Mark in South America

07/06/10

La Paz to Copacabana

I caught a bus with some Swiss guys who were heading my way from the hostel. I strapped my headphones and watched Bolivian life pass me by with streets, markets and wasteland all littered with people going about their everyday business with real purpose. We drove for a few more hours through rolling hills and fields as far as the eye could see before we reached Lake Titicaca having not plummeted off the side of one of the numerous sheer drops that waited to swallow the bus up on every corner.

We vacated the bus and left it to reverse onto a ´ferry´ or planks or wood, whilst the other passengers and I caught a small boat across the short lake crossing. Once on the other side and back on the bus we drove for a long minute more before reaching Copacabana, which was the opposite of La Paz, a small town on the edge of the lake. Continuing this theme the Swiss and I jumped on a boat after lunch on the lake front heading for the Isla del Sol or Island of Sun.

After an hour and a half on the boat accompanied by some Argentines playing guitar, harmonica and shakers we arrived at the island having travelled across only a miniscule section of the highest navigable lake in the world. Going to the Island was one of the best spontaneous decisions I have made on this trip so far, the beauty of the Island really was breathtaking with panoramic views of the lake, snow capped mountains and sunshine literally making you stop and just stare. After the smog, shabby and decay of La Paz the island felt like I had been sent to rehab. Upon arrival we were set upon by children from the island all trying to entice us to come and stay in their houses which doubled up as hostels. The island is where the Incas believed the sun originated from; sitting on a patch of grass near the boats I could see why they thought this. Only a few thousand people inhabit the island today and their ways have barely changed in thousands of years, with donkeys being the main source of transportation and water still collected by hand. I reveled in the fact that there were no polluting vehicles on the island, its how the world should be.

After climbing 220 steps and suffering with the altitude and blistering sunshine we were rewarded with one of the most spectacular views of my tour so far, pure beauty just made the Swiss and I stop and stare. As evening drew I found a tiny restaurant on the edge of a cliff with no other customers, I devoured a plate of fish and chips cooked by a young girl of no older than seven and an older gentleman, it was almost as good as the views; out one window was a heard of donkeys, out of the other children threw paper airplanes off the edge of the cliff and out of the other a vast view of the lake with the sun setting over the part of the island which doubled up upon itself. It beat sitting outside a chippie back home. But before I headed to bed the island had one more surprise, with few artificial

06/06/10

The day of the San Pedro (La Paz continued...)

We were a group of about twenty and we assembled early afternoon on a street corner not too far from the hostel. A short Bolivian woman met us and explained there were to be no mobile phones, no cameras or anything similar and we set off down the street. On our way to San Pedro we passed through a parade taking place for the fiesta weekend taking place in La Paz. There were people everywhere dancing and singing, dressed in bright traditional dress with music being made by any means possible; costumes, instruments and the banging of anything a person could get their hands on. A group of people taking part in the parade passed us with blackened faces carrying chains; they signified freedom in Latin America the Bolivian woman told us. This really was ironic considering where we were heading.

San Pedro or El Penal de San Pedro is a prison. It is the largest prison in La Paz home to 1,500 inmates, with additional guests staying in the prison hotel. The prison is renowned for being a society within itself and varies greatly from other correctional facilities due to the community created within the prison; the inmates have jobs and roles within the walls. The convicts pay or rent their accommodation and often live with their families, the wealthier the prisoner the greater his accommodation will be and the higher his status will be. Elected leaders enforce the laws within the community, with violence being a common feature within the prison. San Pedro is the setting for the book Marching Powder, written by Rusty Young which describes the experiences of the British inmate Thomas McFadden who became known for offering prison tours to tourists.

Arriving at a solid steel door in twos we were greeted by guards armed to the nines with weaponry and we were intensely frisked before being led down a dark corridor into the actual prison itself. I might add at this point, San Pedro is still a very much working prison and we were entering at our own risk, with guards only on the outside.

