and that Zambo didn’t need to be holding an Active Adventures sign for us to pick him out of the crowd at the airport.

The tour begins with some soup that we pour popcorn and aji sauce into, and the first of many yummy servings of fish.  Not surprisingly, it’s rather in abundance on the menus here.  At lunch Zambo also takes the opportunity to explain a few basic principles for the tour – the most important of which he says is Karma.  We need to wake up every day with a smile – because if we don’t we only have ourselves to blame if we don’t see any animals.  A good life philosophy really – though perhaps the seeing animals bit won’t be quite so applicable once we return to normality.

After lunch we’re shown the main strip on San Cristobal which all looks very nice, and we begin to marvel at the sea lions who are casually sitting at the bus stop – apparently we aint seen nothing yet though.  We’re told to come back at night for the real show.  We then break for a bit of free time to change and get ourselves organised at the hotel before reconvening for an afternoon cycle – first stop is the interpretation centre, then on to the beach for a snorkel.  It’s at the interpretation centre that we realise Zambo knows about a whole lot more than just keeping his hair looking good… we learn about the plants, the types of species, geology, the formation of the islands… so far he has an answer for everything – and it’s immediately clear I’m going to learn a lot on this trip!  Enroute to the snorkel we also spot our first Marine Iguanas – almost prehistoric looking, they’re rather hard to spot camouflaged on the rocks, but luckily we have some very keen eyes in our group so we don’t miss much.   The snorkel starts out rather standard… pretty fish here pretty fish there… but then it goes Galapagos-style cool when we spot our first turtle!  The other key discovery of the day is that yes, we would like wetsuits for the big snorkelling day tomorrow – got a bit chilly towards the end there when someone turned the sun down.

 

Feeding time: Photo courtesy of Geoff Love

When we get back into town we’re handed a menu to choose what we’d like from the bbq for dinner…. Just when I’m despairing the fact that there is way too much to choose from, we spot the “personal bbq” option…. Pretty much, one of everything.  Perfecto.  And luckily they serve it with a side plate of beans and rice too – otherwise I might have gone hungry.    After dinner it’s time to hit up the bar and play some pool.  Teaming up with undercover boss again proving a successful strategy – though he’s a little off form tonight so the game almost takes as long restaurant service in Quito.  After a marathon few hours (of only a few games being played and us somehow retaining our winning streak) we decide it’s time to give the “dodgy table” back to the locals and head to another bar.  The rest of the group still need to try the cane shots after all.  After much protesting (and something about the divers needing to be responsible), eventually it’s agreed we’ll order one round.  Arriba, abajo al cento, adentro! That wasn’t so bad.  Waaait a minute, shut the front door… that wasn’t cane liquor THAT was tequila! We’ve been duped by the 13 year old waitress who was too distracted by Zambo to get the order right!  Unfortunately the divers raise the legitimate argument that they really can’t drink anymore before the dive tomorrow, so the cane shots will have to wait until another night.

Personal BBQ

Before calling it a night completely though, we luckily ascertain some extremely important information about the following day.  Being a Sunday, it’s apparently not exactly legal to sell alcohol.  Maybe they will sell it to us in a restaurant because they know we are tourists, but the planned happy hour over sunset on Brant and Corrine’s amazing honeymooner’s balcony is suddenly looking to be in a dire state.   Upon hearing this news, Brant vanishes in an instant – Usain bolt would’ve struggled to keep the pace, this man was on a mission.  No sooner had we remarked he’d gone, he was back bearing a grin and a grocery bag … 2 bottles of “vodka” and some orange mixer.  Only thing was… it wasn’t exactly vodka.  Make that 2 bottles of “Touch” Suave liquor – a later google search revealing it to be the perfect choice for a long evening of cocktails due to its relatively low alcohol content and complete lack of any flavour.  But beggars can’t be choosers and we were very happy to have something to serve with the Pringles and Oreos!

Sunday might be a day of rest for many, but it wasn’t for us.  We were off to kicker rock – a set of volcanic rocks which jut out of the water that are an awesome sight and form a spectacular dive/snorkel playground!  On the way out we pass by a big cargo ship that has run aground and has a giant hole in it – pretty frightening to see in such a precious ecosystem, so we join the locals in crossing fingers and hoping for the best that it doesn’t do any irreversible environmental damage.  Once we get a bit further out, it’s time for the divers to do their safety dive and the rest of us to do a spot of bird watching.   Frigate birds and blue footed boobies abound – it’s easy to tell which is which, Zambo explains, because the boobies are the ones that flap.  Got it.  Even I can remember that.  It’s rather hot though, so the rest of us snorkelers end up all getting in the water too – and come across a turtle and a sea lion which are both pretty cool.  Then it’s on to kicker rock.

Kicker Rock

As we’re jumping off the boat one by one, there’s a sense of anticipation and a certain degree of conjecture about what we do and don’t want to see.  Apparently the channel is a really good chance for shark sightings – plenty of “Galapagos sharks” but also the potential for hammerheads.  It definitely sounds awesome to swim with them – and we’re assured there’s so many fish in the water that they won’t be interested in us – but I can’t help but wonder whether I might in fact shit myself if one of them actually swam at me.  It turns out I needn’t have worried as today wasn’t going to be a day the snorkelers saw sharks – unless of course you were one of the locals who breathes like a fish and can get down 15m below the surface with just a snorkel and a buoyant wetsuit – because there apparently were some to be seen if you could get down there.  What the rest of us saw were tonnes of really colourful fish, a chocolate chip starfish (the announcement of which made me decidedly hungry), turtles and sea lions.  The sea lions were definitely my highlight – they’re so big and playful and will pretty much do a dance below the surface with you.  Something I’ve never experienced before – and may never experience again.  I have some atrocious video footage taken with my underwater camera, but the good stuff is forever captured in my memory.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After 2 “snorkel sets” we head off again on the boat towards an idyllic beach where we can chill out (or go Iguana spotting) for a while.  We’re told we need to eat lunch before getting off the boat though as the environment is so strictly protected that it’s forbidden to take any food from one place to another.    Expecting this means we’ll just quickly scoff a basic sandwich in our laps, we’re all very pleasantly surprised when the table gets unfolded, the cloth rolled out, and a full lunch including desert is served!  Feeling very satisfied, I disembark the boat, and lay out my towel on the white sand to do a spot of reading/napping.  A very pleasant day in paradise – and one which will only continue to get better as we sip our touch on the balcony and watch the sun magnificently set.  Before we get to that though, there is time to squeeze in one more activity – so we jump on the bus and head into the highlands to visit the treehouse.  It’s quite literally a house (with beds/bathroom and small living area) lodged in a tree.  As well as ogling the fine construction works, there’s other fun things to do there for the big kids amongst us – and I don’t hesitate at trying my luck on the tarzan swing, the tight-rope and a make-shift soccer game.   It’s fun to be stupid sometimes.

Zambo calls us back to the boat – who needs a whistle when you can just bellow like a Sea Lion?

 

 

 

                    

The next morning is an early start as we’re off on the boat to Floreana island.  Along the way we are momentarily joined by a pod of dolphins who jump in and out of the water all around us.  In a word:  chévere.  Before we get all the way there, there is also another opportunity for more snorkelling – it’s definitely pretty nice, but the water seems cloudier than at kicker – either that or we’ve now become snorkel snobs!  Arriving at Floreana, we’re greeted by some sea lions who appear to be on customs duty, and despite it apparently having been “amazingly beautiful ocean conditions”, many of us are very happy to be on firm ground again. We busy ourselves Iguana spotting whilst Zambo sorts out some logistics.

