The Super Adventures of Tanya and Simmo

For all our faithful followers who wanted more...

Boarder crossing was interesting. Argentina and Bolivia are divided by a teenie tiny river and as we stood on the dividing bridge we tried to ignore the fact that the sun was clearly still shining on Argentina's lush green fields while to our other side Villazon, looked dark, dank and somehow the buildings seemed to be covered in architecture's equivalent of herpes. And a pig was patrolling up and down the Bolivian bank below us. It didn' help Bolivia that when we finally got through everything was the same colour: roads, buildings, people... wait, I exaggerate, there were no roads. We were soon ushered on to a bus which quickly took off down the dirt track which never once, on our four hour journey, evolved into tarmac. We walked down the aisle looking for a clean seat. At the back of the bus we resignedly sat down and tried to ignore that fact that suspension has not yet been invented in Bolivia and the pieces of roof that were falling down as a result.

In Tupiza our hostel was very nice: mirrors and handicrafts everywhere, clean etc. Breakfast was provided in the morning for free which included cocaine tea.
On our first day we went horseriding to go and see the surrounding landscape which was wonderfully wild western - arrid, huge cacti, bright red rock formations. That evening we dined at the only restaurant that didn't look like a drug den. Turned out to be a good choice: only one person was robbed during the course of the evening. The lady had hung her bag on the back of her chair. A boy wandered into the restaurant, unhooked it then swiftly left, climbing into a waiting get away car.

Our second day was the beginning of the famous Salt Flats Tour, a four day journey around multicoloured lakes and across the world's largest salt flat, a dried up salt lake. All of this in a fourwheel drive, three other passengers, a cook and a driver.

Highlights of the journey:
Our first nights accomodation: Literally a concrete room in the middle of nowhere powered by solar energy so lights went out at ten.
Having to chew on coca leaves to fight off the nausea that comes with being 12,000 ft above see level.
Seeing multicoloured salt lakes: green, blue, white all of which are home to hundereds of wild pink flamingos and heards of lamas.

Seeing boiling hot geysers spouting their steam into the air and, because we were in "no safety standards whatsoever" Bolivia, we were able to walk right up to them and excercise our maturity by pretending to fall in/ push each other etc.

Spending two hours on the final day taking photos on the largest salt flat, trying to think of genious ways to take advantage of the optical illusion it provides (see photos to understand).

We were dropped off in Uyuni.

Uyuni

= Shit hole

Potosi

We squeezed this stop into our journey because the story behind the silver mine here captured us. And it did not disappoint. Potosi is much larger than our previous Bolivian spots; densly populated and with severe poverty this was definitely yet another reality check as to the sharp contrast between our lives and those of many, many others in the world.
The Potosi Silver mines are currently the main soure of income for the entire city both directly and through the tourism that it brings. Its history is so dark that it is hard to conceive and its present day performance is only just better. The mines where opened in the the 1560s and soon made Potosi the richest city in South America. However the miners inside were slaves, brought from africa and India. "An estimated total of 30,000 African slaves were taken to Potosí throughout the colonial era. African slaves were also forced to work in the Casa de la Moneda as acémilas humanas (human mules). Since mules would die after couple of months pushing the mills, the colonists replaced the four mules with twenty African slaves." (Wikipedia). These slaves would live in the mines for six months at a time, not being allowed out once in that time.
The Spanish forced the slaves to give up their previous gods and instead worship a new god specially created for the them. The miners called it, the Devil. At intervals throughout the tunnels there are alcoves with human sized figurines of this Devil where the miners still worship the figurines today, a celebration which includes drinking 90% proof alcohol. Our tour guide explained to us the tradition is to take a sip of this stuff then lean back and make lots of noise by sighing and smacking your lips announcing how good it tastes. If you do not say this then your commrades will ask "Are you gay?", clearly the worst of all slanders... This story was made somewhat more awkward by the fact we had a very camp and definitely very gay (for a discussion on the necessity of a gay spectrum please refer to Micheal Macintyre) guy in our group.
There are 5000 men and 1000 children still working in the mines. The children, youngest being 8 years old, make about $1.50 per day. This is pretty good money compared to other kids working on the streets in Potosi.

Sucre
Next stop was beautiful Sucre. If you like architecture then this is a good place for you. If you like getting lashed with lash from the lash machine and want to call you friend Tarquin with a banter story then there is not much here for you.

General points about Argentina:

You are not allowed to throw toilet paper in the toilet. You must instead please throw it into the bin beside you. Presumably not much further comment is required on this point other than it was definitely a new experience and one that can stay in Argentina.

Dulche de Leche: The caramel stuff you get in banoffee pie is called dulche de leche here and they eat it with everything, particularly for breakfast on toast. One guy kept calling it "milk jelly", two words which should never be put together.

A common question posed to Matt was " Esta tu novia, ou tu amiga con benefits?"... Presumably a common category here.

