The Last Leg

The final leg of the Brazilian adventure was - as seems to be the pattern - not as straight forward as planned.

Firstly there were only two boats off the island a day. 11am and 4pm. Our flight from Rio was in the evening (agreeably not until 9pm, but still) so we (I) opted for the early journey. Back on land we were literally packed to the rafters with everyone's bags - there was certainly no quick fire escape from this mini bus.

The drive back into the city was actually fine, despite Rio traffic generally being some of the most horrific. We arrived at the airport a full five hours before departure. And there really is not a lot to do at Rio airport. Listen to the samba school music on repeat perhaps... but that's about the extent of it.

Finally on the plane (awful air Iberia, no movies, no space, no free drinks) and back to Madrid at some unearthly hour in the morning.

Madrid airport is a little bigger than Rio. A little bigger in fact that we nearly missed the connecting flight as we were sat in the wrong terminal.

A kind airhostess spotted the stupid English and ushered us onto an inter terminal bus, and straight onto the plane back to Blighty.

But we're not there yet. The little aircraft flew into London City airport, the other side of London to where we departed, and where my little Clio was parked. And it was mid-afternoon tube rush hour.

And THEN back to the car at full on rush hour, and... it had a puncture!! Sort the puncture, get on the road home THE WRONG WAY!!

Anyway, what's important is we did get home, eventually. (Or is that even important?)

Signing off from the Brazilian adventures. For now.

Ilha Grande - island hopping

Final stop on the South American adventure: Ihla Grande. Backpackers playground, Emily sick inducing jealousy centre.

We took a mini-bus from Paraty winding along the coastline to a smelly town and pier where we'd catch the boat out to the island paradise.

Ihla Grande was the point on the trip (appropriately about two days before we're due to return) where I really felt that I could do more of this travel lark. Meeting so many travellers who were either on their way around the whole of the southern continent, or on their way back, turned me a shade of forest.

But our few days in the fleshy jungle and on the hot sands was nothing to be sniffed at.

High point was the boat trip - a whole 9 hours in blistering Brazilian sun speeding around every corner of the island. The little boat was filled with 15 Europeans and true to form the mad dogs and Enlgishmen chose to sit out front with no sun shade. Cue this fantastic picture of the boys mid-afternoon.

Had a great time floating off snorkel masks in full action, as we were gently caressed around the corner of the bay by the sea whilst in search of puffafish and tortoises. Also included in this most brilliant day; jumping off rocks, climbing in and out of the speed boat at each beautiful beach, making new friends and generally having a fab time - none of which I have a photo of (of course).

So instead here's a pretty beach shot...

Seas of green and skies of blue

Swimming, boat riding, relaxing. That's all.

A drive down south

After the incredulous experiences of Rio we felt we were in need of a little relaxation - que most luxurious hotel yet; Pousada do Ouro.

The journey was just under 4 hours - a blink of an eye for a Brazilian. We saw traffic tailing back most of the way, as Rio's population returned to their day jobs after the carnival holiday. Luckily Parati was not the destination of choice this side of festivities.

Finally we turned off the main road into the medium sized fishing town. It was not quite as colloquial as we were led to believe however once we were past Brazil's version of the one stop, the mini bus trembled its way around the historic centre, along the biggest cobblestones I'd ever seen. We circled the town centre (perhaps made up of just 10 rows of buildings) and parked up on a patchy grass bank near a double garage door. Closed for siesta perhaps?

The staff of the oversized pousada were not long to come to our aid and as we trundled along behind our suitcases we were revived from the drive by tumbling leafy outdoor corridors and tinkling water. 

Our room was over the other side of the cobbled street, through a bright yellow door with a window in it, and along another open corridor with colourful windows either side. Up some stairs and into a chilly but traditional room with rustic style bathroom. Not the epitome of comfort but oh so gorgeous.

We mucked around in the hotel for the remainder of the afternoon, enjoying the colonial settees, patterned paintings, dabbling in the geometric pool and supping fruity caipirinhas.

In the evening we went out to celebrate Jonny's 29th. After circling the block under the soft glow of the street lights and the murmur of music, we found a sufficiently upmarket restaurant which served traditional fish dishes. I had octopus on bruschetta followed by white fish with rice and Jonny had spiced soup with a juicy steak, washed down with a deep burgundy red. A wonderful evening.

Rio's A-listers

Taking a step back… (the whirlwind that was carnival mixes the mind a little, not least the order of the photos!) So, before our second night of carnival we were bundled along the coastline to the most exclusive part of town, over looking the south end of Ipanema beach. The tower blocks here are not as high, and although they may be overlooked, they aren't overlooked by just anyone. 

We were invited to an exclusive BBQ on the roof terrace of Goncalo's sister Seline's and their parents' private flat. We entered through the car port at the bottom, with a polite, rather large, Brazilian with dark glasses to hold the door and summon the lift. The lift took us to floor 2 where we found another big, dark oak door with giant bronze knocker. Through the living area, adorned with African art and glinting sculpture, we went outside to the pool side terrace where a handful of floatily clad Brazilians and Americans were clustered around a table decorated with fruit, a selection of alcohol and an ice bucket of beer.