            

 

         

The island has only a couple of hundred inhabitants, 1 shop and one hotel without any keys – and is quite the change of pace from San Cristobal (let alone Quito!!)  After lunch, we jump aboard the open truck to head into the highlands.  Up here we tour some cool old pirate caves, hear stories about the original inhabitants and the “evil” baroness (poor lady gets quite the bad rap!!) and check out a bunch of tortoises.  A curious sound is heard in the distance, and Zambo starts singing a few bars from “love is in the air”.  Putting 2 and 2 together we excitedly dash off in search of the tortoise porn – ironically we really needn’t have rushed – the ordeal lasts a few hours.  Suzy was concerned to know if the female was enjoying it… but a little hard to make a call on that given her head was hidden away – or was that our answer?

Jumping back on the truck we stop to pick up a few locals and a dog here and there (public transport isn’t exactly in abundance on the island so why not) and are released back to our hotel just in time for sunset on the black sand beach.  Tonight’s happy hour delight is Adrian’s “spiced” rum.  Fearing that the only bottle of rum that was available in the tiny store might not pack enough punch, undercover boss had resourcefully lifted a handful of spices (or whatever the non-descript centrepiece from the table inside was), and announced he would use it to infuse the rum.   We should apparently take confidence because he puts chilli in his vodka at home – and that works well.  What could possibly go wrong here?  So the adventurous core of drinkers amongst us, eagerly hold out our glasses – we’ve avoided water, fresh food, salads and ice for weeks now for fear of getting sick – and now we’re signing up to potpourri rum.  I don’t know if it’s the view, or the cola or the company (or heaven forbid, the rum itself), but it sure seems to taste pretty good as we sit around on our circle of rocks and discuss important matters such as stealing the catamaran and/or sabotaging the cruise ship that has so thoughtlessly parked in our harbour, blocking our otherwise majestic views.

  

Come the following morning, the island is probably already sick of us, so we set sail for Isabella.  Arriving at our accommodation which backs on to a beautiful white beach, there’s just enough time to read a chapter in the hammock before we need to meet for lunch (more soup and fish and hot sauce).  It’s important to fuel up though as Zambo announces the altered plans for the afternoon, which sound to be nothing short of an ultra-triathlon.  First we’re going to a hike for about an hour (in the very hot sun) on the Tintoreras rock outcrop where we will see lots of Iguanas and crabs and maybe some sharks (if we smile enough), then we’re going to go snorkelling, then we’ll come back to the beach and jump in the kayaks for a session around the bay whilst the tide is good.  Maybe it’s the heat, or else just the hammocks are beckoning, but for someone who usually loves being active, I’m suddenly exhausted just listening to it!

            

The walk is hot, but the Iguanas are cool.  And whilst we might not have seen the sharks on the walk, we went one better when we saw a ray AND got up close and personal with all the penguins on our snorkel!  They’re cute little things – the 2^nd smallest penguins in the world – apparently only bigger in size than the Aussie ones.  Guess that’s why I was thinking “they’re not that small”.  So having completed the 2^nd leg of our endurance afternoon, the finish line is in sight.  A bunch of single and double kayaks are lined up across the beach… and the couples all dutifully get into the 2 person ones – the guys uttering concerns about their wives actually bothering to paddle.  This just leaves 1 double kayak and 4 single ones – and 4 singles and 2 guides standing there.  I’m thinking “I reckon I could go a lot faster in a double”, but that it would perhaps be a bit presumptuous to claim it and assume someone would want to go with me, but then Adrian voices a similar thought about taking the double so the decision is made.  The Aussie/NZ combo races out of the blocks to the repeated pleas of “please wait there” and “it’s not a race”.  Given we have been barred from racing, we decide to focus on our other talents, such as hijacking other kayaks and capsizing our guide.  Perhaps it’s not quite the relaxed wildlife watching paddle Zambo had in mind, but on the other hand, this delirious behaviour should not have come as entirely unexpected at the end of such a big day!

                                                               

The following day we have an even bigger volcano hike ahead of us.  No-one is entirely sure just how big it is though as none of the timing really seems to reconcile – and perhaps this is deliberate.  Upon arriving in the highlands kitted out for our hike, it’s pouring with rain and it looks like we’re not going to be able to see any of what are surely spectacular views on a good day…. Oh and it’s super muddy too, so plenty of focus is needed to keep our footing.  This could be a very long walk!  About 2.5 hours in we stop to eat our packed lunch and discuss whether or not we should continue as planned, or just cut our losses and turn back and go and check out some pink flamingos instead.  Flamingos is getting a lot of votes, but there’s also a lot of silence as we’re not really sure what we may or may not be missing by turning back.  Thankfully Zambo makes an executive decision that we should continue on for a bit, and it proves to be a very good one!  The clouds clear up, we spot a super cool land iguana and walk through an awesome volcanic setting passing by little oven-like hot spots along the way.  We stop at the best viewpoint and then turn back, cutting out an hour or 2 of the initially planned hike, and allowing time for those who had expressed a keenness to see the Flamingos – a very good compromise.  We’re all happy to have done the extra bit (since until that point we’d really not seen anything), but equally happy to turn back when we do, given it’s been tough conditions most of the morning.  The Flamingos are pretty cool too – even if they are randomly in an old quarry!

Quite the full day, but it’s not the end yet.  For tonight we’re going to do happy hour at an actual pub.  The Pink Iguana is our destination of choice – where the daiquiris are flying off the shelves at 2 for $5 and there’s beach volleyball and tight-rope walking to be done if you tire of drinking.  Definitely a very cool bar.  That night is a “free night” for dinner and the majority of us decide it’s time to break from the fish and rice and hit up the pizzeria.  We order enough pizzas to feed a small army, but Adam is more than slightly dismayed when he discovers he’s agreed to share a family sized pizza with a girl who can actually get through a whole half.  Given I’m almost half a foot taller than his wife Suzy, it’s clear he’s not used to this happening.  It is noted that there were no further offers issued to share food for the remainder of the tour.  After dinner we hit up the Iguana Point bar (not to be confused with the Pink Iguana) and FINALLY everyone gets to try a cane shot – undercover boss determining a bottle of the evil liquid to be the best use of the spare kitty of money left over from dinner.  I’m not so sure about this – but it does lead to some lively activity on the dance floor so can’t all be bad!  Stef even finding herself a local who could salsa with the best of ‘em… sadly she did get a little scared off when he took her outside “to show her the stars” as the rest of us were very much enjoying the performance.

Next day is more relaxed as this was originally going to involve a morning of kayaking – but we’ve done that already as part of our triathlon.  Instead we head out to see the wall of tears – an impressively large wall of rocks that was built by the prisoners being kept on the island, for the sole purpose of giving them something to do.  You get the sense there was a lot of blood, sweat, tears and death out here – so as well as an impressive structure, it’s quite a moving place.  After this we climb 133-135 steps (depending who’s counting), to interrupt a couple who are having a romantic time at the top of a pretty look out.  Since we’re spoiling their view anyway we ask if they’d mind taking a few dozen group photos for us, and then we reciprocate and leave them in peace.  Next stop is the lava tunnel.  Nice.  As I’m sitting there on the tunnel watching the waves crashing against the rocks, Zambo asks if I like his office.  And I very much do.  For the first time since I’ve been away, I’m suddenly hit with the realisation of just how difficult it will be to return to my office life in September.  I have no idea how I’ll do it, so shaft that thought out of my mind as quickly as it entered.  Back to living in the moment – it’s a lot more fun.  Then it’s on to lovers beach – which isn’t nearly as exciting as the name makes it sound – but is apparently both a tortoise breeding ground, and a lucky place to bring your other half – if you kiss there you’ll stay together forever… or so the legend of the morning goes.

