Start Spreading the News

I have officially survived my first 24 hours in Manhattan. I moved into my dorm yesterday, and met my new roommate, Christie. She's a sweet girl, so it won't be hard for us to get along, provided that we can keep our tempers under control in the shoebox we're sharing. I've lived in dorms before, I spent 3 years on campus at OkState, so I knew what to expect. My first roommate, April, and I shared a single room our Freshman year, and I was thinking that this dorm would be a lot like that. And, to be fair, it is...except that it's 1/4 the size. That's really saying something. My college dorm was 4 times as big as the one I'm paying $1,100/month for.

Now, when I say small, I mean tiny. The room consists of a dresser, a set of bunk bets, a mini fridge and a microwave. If we're both standing on the floor, there isn't enough space to open the door. Instead, we play a fun game of climb into/onto bed to let someone leave/enter the apartment. This also means that there is no room for storage, so we have all of our food items balancing precariously atop the microwave, and all of the bathroom essentials on top of the dresser. It's cramped, to say the lease. But, I guess that gives us the real NY experience! None of the glitz and glamour of an apartment with room to move that come with the comforts of outer city living.

All that said, I'm already really enjoying my time here. NY is enchanting to say the least. The people are rude, and downright crazy, things are more expensive that anywhere else I've ever lived, and it's a filthy, crowded stinkhole of an amazing city. You just have to look at that skyline to fall in love. And, because it's so crowded, you can find anything you need within a 4 block radius. I needed to drop off my watch at a Swatch to get it refitted, so I planned my day around the Times Square location. 2 blocks later I came across a fedex office where I needed to get some things printed/scanned, then as I started meandering towards the Chrysler building to get some photos, I found a Best Buy where I was able to get my camera looked at. And, just as I was leaving I had a thought that I would like to get some Indian food, when a man dressed as a menu walked up to me, and handed me a takeaway list for and Indian restaurant. It's like the city knows what you want!

I haven't quite figured out how I'll adapt to the crazies though. This morning I sat on the subway, when a homeless Schizophrenic man, toting a large trash bag full of cans sat next to me, and lit up a cigarette. While enjoying his illegal smoke, he crushed a coke can under his foot, lifted the can to his ear, and proceeded to have a conversation with Coca Cola through his can-phone. I got off at the next stop. I also saw two of NYPD's finest, lounging against an illegally parked car, having their morning coffee and donuts, when the car owner came out and shouted at them for sitting on his car. They had a full-fledged argument about who did the more illegal thing, before parting ways. The car owner didn't get a ticket, and the police officers finished their breakfast before walking off.

And then, of course, there was this:

I'm not certain, but I think I won at crazy-people-of-NYC bingo today.

How we finally made it to Bolivia

Our decision in Cordoba to go to Santa Cruz together was a bit of a relief for me. Bolivia is South America's poorest country, and I was a bit worried about crossing the border and taking night buses on my own. We've heard plenty of stories about night buses being hijacked, passengers being robbed, or buses going over cliffs in the night...even though all the stories seem to be at least about 5 years old.

We caught our bus from Cordoba, and arrived in a small town in Northern Argentina, called Metan, at 6 in the morning where we needed to wait for 3 hours to change buses. Rich and I had decided in Cordoba that we should use up all our Argentinian pesos on a nice dinner, so we only had a small amount left for breakfast, but it turned out to be just the right amount for 2 coffees and two tostados. We sat in the only cafe and watched Argentinian news for two hours, which was mostly about a competition between two cities to build the largest chocolate Easter egg. The footage ran on a 4 picture loop while newscasters tried to make a 15 minute story out of, which was repeated every hour.

When our next bus arrived, we hopped on board and were treated to a series of really bad movies, one of which was called "John Carter" and was basically a Star Wars meets Civil War film, via time travel. Prior to our trip, I had a visa consultation to get all the necessary paperwork in order for our trip. I got my Brazil travel visa, yellow fever shot, travel insurance, and all the other necessary fees ready for payment. I knew that I had to pay a fee in Bolivia and provide my yellow fever vaccine confirmation. Our bus pulled up at the border town of Yacuiba, and we queued to get our exit stamps from Argentina.  Stamps received, we re-queued for the entry into Bolivia. One Bolivian border official asked me if I had my visa. When I said no, he told me it would be $135 USD, which I informed him was fine as we had the money, so he sent me to another official. The next person told me I needed several other documents, including 2 ID photos for my visa. We argued back and forth for a while, and he provided me with an informal list of things I would need before I could enter Bolivia, and sent me into Bolivia to get these things done. I was told the bus would be waiting an hour as the road was closed to vendors until 6.30, and which time the bus would leave.

Rich and I ran through the streets of Yacuiba, which is a stark contrast from it's Argentinian sister city on the other side of the border. The streets are flooded with vendor stalls, selling anything from fruit to fake Nikes. Our first stop was a money exchange to get some Bolivanos, then we headed off looking for a photo stall. We asked a policewoman who sent us to the plaza, and found a small, doorless shop. The shop was set up in between two buildings as an afterthought and contained a red screen, and a man with a digital camera. He took my photo on a red background, and gave me four copies printed on glossy paper. We were about to go to an internet cafe, when we realized we only had 15 minutes left, so decided it would be better to go back and see if what we had was acceptable.

