some final thoughts on Brasil...

Well, I could tell you all about the last nights in Brazil after the jungle trip, how we were greeted in the main square by Baltimora´s 80s classic "Tarzan Boy" being blared out of the main square upon our return to Manaus, but there just isn´t time. I could even tell you about our extraordinary night of Amazonian Rock at the Opera House, but you´ll have to ask us about that separately if you wanna hear about that!

So, as it´s time to move on now, let´s leave you with a few things we noticed about Brazil, and a few of the MANY things we´ll miss...

In the main, I reckon we'll miss the drinks - guaraná, coco gelado, all the incredible fruit juices and the ice-cold beer... in all my time in Brazil I was never served a crap drink once. Oh how hard will it be to get used to London drinks again! We´ll miss speaking and hearing Portuguese. And the breakfasts! And eating at por kilo places (a genius idea that I can´t believe hasn´t taken off elsewhere)! And açai!


After seven weeks in Brazil, we´ve become able to distinguish a few of the regional accents. Mainly the bizarre one you get round Sao Paulo state and some parts of the south, where, for some reason, they sound like they´re either from the US or from the West Country (ie "Salvadorrr"). This accent wasn´t Becka´s favourite.


And I reckon I could make a good stab at where someone comes from as well. It was fascinating seeing how the looks changed through the country - largely black in Salvador, overwhelmingly white in the south (even Becka got taken for a native of Santa Catarina once), a whole different thing again in Amazonia - I became strangely obsessed in Pernambuco and Paraíba with the look of the locals (wide faces with almost comically rounded eyebrows). It seemed like the ridiculous hotness was mainly a Rio thing, but the obsession with looking good and being healthy certainly seemed nationwide. Brazil also seemed full of older guys who had definitely "done well for themselves" on the partner front...



Everyone seems to know the lyrics to all samba songs. It was a bit of a mystery as to how exactly, but it probably helps that they always seem to be subtitled on telly! Many of these lyrics expressed how brilliant it was being from Brazil, and I can definitely see why they would think that if they´d grown up there.


They´ve definitely got their own thing going on musically. Far from hearing the usual international pop hits everywhere, the music we heard was almost always local, (with the exception of Mariah Carey´s version of "I Want to Know What Love Is", which was ubiquitous) whether it be forró, frevo, brega, choro, samba or axé... Rock didn´t seem that big anywhere except in the Amazon, of all places!

Brazilians aren´t generally too hung up on spelling. Something to do with it being mainly an "oral" culture, or something, but you would get Santa Teresa/Santa Tereza, Rui Barbosa/Ruy Barbosa etc... even Mario Zagalo/Zagallo can´t escape this relaxed attitude to spelling, and he won the World Cup four times! So basically - it doesn´t matter how it´s spelt! It´s pronounced the same, right? Cool! I reckon I´ll take this Brazilian attitude back with me to my job in London! (No?)


Chocolate isn´t that big in Brazil. I guess it´s just too hot! I was excited however to get hold of a bar of Diamante Negro ("Ooooh! Black Diamond!") which was named after Brazil´s legendary striker from the 1938 World Cup, Leonidas. Still going strong... Wonder if people will be eating "Rooney" chocolate bars in 70 years´time? (oh, the name "Wayne Rooney" is very difficult indeed for Brazilians to pronounce, by the way).

The 10% service tax got kind of annoying. Especially as we usually got the WORST service in the places that charged it, and the best service in the places that didn´t!

They need to get over manioc! It´s in everything - and to be honest, in a lot of the more (in our opinion) overrated dishes (actually, we couldn´t quite see what the fuss was about with carne do sol - a bit tough, and tapioca - kind of like getting a crepe, only a worse version)

"Na frente" - aarghhh!!! If we never hear this again, that´s fine by us! Whenever we asked for directions, we would be told this, it seemed to mean anything from "over the road" to "left, then right, then left again, about 15 minutes walk away".

They´re quite happy to go through your dirty laundry in Brazil. (Literally.) It gets pretty embarrassing in the laundries when they open your bag and start sifting through your dirty pants by hand... Still, you can get used to anything!


