Brazil

We decided to keep bussing it up until Rio, at which point we had purchased plane tickets to help us hop across the sprawling landmass of Brazil. On our way north we made a quick stopover at Iguazu Falls, arguably the worlds most impressive waterfall. At an average flow of 61,660 cu ft per second the waterfall is technically a collection of 275 smaller waterfalls that pour off of a giant steppe in the jungle. The curtain of water plummets up to 270 feet and emits a constant roar throughout the forest. Since the falls are located directly on the border between Argentina and Brazil, visitors normally have to choose which side to see, and although the entire falls can be seen from either side, the views differ. Viviana and I chose to walk along the complex of boardwalks on the Argentine side, offering a much more personal experience with the waterfall, although forfeiting the all encompassing view of the Brazilian side. The height of the action takes place in the Devils Throat, where the wall of falling water wraps around in a U-shape, concentrating its hydrolic power onto the rocks below. After walking every boardwalk possible and filling the camera with photos that dont come close to capturing the immensity of the place, we finished the day with a walk through the jungle. The area surrounding the falls was also impressive in its display of wildlife, and over the course of the day we saw a large black and yellow snake, coatis, guatusas, plush crested jays, and a local species of deer. The next day we made a last minute rush to finish our visa applications and once we procured the $135 stamp we headed off towards Rio de Janeiro.

Rio de Janeiro is a city that defies description. From its photogenic contrast of modern structures set in rugged natural beauty to its gorgeous posh beaches surrounded by crumbling favelas, it is very difficult not to be pulled into the intrigue of the exceptional metropolis. Unfortunately, knowing that it would also be the most expensive destination of our trip, we did not have too much time to explore and we quickly set off to see the sights. Our first destination was Christ the Redeemer, the iconic statue of Jesus opening his arms to the world, as if saying ´What?? You want a little of this? I didnt think so.´ The view from the top is truly incredible, and the photos came out even sweeter after having to battle our way through the crowd just to peek over the railing. The next day was reserved for the beach. We set out our towels on the ´beautiful people´ section of Ipanema and watched the parade of nicely rounded body parts pass by in front of our face. We passed the day putting down cachaça (sugar cane liquour) and coke as I accused every muscle bound man that passed of using steroids and Viviana blamed every top heavy woman of surgery. Of course there are many parts of Rio that are better enjoyed when the night sets in, so it wasnt long before we set out looking for a party. The most popular spot in the city is called Lapa, a bar lined avenue that fills with street vendors, tourists, wealthy locals and even some from the favelas, all looking to toss back some caipirinhas and get loose. We were too broke to go into any of the upscale clubs, so we were able to properly enjoy the street scene, meeting a collection of interesting characters and chatting the night away until the sun came up. Of course the next day was uneventful, involving a series of blurry dreams about mosaic staircases and drunken irish people. We awoke late in the afternoon and decided that no visit to Rio would be complete without taking in a soccer game. We signed up with a group of tourists from the hostel and set out to see Botafogo play Vasco, two teams that I had never heard of in my life, but are apparently some of the top contenders in Rio. Even though our arbitrarily chosen team (Botafogo) lost badly, the game was a blast and I finally got to see the fury of flying toilet paper rolls and even help hold up a giant view-impeding banner for a while. The last day we awoke at a more reasonable hour with the intention of going back to the beach, but had to change our plans when the sky clouded over and the sky started sweating on us. Instead we went to the botanical garden, which turned out to be a good decision as we strolled through the amazing variety of plant life. The highlights of the garden were the carnivorous plant greenhouse and a curious family of wild monkeys that had climbed down from the surrounding jungle. To finish up our visit to the worlds most picturesque city we climbed up Morro Urca, the smaller brother of the famous Sugarloaf Mountain featured on every postcard. Urca gave us almost exactly the same view, at a savings of $22, and even threw in a spotting of a hideous tropical opossum on the trail along the way. The final morning we woke up early and caught a bus... but then we got off the bus. Finally, unfortunately, and cheerfuly our cohesion with the land was to be broken, and we boarded a plane bound for Salvador da Bahia.