Still on the subject of breeding, our final stop for the morning before we are left to our own devices is at the tortoise breeding centre.  Due to human exploitation decimating the species, they need centres like this one to actively rebuild the population.  Unfortunately given a tortoise in captivity doesn’t reach sexual maturity for about 25 years, it’s a very slow process.  On the plus side though, this means there’s tonnes of very cute little guys to be seen at this centre – and we even get to hold tiny Leonardo who is just a few months old.  Very special.  A thoroughly enjoyable afternoon is then spent lazing on the deck with my book and playing in the surf with the little skimming ball Brant has thoughtfully packed.  These guys are certainly proving to be the ultimate tour couple – bringing vodka, a ball, cards, good humour and a keen eye for animals along for the duration!  When we learn the water is not switched on in our hotel, we have no choice but to remain on the deck for some pre-dinner drinks – showers are going to have to wait – and to be very short and sweet!  The shower is essential though as we’re off to the highlands to a fancy restaurant for a slap up meal.  It’s a beautiful setting and all tastes delicious, but unfortunately we later identify the rather large salad that was dished up to everyone as an entrée is likely the culprit behind our undoing.  The majority of the group are noticeably struggling for the next couple of days, which is quite unfortunate as it prevents us from really ending with a bang.

This general feeling of unwellness is only compounded by the realisation that our last boat ride is not going to be nearly as smooth as the other 2.  Not only is Zambo issuing dramamine reminders, but the clouds are ominous and the side awnings have been pulled down on the boat.  To say we’re slightly concerned with the change in tune would be an understatement – the majority of us had rated the “amazing seas” as verging on vomit worthy… how were we going to fare in bona-fide rough seas with our already unsettled insides?!  My saviour on this last ride to Santa Cruz though turns out to be a good playlist.  The previous 2 boat-rides we’d all sat there bored and virtually in silence as the engines made it too loud to maintain any form of conversation.  All the while Zambo is sitting backwards in the bad part of the boat cheerfully grinning and tapping along to the beats coming through his headphones.  Trip number 3, I decided it was time to bring out the music myself – and what a huge difference the distraction made!  Most others followed suit, and there were thankfully no incidents on-board.

As we pull into Santa Cruz, I am once again blown away by the beauty of the turquoise waters lapping at the shores and the elegant architecture clinging to the cliffs. Each island is different and each is such a paradise.  It’s sad to think we’ll have to say goodbye to it all in 24 hours time.  Still plenty more to do before that though, so we waste no time in acquiring an ice-cream and boarding our bus up to the highlands to go check out the tortoises in the wild.  Just when we were thinking we’d seen all the tortoises one could see, they pull out the big guns.  Some of these guys were HUGE – definitely a good photo op for anyone who’s ever wished to pose with a tortoise.  And that’s everyone right?

 

 

 

 

Also fun to find them just meandering about in their natural habitat – creating the odd traffic obstacle here and there too.   With the walk complete, there’s a brief window of time for people to get their tortoise shell on (whilst the rest of the group taunts them and offers very limited assistance), then it’s lunch time.  My quinoa filled tomato and honey mustard chicken are a welcome change from the standard fare. For the afternoon, we’re presented with a choice of 2 activities – previously it had been set aside for a trip to Tortuga bay and the final morning involved a visit to the Charles Darwin research station, but unfortunately a flight schedule change has taken away any time for activities on the last morning so we’re forced to choose.  Poor Zambo patiently explaining both options countless times to a group very torn over what was the better choice. Along with 5 of the 9 others, I opted for the Tortuga Bay trip – tough to ditch the Darwin centre, as the Galapagos was such a huge factor behind his published works, but I decided I had perhaps already seen enough animals in captivity and would try my luck enjoying another natural wonder (and getting in some more exercise) instead.  It was a beautiful choice – a relatively easy 6km hike followed by a swim in a bay with a little shark! Finally, we got to see our shark!!  I had initially wanted to swim at the beach rather than the bay, but we were warned off that by the rangers due to the strong currents and jelly fish – so it all worked out in the end.

Our evening meal on the decks of the pelican restaurant proved a real treat too.  I went for the surf and turf Galapagos style – a delicious cut of steak topped with a creamy seafood sauce (with plenty of shrimp and other real chunks of fish in there).  Only trouble with this place was their apparent shortage of rum (enough for a daiquiri but not enough for the other drinks – how suspicious) and their unwillingness to expand our set menu choices to include the one with the chocolate brownie!! 2 of the 3 desert choices we were given were focussed on bananas, so I had to settle with plain vanilla ice-cream – needless to say I wasn’t too pleased with this bananist behaviour!  Numbers started to dwindle after desert (a combination of general queeziness and an eagerness to buy souvenirs before it was too late claimed half the crowd), but Adam, Suzy, Geoff, Adrian, myself and Zambo were all keen to kick on – it was a Friday night in the bustling Santa Cruz (pop. circa 19000) after all! However it was apparently too early still for bongo bar – so we stopped in for a coldie at Zambo’s favourite craft beer place on the island – the pizzeria of course.  Beer down, it was now considered just acceptable enough for us to go to Bongo – still not quite for Zambo though – creatively coming up with some reason why he’d just meet us there later.

Not sure why there was a rum shortage..

The Bongo bar didn’t fail to deliver – a lively night-spot, a round of cucarachas, good music and some amusing dance moves to boot.  It appears the Salsa taught in the classes had failed to demonstrate the excessive grinding that was apparently a key element in any of the moves here.    And to think I thought I was out of my depth before…  Eventually we call it a night and give Zambo a chance to actually clock off and hang out with his friends.  I do enjoy learning that his plans for the way home include a kebab though – I guess some things are universal!

The next day is sadly pretty much just a travel one… bus to the boat to the bus to the plane to the bus.  Having left 7:30am, it’s nearly 5pm by the time we get back to the hotel in Quito… which doesn’t leave a whole lot of time to do anything more than shower and attempt the bag re-pack (combining our dirty island clothes with all the stuff we’d stored at the hotel) before dinner.  We go to an Asian place for the farewell meal, then on to the Irish pub for a cleanser.  After which most of the group are ready to call it a night (given the airport pick-ups the next morning are at 4am or 5am for the majority this is forgiven).  Party animal Laura-lee is not ready to say goodnight though and twists mine and Adrian’s rubber arms to join her and Geoff at “one more place”. Slightly frightened by the prospects on offer, we eventually look up and see a place with a table on the balcony above street level – perfect for watching this mayhem the rif raf are producing below!  3 of us get in but Geoff is accosted at the door and given some bizarre yum cha style menu and a spiel about a minimum spend of $5 a head – but we all get a free drink.  We take up the free drink first and watch the chaos unfold.  So bad are the drinks though, that we elect to just pay $20 to get out of there.  We find some of our group back at the hotel bar (seems they got distracted enroute to bed), but the service has closed and it’s time to say goodnight and goodbye to a great group of people and an amazing trip.

