At Sea

We're off on another nautical adventure, this time around Cape Horn.  Presently we're in Ushuaia ("The End Of The World" as it's referred to by the local tourist industry) where it is a character-building 2°C.

Our stops this time involve taking zodiac boats out to look at glaciers and to irritate penguins, so we're definitely going dark for a few days.

Try and hold it together till then.

Iguazu/Iguazú/Iguaçu

“Poor Niagra”  -Eleanor Roosevelt on seeing Iguazu Falls

We flew from Salvador up to Iguazu Falls: a place I’ve stopped trying to pronounce to anyone Spanish or Portuguese speaking.  They’re found where the borders of Paraguay, Brazil and Argentina meet.  The falls themselves are split between national parks in Brazil and Argentina, with the bulk of the falls themselves being in the Argentine end. We visited both ends because we don’t like to play favourites.

We landed in Foz do Iguaçu (Brazilian side) in the mid-afternoon and checked in to our hotel in town. We figured out the buses and caught the one headed to the park.  There are shuttles there that move you around the place to the various trails and whatnot, but we only had time to see the big splashy bits.

 
 
 

They’re rather pretty

There are a series of walkways that allow you to walk as close to the base of the “Devil’s Throat” as is prudent.  It’s close enough to take a soggy selfie with mother nature.

Weird wildlife for the day came in the form of coatis, the local cute racoon-ish thing.  They squeak rather disarmingly, but you would be wise not to eat in their presence.  Apparently they’re not shy when they’re hungry.

 
We watched them strip a man to the bone after he spilled ketchup on his shirt

The following morning we got a taxi across to the Argentine side, which was a bit of an adventure in its own right.  The border crossing itself took moments, but our hotel on that side was actually in the park, so our driver had to turn away from the security post to take me back to the main kiosks so I could buy tickets into the park. Fine. I went up to the counter and ask for two tickets.  The bod said they were 250 pesos each. Still fine. I take out my credit card and he tells me it’s cash only.  We don’t have any pesos as we’ve just crossed the border and we’re in a rainforest.  I ascertain from him that there’s an ATM around the corner.  OK.  I walk up to it.  Out of order.  Fucksocks.  I walk up to another counter and confirm whether they really don’t take card or not. They really really don’t.  I ask if they take US dollars and she -with a glint in her eye- said very quietly that they didn’t but that she’ll do me a favour this time.  She rolled the notes up in her hand out of view of the CCTV and made them disappear.  I’ve only been in the country a couple of minutes and I’ve accidently facilitated a crime.  Anyway, we drove back up to the checkpoint and he made us turn back and get tickets with the hotel written on them, which are different despite costing the same.  I’m missing Brazil already. 

We check into the hotel eventually and, as soon as we find our room and go outside to admire the falls view we paid for, the heavens open and it pisses down.

“This is a rainforest, dickhead” –Gaia

When the rain abated, we donned our waterproofs and went for a walk.  It transpires that the Argies might have the better half of this deal.

            

And here’s some assorted beasties, including a toucan (which we managed to miss every damn time in the Pantanal) and an ant the size of a small dog.

         

So farewell then, Brazil, you treated us well. Next stop: Buenos Aires.

Kurzfassung auf Deutsch: Wir gingen in Iguazu Wasserfälle, die zwischen Brasilien und Argentinien ist. Wir blieben auf beiden Seiten, aber der argentinischen Seite war noch beeindruckender. Ich machte viele Fotos von Schmetterlingen.

Salvador

After spending five days living it lazy, we caught a flight to nearby Salvador for our next dose of urban sprawl.  After we grabbed lunch from a nearby café, I took it upon myself to figure out how to get some of our clothes laundered.  It's a cheap time to be a Brit in Brazil, but hotel laundry service still costs the indentured servitude of future offspring.  I found a laundry not too far away that was notionally self-service, but you had to buy tokens. After my exceptional impression of a babbling moron, the lady there did most of it for me.  I've taken to brandishing the 'thumbs up' gesture at every social interaction that results with a vaguely positive outcome or successful communication.  I look like a demented Paul McCartney. This trip will probably result in me being hanged when I inevitably stumble upon a people to whom that is a profane insult to their ancestors.  But on this occasion: clean clothes. Yay.

Felipe, the chef at The Butterfly House, trained with a Spanish guy who owns a restaurant in Salvador. It's a small place (but well renowned, it turns out) but he phoned ahead and greased the skids for us to pop in when we were in town.  It's run by the Spanish chap's Brazilian wife, who we WhatsApp'ed (is that verb? Bollocks to this decade) when we were in town and arranged to drop in later in the evening.  It was exceptional. I'm not one to Instagram or blog my food -unless it's funny or weird- but we have been taking pictures as we go along so we remember where we were and what we had. Have a gander.

The following day we had a tour guide drive us around town, giving us the history of the city and the country in general.  Apparently the Spanish and the Dutch ran the place on occasion, but it didn't stick.  They were eventually a republic, had the occasional coup and military dictatorship, and then they grew out of it.  The various town squares are haunted by the big black ladies in the traditional garb and flexible youths putting on mediocre capoeira displays. I have no photographs of any of that because they all want paying for posing, and I seldom had a note smaller than 50 groats on me - which no one ever had change for, what with it being a whole £9 and all.

The church and monastery of St Francis is the single most elaborately decorated house of God I have ever seen, and we've seen a few.  Historically, the tithes paid to the church took the form of gold rather than cash (as the locally mined gold was exported by way of Salvador) so they used it to gild everything that was nailed down.  It was ridiculous.  The black slave artisans of the time (whose African religion was suppressed by the Portuguese) took the opportunity to make the various cherubs and Portuguese representations overly stupid-looking and mocking.   The Portuguese just thought they weren't very good at representing white people.

Herp derp 

Salvador, like the other major cities in Brazil, has favelas dotted about its hillsides, housing its least affluent.  We had a chat about the favelas on the way back to the hotel.  Evidently there are strata of favela ranging from wriggly tin lean-tos in the first generation of houses, to crudely built brick homes with running water, power and satellite TV in the later generations.  None of the houses in the favelas exist on any deeds or land registry, but as the population of the city grows (along with its demand for middle-class housing), the ancillary space on hillsides next to the city in which the favelas were established starts to look more like viable real estate. The owners of the houses frequently get bought out by developers - at a government regulated fair price, which is about double what the 'market' value is- and often set themselves up in a legitimate home in the suburbs.  The government is very keen to turn people who exist off the radar into legitimate taxpayers and grateful voters.  Choose your squat wisely.  

I can't remember what the dancing water bints are bringing to the party

 There are always the stalwarts who won't budge, though. To be fair, they often have a nice view.

It's the typhoid that makes it so homey

We rounded off with another ridiculously good meal at a place the guide suggested. I'll save you the food-shots save for the dessert.

Brigadeiro doesn't judge you; Brigadeiro likes you just as you are.

I tried the brigadeiro, which Jamie Oliver made the terminal error of insulting on national television, the fat-tongued twathorse.   It's an early grave in a cup but it's also a beloved comfort food and broadly as moreish as meth.

So that was the last city visit in Brazil.  Contrary to expectations we remain un-mugged and keen to return.

Kurzfassung auf Deutsch: Ich denke, dass ich die letzte zusammenfass vergessen. Wir haben diese Mal in Salvador verbrachten. Wir haben die Altstadt besucht und wir haben die verschiedenen Fototermine mit den Einheimischen vermieden, weil sie wollen immer gezahlt werden, und ich habe nie klein genug Geld gehabt.
Das Essen war immer sehr lecker. Brasilien hat uns gut behandelt.