In Salvador we had arranged for another bout of couchsurfing, this time with a university graduate student named Fabio. We showed up at his house and he immediately made us feel welcome by offering us lunch in his comfortable apartment. When he returned to class, we set out to see the historic section of town and to take in the vibrant afro-brazilian culture all around us. Our taste buds reveled in the local flavors of acarajé (bread and shrimp fried in palm oil and covered with spicy sauces) and açai (a smoothie made from a healthy and delicious red berry) while our ears and eyes feasted on the dancing and music from a local parade celebrating international water day. That night we returned to Fabios and started preparing to celebrate his friends birthday at a nearby bar. He drove us down to ´Bohemia Bar´ and we said our congratulations in our broken Portuñol (Spanish spoken with a Portuguese accent). After we had finished off a couple beers our host suggested that we make a move on the bottle of vodka that had remained practically untouched in the center of the table. ´Dont worry,´ he said ´I need to be home by 11:00.´ One drink turned into four and by midnight we were feeling pretty toasty, laughing at the musician/entertainer as he covered classic Portuguese songs to the accompaniment of everyone else in the bar besides Viviana and I. As we reached the bottom of the bottle I found out that I was not to be left out of the action. When the singer asked for volunteers from the crowd for his next number all the fingers at the table pointed at the gringo, and I was hustled up in front of the crowd with 3 other unlucky souls as we were outfitted with bandanas and forced to do our own personal rendition of Menudo. As my shame faded into the night we heard the sound of rain trickling on the roof... then it started trickling on the floor, the bar, the stage, and everything else. The whole bar was soon covered in water from the leaky roof and we decided it was time to call it a night. By this point it was 3AM and our host Fabio was having some communication problems as we asked how to get back. His roommated offered to drive and after I helped navigate with the aid of Vivianas headlamp and a very blurry map that seemed to have printed everything in double. We finally made it home and spent the next day recovering and preparing for our trip to Lençois, a paradise of waterfalls and caves 6 hours towards the interior of the country.

We came to Lençois on the suggestion of our mutual friend Melanie from Tucson, who was coming in a few days to live there. We had done very little research on what the town had, and had zero expectations. Only when we arrived in the small diamond mining town with cobblestone streets and brightly colored walls did we really start getting excited. After checking into a campsite we headed up to the first of several amazing and unique waterfalls we were to see in the area. This one was called Cachoeia Serrano, and consisted of a giant sloping rock hillside with numerous small chasms where the water swirled around, pouring from one to the other. In addition to the unusual rock formation the water itself was completely new to us. In Serrano and many of the other swimming holes around Lençois the water is completely black, forbidding us from seeing more than a foot under the water. The color is said to be due to decaying plant matter in the water, but leaves no odor or foul taste, only an odd sense of mystery. The following day we set off towards our next waterfall, Ribeiro do Meio. This one involved a half hour walk through the forest, and a close call with a coral snake sleeping in the trail. Like Serrano, this swimming hole also has a large flat rock, but this time it leads down into a large deep pool at the bottom. When we arrived no one was in the water, so we were a little hesitant to hop into the large pool that looked liked it was filled with Guinness stout. Soon some locals came to my rescue, and as they showed me which rock to jump off, they also led me up the hillside a bit and showed me what sets Ribeiro do Meio apart from the other falls. With a running start the locals went sliding down the large slab of rock on their feet, skating down the face into the pool below. When it was my turn I tried to show my confidence from years of skateboarding and snowboarding. Before I could even reached the take off spot I slipped and started flying down the rock on my hands and butt. I flopped over a fissure in the rock and splashed into the pool at the bottom, missing a bit of back skin but ready for another go. That night we recovered and used our well-honed haggling skills to arrange a tour of some of the surrounding area for the next day. We visited a cave with multi-colored stalagmites, a section of the national park filled with striking table-top mountains, and another swimming hole called the Devil´s Pool. By the time Melanie arrived that night we were already fully convinced of the beauty of her new and former home. Since we had done the main circuit of waterfalls it was Melanies job to show us the culture and lifestyle of a small Brazilian mountain town, and she did it with style. The first day she showed us how to properly relax in the Bahia style, which involves lying on the rocks in the sun between dips in the river. At night she gave us the cachaça tour, a sampling of 9 different types of infusions, liquers, and batidos (smoothie-style) using various local fruits and herbs. The fine liquors were follwed by fine foods the next day, as Katia, a local Lençoisen, prepared us a number of delicious dishes made from local ingredients like cactus and tapioca flour. By the time we left Lençois we were feeling quite refreshed, prepared for the final mad dash up north. We now have just over 2 weeks left on the continent, and a few important appointments before we leave, so our next bit of rest (and probably my next post) wont come until we are back on US soil.

North

El Bolsón is the perfect place to slow things down and do nothing, and that is exactly what Viviana and I did. We checked into a nice grassy campsite, bought a liter of beer, and began relaxing. A short glance around quickly revealed that we were not the only ones with this agreeable itinerary, and that the town is in fact full of exhausted backpackers, hippies, artisans, and university students squeezing the juice out of the last days of summer. Four days were spent enjoying the artisan/organic food market, chatting with locals, and dipping in the river before we decided to check out El Bolsóns bigger and more popular brother, Bariloche.