On our way back, we ran into our bus, which was leaving. We told the driver we needed out bags, and were waiting for someone to open the door, when a man who had been helping our bus passengers at the border approached me and told me it would be no problem to get my stamp, he could do it, and we'd catch the bus in time. Rich was skeptical, so we told him we'd get our bags and come back to the border. We again tried to get our bags off the bus, but the bus driver simply opened the door to get on. We jumped on the bus, and deliberated what to do next, deciding that it would be better to stay on the bus and just go to the embassy/consulate in Santa Cruz with all the documents and explain the situation. The border town, after all, was chaos. And who knows when the next bus will be? Our plan worked for a full 5 minutes, until the man who we left earlier jumped on board the bus and made us get off. He again reassured me that the bus would wait for us, but when I asked the driver he told me he had a schedule to follow and couldn't wait - fair enough. We grabbed our bags, and headed back to the border.

I gave them the documents I'd pulled together and told them about our internet cafe woes, where he still refused me entry, and told me I could come back, when I had the remaining items they wanted. Additionally, he now wanted a copy of my passport and my credit card. We walked back to the Argentinian border, explaining that I couldn't enter Bolivia, and we would be re-entering Argentina for the night. They told me I couldn't get a new entry stamp into Argentina, because I needed a Bolivian exit stamp before they could give me one, but they'd let us enter for the night anyway, and in the morning we wouldn't have any problems.

We wandered around the border town, before it became apparent that there was no way of getting money there, and we didn't have enough money to spend on a hotel for the night. The receptionist at the hotel did tell us that the nearby town of Tartagal had all the things we needed, and he found us a taxi driver that would bring us there, knowing we didn't have the money yet, on the promise we'd go to a cash point first thing. In Tartargal we found all the things we needed: a cashpoint, a hotel for the night, dinner, and an internet cafe with a printer to get the documents ready. We unsuccessfully tried to relax for the night, and then returned to the border the next day.

As I already had my Argentinian exit stamp, they sent me over to Bolivia to get my entry without further questioning. I handed all my documents to the Bolivian border officer, who looked at my passport, pointed out my previous days exit from Argentina, and told me I couldn't enter Bolivia because my exit stamp wasn't the same date. I argued with him about the previous days events, and he sent me back to Argentina. The Argentinian officials looked at my passport, and I explained again what had happened. Unfortunately, their protocol is that they can not give another re-entry stamp, unless I have an exit stamp from another country. I explained that I understood, but currently, I was in no country, and couldn't get a stamp to either exit or enter either country. This also meant that if I went to another port of entry, I'd have the same problems. The female officer explained that I needed to go back to Bolivia again and try harder. I could hear her and her colleagues talking about the situation as I started to walk over to Bolivia, and she called me back. She took all my documents and went with a male colleague to the Bolivian border to argue on my behalf. After about 20 minutes she came back and walked me to Bolivia.

The new Bolivian border officer told me "The problem stops with me", and started getting my paperwork ready. I thanked Argentina for their help, and when they laughed Bolivian man no. 2 handed me over to a woman. I gave her my documents, and the money, $135 USD. She sat counting the money, and held up a $20 with a tiny tear on the crease, and then a $5 with a black mark on the corner, and told me Bolivia couldn't accept money in bad condition, we would need to get money in better condition. We again argued that it wasn't possible. Where could we get USD in Bolivia? After a few minuted of back and forth, she sent Rich to the money exchange, where he traded all the money we'd taken from the bank last night for Bolivianos, and we paid the $25 USD of damaged funds to Bolivia in their own currency.

Finally having my visa and stamp in hand, we walked through the chaotic streets once more to take a taxi to the bus station. A $1 taxi ride later, we found plenty of offices offering trips to Santa Cruz. The only problem was that it was 10 AM, and every bus left at 8 PM. So, we'd need to wait 12 hours longer in this town before we could escape.

How we ended up in Cordoba

It´s no secret that travel plans tend to change... the weather, illness, and bad luck make sure of that. Rich and I seem to have run into a bit of bad luck lately.

Our plan was to go from Argentina into Chile for about 3 weeks, travel to Patagonia, back up to Santiago, and then cross over into Argentina once more to experience Mendoza. While in Patagonia, Rich finally found an affordable ticket to travel back to the UK for his grandparent´s 60th wedding anniversary. So, we decided that after Mendoza, we would travel to a Northern Argentinian town called Salta. From there, Rich would bus to Santa Cruz, Bolivia to catch his flight, and I would slowly work my way up to Santa Cruz to meet him upon his return. What we weren´t expecting, was Easter. My mother always says that Easter is the highest holiday, and that definitely seems to be true in Latin America. It´s celebrated from the Thursday- Tuesday, and there is a lot of travelers, both nationals and foreigners, visiting their families and beautiful cities.