Oh my Gato! An Active adventure through the volcanoes and jungles of Ecuador

I’ve travelled enough with myself to know, that for any holiday longer than about a month, I’m going to want to mix it up between the freedom and unexpected adventures/authentic experiences that come with doing your own thing, and the ease/hassle-free efficiency and instant circle of friends that come with an organised group tour.   The trick with the latter is in picking the right tour – and then crossing all fingers and toes that you get “a good group”.  A few duds is generally par for the course – and frankly they give the rest of the group something to bond over… but the main thing you absolutely want, and you know within about the first 15 minutes if you’ve got it, is a good guide and some people you can see yourself getting along with.  This is what is going through my mind as I sit in the lobby of Hotel San Sebastian awaiting the tour briefing for the Active Adventures “Tapir” trip I’ve booked.  I’ve deliberately chosen a tour that promises hiking, biking, riding, rafting and climbing up waterfalls… not only is this stuff right up my alley, but surely it increases the likelihood of my tour group having like-minded people on it?! So as I sit there (ever so actively) reading my kindle, I can’t help but assess everyone who walks past… “Are they on the tour?”, “Would I like them to be on the tour?”, “Wonder if they’re thinking what I’m thinking?” Eventually a few of us actually verbalise these thoughts, politely introduce ourselves… and then resume reading.  The Active Adventure starts at noon after all… so best not exert ourselves too much prior to this!  On the stroke of 12, our guide Jhayro walks in and it becomes apparent that everyone in/around the lobby is in fact on the tour.  Seems like a good mix of ages and nationalities and I am excited to count an odd number of single ladies – as this means I’ll get my own room on a least some of the nights!

Formalities over, we jump in the mini-van and head out to our guide’s family home for a delightful traditional Ecuadorian lunch.  There’s an appetiser which is kind of like a vegetarian ceviche with beans, roasted corn, tomatoes, onions, lime and coriander, followed by some twice cooked pork, rice, yucca, plantain chips and avocado for the main.  It is at this point that the group’s love affair with the home made aji sauce begins – “Can you pass the hot sauce?” quickly becoming the most frequently uttered phrase on tour.  After lunch we pile into the van again for a short drive into the countryside where find ourselves at a beautiful Hacienda.   Having spent 4 hours on an agitated horse 3 days prior, and then followed that up with a near vertical 3 hour hike down and up a crater, I’m not particularly in the right frame of butt for the optional afternoon horse-riding activity that is offered… but not wanting to be the kind of person who would opt to “do nothing” on the first day of an “active” tour, I of course choose to join everyone else on the ride.  My horse is unfortunately devoid of an accelerator pedal and seems intent on spending the majority of the time sniffing the other horse’s arses.  The trudge through the rain is therefore less than exhilarating, but at least the scenery is nice.  I do fear that my first experience on horse-back which involved chasing cattle in the Kimberleys may have ruined me forever in this “sport” – no ride since has come close to comparing to that.  Not to worry, at least I’m looking forward to warming up in the hot shower.  If only my room had hot water!! Thankfully our group has some men in it who are capable of getting fires going, and we all retreat to the cosy lounge-room, gravitating towards the fire-place to warm the bones – so much for a temperate climate on the equator!! After dinner a hot tub is offered and sounds very tempting, but for it being more of a lukewarm tub, so we elect to hit the hay early ahead of more adventures.

          

 

The next day promises mountain biking down Cotopaxi – one of the highest active volcanos in the world!  There seems to be a bit of a glitch with the bikes though as we instead stop at some lake to walk around – and upon completing the loop we’re given the bikes and all look at each other in confusion… we can sort of see Cotopaxi in the distance (behind the clouds – where all good volcanoes are found), but we’re currently a few thousand metres short of base camp and certainly weren’t expecting to ride up it.  Jhayro says something about roadwork and it being dangerous so we’ll just do a nice ride on the flat instead… but the group’s not convinced and our fluent spanish speaker (for the avoidance of doubt, this is not me) manages to convince him to load the bikes up and take us to the top for the original plan – at our own risk.   And I’m very glad we did!  Just as we are getting ready to start the down-hill, we spot a condor! MASSIVEly impressive bird and only believed to be about 70 in the whole of Ecuador, so a real rarity to actually see one.   The ride itself is pretty bumpy, but there’s plenty of speed available for those with the need.  After exhausting ourselves on the flat/slightly uphill sections of the trail (tougher than expected when you toss altitude into the equation), we eagerly tuck into a picnic lunch and then clamber back in the van to head to Baños where we’ll spend the next couple of nights…but not before stopping in the ice-cream village for an ice-cream and admiring all the jeans in the jeans village.  Specialisation is clearly the key economic strategy in these parts.

The evening’s festivities kick-off with happy hour in the lobby, as Brant, our police officer who “works in heating”, has sensibly thought to pack a bottle of vodka and is kind enough to share it around.  Unfortunately it doesn’t last very long as the orange juice that the hotel kindly squeeze freshly for us is so pungent that we end up having to add the entire bottle before anyone can remotely detect any alcohol.  We then watch a 3 minute short film to assist those in the group who aren’t decided on their activity for the next day because they don’t know what canyoning is (and if the film is anything to go by, it appears to mostly centre around doing some sort of Miley Cyrus style dance whilst dressed in wetsuits.)  Once that important demonstration has concluded we head out to a nice restaurant for dinner.  My steak with ham is surprisingly delicious and then most of us elect to kick on at one of the local pubs.  Unfortunately we lose Brant and his wife Corrine to a dodgy soup and crazy cat lady and her (temporary) room-mate Stef also elect to call it a night.  But between myself, undercover boss (Adrian who actually works for Active in NZ), the lovely South African via San Francisco couple Laura-lee and Geoff who are celebrating their 25^th wedding anniversary, Jhayro and local guide Pedro (who prefers to go by “Tigre”), we have a decent core for making a dent in the cocktail menu and hitting up the pool tables.  As all bad pool players know, the secret to winning is not losing (AND choosing a good partner) – so I team up with Adrian and we have a very successful evening.  Perhaps buoyed by this success, when the others are ready to call it a night, we instead choose to kick on at the next bar with Tigre & his cousin – which proves to be an altogether hilarious experience.  For starters, there doesn’t appear to be any staff.  Oh wait, that must be them at the table playing cards – clearly they couldn’t possibly serve their only customers without first finishing the hand, so we patiently wait for them to do so.  This process is repeated every time we want a drink.  The drink we apparently all want first up is the famous cane liquor served out of some dodgy thermos that is so bad I swear even Tigre and cuz almost spit it back out.  Yummy. What next?  Next it’s time to play some Jenga, because what else would you do in a bar?  Whoever knocks it down needs to do a shot – and these Ecuadorians are ruthless in their approach!  Somehow my hands are steady enough to ensure I retain a vague level of sobriety – however a few more drinks would possibly have assisted the salsa dancing invitation from Pedro that follows.  Yep, I still can’t salsa – so after persisting through a couple of songs, it’s time to call it a night.

The canyon dance in the video apparently wasn’t enough of a draw-card for canyoning, so the following day the whole group has elected to go rafting.  The grade is 3+ which is tamer than the one I did in NZ, but this only leads to the guides behaving significantly more crazily!  Never have I seen a raft flip so quickly, groups deliberately lodging themselves on giant rocks, and so many people separately going overboard in a few hours of rafting!  Great fun though and I was certainly pleased to stay on-board the whole time.   When Tigre sat me opposite him in the back of the raft I felt certain he was going to flip me out at some point as a sort of revenge for bad salsa… but luckily for him, he thought better of it and elected to terrorise others instead – calling out  “Oh my Gato!” every time something went awry.    In the afternoon we did a nice little hike to a waterfall that you could actually get in behind (as long as you weren’t too claustrophobic to climb through the tiny caves to get there) and then returned to the hotel for a massage.  I could get used to this!  Italian was on the menu for dinner and then we went to a cool bar with an open fire outside as the centre-piece.  The flaming Bob Marley shots consumed were also quite delicious!   No-one was up for a particularly big night though, so we only stayed for a couple.