The cell we spent most of the time hearing about the prisoners’ tales, crimes and motives belonged to Bepe. Bepe really was quite a character; he is the South American president of the Bandidos, a bike gang which rivals Hells Angels. He had served the beginning of his sentence in Stockholm, it was there he spent three solid years in isolation and the human abandonment led him to cut his own ear off. This huge frame of a man, who made me feel dwarfed for the duration of our conversation told me of his experiences and family, which included an ancestor who explored with Christopher Columbus, his father who played football for Bolivia and once played against the great Pele, his mother and the strong character she had been in his life before prison, his brother also a hardened criminal in Sweden. Bepe is to be released in the not too distant future and he plans to open the largest ´discotheque´ in La Paz. It was interesting to hear how such a man of crime and illegal business had a passion to bring music to the people. Not for the first time on this trip I have found how practically every person in Latin America has some passion for music in someway.

 The next day I took some time off after the prison the day before, taking the time to read whilst people from all over the world congregated around a guitar in a courtyard flooded with sunlight.

05/06/10

Salta to La Paz (via Santa Cruz)

In the check-in queue at the airport I met a New Zealander who was also heading for the uncertainty that was Bolivia. We boarded our plane casually half an hour late, as is the way in Latin America. The transport only leaves when people feel the time is right, I've come to enjoy this way of time keeping.

Once arrived in Santa Cruz the New Zealander and I were engulfed in a swarm of television cameras, media and screaming fans. After we established this fiasco wasn't for our arrival we realised that a high profile folk rock band were following us into arrivals. Music really is passion on this continent. Our brief stop in Santa Cruz ended when we had to catch a flight to La Paz. We arrived late evening into a sea of faces of different people, cultures and musical tastes as the taxi driver demonstrated without prompting. Bolivia has a rugged beauty, frayed around the edges by neglect in many areas.

My first view of the city really was quite amazing; it just sprawls lazily over all the surrounding areas of land available, like an illuminated ants nest. We headed for the nearby witches market. Here you can suffice all your llama and alpaca clothing needs. As well as numerous 'medicines' and love potions you can find dried llama foetus of all shapes and sizes on almost every stall. Making our way back to the hostel we passed the many ski masked shoe shiners.

The next day I headed out to explore the city alone for the first time. I walked around the nearby central plaza, next to which there was the Presidential building and a once grand church now decaying in the way many buildings in La Paz are. Following a freshly squeezed juice of fruits I have never heard of from a smiling street vendor I went to the national gallery. The Gallery houses some of Bolivia's finest works from paintings to sculptures.

Before I stopped to eat I visited the Musical Instruments museum which housed different sound making devices, many of which I failed to understand how they produced their unique sounds. There really were instruments of all colours, shapes and designs. With a full stomach and my multi-coloured llama slacks bought I stopped off at the Coca museum. Here you are literally given a book to read as you wander the various displays. The history of coca-cola and cocaine amongst other uses of the coca leaf were quite fascinating.