The roof terrace was unbelievable. Glass balcony around the front side, with sliding doors onto the main room of the house. A side room was kitted out with a brick BBQ, along with chef, and aforementioned bar. Four tables with beautiful white canvass sun umbrellas sat between the pool and the glass wall, overlooking Ipanema beach.

After a couple of beers to loosen the vocal chords we got down to the business of mingling (luckily Michael knew several of the Americans who were all in the racehorse sect) and Selina coaxed a few lucky ones out into a chink of stone where a DJ and a rather glamorous dancer were already flinging around a few moves. We were to learn the salsa ahead of the evenings festivities. Oh dear.

Of course, with flip-flops Jonny did not take so easily to the dance, and the crowd of bespectacled gentlemen the other side of the pool was not exactly encouraging, although, in true Brazilian style, everyone is admired and dance is part of the language.

The afternoon got hotter and meat appeared (I think some of which was a small animal's kidney). We met some interesting people, spoke with Selina who was cultivating a wild grass rooftop above the patio, and briefly met the big dogs - Goncalo's parents, who were sensibly sitting inside.

At about 6pm we took our leave and went for a couple of hours rest before continuing the party at the sambadrome. But it was certainly an afternoon not to be forgotten.

Christ who redeems us...

Saturday and Sunday night were spent in the luxury of Goncalo's three storey box at Rio Carnival's sambadrome. You may have seen the pictures. Here's a few more incase you missed them:

So the carnival was unbelievable. Highlights (apart from the luxury of the heavily air conditioned box, with champagne, sushi, stunning company and English speakers, were

1. the giant white eagal which was lowered to 'fly' beneath a TV bridge

2. the 'host' dancer (or if it were a ceilidh it would be the 'caller') who initiated the dancing amongst the English / American crowd

3. of course, taking part in the 1.5 hour parade through the purpose built, concrete sambadrome

Arriving back to our hotel a second night only vaguely before sunrise, we knew we only had one more day in Rio. So sight seeing it was. Need I mention that the breakfasts at the Grand Marina Palace hotel were exceptional? 

El Christo - what a stunner. Unfortunately he was wracked by an inopportune flock of humans scaling the thin point of rocky outcrop to smooth his big toe, or more commonly for 2015, to take a 'selfie' using said 'selfie-stick'. The crowds quickly scared us off after capturing his holiness in this beauty.

And on to no.2 biggest landmark it was… Sugar Loaf Mountain, aptly named, after a sugar loaf. Imaginative. Luckily one of the Brazilian storms was fast approaching (lightning striking el Christo) so the mass swarms of tourists were diminished slightly. 

CARNIVAL!!!!!

It is like some kind of weirdly 3D dream that you're not really sure is real…

It begins……..

The Grande Marina Palace in Rio was spectacular.

The roof top pool just 'topped' it off.

Rio is another world. We arrived in good time on the Saturday afternoon and checked into the hotel. Luxury. I especially enjoyed the big fluffy white pillows. Leblon beach stretched out ahead and to each side, spread with bronzed bodies, colourful lives emanating heat that even the turquoise sea could not subdue. Strolling through the throngs and thongs we bared the beach and sussed out the lay of the land. Lots to assess. I think generally I will need to return to Rio again to make up my mind for sure.

In the evening we were due to meet Mum and Michael. Their flight had been delayed so we ate at the first floor restaurant of the hotel (perfect beach viewing height) and narrowly missed paying R$100 each for jazz. Which I'm sure would have been lovely but as that would have doubled the dinner bill we thought we'd better extricate ourselves from the situation as soon as possible.

We waited at the funky bar downstairs. The capirinhas (cocktails made with local sugar based spirit cachaca) were potent. One down (and after wine at dinner) Mum and Michael arrived and so we just rolled another few on out. Some wonderful (wonderfully drunk) Brazilians came to talk to us and really got into the carnival spirit (mad outfits, copious drinks, swaying dance moves).

The next morning was my worst hang over of the holiday - despite the all-nighters to come.

Saquarema

We had two nights in Saquarema before returning to Rio for the much anticipated - jealously inspiring - carnival experience. It was just enough time to get comfortable and blend in… if that includes learning what to order at the bar and burning to comparable scales to a paint tester card. I think I reached terracotta.

The first night came after the best sunset, sinking miles along the white beach into the borderline of perfect peaks and endless horizon beyond. 

We realised what time it was so trekked back to change for dinner - at which point we realised that it was somewhere between 20 and 40 minutes walk from the pousada to the town. We hit the restaurant at 9pm and ordered the Brazilian speciality - a plate of meat (4 different animals) served with rice, chips and, if we felt we didn't have enough carbs at this point, toasted 'manioc' flour. Fantastic. Two starved sun-stroked travellers' ideal. 