      

The next morning we set off for the Amazon!  We were staying in a cool eco-style lodge that virtually felt like you were sleeping outdoors.  Fun experience – but did have more than a few mosquito bites to show for it when we woke up the next day.  From that point it became clear that I was the group’s mosquito bait… usually I can rely on them attacking Sam or Hayley first, but in their absence, it appears my blood is the next best thing….here I was thinking my bushmans plus with 60% deet had a surprisingly nice smell to it – if only the bugs didn’t think the same.  Luckily there’s no malaria in this particular area.

The afternoon activity involved taking a motorised canoe – taking care not to fall into the water for fear of the urethra fish – and heading out to an animal rescue centre.  Saw some amazing animals that I’ve never seen before – Toucans, Tapirs, giant rodents, an Anaconda, Macaws – as well as lots of cheeky monkeys – and we learnt a bunch of interesting facts about the work they do re-introducing the animals to the wild, along with the reasons for why some of the animals could never survive if they were released.   It was swelteringly hot though in the long pants we were wearing for bug prevention, so the cold beer went down very well before we jumped back in the canoe to head to a local village.   At the village we were treated to a dancing show, music lessons (my soft office hands failed to produce the necessary rough surface to make a sound mind you), some local cuisine (salty caterpillar kebabs, catfish, yucca, plantain…), more dodgy alcohol, and a chance to blow darts at a wooden parrot through a 2 metre long stick (I’m sure there’s a more technical term for this particular hunting device, but the name currently escapes me).  A fun insight into how these people (used to?) live… not that they were talking in past tense, but something told me they were most likely going to change back into normal clothes and stop hunting with blow guns shortly after we left.

            


       

      

 

After cleaning ourselves up a little back at the lodge we reconvened for happy hour in the “bar”.   A surprisingly good cask wine appeared to selling for the bargain price of $3.50 so we tucked in.  Only later did we realise that perhaps the $3.50 was for a glass rather than a box – but given there were neither bar staff nor glasses available (just a fridge and a sheet of paper to record consumption), it was an honest mistake – and lead to us no doubt being a lot more forgiving about the bizarre evening activity.  Said evening activity was a night insect walk through the jungle.  Our first clue that this might be a strange thing to do, was when our guide indicated he wasn’t actually coming with us – a guy called Ecuador, who it turns out could neither speak English nor identify anything beyond “araña” and “otra araña”, was leading the way.  Given his lack of any apparent qualifications, I can only assume they drew straws for it, and he got the short one.  We weren’t going to mess with him though – he had a machete.   It also didn’t take long to figure out that half the group (myself included) actually hate bugs and spiders…. So walking through a dark jungle in the rain hoping to find these things was a perverse idea of fun.  The only reason we wanted to find them was so that they didn’t find us first!  Quite a funny night though and did get some pretty cool pics to show for it.

After an interesting but reasonably inactive day, I was happy to learn that the next day we were going to spend hiking through the rainforest and climbing waterfalls.  And it didn’t disappoint.  Got thoroughly soaked but had a whole lot of fun in the process.  There’s something very exhilarating about hoisting yourself up a rock-face with cold water crashing down all over you.  Adventure completed, that afternoon we drove to Termas Papallacta – the fancy bit of the tour.  We knew the resort was going to be pretty swish given how keen Jhayro was to get there.  And swish it was.  After a slap up feed, a lovely evening of bonding was spent in the natural hot springs with bottles of wine and a light dusting of rain.   Half the group enjoying the change of pace so much that they opted out of the hike the following day in favour of more relaxing.

                                                                                

To be fair, the next day’s hike did involve being up for 7am breakfast before going (in the rain) up to 15000ft and rapidly descending along a super muddy trail for 4 hours in the hopes of the weather clearing enough to see the amazing views.   Despite the altitude and the lack of traction, speed was paramount if we actually wanted to shower before returning to Quito.   Whilst the weather didn’t really clear enough to see it at its best, I was still glad I opted to do the hike – as I’m under no misconceptions about the level of exercise I’m going to need to maintain with the food I’m eating if I’m to have a chance of continuing to fit into any of my clothes for the remainder of my trip!  The other positive was we had just enough time for showers!!   So after the shower and some lunch it was back to Quito where we said our goodbyes – mostly just to Jhayro, as all of us bar the cat lady were continuing on together for the Galapagos tour.  All in all, it did turn out to be a “good group” and was a great way to spend 5.5 days in Ecuador!

 

Quito – a tale of 2 cities (and 3 hostels)

Quito, Quito, Quito… I’m really not quite sure what to make of you.  Fair to say the drive in from the airport was breathtaking – both for the ridiculous driving antics of the cabbie, and for the jaw-droppingly beautiful mountain/volcanic surrounds that the city is so delicately perched within.  But I don’t think I’m particularly enamoured with the city itself.  Perhaps the tranquil walkability of Cuenca has spoiled me, but the moment I step into the streets of Quito I feel like I need to be on high alert….Bag in front, no walking around after dark, and no stopping for photos in areas not bustling with other people… and time to kiss goodbye the concept of walking across the street assuming the cars are not going to actively try to mow you down too.   The fact that they have police attempting to enforce some sort of order at so many intersections with fully functioning traffic lights gives a bit of an indication of the state of affairs.  But before I even hit all of that, my most pressing issue would appear to be the gaping hole in the ground where the entry to my hostel is presumably supposed to be.

Welcome to Quito!

The owner is most apologetic, and at first I’m not overly phased if the only issue is going to be a bit of a hop skip and jump to get in and out the front door, but I quickly learn it is potentially a far bigger problem – the fact that she says she’s called everyone with bookings from the following day to cancel as they possibly will need to shut the water off entirely has me slightly more concerned – I’ve deliberately chosen this hostel for the good reviews and location, so the thought of having to start the research all over (with a slimmer choice due to the last minute nature – and of course, Sir Paul McCartney being in town)  just seems like an unnecessary hassle for 2 nights… but is it the lessor of 2 evils? No friends, no water doesn’t exactly have holiday written all over it!  Besides, I am the Bellagio Backpacker – I have come to expect certain standards.  In the end I decide I’ll find somewhere else for my 2^nd set of 2 nights later in the week, but agree with the owner that my best bet at this point is to play it by ear and at least stay the first night (for which she won’t charge me) and then come the morning, will re-assess.  I figure I want to maximise the daylight hours actually seeing the city and can then trawl the internet for other options in the evening (when exploring too far becomes too dangerous anyway).

