Water Sports

As it turned out, I never did switch hostels here in Paraty. I should be on the bus to Sao Paulo but decided to stay here one extra day just for admin duties and relaxation. The last couple of days have been full of Adventure.

Saturday finished off with Em Concerto, the quirky and silent puppet show down one of the towns many cobbled streets. Seven pieces, all on different aspects of life, made up the one hour I enjoyed, sat glued to the entertainment on the front row in the cosy theatre. It was a wonderful form of entertaiment that I´d highly recommend, if ever you´re passing through. When me and the like-minded intellectuals had vacated this creative oasis, I headed to the snazzy Che Bar to meet up with Ciaran, who had been sinking numerous beers while I´d been away. On the menu, I particularly liked the sound of ´Fidel´s Chicken.` Also present were a Dutch couple we´d met briefly on Ilha Grande called Anouk and Stuart (another loose translation) and a group of three girls visiting the area. Their network was made up of Adrienne from Sao Paulo, Lesley from Australia and another girl from Rio, who´s name at this point eludes me. We had drinks and laughs until around 2am.

Of the many days in Brazil where I´ve been faced with rain, Sunday was one where I had no such encounter. It was therefore fitting that on this day, we chose to take a group trip to the seaside. Ciaran, myself and the three amigas we´d met the night before jumped into a packed mini-bus and headed to Trinidade, a touristy coastal down with lots of delightful beaches.

The twenty minute journey down the Emerald Coast was extremely scenic, with the coast on one side and rich, green rainforests to the other.

Our first stop was, as expected, a big beach. We climbed a big rock which was excellent for getting a better view, then strolled along to another point for more opportunities to give our camera lenses a suitable workout. Sadly, Ciaran dropped his camera and it broke. He was down but not quite out.

When we were all satisfied with what we´d seen, we piled back in the Adventure Paraty mini-bus and advanced to the next stop a few minutes down the road. This was the centre of Trinidade and this being a Brazilian bank holiday weekend meant the beaches were packed. After a quick beer in the sun, me and Ciaran decided against a long walk and opted for a boat ride over to a natural swimming pool on the other side of the bay.

Upon arrival, the initial sense was one of confusion and resignation. As the only real way in and out of the place was via boat, and the queue was constantly pretty huge, we figured we best try and find a rock like all the other people and just hang out. We did find a rock although we did look liked prize idiots due to it´s size and shape but it was the only place we could a) find and b) climb.

Here we chilled for an hour or so before heading back on the boat with the three girls who had now joined us again. On docking at the beach, all with bags and clothing adorned, just as we were about to disembark, a huge wave from behind me and Ciaran came crashing over us all and instantly covered our group in despair.

Dripping, we headed to a restaurant by the sea, where the girls had a big fish with salad, I polished off the leftovers and Craig sat shivering while he hung up his t-shirt and towel to dry in the chilly afternoon breeze.

Satisfied and tired, we headed back to Paraty. Being a bank holiday, the town´s bars and restaurants were packed, spilling out onto the cobbled streets, with markets, clowns and music also adding to the party atmoshphere. While the rest of the gang waited for food at the restaurant, I headed off in search of a bargain, which resulted in a deep fried pizza pasty and a chocolate crepe on a stick. When all was digested, we strolled round to Dinho´s, a popular bar with live music. Here we marvelled at the locals dishing out their dance moves and downed a couple more Itaipavas.

Another day, another trip. And for this warm Monday, it was a jeep trip to waterfalls and distilleries.

As a result of a previously unmentioned meal me and Ciaran sandwiched in the night before, my stomach was feeling none to well when I awoke. An initial visit to the hostel banheiro confirmed my fears. Regardless, I joined Ciaran and a two Brazilian couples in the back of the jeep and off we headed into the wilderness.

Our first port of call was essentially a huge rock that doubled up as a waterslide. Crazed locals ran, surfed and jumped down this cascading wall of water and we were encouraged to do the same. With my own digestive mechanics playing up, alongside the fact I was wearing underpants and weighty shorts, socks and trainers (and no towel), it would be fair to say at this point I was cautious about the idea. I imagined a worse case scenario for my dilemma and it wasn´t pretty.