Before our last day in the park with our new friends in Mendoza to drink out enormous wine, Rich and I stopped by the bus station to purchase some tickets for a bus to Salta that evening. We´ve been buying tickets on the same day, and sometimes 1 or 2 days in advance for our whole trip. We bought two nights in a hostel in Salta that morning, so everything was in order. We went to Andesmar, one our favorite bus companies to get our tickets, and were told all the buses leaving today were full. We tried a few other vendors, and found this to be the case everywhere. Unfortunately, because of Easter, Mendoza was also full, so staying an extra night wasn´t possible. Going back to Andesmar to reconfirm, the ticket salesman told us that yes, all the buses are full from Mendoza, however there are lots of seats leaving from Cordoba. Cordoba is only about 10 hours from Mendoza on the bus. Given our predicament, Rich and I decided that the best thing would be to buy an overnight bus to Cordoba, sleep on the bus, see Cordoba for a day, and catch and overnight to Salta. We bought our tickets to Cordoba leaving at 9PM that night, and headed back to a call center to call our hostel in Salta to change the booking.

I called the google provided number, and was told that this wasn´t the phone number for a hostel any longer, but the man provided me with the number of a hostel. I called that number and was told that was not the hostel where we made out booking. We checked online again, and I called a third number which was disconnect. After scanning various websites, we learned that our hostel had shut down several months ago, and had not yet been removed as an option on the hostel booking website. No other options were pulling online, so we decided to get to Cordoba, and find a hostel there, as we´d run out of time in Mendoza.

A quick overnighter later, we were in Cordoba. I spoke to the tourist information who gave me a list of hostels to call. I went to a call center to try out a few of the recommended ones, and quickly learned they were full. I called all 25 hostels in the list - no one had availability. We looked online, and there was nothing hostel/hotel, nothing in Cordoba, nothing in Salta. When I started to look for camping locations, Rich suggested we catch a 36 hour bus from Cordoba to Santa Cruz in Bolivia. I´m not one for long bus journeys, but even a 36 hour bus ride sounds better then sleeping in the bus station, so we bought tickets for a bus leaving that night. We spent a day walking around the city center, checking out a few museums, and spending the last of our Argentinian pesos on a few good steaks. Then, we went to hostel and asked to pay a small fee to use their internet and showers for a couple of hours, before catching our bus to Bolivia. So, maybe things didn´t go to plan, but it turned out to be a good day in Cordoba, and we have a new plan.

How we ended up with a 5 Litre bottle of wine

We arrived in Mendoza after a quick couple of days in Santiago. Beacuase of Easter, there were only a handfull of average to poorly rated hostels available, for higher prices that we expected. Our hostel was decent. The beds were terrible. The breakfast was low quality white bread with some sort of jam, and bad coffee. But overall, the hostel was clean, and fairly quiet. We got into Mendoza around 1 in the morning, after crossing the border from Chile, and went straight to sleep in order to wake up at 8 AM the next day to head to Maipu. Maipu is where the vineyards are. And, to make things more interesting, you´re permitted to rent bicycles, and ride bikes from one vineyard/brewery/absynth house to the next, tasting as you go.

We met some other tourists on the bus, and joined up for a day of wine and fun. The bike rental people sent us to the olive oil factory first, where we had a quick 2 minute tour of their lone, 2 yr old olive tree, and were told that their rel trees are some 15 km away. However, the tour was concluded with a tasting. At the first table we sampled olive spreads, balsamic vinegar, and different oils on fresh bread. At the second table we tried their jams/dulce de leche on more bread. And, at the third table we each received two shots of liquor. I´m not entirely sure why the olive oil factory has a liquor section made out of everything except olives, but they do. I was told that their Absyth was made with wormwood, which is no longer used in European varieties, so I tried it. It succeeded in burning my chest enough that I had a minor cough for the rest of the day. For my second shot I tried a rose liquor, which was much more delicate (as you would imagine) and much tastier.

From here, we rode our bikes about 8km to the first vineyard, Familia di Tommaso, which was an older, traditional style vineyard. The tour was significantly longer, and we all learned something new about wine. After the tour, we received 4 tastings, a Sauvignon Blanc, a Malbec, a Cabernet Sauvignon, and a sweet dessert wine with a savor of walnuts. They were all good, but the dessert wine was what struck everyone´s fancy, and we bought a couple of different bottles to enjoy later together. Later came much sooner than we expected, since we soon discovered that Rich had a flat tire, and we needed to call on the hire place to swap bikes. We went to the patio of the vineyard to drink a bottle of wine while we waited, and were told that we could only drink bottles bought through the waitress there, so we´d need to bring our shop purchased wine to the picnic area. The picnic area, about 100m from the winery was a couple of logs sitting next to random decaying bits of metal scrap. Nevertheless, the wine was just as tastey the second time around, and when we went back to our bikes, a fresh bike had been left for Rich.

We rode 3km back up the road to the next winery, Mevi, which was a small modern vineyard. At this point, we figured we´d already been to a few tours that day, so why not just buy a couple of bottles of wine between the 5 of us and drink them there? It´s much more cost efficient that way. So, we bought a Torrontes first, and when that had gone, a good red. The wine seemed to be getting better and better, and we savored our drinks for a full 1.5 hours at the second vineyard before we realized it was getting late, and we needed to make it to our last location before they closed at 6 PM.