Religion is a huge part of everyday life. This has obviously been commented on before, but it was noticeable how much Christian graffiti you would see, often around the favelas, and it was unforgettable to get a close up view of the candomblé which is such a big part of the culture in Bahia, in particular...

They´ve started whipping up enthusiasm for the 2016 Olympics already. There are TV spots recounting famous Olympic moments of the past - the question is, are they gonna keep this up for the next six years??

We took some forms of transport we won´t forget in a hurry. Speedboats, beach buggies, canoes, kombis, frequently alarming, though nothing topped being given a lift in a car by a man driving while holding a baby in one hand... Fingers crossed we won´t be doing that again!!

Anyway, that´s quite enough about Brazil now, suffice to say we loved it, were sad to leave and definitely want to return, but we are in PERU now, and from what we´ve seen of Lima so far, we´re quite excited about it! More to follow on that, in the meantime we´ll leave you with this video of Iguazu falls...

Jungle fever

Reading The Heart of Darkness before going into the Amazon probably wasn't the best idea. It's actually about the Congo and admittedly Marlow didn't have his trip organised through Gero's Tours but still, it doesn't evoke an exotic or exciting image of the jungle! We left Manaus on Sunday morning. Two boats and two vans later, we arrived at our lodge, where we got to meet our group (of fellow tourists) and our guide. Believe it or not, his name was Tarzan. This brilliant fact got us into the jungle spirit in no time.

We'd been told beforehand not to expect to see lots of animals, but we managed to see an impressive array of very un-cute creatures: snakes, scorpions, tarantulas - that kind of thing. On the first evening we went alligator spotting but because it was dark (and we were terrified), none of us got a really close look. Later Tarzan helpfully plucked one from the river and asked if we wanted a hold (I didn't). One of the highlights for Mauro was being the first in our group to catch a piranha fish. The buffet lunch featured fried piranhas too, so we also got to eat the day's catch (tasty but not much meat on them).

A two-hour trek into the jungle was another highlight. Tarzan showed us giant ants that leave you writhing in agony for 24 hours if bitten by them, huge termite mounds and hairy tarantulas, as well as lots of trees (obviously) and leaves with medicinal properties (which would come in handy later). As instructed, we'd all worn long sleeves and long trousers to avoid mosquito bites. Unfortunately my Topshop leggings proved not to be effective jungle-wear, which I realised on my return to our cabin. My legs were absolutely covered in bites.

By this point it'd been a couple of weeks since I'd been ill, so it was about time for a dodgy stomach. Now, I'm not sure if there was a bug going around the lodge, if it was the allergic reaction I experienced from my hundreds of bites or if I had delayed reaction to the Malarone malaria pills (most likely), but I got sick. Vomiting into a bucket, in intense humidity, with a mosquito net tucked in all around you, was not the trip I'd been hoping for. On the plus side, I really got to experience some jungle hospitality. Everyone was extremely kind and attentive, and provided me with a constant supply of jungle lotions and potions (most of which made me vomit even more, but still...).

Luckily I emerged from the heart of Malarone darkness within 24 hours, so was able to enjoy some other excursions. We visited some caboclos (natives), who welcomed us into their homes and had no problems with us taking close-up pictures of their children, as we tourists are wont to do! We got to taste lots of Amazonian fruit straight from the tree and I finally got to see where my favourite energy elixir comes from - the açai tree.

Mauro also got to grips (literally) with rowing through the swampy river, which was tough going at times but worth it when we got to hear the unsettling cry of the howler monkeys. It sounded like a loud bitter wind was blowing - only a lot more evil. The fact that the trees and water were completely still, with not a soul (or monkey) in sight, made it all the more eerie.