 

So my first stop after the eventful check-in is at Basilica del Voto Nacional – a beautiful gothic church which appears to be pretty much in between my hostel and the middle of the old town.  I’m not a huge church person – I have to confess that a few months travelling through Europe ruined me in this regard, and my becoming a bit of a “seen one, seen them all” type was probably inevitable, however this particular church has got my interest due to the crazy description of the viewing points available from climbing the bell towers.  The guide-book has it sounding like some kind of high adrenaline theme-park style adventure just to get to the top, so I’m in like Flynn.  If only I could find the appropriate entry!  Unfortunately I’m forced to invest $2 to walk through the church (a process I always feel a bit uncomfortable with when there’s people in there actually praying), and I later discover it to be a completely unnecessary spend if doing the climb – which was of course another couple of dollars – I get the feeling they’d charge you to blow your nose in this city if they could!  $4 dollars later (which I’m now thinking in terms of it being equivalent to a 3 course meal with 2 beers in Cuenca – when in reality it’s just a large cup of coffee in Sydney), I find the stairs and start to make my way up.  So far it’s your standard spiral staircase, but I’m on the look-out not to miss the bit where it “gets interesting”… eventually I come to a landing with a sign that says something along the lines of “no children unless accompanied by adults” and I feel like I’m getting warmer.  Walking across a suspension bridge, you come to a ladder which all seems pretty straight-forward.  But it’s on the next landing where things get interesting.  The ladder type structure continues to weave up… but it’s very much open to the elements – and would almost certainly require a safety harness and full disclaimer to be signed if climbing a similar structure in Australia.  This is what the guide-book was talking about! I have arrived! And the view is spectacular – $4 well spent – now it’s time to go check out the rest of town.

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The old town (“Centro historico”) is a UNESCO heritage site – full of plazas and churches and impressively old architecture – but it’s also super steep, rather disorientating and has quite a gritty feel to it.   Perhaps the afternoon storms which prevented me from my intended ice-creams and people watching in Plaza Grande (which was quickly revised to having a hot chocolate in the nearest café) put a dent on my first impressions, or perhaps I’m just more a small town girl at heart… either way, one thing Quito cannot be faulted on is the simplicity and efficiency of its bus/tram service.  25c (paid on entry to the bus stop) basically gets you anywhere – so navigating back to my hostel when the electrical storm strikes is far simpler than I thought.  Back at the hostel though, the owner has an update for me:  The water is going to be shut off at 7am the next day, so I’ll need to make alternative arrangements.   On the bright side, the WiFi connection in this place is the best I’ve had so far in Ecuador, so finding a new place to stay doesn’t prove to be as big of a challenge as feared.  The following morning I’ll move 1km down the road to Minka hostel – the pics look excellent and it’s cheaper – so as long as the process of moving doesn’t eat into my day too much, I’ll be pretty happy with the outcome.

I decide I’ll head into the new town – aka “Gringo-land” or “The Mariscal” for dinner – I figure I need to at least check it out at some point during my stay – and the best thing going for it appears to be the food options, so it’s a natural choice.  Arriving there is like stepping into another country though.  It’s weird.  There’s an English pub belting out Oasis, an American place flogging burgers and a whole lot of other pubs boasting (amidst their neon lighting) various happy hours and menu options – all in English and all under the rather ominous shadow of a massive TV screen.  What the Foch?  I feel like I’ve stepped out of Ecuador and into some bizarre parallel tourist universe – and I don’t particularly like it.  Now don’t get me wrong, I’m under no misconceptions about the fact that I’m most definitely a tourist – my blue eyes give that away in an instant – and then of course my very slow version of the Spanish language kicks in for those who might have missed my colouring, but something just doesn’t feel right about the atmosphere here.  I certainly didn’t fly to the other side of the world for this.  So I hot-foot it out of the main plaza in the direction of the restaurant I’d found on trip advisor that sounded more like my scene – only to get there to find a sign that it is closed for 2 weeks (starting from the day before).  So I go in search of my second option, which is a little Italian place a couple of streets back from the main strip.  Thankfully it’s there and it’s open as I don’t have anything else nearby noted on my little piece of paper and it’s starting to get too dark to wander.  The pasta is delicious (yay!), but the beer is atrocious.  Nothing will make me labour through 1 pint of beer for longer than if you pour it in a glass with a salted rim and some gross lime and spice mixture inside.  Michelada I believe they call it – a sacrilegious waste of a perfectly good beer is my take on it.  I’m now avoiding everything starting with an M from this point forward – better to be safe than sorry!

 

Besides a relocation (which turns out to be an excellent upgrade!),

Hostel # 2 – a marked improvement!

plans for my 2^nd day in Quito consist primarily of a trip to the middle of the world – or at least, a super cheesy town busting at the seams with souvenir shops, but still a genuine drawcard for the priceless photo opportunity in front of the monument straddling a giant painted line at a latitude of 0’0’0.  It’s almost even worth it just for the bus adventure to get there.   Whilst the first 40minutes are just on the regular bus line, it’s when you transfer to the “Mitad del Mundo” shuttle that things get really entertaining.  Whilst there’s a lot more students/locals on the bus than I would have expected, there is of course a higher concentration of tourists on this service than others – so what a brilliant opportunity this presents to sell things to an unsuspecting audience!   The first guy I don’t even have a clue what it is he’s selling – but it’s obvious from the length of his spiel and the conspicuous briefcase he has full of his wares, that it’s dodgy, so as he makes his way down the bus I confidently intercept his offer with a “no gracias” and he continues on his way.  I’m quite surprised by how many people have taken what is surely some sort of scam…. But then the process becomes a bit clearer.  He bangs on for another 10minutes (kind of like the TV shopping network presenters who seem to be on a continuous loop) and then comes back down the aisle collecting either money or his mystery item back – I think he might have made 1 sale.   Muchas Gracias, god bless and off he gets.  Then on jumps the mint kid.  He’s a lot more popular – though his strategy of handing out 2 to everyone falls through once he gets to a local who hands back 1 packet and half the money – everyone thereafter realising that you didn’t actually need to buy both.  After mints, there was some lady selling weird candy – didn’t get many takers, then on jumps an ice-cream boy.  How the hell he is keeping those soft serves from melting I don’t know, but I like it.  Ice-cream boy comes in at 2^nd place for me though – the winner has to be the old guy attempting to sell cds.  He jumps on board with a boom box and proceeds to fast forward through the entire dreadful repertoire – which can be yours to keep for just $2.  He seems genuinely surprised when there aren’t many takers, so starts singing along with the music to demonstrate what fun you can have if you buy it, but alas, no further sales today – tough crowd I guess.   So entertained am I by the constant activity that I am scarcely aware of the 45 minutes that has passed, and before I know it the ticket lady is announcing we’ve arrived.

I pay my few dollars to walk in, get my photo, post a letter, and quickly determine that there isn’t much else (besides harassment to eat at the various establishments) for me here.

Selfie on straddling both hemispheres (sorta)

The other point of interest nearby though is a village in the crater of a volcano – so I sign up for the $4 tour which seems a simpler option that haggling with a cabbie to take me there and back for any less than that.  It’s just me and one other Ecuadorian guy in a bus that would seat 20 usually – so I reckon we got a pretty good deal.  The view is beautiful – and we get there just in time to properly see everything before the afternoon clouds set in.  It’s super super lush and green down in the little village – the magic of the volcanic minerals.   The guide also explains that the village doctor had to move because he had no patients – so clean is the air and healthy is the farming lifestyle that apparently no one gets sick.  Nice problem to have.

 

Pululahua – geobotanical reserve in the crater of an extinct volcano!

