south america: epilogue
has it been a long three months? south america may be hours over the atlantic but sometimes it feels like london, paris, europe is only a flicker away. excellent buses, comfortable transport within the cities and not a squatty toilet in sight, this has been backpacking in comfort without the rigours, the stifling heat and staring faces, of other places. a completely different animal to the visceral delights of asia or north africa, more occidental than oriental. this lack of difference has been one of the most disappointing things about this place for me, just as it was in new zealand. prices, too, have been a constant thorn in my side.the individual sights have, however, been as glee inducing as expected, and it is definitely a must visit place. it is, after all, impossible to be negative thinking back over the grandeur of macchu pichu or iguazu whilst waiting for the sun to arrive in rio.
favourite country: brazil, or at least rio, push it close, but it has to be bolivia. cheap (this is key), a fun capital city, amazing high altitude scenery and an alligator filled slice of the amazon. all it needs is a little slice of coastline. and some more oxygen.
favourite city: rio. by such a long way. it is hard to think of a city with a more spectacular setting, and so totally permeated by an urgent vibrancy fostered by centuries of interracial mingling. possibly my favourite city to visit in the world.
best journey: comfy leather all reclining seats from puerto madryn to buenos aires. you get what you pay for i suppose.
hairiest journey: la paz to uyuni must get a mention for being so fantastically, ice on the inside of the windows, cold. flying through the mountains as opposed to over them in an ex military rust bucket from la paz to rurre was pretty pant moistening too. it has to be, however, the half hour sprint from copacabana to lapa on friday night, the driver a king amongst the maniacs who hurtle rio´s creaking buses along its roads.
best historical sight: macchu pichu is pretty much on its own here: christ the redeemer is beautiful but not of the same scale. to stop the incas getting too smug i should add that egypt and india´s delights blow it out of the water somewhat.
best natural sight: the otherworldly salt flats and high altitude lakes of uyuni get an honourable mention, as does standing at 5,500m on the top of chacaltaya. has to be iguazu though.
best beach: copacabana. not the most beautiful, but definitely the most compelling.
biggest disappointment: snowboarding. had to be tried, but ended up being a waste of time and money.
favourite food: a real acchiles heel, this is like judging between hannibal lecter and jeffrey dahmer in a person you would like to walk down a dark alley with contest. probably empanadas de carne in argentina, toffee coated popcorn from the streets of rio and rocklets (generic sickly sweet smarties substitutes).
best meal: perfectly cooked, tender patagonian lamb in ushuaia.
best apple crumble: bariloche, apparently
best dance: the bariloche apple crumble dance
best buy: my wooly llama hat. once i got used to looking ridiculous it was invaluable.
best vicki: vicki
best beard: my beard.
brazil: epilogue
no sao paolo, no salvador, no amazon; calling this a brazil epilogue seems wildly overarching when the country is so vast and we have sampled so little of it. it is, if anything, more a reaction to ten or so days in rio, with a nod to the picture perfect beaches and brooding mountains of ilha grande and, as such, can only be tinged with satisfaction and happiness. there is nothing lacking in topographical splendor whilst the joys of watching a cavalcade of people pad and stomp across copcabana, flesh spilling out of virtually imaginary beach wear, is as endearing a human drama as can gently occupy the mind for many a blisteringly sunny afternoon. it is expensive, easily as much as western europe, and despite the backdrop of creaking favelas its rightful presence in the BRIC group of new powerhouses is as evident from the people and prices as much as it would be from any bird´s nest stadium, but some things are worth paying for. mountains and beaches, first world and third world, black to white, in the heartbeat of one of the biggest countries in the world it is only right that you can find and revel in everything imaginable. a brilliant place, and one so embued with joy as to ward off the glumness of the approaching end.
city of god
as the prospect of the office and the banal realities of everday existence cause the gentle tide of time which has washed through this three month sojourn to build into a relentless wave no less furious than those crashing into copacabana beach from the atlantic it is tempting to fall into wistful eulogy. yet to say rio´s delights are particularly delectable because they have fallen in the last, fleeting, week is to do this great city a disservice. this place hinted at how much it had to offer in our brief stay before heading to ilha grande, and in the last week has really come into its own. it´s a place where intense poverty mingles happily on the perfect white sand with wealth comparable to anywhere on the planet, where dark favela kids flick footballs around next to speedo wearing new yuppies doing exactly the same thing, all the while the sun blazing above and the crash of the waves in the background. true the lights twinkling in the favelas high on the hilltops around the city where the rich cannot be bothered to climb suggest a fairytale beauty which does not reflect the harshness of life amongst what are effectively slums but surely with such great views, great weather, great music everything must be that little bit easier? maybe not, but our second trip into the favela for a baile funk night certainly helped maintain our happy, guilt appeasing, view of these shuddering masses of people and poverty as we bundled into a warehouse full of people, a heaving sweating mass baying for their favourite tunes in portugese and shaking every part of their bodies in ways unimaginable to those with considerably more awkward control of our bodies. vicki tried to take them on with the apple crumble and plumbing dances but, especially when coupled with a night in london´s worth of booze, these delectable slices of getting down remained unable to impress the judges of the dance off. throw in amongst the bass heavy brazilian funk which blared for hours a short, completely unexpected and totally incongruous, blast of sweet child o´mine and rhythm is a dancer and spice delicately with fried bits of chicken on a stick to munch down on at 4 in the morning (maybe a bit too enthusiastically in vicki´s case; what goes down must come up i suppose) and our night of favela funk was an awesome one, albeit one that wrote off our last monday away.
the rest of the week has been dedicated to lounging on the beach whilst trying to ignore the icy breath of atlantic house on my neck. we went up sugarloaf mountain today for beautiful views of rio and christ the redeemer in the distance, a vista ruined by the decision of some idiotic planning bureaucrat to allow the building of a number of ugly telephone masts directly behind the statue. the experience was also slightly spoiled by the decision of my camera, as did its predecessor in tahiti, to give up the fight with the finish line in sight. still the views were spectacular, a reminder of just what a geographical box of wonders rio flows out of, deep blue sea all around, myriad sandy bays peppered with outcrops of rock just as the sweep of copacabana is dotted with high rises. what a beautiful city, utterly vibrant and pulsating with the kind of big city energy absent anywhere else that we have been on this trip.
the last day tomorrow, a trip up to christ himself to have a sniff at his armpit and bid farewell to not just the twinkling lights of rio but to three months of blissful freedom.