Surrounded by a healthy spattering of lakes and mountains, Bariloche is often described as the Switzerland of South America. Although the city center is getting a bit overgrown, the stone block buildings, ice cream shops, and microbreweries lend it a very hospitable feeling. We rented bicycles the first day to tour around through the different lakes, stopping for a swim in Lopez Bay in the largest lake of Nahuel Huapi. The prices in this Swiss land of chocolate and enchantment are also rather European, so we soon decided to get out of town for a few days and climb up some of the peaks around Nahuel Huapi. We started off from the base of the wintertime ski resort and headed up into the mountains, where we spent our first night near a beautiful alpine lake, building a rock wall around our tent so we didn´t get blown off the mountain by the powerful and sporadic wind. The second day proved to be the real test. After climbing a calm ridge we saw that the trail kept going up another ridge, this time completely covered in small loose rocks (scree) that slide you a half step back for every step forward you take. Once we reached the top we had to face the ugly fact that the way down was the same. This time at least gravity was on our side, and by risking a small amount of torn flesh we found a way to slide down the loose rock in a kind of skiing motion, an appropriate way to descend in this part of the country. We made it to the bottom and the trail turned into a beautiful verdant valley, before of course climbing up, and then back down another scree covered peak. When we finally reached the much more protected campsite we checked the clock and saw that it had taken us 8 hours to cover a mere 7km, by far our slowest day on the trail. The next morning we were delighted to find the way out was much more flat, and this time we covered 27km in 7 hours, regaining an ounce or two of our hiking confidence. With one more night of rest we snagged a 23 hour bus to the capital to finally see what all the hype was about.

Buenos Aires has an uncommon duality best described as hermaphroditic. In many ways graceful and passionate, it has an undeniable dark and rough side that shows itself throughout the city.

To get to know the feminine side of the city we start at the United Nations Plaza, where an 18 ton metallic flower named Floralis Generica gracefully opens its massive hydraulic petals every morning at 8 AM. From the flower we walk through the sprawling innercity Forests of Palermo until we reach the Recoleta Cemetery, one of the most impressive collections of intricate and audacious tombs in the world. Once inside the cemetery the movement of tourists quickly leads over to the burial site of the highly revered Eva Perón, the former wife of dictator Juan Perón and the instigator of a surprising number of humanitarian and womens rights movements. The narrow paths of the cemetery then continue through blocks of ornate tombs depicting angels and saviors watching over the deceased bodies of Argentinas celebrated revolutionary figures. After leaving the cemetery we descend into the subway to head over towards San Telmo, the heart of the tango culture. As the metal train pushes into the concrete tunnel scrawled grafiti on the walls reminds us of another powerful feminine figure, Cristina Kirchner, who has been leading the country since her husband suffered a heart attack while she was in office. The train pulls into its destination and we climb out into San Telmo to the sight of lively bars setting up for a tango show in the plaza. As the dancers firmly clasp hands and prepare themselves for the seductive encounter we can feel the petals of the flower closing in on themselves way off in the United Nations Plaza.

As the night sets in we start to see the changes. A brightly painted school bus flies by with people hanging out every opening, screaming soccer chants and waving flags for Boca Junior as they head into La Bombonera for the game. The tango show is soon overrun by a group of 15 drummers pounding out tribal sounding rythms, and eventually the dancers give up on their display. Once we can see the bottom of the pitcher of beer we get up and walk off down the block, aimlessly searching for the club with the most appeal. Only a block away we see the ´cartoneros,´ groups of neglected homeless that dig through the trash in search of discarded food and clothing. As we wander through the streets we are continually confronted by the 67 meter tall obelisk, the cities declaration of longevity and stamina after 400 years of existence. A few blocks further we reach the camp of the War Veterans of the Islas Malvinas, forgotten victims of a very well remembered war. Finally we select a dance club, and inside that door we find the masculine and feminine poles of the city mixing very unpretentiously until the early hours of the morning, when the cycle repeats.

Our experience in Buenos Aires was highlighted by a few outgoing and exciting characters. The first of which was Diana, the girlfriend of our friend Yaron from Tucson. With Dianas help we navigated the streets and felt more welcomed as we exorcised the demons in San Telmos watering holes. She also helped us with our experiment with tango dancing, where we learned how to promptly apologize after crashing into the other dancers on the floor. Our next display of hospitality came from Julio and Gabriel, a couple we had contacted through couchsurfing that gave us a roof for a few days. By ´giving us a roof´ I mean our own room in their penthouse apartment located walking distance from the center of the city. Beyond just a place to sleep, they helped us learn a bit about Buenos Aires culture, slang, and perhaps even more importantly, how to properly savor the famous Argentine asado (steak). Our final day even Yaron himself made an appearance, having flown all the way from Arizona just to catch us for a few hours. Or I suppose it could have been his fun loving girlfriend that helped coax him down. Before I leave I feel its only fair to mention a few of the lesser characters we encountered at our hostel during our first few nights in the city. There was Alejandro, a fast talking Argentinian with a drug habit and an excellent impression of sassy Argentinian girls. Then there was the American from Milwaukee, who we had the pleasure of sharing our 20 bed dorm with. In between cigarrettes and bottles of coke he made time to scream and have rather angry imaginary conversations with imaginary people over an imaginary briefcase that seemed to be very important. The dirty-footed-artisan-hippie was a bit harder to get to know. In the day he was little more than two blackened soles sticking out a blanket, and when he finally found his energy around midnight he kept to just singing along with loud music in the lobby of the hostel. Fortunately, Carlos from Venezuela helped prove that it was the world, and not Viviana and I, going crazy, as we shared interesting conversations about traveling and surviving in hostels such as these.

Now we are pushing on north into Brazil, but not without a stop at one of the most incredible natural attractions of the world. But thats for next time...