Posadas:
We werent sure whether to go here or a bigger place called Corrientes so as all good travellers do, we consulted our Lonely Planet Guide which has come to be somewhat of a bible on our tour due to its sound, sometimes direct advise, such as this pearl of wisdom: " Corrientes bites off the big one in terms of budget accomodation: what is there isnt cheap and whats relatively cheap isnt very good. Infact, fuck Corrientes - its not even that interesting..."
In the end the dicotomy turned out to be a lose- lose situation - we felt a similar sentiment for Posadas. The redeeming features were the hostel we were staying in ( Hostel Vuela el Pez) which was built around a small courtyard which had a pool and was lined with hammocks, with Bob Marley on repeat in the background. Secondly, Pasadas location is on the river front that divides Argentina from Paraguay so sitting in one of the river side restaurants gave us a view over looking Paraguay. But things like the packs of dogs that roamed the streets (who luckily only picked on Matt, clearly the weaker of the couple) and the poor standard of food in the perpetually empty restaurants. The rest of Pasadas was not notable, not bad but just not notable.

Tucuman: This was another city stop, more for a means of breaking up long journies. THe hostel we stayed at was quite unique in the sense that it cooked dinner for its occupants. Tucaman is more developed than Posadas but again held little cultural relevance. It has a beautiful central plaza around which several ice cream parlours around its boarders, much to this little piglet´s delight. Perhaps the only downside to the asthetics here were the armies of cockroachs (N.B. the collective nouns for a group of cockroaches is, appropriately, an "intrusion". Yes this IS an eductional blog.) which patrolled the square. However Tucaman did bless us by providing us with the opportunity of buying the second and third books in the Twilight series. For those of you who have not done so, go out right now and buy them now. Now. Even the 16 year old girl in Matt came alive with Stephenie Meyer´s rhetorical genious.

Cafayate:
Next was this wine growing region of Argentina. It is located in a breathtaking setting: in a huge flat valley boardered by different coloured mountains. Lord of the Rings style. Our first night was spend sat in the hostel´s courtyard under the grape vines, playing cards while drinking the local wine speciality, Torrentes, and watching the sunset.
The next day afforded us the opportunity to develop our higher beings (John Stuart Mill reference there for all you philosophy bumpkins) and partake in the art of wine tasting. Armed with mountain bikes we split the day between two wineries, an organic one "Nanni", and the largest, although further out, whose name has already been lost to me. Since these tours and ones we have done since it has become starkly apparent that most wine making is done with only the most basic of sanitary standards in mind. It seems they rely on the alcohol to kill off most things. THe fact that our guide's spoke broken english meant that negating this impression was somewhat impossible.

Salta:
Definitely a beautiful city. Like most of the major cities in SA, the influence of the Spanish conquistadors who arrived in the 1530s. The central plaza is lined with huge impressive colonial buildings and the decadent Catholic Cathedral which headpieces the area.
Our first day was spent horseriding. Given we were in Argentina we couldn´t miss the opportunity to go and it didn´t disappoint. We were picked up at 9 in the morning, South American time that is so it was actually 9:30 by the time the jeep arrived. A 45 minute ride took us out of the city to a ranch where we were met by real live Gauchos (cowboys). We sat outside with a group of other travellers while we ate a complimentary breakfast and the big boss quizzed us to find out who the vegetarian was that had dared to enter Argentina. Once she had meekly been identified she divulged that she also did not drink. Our outraged boss then enquired after the apparent third fundamental ingredient of Argentinian life, in his broken english, "And sex?!" Quietly: "When I can".

This activity was one of the many examples of the stark disparity in health and safety standards between home and here. E.g. In england, the horse riding helmet is virtually compulsary. Here we were lucky to get a baseball cap. Furthermore, despite being our first session galloping was on the agenda (again something which is not broached for the first few weeks in england). The Gauchos' process was simple. Wait for the Gringo (white person) to not pay attention, then whip the rear of their horse with as much strength as you can muster. Sit back and listen as their screams disappear into the distance, or culminate with a loud thud.

The day finished with a large boozy barbeque. And by large we mean: steak, sausage, chorizo, blood sausage, chicken, green salad, red salad, bean salad, a strange green salsa which our boss claimed was an affrodisiac. Then three more courses of steak. All of this was supplimented by a multitude of sexually explicit tales of the boss' past exploits. He gave the third degree to a couple in their late twenties as to why they did not yet have any (Spanish accent) "fucking babies" and tried to remedy the apparent problem with offerings of more wine and the green aphrodisiac.
All in all it was a very enjoyable, sexually enlightening/horrifying experience.

The next day we went white water rafting and canopeying ( essentially a huge zip wire across a valley). The owners dog even came rafting wth us, with a personalised life jacket. For those rafting gimps out there it was a Level 3 difficulty. Rafting involved water, boats and life jackets and was good. Zip wiring involved wire, being 200m high and Matt getting really scared at the beginning and having to control his breathing.

This concluded our tour of Argentina. Next stop is Bolivia, crossing the boarder at Villazon, a dire town whose only redeeming feature is that it facilitates drug trafficking.