The last location was just a quick 2k down the side roads to the beer garden. After a full day of drinking wine (in the sun), and riding bikes (in the sun) it was nice to sit in the shade and eat some pizzas, a few empanadas, and have just a quick one or two beers. Stuffed, hot, and very happy, we rode our bikes back to the rental place, with the intention of turning them in and going straight back to Mendoza. However, Mr Hugo´s bikes turned into a patio party with all the different groups mingling in the evening. We sat around for a couple of hours meeting new people and talking about our trips. Someone on a bicycle said something to one of the guys at our table and gave a thumbs up. Rich gave a thumbs up back, and the guy returned with a 35peso (6 USD) 5 litre bottle of wine, that we apparently (mis)communicated wanting. Mr Hugo quickly came by to pop it open, and it took me 10 minutes to chase him down to put the cork back in it. And so, at around 10:30 PM that night, the 5 of us parted ways with promises to meet again tomorrow in the park, to drink the jumbo wine.

Dangerous Items

After many weeks in Brazil, we've arrived in Argentina! I'm in love with Argentina, and am now trying to make a plan to move here some day. We crossed the border at Iguacu/Iguazu after spending a day on the Brazilian side of the falls. Beforing arriving, I asked a lot of people which side of the falls was better, and most people say somthing along the line of "Both sides are great, just different." While I agree that they are both nice, I'd say the Argentian side is better. The park is much larger, and you get the same spectacular views as the Brazilian side + close up views of smaller waterfalls.

Before leaving the states, I made sure to pack several essential items. I have my waterproof jacket, malaria pills, a bikini, and (because of experience living in Prague) a 6 month supply of tampons, with applicators. My supply is made up of a hodge-podge of random sizes and brands, collected by my sister who gets free samples in the mail, and leftovers from my parents house - stuffed into a gallon-sized ziploc bag. What I've learned in my travels is that most of the world either doesn't use tampons, or doesn't use tampons with applicators. And, to be honest, I have no idea how to handle one of the applicator free variety. Unfortunately, just before our arrival at the falls, it was time to break the supply out of the bottom of my big bag, and keep it in the day pack. Rich has had an obsession with getting down to one bag, while I seem to be gathering more and more stuff, so we'd been using his rucksack as the day bag during out tours of Iguazu. 

We had a great time in Iguazu, and I still can't get over how beautiful and impressive it is. We left Iguazu for Buenos Aires, using our favorite mode of transportation - the night bus. We're experts at the night bus now. Armed with snacks, the sleeping bag, a film on the laptop, and spare toilet paper, just in case, we boarded for the 18 hour bus ride from the falls to the big city. We watched "City of God", which is a great film, and settled down for some terrible bus sleep around 11 PM. The next morning, after having our bus-provided breakfast, we stopped at a securty check point, and two policemen boarded the bus. The did a quick scan for suspicious looking persons, and approached us. One policeman asked to see our passports, and then, deciding that we were very suspicious indeed, asked to see the contents of our bags. Rich, being the aisle seat, handed his over first. The policemen riffled through the bag...and that's when he pulled out a gallon of tampons. He opened the ziploc bag, and began to investigate each perfectly sealed packet. Then he turned to Rich:

Policia: Que es esto? (What is this)
Rich: Umm... para ella. (For her)
Policia: Que es?
Rich: (Looking at me in desperation)
Me: Son...algunos productos femininos (They are some feminine products)
Policia: (Calls for his comrade, holding a fistfull of tampons up in the air, shouting across the bus) Sabes que es? (Do you know what this is?)
Policia 2 : (picks up tampon and begins to look it over, feeling the shape of it through the packet.
At this point, everyone in the bus is looking at us. The woman in front of me, gives me a knowing look, and laughs a little under her breath at the genuine ignorance of the policemen, and Rich is frozen in his seat.
Policia 2: AH! (whispers to his comrade) Para Mujeres... (for women).
Policia: (still confused, begins to smell the bag and the individual packets)
Policia 2: (whispering...as if everyone else on the bus hadn't already figured it out) Tampones...(tampons).
The first policemen is still skeptical. "Why are they in his bag?" You can see him wondering. Policeman no. 2 walks away, after giving me a little nod. Suddenly, policeman no. 1 realizes there is an applicator device.
Policia: Ususalmente son pequenos, no? (They are usually small, right?)
Me: Si.
Policia: (smells another one) Y tienen olor? (And they scented?)
Me: Si.
He hands Rich back his bag, and reaches for mine. Upon opening it, bars of chocolate spill out into my lap, followed by two more tampons.

Policia: "Porque tiene muchos?" (why do you have so many?)...

Joao Pessoa

Today, were sitting in a glass walled dining room, overlooking the beach. The doors are open to let the breeze in. A cook brings us grilled cheese sandwiches, eggs, couscous, fruit, cereal, milk, juice, and coffee. After a few weeks of long bus journeys, and quick stopovers it feels really nice to be spoiled. Rich's friend, Rafael, comes from a nice family in Joao Pessoa. His mother, Rafael, and both his brothers are doctors. His father owns a dairy farm outside the city. They've just built this beautiful, open floor plan house on the ocean.

Rafael has taken some days off of work to show us around his city, and to take us to some of the countries nicest beaches. His family tells us that Joao Pessoa doesn't get many tourists, especially not overseas travelers, and they accept us warmly into their family for our stay. Mariana, Rafaels girlfriend, has taught me the basic steps for forro when they took us out for a night on the town. It's been really nice to stay with a family, and I hope that they all come visit us one day.