25/06/10

I decided to leave the Island of Sol (Sun) so packed my things up and headed down to the boats bound for the mainland. Whilst waiting for a boat I bumped into an Argentine guy whom I had had a brief conversation with on the way out, we got talking and took a boat together. On our return back to Copacabana we agreed to share a room for the night at the grand price of 8 Bolivianos (80p) The Argentine had a worry about tomorrow when it comes attitude and he was determined that I should get even further under the skin of the local people. So we set out into the town and found the local markets, people and sounds for the early evening before returning to the hostal. When back there we realised we were the only people there and were invited to have dinner with the family who ran the place in their shabby yet homely kitchen. The family did not speak a word of English which meant my Spanish was seriously tested but we got by. The owner, a short, hard working man led most of the conversation, whilst his wife fed the three young children who were bemused by me and would make jokes about me every so often knowing I wouldnt fully understand. With the conversation covering music, football and the chicas of Bolivia the language barriers began to fade away and we were soon engulfed in laughter.
The next day the Argentine and I got up early and hoped on a mini bus heading for Puno with our luggage loosely strapped to the roof. We changed buses at the border with Peru, it is strange how the people and landscapes almost know to alter themselves at a border. After a couple of hours through the Peruvian landscape we arrived in Puno and following the Argentine´s rules of authentic experiences the way the locals do things, we walked from the bus station on the edge of town instead of taking a cab. I copied his friendly attitude saying ´Ola´ to every person we past, to which everyone responded.
We found another cheap hostal where we were again the only ones staying there bar a few locals and popped across the road for a three course meal at 3 soles (0.7p). In the afternoon we decided to hop on a bus and check out some Inca tombs a way out from the town. We learnt about the importance of ´sexual energy´, food and music in the Inca and Goya times. On our way back we stopped in a tiny hamlet with around seven of eight people living there, they welcomed us in like long lost friends, offering us bread and cheese. The women showed us how they weave their cloths and produce goods to sell, saying our goodbyes as the sunset we headed back into Puno.
In the evening the Argentine and I met two of his other friends who had arrived in town with some ladies from London. Between them the Argentines had harmonicas, a guitar and some shakers, coupling this with the five singers we set out to begin the night by busking. Moving from bar to bar, restaurant to restaurant and street to street as a group we covered Bob Marley to Manu Chao and a host of reggeaton hits, with local people stopping to observe gringos busking in their town and in turn giving loose change. Using our earnings to fund the night we stopped off for some ´lady´ food (food cooked on the street by a lady of unknown reliability) before checking out the local clubs. The clubs allowed us to take our own beverages with the use of some ´press´ passes the Argentine´s had aquired. With just us and the locals in every club we went to we danced the night away barefoot and on bars until the early hours.
After a couple of hours sleep the English ladies and I caught a bus to a town called Huliaka, a smelly transit town. The buses from here onwards we crampt, full and our luggage would be strapped on top, it all added to the experience wondering if our bags would arrive at the other end with us. We walked the length of the town dodging traffic from every direction and jumped in a taxi to the next town, Lampa. This is where we spent the night and had another very cheap dinner. However, before dinner we persuaded the caretaker of the local church to show us the catacombs and thousands of skulls and complete skeletons that were held there in an open tomb. It was really quite bizzarre, seeing what we all are on the inside, especially before dinner. In the evening we were left with nothing else to do but eat sweets.

Due to costs the next day we ended up taking a taxi back to the smelly transit town, and trekking across the town again to catch another bus. The next bus took us to Ioverie, an even smaller town than the last with nothing but ´hot springs´. We took a motorbike cab across the town to the springs which turned out to be an outdoor swimming complex which looked like it belonged in communist Russia. After a dip in the green and black waters there we caught another bus to Cuzco which arrived in the early hours with more ´lady´ food on the menu.

I woke up to realise the benefits of traveling with women; a huge breakfast, which was much appreciated, this was again proved at dinner with a vast spag bowl and wine. Very full and content we set out for the a night in Cuzco in the evening, we ended up spending very little due to free drinks and free entry to most places, this allowed us to bar hop and not pay a dime. We went from live reggeaton bands to techno djs, Cuzco has its fair share of diverse music and is well worth a visit.

25/05

On my last day in Buenos Aires I headed for La Boca after a good night's partying at Rumi the nightclub and very little sleep. This was the last sight to see in BA before I left and I was determined to see it. An Aussie and I wandered around the stalls, cafes and brightly coloured huts, quite a contrast with the the equivalent in Rio, the favelas.

I chatted with locals about the football and the Boca Juniors. Football yet again, proving to be the religion of this continent.

After lunch I headed for the bus station and another long bus journey to Salta. The journey wasn´t as plesant as the last couple, sat next to the toilet for the twenty-three hour duration, but it´s all part of the experience.

When I eventually arrived in Salta, a few hours late I might add, I headed straight for the hostel and crashed out for some much needed R&R.