Peer pressure got the better of me though and soon I was sliding down the rocks on my back and plunging into the pool at the bottom. My second attempt didn´t fair so great as I got too much grip and had to shuffle myself down, much to the amusement of Ciaran and all the other onlookers. If my pale white skin didn´t already attract enough attention, my retarded surfing technique certainly did. My guide Carlos later told me, `You not from England. You from Moscow!`

Fortunately from here, the rum distillery we visited was just over the road from the rock slide. On realising this and feeling my insides turn to hell, I asked Carlos where the toliet was. Despite missing out on how it is you make rum, I was content. Temporarily relieved, I rejoined the group and tasted some Cachaça.

Then we went off-road seemingly to nowhere through the jungle until we landed at a place where there were beer cans growing on the trees. After a five minute trek, we landed at another natural swimming pool, like the day before, but this was more secluded and intimate. Ciaran swam in the cold water, belly-flopped and then just dive-bombed until he could do no more.

When everyone was suitably dried, we jumped in the jeep and ambled to a seventeenth century farm which is now a rum distillery and restaurant among several other things. We had a lovely steak meal and some wonderful homemade coffee. Me and Ciaran also found some guns to play with. I said before I came out here that I wanted to get a picture of someone with a gun but a cockney in a QPR shirt with an antique rifle wasn´t quite what I´d hoped for.

Our final stop was again in the middle of the jungle/forest and involved a pool of water and a rope. By this point, my internal issues seemed to have resolved themselves and so I had a new found vigour and purpose. Despite the now darkening skies hanging over us and my shorts drying out by the minute, I was determined not to let this moment pass. After an excellent demo by Carlos, I followed him up a muddy path, grabbed the rope and swung like an ape before plummeting into the big black pool of water. Ciaran soon followed as did bucket loads of rain, at which point we made a hasty dash to the jeep for our journey back home.

After a good power-nap, me and Ciaran headed round to Anouk and Stuart´s hostel where they made us pasta and steak, which was delicious. We headed into town which was deserted in comparison to previous nights and I had a truffle and a Snickers-like block of something before, again, we had some beers. To round off the evning, we sat in an empty bar where we were treated to a wonderfully intimate performance by a couple of musicians on a Spanish guitar.

Today I´m just hanging out and going for food with friend Ciaran before tomorrow, we head to Terra da Garoa (Land of Drizzle) and the brand new Olha Hostel.

All the new pics are HERE on Flickr. Go take a look...

Over staying my welcome

Yes this is brief but it´s important. With Ciaran from Ilha Grande joining me this afternoon, my plans have now changed accordingly. Tomorrow, we head to some beautiful beaches on a tour and the next day, a jeep trip to some waterfalls and a Cachaça (Brazilian rum) distillery. I am also hopping across to his hostel to enjoy tomorrow night as he says it´s better than mine.

Then on Tuesday, it´s off to the see the ugly fella, three times the size of Paris. The old and grey Mr Sao Paulo.

In the meantime, enjoy my picture of the beautiful boats they have on offer here.

Love Bug: Fighting extinction in Brazil

Over here, it´s known as a `Fusca` but to you and me, it´s a Beetle.

Of the many things this wonderful country has to offer, the one element that for me brings an instant rush of happiness above all others, is the sight of one of these wonderful motor vehicles lurking on nearly every street.

Replaced in most parts of the world by the characterless `New Beetle`, it´s rare to find a place where the original version is still being loved and living freely. Here is such a place and I feel privelaged to be in its company.

Paraty is restored

Following the dip in the sea on Monday morning, I enjoyed a well earned rest and surfaced around midday. Eventually me and Craig headed to Sugar Loaf Mountain as the weather seemed fine, meaning we would probably get some good photos. As we both fancied a bit of a challenge, we decided against getting the two cable cars to the summit and instead walked the first peak, where on top we would find the second cable car station which would then take us over to Sugar Loaf, a separate peak. The hike was pretty gruelling but good fun all the same. Despite being a ten minute taxi drive from our hostel on Copacabana, it seemed a world away, with only forest and sea surrounding us. After about an hour we made it. There, I gorged on guava juice and some M&Ms while Craig had his usual dose of Acai (A Brazilian slush thing that is made up of some form of berry). Also there were some small monkeys and sadly, a rather big cloud hanging over Rio. Alarmed, we made a dash for the cable car up to the top and there, we were greeted with yet more cloud. Suffice to say, we didn´t hang around long, especially as daylight was on it´s last legs and we still had to make the return trek from the other peak. We could have got a cable car but as I said, it was a challenge we were looking for and this element was the only thing we had to cling onto in our otherwise unsuccessful day.