The Siren Call

Our guidebook accurately defines Jericoacoara as "A very lazy place". Jeri is by far the laziest place I have every seen, with the most active residents being the stray donkeys that wander around the beach village. We met a couple of travelers on our bus journey to the nearest town, and shared a buggy ride with them down to the village. Arriving in the heat of the day, we quickly abandoned our plan of wandering around the town to barter on room prices, and decided to get a room for the four of us to break up the costs. Our pousada had a nice family vibe, and a good breakfast, so it was a good choice.

Stores in Jeri open around 10 AM, and then close again from about 12 - 3 for the siesta/lunch time, and then open again from 4 - 12 AM. It takes no time at all to adjust to the schedule as the heat in the afternoon is unbearable. We didn't take the heat seriously enough one day, and all ended up with sunburns - Rich had a minor bout of sunstroke. It's east to fall into the schedule of the other residents: wake up around 9 for breakfast, nap until about midday, get your washing down and rest until the heat subsides, go to the beach for a few hours, then up to the dunes for sunset, home again for showers, dinner around 8 PM, and then to the Caipirinha carts to listen to the night's choice of music.

We stayed for 8 days, but like most people who go to Jeri, it was longer than we expected. Some people go for a week and stay for a month. And, by the look of it, some people go for a month and stay forever. If it weren't for the fact that we were on a deadline to make it to Salvador for carnival, I'm not sure we would have ever left.

The Boat Ride

We stayed in Manaus one more night, after returning from our Amazon trip to make sure we got one good night of rest, before the upcoming 3-5 days on a boat. In order to sleep on the boat, you need to bring a hammock and rope with you, so we picked up a couple of hammocks from a street vendor in the city. Against my expectations, street vendors aren't interested in bartering in Brazil. We tried to get a cheaper price on the hammocks, since we were buying two, but the vendor wouldn't budge. At the end of the transaction, he gave us 2 BRL back, so we could buy ourselves a bottle of water, because we must've needed the cash more than he did. The boat tickets proved a bit harder to obtain. The tour company we used for the Amazon tour originally told us they could get us out tickets for 110 BRL each, or 150 BRL if we didn't have our own hammocks. The next day, after getting our hammocks, they told us it would be 120 BRL each, and no meals are included on the boat. The following day they informed us it would be 150 BRL each, even with our own hammocks, so we went to another agency to get them booked an hour before our departure, almost missing our boat.

We arrived safe and sound on the boat, however late, and found that there was no real space in which to string up our hammocks. I strung mine as best I could, wedged between two other passengers, and Rich strung his hammock in the middle of the boat, where there was a bit more space, but it was impossible to access. The mass amounts of people crammed into one small space made for an uncomfortable ride, but luckily for us, our neighbors were all very friendly and helpful. They ensured we received our dinners, shared their desserts, and even loaned us some eating utensils. All meals are served in an aluminum foil packet, with plastic cutlery. Trying to eat a slab of beef in a hammock is hard enough, let alone when you've only been provided with a cheap plastic spoon. Our neighbors, however, came prepared. Knowing they would be receiving plastic spoons, they brought... metal spoons. We're still not entirely sure why they wouldn't have brought forks and knives, knowing that all meals are rice, beans, pasta and meat, but metals spoons it was.

A twelve year old Brazilian boy, named Luke, found Rich. Luke spoke a little bit of spanish, and no English, so he decided this journey would be the perfect time to learn. After watching Rich talk to this boy for a couple of hours, I decided to investigate, at which point Rich pawned him off on me. We spent the next couple of hours pointing at things and saying their respective names in English. Then I told Luke I was going to read my book for a bit. Luke's idea of me reading, was to have me read a sentence out loud, and then translate it into Spanish, and then French, so he could read with me. When Luke's grandmother finally called him off of us to have his dinner, Rich and I got into our hammocks to have a nap. Unfortunately, at the same time our neighboring hammocks decided this would be the perfect time to have a recorder and harmonica jam session. After dinner, everyone started to calm down and go to their hammocks. I was just falling asleep when the man next to me decided he didn't have enough space, so he strung his hammock above mine. I slept badly that night, alternating between too hot, too cold, too cramped, and hearing loud forro music coming from the bar. At some point in the night, we hit some rough water, and all the hammocks were rocking into each other, making it impossible to rest. The rocking of the boat also knocked all the cockroaches out from their hiding places in the life vests that were stuck above us. After one fell on me in the evening, I was done.

The next day was much like the first. Same cramped space, same food, same music, same everything. I was really happy when we finally arrived in Santarem for our break before taking another boat journey to Belem. The only problem being: we had another boat journey to look forward to in 3 days time.

Gators and jaguars and snakes, oh my!

For our second day in the jungle, our guide took us on a trek through the woods, to point out flora and fauna. Two of our group members were on a holiday to photograph various dragonfly species of the Amazon, so our guide took extra note to point out every dragonfly in en route. Only 5 minutes into our journey we had to cross a large ant mound, belonging to some giant Amazonian variety, which our guide warned us were very painful, and Mr. Dragonfly stopped in front of me, blocking the path, and leaving me standing in the nest. As the ants started crawling up my shoe, I frantically started trying to kick them off. Their extra large mandibles held on tight, and they progressed further and further. I sprinted out of their territory and kicked my shoes off as I ran. From that point on, I determined that Mr. Dragonfly was an idiot.