     

The next day I got up at the crack of dawn to begin my exploring away from the city. I was picked up, late, by a tour guide who I would later find out didn´t speak a word of English, not great with my basic spanish. But we headed off, me and a whole bunch of Argentine tourists up north on holiday for the 200th celebration of Argentine independence.

The first part of the tour saw us following the route of the ´Train to the clouds´ and then through the ´Quebrada del Toro´(Bull´s Gorge). The sun had yet to penetrate the valley and it really was not warm.

After this we moved onto San Antonio de los Cobres, a small town with what appeared to be some quite modern huts. The first thing you see upon entering the town is a wacking great billboard stating the infamous rhetoric of ´Coca-Cola´ I later worked out the Coke had sponsored the building of the huts, which seems great on face value, but when you see the amount of Coke that the locals consume, it was no surprise to find that Coke still makes a profit in the tiny village. We stopped for lunch there and due to my limited Spanish, I ended up with some kind of meat and a man playing pan pipes in my face as I ate it.

After lunch we headed for Puna, along route 40. Route 40 consists of donkeys, bumpiness and cactus´s. For a brief moment the nattering Argentine bus fell silent as they took a siesta, leaving me to enjoy the barron waste land in peace. But after a long minute the desert seems to fade away and in the distance all that can be seen is white, in what appears to be a mirage. We had arrived at ´Salinos Grandes´or the Salt lakes. They really are like nothing else. A cross between the cracked, dry earth of Africa and a vast ocean replacing water with salt. And it stretches as far as the eye can see, it really is quite mind blowing. The flats really make you stop and consider the sheer size of the planet we inhabit and how insignificant we are compared to its vastness.

Finally, we took a downhill trip to Lipon accompanied by a spanish stand up comedy cd blasting over the speakers, you can imagine. The tour came to an end in the small town of Pumamarca, where I was to spend the night. There are stalls, hostels, a few places to eats and the homes of the locals, and thats about it. Quite different to the cities I have been in recently. The view from my delightful little hostel was almost identical to Van Gogh´s swirling night sky as the sun set over the surrounding mountains. In the evening, I headed for dinner with a Brazilian/Argentine couple. I followed their examples trying anything and everything, from Hamal (a small package of meat and corn wrapped in a corn leaf) to Llama which was rather chewy. We talked late into the night as the band kept us company in the corner, with drums, pan pipes, guitars and every instrument in between.

The next morning I woke up after my first nights sleep in a few weeks alone which was a rather refreshing surprise. I headed out early to climb a hill which overlooked the town and gave panoramic views of the surrounding mountains. I reached the summit just as the sun peeked its face over the largest of the mountains, altering the colour of the entire valley.

Mid-morning I met up with another guide, who this time spoke English thankfully. Shame he was a Tottenham fan though. We headed along the Humahuaca Gorge, declared a heritage of mankind by UNESCO. We stopped off at Tilcara, another small town of precolonial significance, it had been recreated by archaeologists. The huts were made of stone and bamboo, at the bottom there was a botanical garden consisting entirely of Cactus´s, a very peaceful and tranquil place. There were many llama to be found here also, felt a bit guilty for eating one of there brothers the night previously, but hey he tasted good.

After more driving through rolling hills and mountains, one shaped like an Indians skirt, we arrived at Pucara, another small village, a small and happy town full of life.

As we gradually headed back towards Salta we stopped off at a pre-colonial church and a town which was hit by a meteor many years ago. The locals called it ´the day the stars fell´. Our final stop was Humahuaca, another town, I sat and watched some kids playing football here for ages whilst a nearby pan pipe seller played the entire time, it was a good moment.

Our route back to Salta saw us take a single track winding road through the mountains which was beautiful. The views over the man made lakes and the greenery everywhere was a good end to a weekends touring.

The next day in Salta I took it easy and later met up with some friends I made in BA, we climbed the numerous steps to the top of a hill which overlooks the entire city. It made quite a change to see a city with no high rise building at all, with the sheer space out here, there is no need to expand upwards, but instead outwards. For lunch we had what can only be described as half a cow each, in a place called Jacks. We ate until we couldn´t physically move. It was a good end to my time up north in Argentina.