The next day was beach day. After a nice breakfast of white bread rolls, sliced cheese and juicy papaya we settled into sunbathing. Sensibly we thought we would avoid the peak midday heat so went back to change and head into town. Again, unfortunately the long walk slightly changed plans and as we arrived at the back streets past the mercado and locals bars my shins began to prickle. The sun was unforgiving and shade was hard to come by. Sidling awkwardly along curb corners for as long as possible I side stepped sun streaks until we found a suitably canopied restaurant to regroup. 

After 3pm we thought it might be safe and set out to hunt for a bus station. What a difference to Rio's hell hole. Just 4 people waiting quietly by a juice bar, cheap easy ticket sales and reserved seats for tomorrow's journey.

The walk back was a challenge.

Surfing the shade we made it to the main bus stop along the seafront and waited for our release back to the fan cooled room. Still it was not all plain sailing just yet… 

The bus rattled past our left turn, and slid around the next roundabout too. Jonny said get off, I said stay on, who knows what the best thing to do was - the bus was clearly heading deeper into the jungle and none spoke our language. After twice as long as the ride home should have taken the bus got a small rural village (red roves, some exposed building works, a small window selling drinks) turned around and switched its engine off. 

Everyone got off - the time had come to take action! Oh dear. The bus driver looked utterly confused and two women waiting at the bus stop began to giggle. Fortunately the younger (scantily clad) woman was an energetic communicator and made a good effort to work out what was wrong with these crazy english people. Between three of them they decided to find the only english speaking person in the village. After some time a young girl - definitely not Brazilian - was brought out to speak to us, she may have been French or European, because she definitely could not speak English! Her 'guardian' did the best job at translation and eventually they worked out that we were just waiting for the driver to start the bus back up and return to our starting point. 

Day 2 started well...

Centro / Lapa looked good in the sun! The giant pyramid thing turned out to be a church and the theatre turned out to be closed. Leaving about an hour to taxi to the bus station was a good idea at first and I felt for a minute that I was getting used to taxis… But Rio bus station "rodoviaria" is like an airport from hell. No signs, no times, and even more interminable queues.

The taxi driver has planted the seed in our minds of taking a taxi to Saquarema (a two hour drive - excluding traffic). So we dragged out suitcases back out to flag down a yellow cabbie (the "cheaper" type). It was fairly easy to thumb one down and all seemed fine as he quoted us around R$180 (about £40). I even thought 'oh he's taking us on a nice tour of Rio to get fuel before we head out north…' Wonderful. Until we actually went under Christ the Redeemer and suspiciously sidled up alongside the lake near to Ipanema.
"Ipanema?"
"Saquarema"
"Ipanema…"
"Saquarema".
It would appear that Mr. Nice Taxi Man had 'misheard' drastically. Doh.
So of course he had thought, brilliant I'll take these nice young Americans for a ride (R$180 for a 1/2 hour journey in Rio is pretty steep). Renegotiation began.

Saquarema is a quaint town, almost typical, if there was a typical Brazilian town, with colourful doorways, large outstretched verandas hung with hammocks, open windows letting the warm air blow through the houses. The main square where the young parade themselves after sunset, the row of bars spilling onto the road selling their cooler-jacket clad beers. The white washed church perched on the rocky focal point was a disappointingly long was from our pousada - which was to be the deciding factor in a good/bad stay.

We were dropped by Mr. Nice/Crazy Taxi Man right outside, and to give him credit, he did ask about seven people for directions. True to Trip Advisor form it took a while for someone to come to the door but finally we were met by a wonderfully smily American girl - thank god! English speaking!

The pousada was simple but pleasant. The room had a shower with one temperature tap… and an overbed fan to cool the 30 degree heat. The beach and aquamarine Atlantic were literally out the door an across the road.

First activity on the to-do list: some beach lying.

Rio de Janeiro

Travels on Another Continent - Brazil Part 1

So after a 'short' break from writing this blog I have new travel news from the other side of the world.

Brazil 

Beginning on Tuesday 10th February 2015, Jon Watling and Emily McCoy set off for new lands…

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After a roller-coaster of travel nerves, suitcase traumas, Spanish aero-food and copious dubiously labelled beers, we arrived at 8pm in the muggy dark of Rio International airport - bags still all, just about, in one piece.

The warm air hit us as we crawled out of the plane into the queue for passport check - yes, apparently it's not just the British who love to queue - although unfortunately during the carnival period it was mostly 'guapas' coming to Brazil, foreigners, of pretty much every nationality. Coincidentally also those not from Rio are known as guavas.

The first night of this particular journey was slept in Centro - the central district bordering Lapa, the 'party' area. And Lapa lived up to its reputation with bars spilling out into the streets, only just enough space to walk between bikes, busses and cars careering through at top speed and shouting cariocas with 'long neck' beers (in cooler) topping up little glasses.

We cosied up to a small group of men on a wooden table on the pavement and at last settled down to two large, cold, local beers. We were only stared at just a little bit…