On this night, we were going to string up hammocks under a canopy and sleep in the jungle. Ironically, Madam Dragonfly didn't like bugs, so she and Mr. Dragonfly stayed at the cabana and left the 3 aussies and us to spend our evening in the elements. We arrived just before sundown, and set up our camp. As the sun set, Shamir took us out in his dugout to spearfish for dinner. We passed a few alligators in the night, and Shamir caught one fish. When going for his second, the fish darted in the black waters out of danger from our spear and into the safety of a giant anaconda. Shamir, seeing the snake started saying "big big big anaconda", as he started to paddle away from the area. I couldnt see the snake, but being armed with only a small spear, Shamir decided that it was time we went back to the dry land, where we would only need to worry about jaguars. I asked him what a jaguar sounded like, and he told me he'd point it out when we heard them from our hammocks later. It didn't make for easy sleeping.

We survived the night, and headed back to the main camp that afternoon. We had a siesta, some lunch, and some last minute pirranha fishing, before starting back for Manaus. A dugout brought us back to the mainland, where we waited for some hired buses to bring us to the port for our boat home. It was a really hot day, and Shamir had us wait at a small local bar for our ride. After about an hour of waiting, he asked a friend of his if he could borrow a car. The night before, all the locals were out all night partying on the river, and now everyone was too hung over to come get us. Shamir's friend agreed to let him us his van, and so Shamir shuttled us over to the port in two loads. It was a much rougher ride leaving than coming, and we kept swerving all over the path. Shamir dropped us off with an apology for the delay, he would've driven us over sooner, but "Today," he said, "is my first time driving."

Welcome to the Jungle

We started our trek out into the Amazon with our guides who picked us up from the Manaus bus station, with Amazon Backpackers. We all loaded up into a mini bus and drove to the harbour, where we caught a small 20 passenger boat over to the other side of the river. Our first stop was a shanty town on the edge of the water, where our guide paid two local VW bus drivers to bring us to where we needed to catch our small boats down the river, to our lodge in the woods. I got the lucky seat up front in between the driver and our guide -which meant I got to see all the scary things that everyone else missed. The roads are red clay, pot hole ridden paths. In the rainy season, the pot holes fill with water, so you cant tell how deep they are, and on hills dry up so smooth you can't get any traction. Everyone in the back of the bus was laughing while we fishtailed around the road, when the guide said to me,

"Have you ever noticed how tourists always think everything is part of the game? The driver and I are up here, holding our breath that we don't roll over, and they're just laughing and smiling back there. Last week, one of our vans rolled over. But everyone was ok, so we just kept going." I regretted the seat choice even more, when we drove over a bridge made of 3x6 wood planks, with no real fastenings. We did safely make it to the boats at just about the time a rain cloud came, so we spent the boat ride to the lodge covered by a giant sheet of plastic.

We did the normal tour of the waters during the day, and our guide, Shamir, would point out wildlife as it passed. It was a beautiful ride, and he told us we'd go searching for an alligator in the night, so he could catch it and show it to us up close. Shamir collected us (7 passengers) in the boat that evening. We went slowly along the river, looking for the red gleam of an alligators eyes in the reeds. Shamir told me I could bring my headtorch, so I brought it along to look for myself. Shamir caught the first little alligator, then returned it because it was too small. When he caught one of a decent size, he handed it to guy behind me, Ricky. Ricky was a fun guy, and also a prankster. He pretended to throw the alligator at me, when I asked if I could touch it. I squealed, and everyone had a good laugh. We started to head back to the camp in our 7 person boat, when all of a sudden, an alligator jumped in the boat, and struck me in the chest with it's tail. I screamed and other people started shouting as they were hit by it's tail. I lowered my head torch into the boat to find the beast in desperation and fear of being bitten. It turned out, the spot light was attracting flying fish, who were leaping out of the darkness and into the boat, accidentally hitting us along the way. I shone my light on one little sardina -it was dead. I was going to throw him back in the water, anyway. "Aww. He's dead," I said. I grabbed hold of him, and he started to flop about in my hand. I shouted as I threw him back in the water, and more fish flew into the boat. One landed on my seat as I went to sit down, and flopped about under my butt, and I shouted again. The girl at the front of the boat, who was holding a small alligator, let go of his neck in the commotion, and he turned round and bit her in the wrist. She screamed, and dropped him into the boat, and chaos ensued again. After 5 minutes of off and on fish attacks, and recovering the small alligator, we headed back to the lodge. No one said it was going to be easy to catch amazonian alligator in the night...

Venezuela to Brazil

Rodman took us to the bus station the night we left Ciudad Bolivar. He pointed out some key factors that we would need to identify our bus, and went on his way. While we waited, several buses came and went, including one bus that had been converted into something of a party bus. It was fully painted in bright graffiti style images of Jesus. There were no lights inside the bus, except for some neon green emergency lights. It was missing all its windows, and there were huge speakers blasting very loud techno. Luckily for us, our bus proved to be a relatively normal one, and we started out 10 hour bus journey to the border town called Santa Elena.