     

22/05       Buenos Aires

Well where to begin, Buenos Aires has been quite an experience. Having sorted my money problems to some extent due to my card I felt I could really get out an explore Buenos Aires. The night before we went to a club which actually didn´t have a name it was so unknown and small, they just open the doors each night and the people come. Inside it was quite shabby, and similar to other clubs I visited previously. it began the night with an assortment of western popular music but as the foreigners appeared to somewhat fade away and the locals just began entering the club in the early hours, the more traditional music also began.

     
I say traditional, I mean authentic, electronic tango and modern rhythms based around the traditional origins of the music. I have learnt this both in Rio and in Beunos, the later you stay, in particular in clubs, the more authentic your music experience will be in relation to the place you are. As people in South America come out a lot later than we might back home, and the clubs realise this, therefore altering the music as the night progresses. I left this club as the queue for the doll payments was already around the block next door, it really was the early hours.

Fast approaching is the 200th anniversary of Argentina´s independence and they intend to celebrate in a big way, the main streets are a-wash with scaffolding, decoration and stages. Which will make for one hell of a party, but for getting around the city, not so great. I sat on a bus for a lot longer than usual and headed off to wander around Recolleta. My first stop took me to the National gallery, with some interesting pieces of Art to be found there.

The classics from Picasso to Rodin, but also a specialist show which comprised of quite disturbing art, as if it set out with the aim to offend the eye of the beholder. When this got too much I headed to the sanctuary of a nearby church, which was decked out with gold and exquist decor floor to ceiling. If there's one thing more extravagant in this continent than music it is religion (and the religion of football, of course).
Following this I headed for a the cemetery where Evita is buried. This really was quite an experience, although the place is drenched in an ethos of death, it has a quite remarkable quality, that people should be housed in such extravagant structures long after death is far from a slot in the ground like most succumb too. Each house is of greater size than the average favela huts I visited when in Rio and there is no-one living in them. The coffins can be seen from the transparent doors in the same position as they were last left, hundreds of years ago in many cases. They all had staircases too which descended in blackness, out of sight where who knows what could be down there.


The next day I got up early, determined to see as much of the city as possible. I checked out the pink house, the Argentine equivalent to the White House in the states, Congress, the monument (almost identical to the Washington monument). The buildings which housed the departments of education, defence and the economy, all vast structures of intricate architecture. I also visited the expansive shopping centre and other sites around the city.

     
In the evening, some fellow travellers and myself headed for a tango night. Our money (around 30quid) bought us a tango lesson, a three course meal, free bar (most importantly) and a full tango show. Which was definitely worth it.

The tango show was great, with awful co-ordination from the other guys from the hostel and myself and constant complaints from Alexandro, a camp tango teacher, whom if you were asked to describe a tango teacher you would probably describe Alexandro. After receiving certificates for our now world-class tango skills we sat down to a our meal. A set menu, from which I choose a salad, a steak (which literally melted in the mouth) and a brownie for dessert with the whole shabang on top. No sooner had our plates been cleared and the free bar been visited for the umpteenth time, the lights dimmed and a live tango band started up. The stage came alive with tango, three females in long flowing dresses and three men dressed to the nines in suits.

     
As the show progressed we were subject to the history of tango, although in Spanish, through the medium of the music and the dancing we understood the tale and became encapsulated in it. There was violinists, singers, guitarists, more singers and dancing continuously. It really was quite a spectacle. And with my certificate in tango I promptly rose to my dancing feet when asked by one of the dancers. When in BA going to a tango show with all the add-ons is a must. 
After the show and with the night still young a few of us headed off to bar Notorious, which is definitely worth a visit. There is live music in the back and a section in the front which allows you to listen before you buy. There was a really good feel and vibe about this place. After a short visit there, we moved onto to Rumi, one of the higher end clubs in BA. Rumi plays largely electronic and dance music through the night with little variation and just one open roomed dancefloor and surrounding seating areas. Worth a night out but not if you are looking for the authentic or traditional Argentine night, as some of the other clubs are or become as the night progresses.