In the evening, we played pool with other travellers and hung out until the early hours, drinking beers and caipirinhas.

Tuesday came and with it, a fond farewell to Rio. As Craig was heading to Ilha Grande with his lady and a friend, I figured I should join them and head to what I thought would be warmer climes.

I loaded my bags in a van and was ready to jump in and go but there had been an admin error, techincally my fault for not handing in my receipt, and so I had to wait a further thirty minutes before I was picked up. As there were more people making the trip than planned from our place, I had to hop in a taxi with some randoms from another hostel and make the two hour journey a few miles behind my backpack. To give my story a greater context, their names were Ben and Roxy (a couple) and Joe (English equivalent of), a Dutch chap who works for some form of marine police.

We arrived at a little port one hundred kiometeres south of Rio in blazing sunshine and soon were on a little fishing boat, heading over to paradise island. The hostel itself looked amazing, with a lovely terrace, barbeque area and hammocks, all just a stones roll away from the waters edge.

In the evening, we had a barbeque which unfortunately didn´t come close to the one I´d annihilated a few nights before at Mellow Yellow. Still, there was beer, music and plenty of happy faces. Once this was digested, I headed to a nearby beach with Craig so he could get some pretty moon pictures then we trundled further along to a perfectly placed bar, slap bang on the beach front, for a nicley chilled beer and a chat.

Wednesday was here but the sun had vanished. Again, me and Craig sought adventure and saw a bike ride to a nearby (thirteen kilometers) derelict prison as the remedy. With no gears and a mountain range ahead of us, off we went. Five minutes had barely passed before we found ourselves pushing the bikes up a snaking dirt track, seemingly to nowhere. As we climbed and climbed, so too the clouds got closer and closer. By the time we reached the summit to go down from, the drizzle was fast becoming a monsoon. Craig´s chain fell off and despite sorting this out, we very quickly realised this would be another failed mission. Tails between our wet legs, we took our bikes back up to the recently crossed summit and made our decent, back to where we started.

In the evening, tired and dejected, we ate at a local eatery. I enjoyed some brail meat which was consumed with my eyes open and Craig had bolognese. Then after a power nap, I headed to the neighbouring hostel for a quick beer or two before having an early night.

Another new day, but sadly the same old weather. Now it was windy as well and the rain torrential. I just made a couple of visits into the town to grab food, jump online and generally just do something. My cockney chum Craig left with his female party and I played pool against a local on the uber difficult tables they have over here. The pockets are stupidly small but I gave him a run for his money so I was quite happy. He also over hit a break and he had to make a fishing rod to rescue the white ball from the sea.

Next door was where the drink and food was at so I put my name down and got a huge plate of steak, salad, rice and mash. The beers were flowing (two of them free) and I even had a few games of Shithead with another southerner called Ciaran and the new Irish girls from my dorm. One more free beer followed after I manned the reception for the girl working there while she went `Out of Office` for a few minutes. Anyhow, we laughed, drank and danced a little until we could stand no more.

With the weather forecast still predicting depression, I brought forward my exit plans and jumped on the morning ferry back to the mainland, from where I grabbed a two hour bus to my current location.

Paraty is what she goes by. A lovely little colonial town which if I remember correctly, has it´s entire centre listed as a national hisorical monument. It really is beautiful, with cobbled streets and craft shops at every turn. Also, the internet is cheap here and I can actually do some washing that will dry. I´m booked in for a couple of nights but I may stay a day longer, I like it so much. Yes, I like it one day more than I thought I would. And the rain has gone.

I am particularly excited about tomorrow night, when I´m going to see En Concerto, an allegedly famous silent puppet show in a little theatre in the town. Check it here... I´ve bought my front row seat for what sounds like a magical piece of creativity, although it does mean I won´t be doing a jeep or boat trip as my budget told me`one or the other.`

Before I go, the hostel is also great, as it´s very homely with nice bed sheets and friendly people running it.