No one tells you, but the buses are freezing. Well, some people did say that in the online forums, but I don't think we were prepared for how cold it was. It seems really silly, that they compensate for the extreme heat outside, by making it as cold as possible in the bus. No one was comfortable, and we got no sleep that night. I'd pulled my leggings down my calves, and wrapped spare clothes around my exposed ankles, put a heat pack on my knee, was wearing my jacket, and was still shivering through the night. When we finally got off the bus, we swore to never be left unprepared again.

We took a taxi from Santa Elena to the border crossing between Venezuela and Brazil, and were pointed to a long line. The Venezuelan border doesn't distinguish between entering or leaving the country, so everyone was standing in one long queue in the heat of the day. We stood in line for about an hour and a half, before we got to enter the building, and queue in another line. At some point, in the middle of the wait, the Venezuelan border officials decided to have a team meeting for 10 minutes, so they shut the door to the crossers, and had a chat while one of the team members took pictures. It seemed like a strange time to have a meeting. We went through the security questions, and got our departure stamps, and headed for the Brazil side, which we were dreading. Since Brazil required me to get a visa, and it was a complicted enough process, we were expecting a rough couple of hours getting into Brazil. We walked the 200 meters from Venezuela to Brazil, and stopped at the first security check point, where were filled out some paper work, got some stamps and headed to the next check point. But, there was no other check point. We were walking through the middle of a little town called Pacaraima, when we realized we were in Brazil, on our own.

In comparison to Ciudad Bolivar, Pacaraima is an extremely safe town. Since it lies on the border, and is patrolled by police, the people walk around with big wads of cash to change with tourists, and leave them unattended whenever they please. We were approached by several people, before a man named Joachim, who spoke English, came up to help us. We traded some money with him, and he helped us purchase our tickets to Manaus, with a bus change in Boa Vista. They had to sell us tickets for a later bus, for some reason, but told us they'd help us get on the next bus, which was due to arrive in 20 minutes. Then, both Joachim and the bus ticket vendor disappeared. The bus arrived, and after waiting for a while, we decided that we'd been had. We were working out how to get our money back, when the bus ticket vendor reappeared and put us on the 3 hour bus to Boa Vista, as promised.

We only had a few hours in Boa Vista, but we were going to grab some food from a market, if we could find one. Boa Vista, whose name means beautiful view, is a dump. Just walking across the street to the "market" which turned out to be a liquor store, felt dangerous. We hurried back to the bus station, where we waited for our bus. They called our bus an hour and a half earlier than we expected, so we checked our luggage into the hold and started to board. They'd sold us upper deck tickets...but there was only one level to the bus. Rich went back to ask, and the ticket checker, who looked confusedly at our tickets, then informed us we were on the wrong bus. We re-collected our luggage, and went back into the waiting room. We tried to board every bus from that point on, until the security guard told us to just come back in 20 minutes. We finally made out connection to Manaus, and had another 12 hour journey. When we arrived in Manaus, it was 7 AM and already scorchingly hot. Somebody called us by name, and we turned around to find some friends of Joachim who had come to help us get safely into the city, and get our Amazon ticket sorted out. People in Brazil are nice, afterall.

Adventures in South America

Angel Falls and Back

Our trip to Angel Falls began with Rodman telling us that liquor is expensive in Canaima, and that it's prohibited to bring it on the plane as well. In true Venezuelan disregard for the rules, Rodman then tells us that if we want to bring any alcohol, it's no problem, and to just let him know in advance, and if there is anything else we dont want the security officials to find (read: drugs, firearms, nailclippers) we need to move it into checked luggage. Apparently they dont go through the checked luggage, but they will confiscate your nail clippers if left in your carryon.

Canaima was beautiful. However, we soon realized that we had no idea who we are meeting, or where to go to catch out boat trip to the smaller falls, and no one here speaks English. We started by asking a tour guide looking boat driver, who pointed us to another boat driver, who pointed us to a third boat driver down the beach, who told us we were supposed to go with the second boat driver, but by now they've already departed, so he agreed to take us. We had a really niice little afternoon up to see the lagoon, and the local falls, which you can climb behind. When we get back to camp we asked about the departure time for Angel Falls the next day, and the guide told us to meet him at 8.30 AM the next morning.

In the morning, we found an English speaking couple that we met the previous day, and chat with them. Their group is apparently going at 7.30, but we have breakfast with them, and decided when their tour group leaves, we'll head back to our cabin and pack up our stuff so we're ready at around 8 and can look for our guide. Our guides brother comes up to the couple and tells them the bus will leave in 5 minutes, so I took the oppourtunity to ask him when our guide would be ready. He looked a bit confused, and told us that we need to be ready to go in 5 minutes as well - there's only one group. So, we rush back to the cabin to throw all our stuff in our bags, and catch the bus, which was waiting on us. Not a great start. Our guide tells us that they just kind of throw out a time, and we should be ready at that time, give our take an hour. That's how time in Canaima works.