The next morning, I went off to look around La Boca. Although large parts of Boca are largely aimed at tourists, the multi-coloured huts, shops and cafes are authentic and people do genuinely live there. This was quite a contrast with the poorest areas of Rio, the favelas, a good place to buy those souvenirs and presents for those not immersed in Argentine culture. 
I will be heading off to Salta shortly with another long bus journey on the cards

     

10/05       Rio continued
Went on a tour of the city which included Sugar loaf and Pao de Acucan where the views over Rio are really quite stunning, and there was a great view of the Red Bull race practising for the weekend's competition. I hung out with a couple from New Zealand and Oz for the day who had a fair bit of advice about places to go and see. For lunch we had an all you can eat BBQ, which is very popular in Rio and Brazil in general. After filling up on more meat than I should have we visited a bizarre Cathedral which looks a bit like a Cornetto turned upside down and then covered in concrete, not pretty.

Following this we headed for Lapa where we checked out the steps which are covered in tiles from all over the world, the British ones being that of Diana, a telephone box and the Beatles, typical. This is where the ´jazz´photo on the blog came from, after I had a long chat with the artist who was at the steps, he has been working on the steps for 20 years and says he will finish the day he dies. He also said he had seen and done all the music possible in Rio and that Lapa was the place to be Friday nights.

We finished with Christ but due to clouds and scaffolding, it wasn´t great. Doing a city tour is a must to tick some boxes and works out a lot cheaper than trying to do it all individually. On the artist´s advice and many others three Aussies and myself headed for Lapa that evening.        

 

08/05
What a night. We started with a few beers in the hostel alleyway with a few guitars present. After a long minute there we headed to the a bar on the corner of our street where you could begin to feel the friday night vibe of Rio. Guys heckling girls, music and people bustling all around, you could just tell this was going to be a good night.

We then jumped in some cabs and headed for Lapa. You arrive to what is essentially a festival to celebrate the fact that its the weekend, portaloos line the side of the road, a sort of market stall section in the middle and then everything else consists of bars and clubs, music blaring out left, right and centre.

We wandered around for a bit, going to a few bars with everything from reggae, samba to bosa nova pretty much wherever you went. After dancing with a rastaman banging a drum for no good reason but the fact that he had a drum we hit the central area where most people don´t even step foot in a bar or club all night - they just party the night away on the streets: superb.

     

  

Later on we took a cab a bit further away from the central area to a bar called Rio Centurium, which is an old style antique shop converted to a bar/club yet they have left most of the antique shop there which bodes for a great venue. Here the music is varied much like most of Lapa and with cheap beers this was definately a bar worth visiting. We headed home throughly content with the music following us through the streets with the windows of the cab down.
 
On the saturday morning me and an American girl headed for a tour of a favela run by the ADA gang. You jump on the back of a motorbike which takes you all the way to the top, I loved it, winding roads traffic everywhere you look, people, sounds, smells of everything kind you can imagine.

Once up the top in one piece we began to slowly make our way back down. Our route took us down narrow ´streets´ which are more like corridors. Our first stop took us to an artist´s studio and gallery. Next we moved onto a bakery where Lenny Kravitiz once played his smallest gig ever.

After this we came across the highlight of the favela for me, three guys sitting on some steps, surrounded by rubbish and who knows what else, holding a bucket each and a piece of wood and just burst into some samba rhythms when we arrived, they made better music with those bucket than many pop acts to in the charts. As they burst into sound, a bunch of kids with smaller buckets and small pieces of wood came and joined in and it was as if a party had just broken out. So many of the people there had so little but give them something which makes a sound and they will make one hell of a sound.