I´ve started using Flickr to ditch all the photos I take from my memory card so please, feel free and go check them out at www.flickr.com/jmage and hit the image on the right that says `Brasil.` Be aware that all these photos are being taken with a compact Panasonic DMC-LZ5 camera (thanks Stef), not my Canon SLR, so the standard may not be as hot as you´d expect but tough, it´s the best I can do at the moment.

Favela, Football, Funk

I did make it to Ipanema on Saturday but it was a bit dull and the sun was hiding. In the evening had a great barbeque at the hostel where the meat was unbelievable. This was shared with my hairy friends Tom and Andrew and less hairy Craig. Afterwards, we along with the three Aussies Arie, Maddie and Sarana and a lovely deaf chap who I believe is French, watched Me, Myself and Irene in the cinema room. I use ´cinema´ in a broad sense as it was just a tv with four sofas stacked up one behind the other. I loved the film and enjoyed the sweet nibbles and beer we consumed.

Sunday morning kicked off with the favela tour which was superb. Craig was in my group and he, like me, enjoys taking his photographs and the slums were a great subject. We got taken to the bottom of Rocinha Favela, supposedly the largest slum in South America with over 200,000 residents, and then got whisked to the top, up winding streets on the back of motorbike taxis. From there we wandered down through the narrow passages and visited a great shop that sold cakes AND plumbing equipment. There were loads of kids that loved having there pictures taken so me and Craig were in our element. Don´t think you need to sign a parent consent form over here. By in large, all the people we met seemed pretty content with life and were friendly towards us tourists. Ironically, the guide had emblazened on his t-shirt ´Don´t be a gringo! Be a local!´ Walking through a poverty-stricken neighbouhood as part of a guided tour with your camera clicking at every moment is probably the least ´local´ thing you could possibly do. I guess it suggests we show an interest though by being there and it helps their economy.

On the return to the hostel, I had a quick game of pool with Craig, keenly supported by a young Brazilian girl. Then it was off to the Maracana.

After a thunderous mini bus ride, with Brazilian hip hop blaring at full tilt, we arived at the rain drenched stadium. Us ´gringos´ were shepherded by our hefty tour guide into the stadium via a quick beer and found ourselves wedged in at the back of a stand with all the crazed Flamengo fans. Fluminense, despite also being a Rio based team, were outnumbered by at least four to one. The thirty minutes before quick were incredible. Non-stop samba drums, singing, flag waving and flares whipped the crowd up into a frenzy. I almost overlooked the fact that the game had kicked off. When it did, the first half was pretty limp. They don´t do long balls over here, just lots of short passes and so was the case last night, even when either team can´t seem to force an opening. Flamengo came out the traps pretty sharpish in the second half and star man Adriano bagged a couple and sealed a very well recieved derby win.

We then piled back in the mini bus and headed back to the hostel for some Brazilian bean dish that was pretty good.

This day wasn´t over.

At 11.30pm, again we jumped in the mini bus for an even more adrenalin-fuelled journey to some funk party out in a favela. I´ll keep it brief but I was really in the zone and me, Tom and Andrew had a great time laying down some moves to some heavy, if not a touch haphazard, funk tunes. Again, there were topless hunks a plenty looking broody and lots of women shakin´ it all over the dane floor. We seemed to be quite popular standing out as we did with our pale skin and fuzzy hair and managed to avoid any problems. We left at four when it closed and headed back to the hostel, me largely with my head out of the bus window acting like a drunken dog.

On our return at around 5am, me and Andrew decided to go through with our plan we conceived earlier in the day and went to sober up in the sea on the Copacabana, along with another chap from York. Little odd yes, but definitely a good end to a great day.

The morning after

Still alive and smiling in Rio. Last night a big group of us from the hostel hit Lapa for the infamous street party. We set off at 12.30am and landed in a sea of music, markets and moody looking Brazilian men. One American in the group got a held at gunpoint for bumping into someone, another got her money robbed. I was fine though and enjoyed the party and a 6 person pile-up in the taxi on the way back.

Ealier in the day, I headed to the Copacabana with a group of young Aussies for a bit of sunshine and sea. I also ran the length of the beach in bare feet which was a super little experience. In the afternoon I headed up to Christ the Redeemer and he was in good shape but for some scaffholding around his feet. Amazing views from the top. Up there with Blackpool tower and the view of the fylde coast if not a bit better.