And so our four days in the jungle were up and we made our way back to the big city thoroughly satisfied with our jungle experience (and a few pounds lighter). We didn't get to see the pink dolphins as I was vomiting at the time, but we'd seen them off the Ilha do Mel so we weren't too disappointed. Aside from what we learned about the jungle itself, we met some great people and I've become remarkably blasé about a whole host of creatures that made me a nervous wreck a week ago. The frog that lived in our cistern, opposite the enormous unidentified insect on the wall, made me slightly anxious about using the loo at first, but by the last day I barely noticed they were there. What's more, back in Manaus, our low-budget hotel that smells of disinfectant now feels like absolute luxury!

prawns and buggies

Well, the aftermath of getting drenched on our tour of the far-flung beaches of Paraíba was both of us getting colds - happily for us, Natal has the cleanest air in the WORLD (except Antarctica, apparently - this fact is confirmed by no less an authority than NASA) and what with that, and the usual plethora of fresh fruit and guaraná, before too long we were fighting fit again.

Prawns are big in Natal. So big in fact that one of the biggest restaurants there is called, with brutal simplicity, "Camaroes" ("Prawns"). Although it's next door to a place called "Only Pizza" which advertises itself as selling "salads, fish and chicken", so what's in a name, eh? Talking of names, it looks like the spelling of "Drive Thru" causes one or two problems over here...









The best place we ate was, however, Mangai, where we went for our Valentine's meal (this is us after dinner, with local legends Lampião and Maria Bonita - kind of like Robin Hood/Bonnie & Clyde figures from the early 1900s):









Also big in Natal are dunes, and the beach buggies you need to get on to drive around them. All very exciting, if not cheap - it wasn't till we were fortunate enough to run into a couple of Seventh Day Adventists and could share a buggy with them that we could actually afford the ride! You can either go for com emoçao or sem emoçao, (literally "with emotion" or "without", but "with terror" or "without terror" might have been more accurate), and I think we must have got the former option, as it was more than enough emoçao for the pair of us, much to the Adventists' disappointment. It didn't deter them from insisting on driving us all the way back to our hostel afterwards, though, which reaffirmed our faith in humanity. I also came away with massive respect for the bugueiros, who we had previously had down as cheeky rip-off merchants, as it really did feel at the time as though you put your life in their hands!

Watching Carnaval on TV was hugely enjoyable - not sure who ended up winning the Rio one, but I was glad to see Robinho present and correct (and looking fairly OK about not being in Manchester at the moment), and Paris Hilton adding to the pantheon of legendary quotes to describe this awesome spectacle ("It's beautiful, I love it"). The samba schools each play and dance to a newly-composed song, three or four verses, over and over, for OVER AN HOUR. I'm thinking of suggesting this as the way forward for Jonny Cola & the A-Grades when I get back - after all, no one else is doing that in London, are they?? Though I don't know if we will be able to summon up a cast of thousands in outrageous costumes...

We moved on to Pipa yesterday, only to find a POST-Carnaval Carnaval going on (you really can't avoid Carnaval in Brazil, this much is true), which looked like this:

After a night out trying not to get sucked into a conversation with an incomprehensible local drunk with no teeth, and then finishing off our cans of beer surrounded by hormonal pre-teens trying to cop off with each other, it was a relief to get up today and go for a swim, accompanied by dolphins, no less! (OK, they were a few metres away, but it was still amazing). Also amazing is the pousada we're staying in (Pomar da Pipa) - here's me getting into some hammock action...

I am now in dire need of a haircut - many places in Natal offered "Mega-hair", but I didn't take them up on this. In other news, we have just started taking our malaria tablets!! TOUCH WOOD we don't start suffering any ill effects (vomiting, headaches, nightmares, beating each other up), especially not on the plane tomorrow, we could both do without that. The next time you hear from us we will be in Amazonas...!

Pre-Carnaval in the North East

Once settled into our pousada in Olinda's old town, far away (enough) from the Skol-fuelled chav-fest that was the pre-Carnaval 'parade' in the new town, we got a chance to experience Olinda proper. There's no disputing that Olinda is gorgeous. It's now a World Heritage Site and has lots of money pouring in for restoration of colonial churches, colourful houses and cobbled streets, so I was surprised at how commercially un-exploited it was. There are no ATMs or supermarkets. What there are loads of, however, are galleries and workshops - which appear to be people's houses - crammed with paintings, wooden carvings and bonecos (puppets for Carnaval). Arts´n´crafts are big in Olinda.