In between all of this the guy who showed us around told us stories of druglords, gangs and other such but also how the favela´s are some of the safest places in Rio, the people don´t want trouble. Although I did see one guy pass by with a silver plated gun which keeps you on your edge.

 
Early evening we headed for Leblon, this was disappointing however. It felt very European and is an area for couples, good for a walk round but if you are going in search of music then this isn´t the place to go. On our way back we did find a sort of bar/tavern in Ipanema called Emporium which although it plays most western music still has a great atmosphere and is rammed so that people are literally spilling out onto the street.
 
09/05
Sunday morning I took it easy after quite a weekend so far. In the afternoon me and a bunch of guys from the hostel headed to Marcarana stadium to watch Flamenco vs. Sao Paolo. If you want to find probably the loudest music in Rio then this is the place, we sat a few seats away from the 20strong brass band which is like no other sporting event I´ve been to, with the Flamenco supporters on vocals, which literally we submersed into a wall of chats and songs for the entire game, ceasing only when Sao Paolo scored. And then doubling in noise when Flamenco pulled one back.

Going to a football game in Rio is highly recommended.
 
In the evening I went out for a meal with an American and a Brit, we went to a place in Ipanema called Yuuki, a sushi and oriental eating place, very good food. The rains had hit Rio by this point and anywhere we went we got very wet.

But undeturbed me and a bunch of people from various hostels went off to a favela funk party. Now this was an experience, although it is near the bottom of the favela and therefore not really in the heart of the favela it is definately worth doing, just to watch the people. The music varies from western to funk to jazz to soppy love songs. Its a bizzare mix and with the toilets overflowing almost onto the dancefloor is makes for quite a night.
 
10-11/05
Three norweigns, two Aussies and myself decided to head for Foz du Iguassa in the evening as the rains didn´t seem to be easing. We caught a bus from the station with an Aregentine company (much better than Brazilian buses). And so we set off for a 23 hour bus ride which was suprisingly luxurious, comphy seats and tv screens. Not bad at all.


Stopping off for food I tried the national Brazilian dish of beans, stew and rice, (will send the name when I remember it) After crossing the boarder fairly swiftly it was onto the Argentine side where we crashed at Hostel Inn.
 
12/05
Checked out the falls all day, and took the boat ride which takes you literally into the waterfall, really was quite incredible and the sights are just awe inspiring. Back to the hostel for another all you can BBQ after this.
 

07/05/10 - Immersing into Rio life....

     

   

Teaming up with another Brit, we started off by meandering through the nearby neighbourhoods of shops, restaurants and bars; much like other cities, except for brighter colours and atmosphere that sets the city apart.

We then headed over to Ipanema beach, which is a must in terms of beaches, immersed with views of the coast and surrounding rolling mountains. I tried my first Acai (pronounced assai) which is sort of cross of between ice cream and frozen yoghurt, topped with sugar coated oats.



In the evening me and a few fellow travellers set off for a street party at Praca Santos Dunort, hoping to find some rhythms. Great for a few beers and people watching;  it lacked music. 

This is a place people come from work or to catch up, hence they don't want to shout over music. The street parties run every Thursday and Sunday.
Exploring Lapa tomorrow....

06/05/10 -The real adventure can begin now...
Arrived safe and well after an obscure flight to Madrid and over the sahara desert. Coming into Rio is an experience in itself; organised chaos.

Took a taxi from the airport which smelt like a cross between an alcohol stained nightclub and a music festival. The driver had his samba blaring out: Rio is definetley a city bursting with music.

Booked into my hostel, the owner Sylvia is a fountain of knowledge.
 
She sat me down and edited a map of everywhere I should visit, so lots to do.

Right now it's back to pineapple and sunshine...

05/05/10 - Mark Richardson has touched down in Rio and now has the enviable task of hunting down the best in South American music.

With a list of our current favourites, Mark will be heading from bar to bar, Favela to Favela, sniffing out what is new and reporting back on his findings.

We'll keep you posted....