After returning from the volcano, the one item that remains on my to-do list before returning to Quito is the Inti-nan museum around the corner – the guide-book promises an array of practical geeky science stuff playing with the curiosities of being on the equator – I can hardly miss that now can I?   It doesn’t disappoint – first we see some real shrunken human heads (part of a tribal ritual) which are totally awesome but not particularly equator related and I’m itching to get to the good stuff so don’t really pay a huge amount of attention to the spiel about indigenous housing and hunting and the like.   Around the corner though is the iconic painted line again (this one claiming to be at the true GPS 0’0’0 point – unlike the massive monument which was allegedly later discovered to be slightly off the mark – how awkward.)  The guide first impresses us with his water down the drain trick – when the sink is on the line, it drains straight down, move it to the left and it goes anticlockwise, to the right it goes clockwise.  Now I have of course flushed toilets and emptied sinks in both hemispheres so this is not new a new phenomenon to me – but to see it change 3 times in the space of 5 meters is pretty cool.  My inner sceptic is of course trying to determine if he’s somehow poured the water differently or something, but it looks legit.  Up next we get to balance an egg on a nail – apparently only possible on the equator too – but even with the forces balanced it’s bloody hard!!  As is closing your eyes and attempting to walk in a straight line… apparently your middle ear function that you use for balance when you don’t have sight, isn’t all it’s cracked up to be when you’re on the equator – it’s like we suddenly can’t even walk.  There’s also a few cool sun dials and ancient calendars and a pen of guinea pigs – because why wouldn’t you have guinea pigs at this museum?  I think the rather tenuous link is that the museum mentions something about culture… and it’s of course part of the Ecuadorian culture to eat them… but it still seems rather random.  Definitely a fun little museum though – so I depart with a smile on my face and egg master certificate in hand, primed to commence the return bus adventure – which proves to be just as good as the first.

On the balance of the egg, I’d say this line is more real than the first..

Even better though is the fact the sun seems to have come out in Quito – a rarity so late in the day in April, so I waste no time in flagging down the next cab and heading up to Telerifiqo – a gondola ride to the top of a volcano that came highly recommended (as long as it’s clear weather).  The lack of queue is a total win – apparently sometimes you can queue for hours, but is seems I’m the only one in the world who’s chosen to do this at 4:30pm on a random Tuesday so I have the place to myself.  It’s a truly amazing view on the super smooth ride up to 4100m – and then from the top looking over the other side is almost even better.  Bit chilly though!  The staff are all in ski-wear – so perhaps my cardy is under-doing things a little.  Upon returning to the bottom, I wander though the amusement park they’ve built there – again, completely deserted and altogether quite odd – I love an amusement park as much as the next person, but gosh there’s something extremely eerie about a deserted one!  I decide I’ve taken enough risks in the last week, so don’t go on any rides, and instead get a cab to take me to Calle La Rhonda in the old town.  This ends up being one of my favourite spots in Quito I think – it’s a completely pedestrianized little cobblestone strip with 18th century architecture and a nice subtle lighting – almost feels a little parisienne, but I like it because it’s got the old style, but feels a lot safer and with less hustle and bustle than the rest of the old town.  I possibly also am a little biased towards it because I stumble across a Republic of Cocoa shop whilst I’m there… and proceed to taste test no less than 20 varieties of chocolate. Mmmm chocolate.  I decide I have to at least buy one item of the overpriced stock as a good-will gesture for tasting so much, but it was certainly well worth it!  Dinner is also a delicious steaming prawn dish in a white wine, chilli and garlic broth, which I team up with an seafood empanada as an entrée.  All in all a pretty jam-packed and enjoyable day!

     

 

The next morning I have an early start for a 3 day tour around the Quilotoa loop – that should probably be the subject of its own blog post as it’s definitely not Quito – but as I’ll probably never get around to that, I’ll summarise by saying the scenery was spectacular, the people super friendly and I’ll take being out and about hiking and horse-riding and playing football in the fresh air rather than walking through a polluted city any day!

 

 

Arriving back in Quito on Friday afternoon it’s time to find hostel # 3 – I’d originally of course planned on staying in the same place (and leaving the bulk of my luggage behind for the Quilotoa adventure), but I wasn’t going to risk the sewerage/water issues persisting at hostel #1 and unfortunately #2 was fully booked for the weekend.  Hostel #3 is called Boutiquito and is in a pretty cool bohemian district – Gualupo.  Admittedly it’s reasonably close to the Gringo-land I earlier dismissed, but it’s on the outskirts enough that it has a different feel to it… and it is music to my ears when my driver excitedly announces what a good safe neighbourhood it is.  The hostel is super cool – though unfortunately I think I get the abridged intro when the guy realises my Spanish isn’t exactly perfecto.  In my defence, asking someone if they’ve stayed at the hostel before is a pretty unexpected question at check-in…. and I was at least able to answer when he rephrased it to ask if it was my first time there. My confidence with the language certainly continues to see-saw!    Was pleased to be able to walk to a nice restaurant nearby rather than have to cab it, and then opted for a quiet night in to attend to some admin as I’m envisioning a very busy fortnight coming up with my Active Adventures tour that starts on Sunday!

On Saturday, I opt to head out of Quito again to check out the famous Otovalo markets – it takes about 2.5 hours on the bus to get there, but is definitely a sight to be seen.  Almost the entire town seems to be a market!! Handicrafts, ponchos, textiles, paintings, flowers, an oversupply of blankets, clothes, shoes, food, animals… they have the works.  I don’t actually end up buying any souvenirs (it feels too early in my trip to have to start hauling extra stuff – and I saw some similar cheaper things in other smaller towns in any case)….but I particularly enjoyed strolling through the food markets with all the super fresh and insanely cheap produce for which the Ecuadorians (not all of them necessarily local) have come in droves to do their shopping – and am pretty happy when I manage to get a delicious lunch for $1!  A nice town (much nicer than I’d expected actually)  and a good day out – to be fair to Quito, something it really does have going for it, is being a great stepping stone to get to a whole lot of other really cool places!

This little piggy went to market..

Lunch!

1 of ~50000 fruit & veg stands

Surviving as a Student in Cuenca

As memories of San Francisco were engulfed by a drunken fog* and what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, this blog (or rather, random extended postings to the web for those few followers not satisfied with my intermittent facebook updates and horrendous postcard discipline) beginneth in Ecuador – or as I like to think of it – the real middle earth.

Arriving in a dirty sweaty Guayaquil as the sun is about to set, having been awake for 36 hours straight (and only having slept a few hours the night prior), is not a suggestion one finds under the “lonely planet recommends” heading.  On the plus side, I don’t think my smell was remotely noticeable, and the cabbie knew exactly what I meant when I told him my hostel was in the same street as “Hamburgueses de Colombia” – now given said shop-front turned out to be no more memorable than a cow in a paddock, those must be some hamburgers is all I can say.  Not that I braved walking down the street in the dark to acquire one  – the afternoon empanada on the plane and Kir Kir’s trail bar donation were going to have to suffice as my evening meal.  I knew I needed a proper night’s sleep to tackle the challenges the next day was going to hold.