I never made it to the football on Thursday night as although I made the metro journey, which was actually very safe, the couple didnt show so I just went back to the hostel and got a bit drunk with the Aussies.

Today theres not much planned, maybe Ipanema and a barbeque here at the hostel tonight.

Tomorrow should be an action-packed one as first up is a favela tour, then Flamengo-Fluminense in the evening the the favela funk party to round things off. I won't be getting up early on Monday.

Sleeping with Ronaldo

Sincere apologies for my fairly sluggish start to this blog. Laziness follows you wherever you are in the world.

Having stayed in Santa Teresa since my arrival, I´ve now made an unscheduled change by moving to a more lively joint down by the Copacabana. It´s called Mellow Yellow and is supposed to be a bit of a party place. The last hostel was pleasant but quiet and up a hill. I feel I needed to step things up a little so here I am.

If it makes everyone happier, the weather until today has been pretty poor. Mostly cloud and rain for the previous two days and it has warn me down a touch. There ain´t loads of great things to do here when the weather´s being a bitch.

On Monday I went to the Copacabana but then the heavens opened so I had a pizza under cover instead. Then I ventured off to the Maracana stadium which was actually a lot less run down than I had imagined. The stadium tour was quite good but the pitch was no better than the pitches at Hough End. From here I just wandered the city centre streets but to be honest that wasn´t wonderful. In the evening there were caiprinhas and beer being downed at the hostel bar by a few of us. Met a good couple from London way but they´ve since made a run for the sun and headed for Salvador. They call themselves Shaun and Nadia.

Tuesday I tried something different. I don´t know many people who can say they´ve visited a n all inclusive mental hospital/art exhibition in Rio. I have. Awkwardly, it seemed to be sandwiched in between a load of favelas on my google map but I thought what the hell. I got a bus to the Maracana again as this was the nearest tourist stop to the place, then flagged a taxi with the assistance of an English cameraman who spoke fluent Portuguese. My taxi driver didn´t have a clue where my art exhibition was and didn´t even try concealing this, asking other taxi drivers as we drove, as to where the hell we were supposed to be going. Eventually we found it. A man in a caged garden greeted us and a run down complex which seemed very depressing. Seemed, I mean was.

On finding the art exhibition, I was treeted to my own private viewing of an English language video about a former patient who did lots of painting. I did start to nod off in the empty classroom but was conscious of the CCTV camera pointing straight at me and didn´t want to offend the staff.

On my way back, I went over to a taxi man who was parked up and instructed him to take me back to the Maracana. As it turns out, he was waiting to get jiggy with the lady inside the house he parked next to but he was happy to make her wait. Two minutes later, an angry Brazilian lady was on the phone asking where the hell he´d got to. He was a little crazy and had five kids from ¨Three lovely, lovely womans¨ and also ¨Loved to do snooker¨ I don´t think he was drunk but he was talking about drink driving and laughing like a crazed clown so I had my doubts.

In the evening I was just sat at the hostel bar, which was completely desserted, reading my Paul Theroux book when two English girls turned up wanting drinks and something to do. Within an hour, we and another good couple (John from Blackpool and Pam from Ireland...now living the high life in the Cayman Islands) had decided to go check the night life down the road in Lapa. We had several Caipirinhas and even managed a really good cod ball.

It was on the two girls´advice that I decided to move on as they said here was good fun especially compared to the scene at my then current hostel. Also, it´s next to the baech and the weather should hopefully pick up soon.

This evening there´s a game on at the Maracana and having been there everyday since I´ve been here, I feel I should keep it up and say hi once more. Going along with John and Pam, which means meeting them at a metro station in the middle of Rio. Which in turn means I need to get from Copacabana to the centre where they´ll befor 8.30pm. I´ll be flying solo so I´ll be going armed with minimum cash and leaving my flashy camera behind. Seems a bit of a needless risk doing the subway alone at night in Rio but hey, don´t knock it til you´ve tried it.

Right, I´m warn out with all this typing. Next few days will consist of sightseeing, a couple of group tours, a trip to the favela and a Rio derby at the Maracana on Sunday, hopefully followed by a favela funk party. And, I think tomorrow there may be a big party on the beach if Brazil are chosen to host the 2016 Olympics.

Oh, I nearly forgot to explain the blog title. My dorm name is Futbol and my locker is Garrincha. Ronaldo is next to me.