We had no idea what to expect for the boat trip, but we decided it would probably take about 45 minutes to get to the falls, so the 30 minute boat trip, followed by a 45 minute walk, followed by a 5 minute boat trip, and a 10 minute walk, and a 4 hour boat trip, and a 1 hour walk uphill in the jungle to get to the falls were a bit of a surprise, but we still had a great time. It's the middle of the dry season, and the river is quite low, so our guides would often have to jump out of the boat to navigate through rocks and pull us up river. All around, other boats were making everyone jump out to pull the boat through the water, but our guides were expert navigators, and didn't require this...until close to the end. The water has more rocky rapids closer to the falls, so our guide started shouting for the men get out to pull the boat. The men would spring to action and leap out, but Rich, not speaking fluent Spanish, (and out guide not giving full explanations for what he wanted), was caught off guard a few times. Rich would jump out of the boat late, and our guide would immediately yell: "Everybody back in the boat". Rich would jump out of the boat on the left side and the guide would yell: "Get on to the right side!". Rich would jump out of the boat and the guide would yell: "No you! Only the three in the front!". At some point, Rich's new shoes started to come apart, making it even harder for him to jump in and out.

The climb up hill was hard. It's very humid in this region, and we'd been sitting in the sun all day as it was. Climbing over large roots and boulders for an hour on an incline wasn't what we were expecting but we managed, and got to see the falls on what was the last day that they wold permit boats up river for the view, so we were really lucky. We took some snaps, and had a snack on a boulder where we could soak in the view. The sun was setting, and it was starting to get dark in the forest, so we decided to start the one hour trek back down before it was too dark. Our guide said to us, "It's dangerous to go down on your own, lots of times there are rock slides, but you are your own person, so do whatever you want. I'm not responsible." We made it to the bottom, and waited for the rest of our group to regather. When everyone had arrived, out guide decided that the best way to cross the river at night, was to form a human chain across the river, and have everyone pass one-by-one, using the human chain as a bridge.

That evening at the camp we picked our hammocks, and had dinner. We chatted a bit with our fellow trekkers. One Swiss gentleman we met had been touring South America for a year at this point, and had developed a distaste for rice and beans. We had rice and beans for dinner. We all settled into our hammocks. There were about 50 us and everyone was just getting comfortable when someone started snoring - loudly. That evening we got little sleep with the chorus of about 5 people snoring throughout the night, and the unexpectedly cold evening that left us shivering under our blankets. We had breakfast the next morning of eggs and bread, which pleased our Swiss friend, and we set off back foor the Canaima camp, and then back to Ciudad Bolivar.

Rodman picked us up at the airport, and we confirmed for him that we had a great trip. Since it was only about 4 in the afternoon, we asked him if we could walk somewhere for an early dinner. "No," he informed us. "It's not safe to walk on Sundays." Ciudad Bolivar is not a dangerous place, as long as it's still light out, you're not walking down any of the wrong roads, and it isn't Sunday.

Airports

The first thing you notice when you arrive in Caracas is the security. Considering how relaxed immigration and customs are, it's really intimidating to walk into the main terminal and come face to face with men in full military regalia, wearing badges that say "Vigilante" and carrying semi-automatic rifles. They don't even look twice at my passport, or check my bags in the customs line, but I suppose they aren't so worried about smuggling drugs INTO Caracas. Considering Simon Bolivar is an international airport, it's a lot smaller and less equipped than I'm used to. But, after a week of seeing other, even smaller airports, it seems luxurious by comparison.

We arrive in Ciudad Bolivar in the evening. It's small. Small enough that there is a single waiting room for departing flights, a cafeteria, and a single arrivals room. The carousel makes a loud grinding noise, and then stops working. One of the porters makes a half-assed atempt to fix it by shoving a traffic cone into the jammed machinery, before they all determine it's too complicated to fix, and just start shoving bags out onto the carousel. This results in a general free-for-all with passengers climbing on the carousel and other bags themselves, so we end up being the last to get our bags. Our guide, Rodman, is a really nice guy. He's very animated and outgoing, so he gives us some details about the city, mainly that it's a safe town, during the day, but we shouldn't leave the hotel after 6 PM, and if it starts to get dark outside, we should rush back quickly. To prove this, when we decide to go to dinner one night, he drives the 15 minutes from his office to our hotel, to drive us 2 blocks to the restaurant, and comes back an hour later to retreive us and bring us back. And it turns out it was a good job he did because as we leave the restaurant we are questioned by a police patrol car who has been called to the area to stop a street brawl. Ciudad Bolivar isn't the safest little town.

Rodman picks us up the morning of our departure for Angel Falls, and drives us to the airport. On the way, he gets a call and starts explaining to whoever is on the line that "we're already outside". Apparently the airline has called his mobile to ask him when we'll be ready for check-in - that's how small this airport is. Rodman takes us inside, and tells us someone will be with us shortly to check our passports. Then, he steps behind the counter next to the other agents, and asks us for our passports, before issuing us our tickets. It should be noted that he doesn't work for the airline, but no one seems to mind that he just sort of does whatever he wants, so we go with it. Later Rodman decides he needs to inform us about a delay, so he just walks through the security control area to tell us, and the other passengers, and then walks back out of the secure area. It's a very relaxed enviornment.

The Ciudad Bolivar airport, is followed by the Canaima airport, which turns out to be a wall-less, thatched hut with a single desk serving as immigration. The man here checks our passports and our ticket, printed by Rodman, and complete with clip-art palm trees and hand written plane information, and writes our names on a list, so we'll be called to get on the next flight. Welcome to South America!