My early challenges in Ecuador included acquiring a bus ticket (harder than it sounds when the initially planned company isn’t runnning!), surviving the notoriously dangerous ride from Guayaquil to Cuenca (had I read about the frequency of hijackings on this route prior to making arrangements, I’d most likely have rolled the dice on the small plane instead) & arriving in Cuenca without a clue as to how to get to my host family’s house nor having made any direct contact with them (aforementioned San Francisco good times getting in the way of that).  The latter was seemingly the largest of them all, as it required me to face my number 1 fear – not death, nor spiders, nor public speaking – the dreaded phone call to a stranger in a foreign language comes in at number 1 for me.  Tossing some assorted silver-wear into the slot and nervously punching out the numbers, it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t even a clue what I was going to say – but luckily host-mama took a while to pick up so I was able to come up with a little spiel introducing myself in spanish… and all was going great guns until she interrupted me by excitedly asking how I was.  Ahhh small talk?  Please don’t distract me with this unscripted improv at such a big moment!!  Just as I managed to utter a “bien gracias” the phone-line must have sensed my despair and it promptly cut out.   Brilliant!  I now had to make a 2^nd call and didn’t have the language skills to even consider joking about the 1^st attempt, nor could I repeat my perfect introduction without sounding like a total robot.  After some small miracle I was able to ascertain the words taxi and an address though, so confidently made my way out to the taxi rank, where I soon discovered that in order to acquire one, it was essentially a race as to who could get in the car the fastest – who needs queuing when raw enthusiasm and athleticism rule?  It’s lucky I had youth on my side, as those grannies certainly weren’t hauling 30kgs on their back!

Feeling immensely satisfied with the 3 course lunch Cuenca-mum rapidly whipped up, I set about exploring the city of Cuenca (and attending to some necessary admin – like actually paying for my school fees and homestay).  Cuenca is a beautiful old city of cobblestone streets and impressive churches everywhere you turn – there’s 52 of them in fact – one for each week of the year!  My school for the week, Simon Bolivar, was conveniently located near the bustling central plaza “Parque Central”, so finding my bearings was never too difficult, which meant my preferred method of exploring – being completely random wandering, worked a treat here.  Meandering through the (apparently unseasonably sunny) streets in the opposite direction of the “bad area” that had been circled on my map, I found myself at a giant staircase leading down to a beautiful river – the Rio Tomebamba – the largest of the 4 rivers surrounding the city (I think).  It made for a delightful stroll along the banks, and quickly became one of my go-to spots for late afternoon relaxing.  It also led me to a cute little café that did a mean oreo milkshake.

     

One of the main activities I had planned for Cuenca though, was a week of intensive Spanish classes to supplement the 1 night a week I’d been doing for 14 months in Sydney before I left.  School here started each day at 8:30am and I had one-on-one lessons until 1:30 – talk about a recipe for a total brain explosion!  Let’s just say it’s really obvious if you tune out and you’re the only student in the class…and no matter how good you might be at avoiding eye contact without looking too much like you’re trying to avoid eye contact to get out of answering a question, this apparently doesn’t work when it comes to private tuition.   Luckily after the first day the teacher realised my inability to concentrate/give detailed answers about my personal life and opinion on world matters for 5 hours straight, and the next 3 day’s lessons were interspersed with trips to the museum and panama hat factory and a couple of movies.  They also thankfully give all the students a 20 minute morning tea break at 10:30 and this provided a great chance to meet the other students and speak English – whilst we were of course all there to learn Spanish, between the classes and the home-stay and making your way around the restaurants and shops, 20 minutes of English a day was a very nice respite!

The school also offers afternoon activities as another chance to socialise, but unfortunately it was a very quiet week – so instead of the advertised potential for cooking classes, cultural excursions & soccer matches, 2 of the 4 afternoons I was there they were just showing a documentary, so I didn’t bother attending.  The 2 I did go to were back-to-back salsa classes which were good fun – but certainly provided a lot more in the way of entertainment than mastery of said skill!  Apparently my natural tendency for distribution of weight, honed through years of being a centre-back in soccer and a centre in basketball, does not easily lend itself to being spun around (by a very short guy I might add) amongst other things!  Oh well.  Maybe I will be better at the Tango in Buenos Aires…  And on the plus side, I did at least make some friends to go have a beer with after class, so all in all, I’d say it was a success!

 

Come the weekend, I decided I should get out and about beyond the city confines, so ventured to “Cuenca Canopy” to fly through the trees on a zip-line on Saturday, and did a hiking trip through El Cajas National park on Sunday.  Both were good options, though it’s fair to say there’s an extra dimension added to adventurous activities when you can’t understand half of what the guide is telling you!  I just hoped they were only saying the standard stuff about not putting your hands in front of the carabiner and that I wasn’t missing important things that I’d need to do at the other end to actually stop or avoid hitting trees.  The most challenging translation proposition it turned out was when he was trying to ask me if I wanted to do the last one superman style….after 5 minutes of me only understanding he was asking me something about my legs and head, he finally said the word “superman” and all was clear – and I of course immediately replied in the affirmative!  What better way to fly through a valley 100s of metres above the ground?!  Besides, it was definitely much safer than my first attempt at actually getting to the Canopy place – lead astray by a hopeless tourist info guy who assured me the best way was to get the bus to Ricaurte and then it would just be an easy walk along one road for about 20 minutes… which promptly turned into the scariest 40 minutes “walk” of my life!  40 because I turned around after 20 when it was clear I was nowhere near my destination still (despite my walking speed being significantly above average, the only thing I was rapidly approaching was the probability of being mugged) so I needed to head back to the city and start again following my original plan (hiring a taxi to take me there and wait for me to finish).  I’d wasted 50c and 90minutes of my holiday – but turning around and starting again was by far my best decision of the day – I would never ever ever have found the place on foot.

The Cajas trip offered a different challenge entirely – the guide was bi-lingual and the pick-up point was an easy 10 minute walk from my house so no issues there, but the question “how are you with altitude?” followed by… “the hike we gonna do is at 4200m”  came as rather a surprise for myself and the other 2 guys in the car!  Perhaps they might have mentioned this detail at the time of booking?  An emergency stop at the servo to buy some chocolate and more water was definitely in order.  We all survived though (and I somehow avoided what I thought was going to be a certain headache) and we saw some beautiful mountains and lagoons and plants along the way.    And for the 2nd time in as many weeks, I heard tales of the problems of the eucalyptus trees that had been introduced “all the way from Australia” – apparently San Franciscans don’t like them because they explode in a fire, and now the Ecuadorians weren’t a fan either because they don’t play nicely with the other trees.  All I could think as I listened to the complaints was “give me a home among the gum trees, with lots of plum trees… a sheep or 2 and a kangaroo, clothesline out the back, verandah out the front and an olllld rockin chair…”  But I digress.

    

My last night in Cuenca, being a Sunday, was a big family dinner.  The “kids” and grandkids all came around so there was about 14 of us crammed into the kitchen in total.  It was toasted sandwiches for all – but I was served a starter of soup as well – nothing like being the “special foreigner” when you’re doing your best to blend in.  A fun night, but left me wishing I had enough Spanish to actually participate in the rapid fire conversations that were taking place.   One day…  But now it’s time to say goodbye to the family and to Cuenca as I’m Quito-bound in the morning.

 

Oh and I should also add that I managed to survive week 1 living with 3 dogs and not getting rabies, and that despite suggestions of the likely prevalence of unwanted attention towards a solo female traveller from the more forward latino men, the only hint of an advance came from my female Spanish teacher commenting on what beautiful aquamarine eyes I have… mmm ok.. let’s see what next week has in store… J

Avoid rabies in week 1: Tick

 

*whilst it is potentially true that the entire Napa valley and boatloads of Aussie wine were consumed as part of the Wilson’s “Month of Aussies”, claims of lost memories are entirely false – truth be told, I was way too busy having a blast with the hosts with the most to even contemplate sitting down to write anything about the amazing time had there.  This is not to say this blog will be filled with just the non-amazing stuff, but just that I figure if it’s to ever get off the ground, I need to kick-start it in a country where I’m on my lonesome.