Another thing that struck us was that seemingly every person and property is licensed to sell alcohol (which usually involves a can of Skol being passed through someone's front window). This comes in handy when there are street processions and moving 100 yards to the nearest bar becomes tricky. Mauro was particularly taken by a local brew called Pau do Indio - a heady mixture of aguardiente, honey and 32 herbs (I thought it was undrinkable). It's surprising how good-natured the atmosphere was with all this alcohol doing the rounds.

The Pre-Carnaval street parades themselves were slightly unreal. We discovered one by following the sound of drumming and turning a corner to see 50 women in huge dresses, advancing slowly towards us by means of a brilliantly unsexy dance.

So by the time we came to leave Olinda, we felt we'd already had a taste of Brazilian Carnival. We headed off for some tranquilidade at the beach, two hours north in Joâo Pessoa, the capital of Paraiba (and the eastern-most point of the Americas). The last thing we expected was, 24 hours later, to be in the throng of yet another pre-Carnaval parade in the city centre with some people we'd met in the hostel. This one had a less medieval feel - local popstars atop enormous trucks, blaring out some hectic frevo.

Not to be defeated in our search of some actual tranquilidade, Mauro became fixated with discovering some renowned beaches about 40km away from town, despite there being no public transport and only a dirt road for the last 10km. After a 90-minute ordeal... I mean bus-trip, we managed to find them - with the help of a Peruvian naturist called Jorge. An hour of sunshine later, the heavens opened and we found ourselves stranded in muddy paradise. Eventually Jorge managed to talk his (and our) way into the back of someone's jeep, and we ended up at his house in the middle of the countryside to dry off. Finally, with Mauro wearing Jorge's T-shirt, we weren't distraught to be on the bus out of Joâo Pessoa (which means 'John Person') heading north again towards Natal (which means 'Christmas). And after all that pre-Carnaval activity, I think we've finally found somewhere where we can chill out on the beach and watch the actual Carnaval on telly!

The Most Dangerous City On Our Trip

Well, our arrival in Salvador wasn't promising - having to wait an hour for our ride to the hotel, only to then be called over the tannoy system and informed that TWO cars had been despatched, but the first had broken down and the second had crashed. And could we find ourselves our own cab instead. And by the time we finally arrived at the hotel, it was impressed upon us that we were under no circumstances to walk anywhere at that time of night (9.30pm), as the area around our hotel was the domain of crackheads and hookers, and that we'd be best off getting another cab even to get a snack! (This pretty much tallied with the stories we'd heard from every friend of ours to have visited Salvador, all of whom had been mugged.)

So when we eventually ventured out into the big bad city the next day, it was with a sense of wariness, which soon turned to excitement - Salvador is basically, one of the most exciting places I've ever been to, and we both felt overwhelmed in much the same way we did when we first arrived in Rio. Our first Bahian meal (acarajé, vatapá, moquecas and all) was again hugely exciting, and dangerous - another of the things we'd been warned about was the dendê (palm oil) used in most of the cooking, which tends to have a dire effect on foreign stomachs.

So surviving that, and our first night out, was heartening - especially as we actually managed to have a fantastic time, wandering into a locals' samba hangout and seeing first-hand how you only need about 10 Bahians to get a party going! Brilliantly good-natured also, which was the general vibe of our stay, interspered with the expected edge as well. That might have got to us a bit if we'd stayed longer, but as it was we were gutted to leave.

The baianas who sit on the street corners selling their exciting and dangerous street snacks all look pretty adorable, but they definitely have a savvy streak -when we asked one if she minded us taking a photo of her, she demanded five reais, so we left it! In fact, photos in general would prove to be a bit of a sore point, but more on that later...

The local cultural identity is strong in Salvador, (much like the pimenta - possibly the hottest pepper sauce in the world!) and it clearly spans the generations. We felt pretty awestruck by it, hearing the ominous polyrhythmic drumming everywhere we went, and even being lucky enough to stumble across a private moonlight candomblé ritual, where we saw women, chanting and ringing bells, fill a boat with offerings for lemanjá, the Goddess of the Sea, and then sail it out to sea... Becka took a couple of photos of this before being informed by a bystander that this wasn't the done thing. Mysteriously, by the end of our stay in Salvador, somehow our memory card with all the photos that had been taken of the ritual just disappeared - with neither of us able to explain how! I blamed it on having offended lemanjá, which was possibly a convenient explanation, but seriously, after a couple of days here, these things start seeming more and more real...!

Later on that night, my Chile top aroused a considerable amount of interest - on our bus ride back, a cachaça-fuelled local maniac felt the need to yell the names of every Chilean team he could think of at me (he got as far as Audax Italiano before hitting a block), and then the results of all our matches in the 1998 World Cup. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to react to this, but noticed to my relief that half the bus was shouting at him to shut up, and the other half falling about laughing... It was all so entertaining that I was oblivious to the fact that the bus driver totally ignored every red light (Becka filled me in on this later)!

So, feeling like perhaps we were missing a trick after all by not staying for Carnaval, and heading for "beautiful, sleepy" Olinda, we were alarmed to arrive and find a pre-Carnaval blowout going on, which was like Sodom and Gomorrah, (only less fun) or perhaps a pissed-up festival in London, with a hundred stag and hen parties converging, gobbing, pissing and vomiting everywhere... Maybe we'd made the right choice after all in sidestepping Carnaval? Thankfully, the next day things in Olinda improved - but more on that next time!

Poor Niagara!

Giving Florianopolis one more chance was an excellent idea. We stayed in an area called Lagoa, which is an ideal base for restaurants, bars and several lovely beaches. We found a beach we particularly liked - all the way along Mole beach and over some rocks - and spent two days hanging out there; swimming in the sea (or rather, getting bashed about by waves) and eating açai with granola. I get the impression this is what a stay in Florianopolis is really about - even down to the huge cockroach in our room (which I made Mauro dispose of and which he consequently felt guilty about for several hours).

We'd clearly got too assimilated into the Brazilian beachbum way of life, as we (actually Mauro) got the bus-times wrong and so missed our very expensive 15-hour overnight bus to Foz do Iguaçu. Did I mention that was the last one that day? So after a harmonious hour spent together in the bus station, we took the next bus in that direction - five hours away in Curitiba, where we had to stay overnight in a worryingly cheap hotel by the station, before finally heading off to Foz (as I like to call it) the following morning. We managed to convince ourselves this was all part of the crazy adventure of travelling (convincing ourselves of this took several hours).

Luckily, Foz was worth all the hassle! Our hostel was lovely (and not just in comparison to cockroach-hut). It even had a pool, which is necessary in the intense heat of the interior that hits you like a slap in the face. We cooked in both evenings and hung out with a group of Bavarian Jehovah's Witnesses, who'd just visited the rarely-visited Chaco (region in Paraguay), in a bid to get to know some Mennonites. You can't make this stuff up.

We really liked Foz. It had the feel of a frontier town, which we'd not come across so far on our travels. It also had a strong gauchesco vibe - not surprising since it's by the Argentinian border. In true Becka and Mauro tradition, we found a very basic botequim that we liked and had a bem gelada (cold beer) while chatting to the owners about the local culture and the Itaipu dam. Unfortunately we had to pass up the guy's invitation to come back for 30 days (no less), so that he could teach us all the local dances...

And obviously, the waterfalls! Like most travellers, we spent one day on the Argentinian side and one day on the Brazilian side. They were absolutely spectacular (I reckon Eleanor Roosevelt's "Poor Niagara!" quote is about right). To avoid lapsing into clichés, here's a couple of photos instead:

We went straight from Iguaçu falls to the airport, in good time for our flight to Salvador, from where I'm writing now. We got to the hotel quite late and were vehemently advised not to venture out on our own, so the city is yet to be discovered...