275 spectacular waterfalls, 80 metres high cascading into Rio Iguazu. Legend has it that the falls were created when a jealous forest god, enraged by a warrier escaping downriver by canoe with a young girl caused the river bed to collapse infront of the lovers, producing precipitous falls over which the girl fell and at the base turned into a rock. The warrior survived as a tree overlooking his lover.

We were told to visit both sides of the falls to get the full experience, however, we reckon whoever told us was in allegance with the tourist companies because the Brazilian side was by far inferior to the Argentinian side. A 20 minute sweaty trek to squint at far away waterfalls while dodging hand-sized spiders was no competition to driving through the waterfalls in a speedboat and frolicking with creatures that look like the love children of a badger and an anteater.

The sheer power and volume of water is incredible, the numerous walk ways allowing you to get up close (and wet) to alot of the falls. The boat ride took us around to different sides of the falls before skillfully edging into multiple waterfalls, first forwards, then backwards - much to the shreaking delight of the Chinese tourists infront of us. The falls were amazing and it is definitely a must visit in SA.

That evening, we took up the offer of a barbeque at a sister hostel, feeling somewhat short changed upon arrival when we saw the 20 metre pool and jacuzzi. We were treated to some professional Salsa dancing which enlightened us on how to simulate copulation upright. Just as we thought our British conservatism had had enough, we were dragged up for a quicky with the professionals.

Now in Argentina, we were undecided as to where to head next. Upon consulting our guidebook we decided to take its advice. We had considered Corrientes, a small town in Eastern Argentina, but when even the guidebook, after discussing prices, declared ´infact - fuck Corrientes´ we decided on our second choice, Posadas.

When people said dangerous we didn´t expect to see a gun point arrest and police drug raid in our first half day.

The day started off promising. Arriving at six in the morning, an ungodly hour that had not yet been experienced by these two protagonists, we made an attempt to visit the tourist attractions. We even elected to walk to the first one, a snake farm, to "save money", especially as we were advised it would only take 20 minutes. We arrived two hours later. What was left of our enthusiasm evaporated when we learned that of the "one thousand serpents" we were promised were there, we could only see three. Furthermore these snakes were doing what should be done at that time of the morning, sleeping. Its saving grace was a huge spider that had built a fortress of a web at the entrance of the cafe. We took pictures (to follow) then decided tourism was overrated and instead we should head to crime ridden Downtown.

Walking around downtown Sao Paulo was the biggest culture shock so far. Homeless people everywhere, prostitutes were common place, illegal street sellers including children selling anything from pornographic pirate CD´s to suspiciously good phones and ipods. We managed to find a busy uppermarket restaurant/bar to have a coffee and dulce de leche pastries (very popular in S.America). It was here that a sudden commotion made us turn around. An illegal street seller had been thrown to the ground and the pursuing police officer had pulled out his hand gun, holding it to the man´s head, shouting. With coffee cup halfway to mouth, Tanya deliberated the appropriateness of continuing the cup´s journey.

Later, following the book´s recommendation, we made our way to the Municipal market. En route, Matt suggested crossing the road and upon looking up and seeing a group of locals hands above heads up against the wall, being circled by rifle-wielding policemen, Tanya agreed. We watched from a distance, surrupticiously taking photos as any true tourist would, as the police offloaded a double decker bus and proceeded to thoroughly search the passengers luggage for illegal products. Tearing ourselves away from the action, we arrived at the market, a huge wharehouse-like building, like something out of a story. Inside, vendors selling candied fruit, exotic fish (incl. salted ray) and parts of animal anatomies that should definitely not be eaten. We ventured out and bought... candied fruit. A friendly fruit seller gave us samples of a variety of tropical fruits, ranging from perfectly ripe mango, lychee and guarana to other fruits only found in the Amazon.

Very content with our interesting, cultural and eventful day, again we approached the bus station with high spirits ("Lucky Sao Paulo?"). And again, our bus plans were foiled. In case we hadn´t made the point clearly enough, Sao Paulo is not somewhere you want to be outside after 5 o´clock. So upon learning at 8 in the evening that we had to stay the night, our minds flashed back to the abandoned mattress we had seen earlier that day that had been stashed under one of the pasovers in the city which at the time we had found amusing but now seemed like an option. Luckily overnight brothels are cheap.

In summary: Sao Paulo´s skyline is a juxtaposition of sky scrapers and collapsing, derelict buildings. A fascinating though intimidating city, it´s crime reputation not to be taken lightly.

Next stop (for Toby´s benefit): Foz du Iguazu - home of the famous water falls.

Although our guide book tried to convince us that Paraty was indeed the place to "Party", false claim, there are some really charming points to this town/ village. It was born as a port used by the Portuguese to transport gold and slaves, then later coffee back to Europe. When other nearby larger cities started to replace Paraty´s utility it started to become derilect. It was on the verge of disappearing when a road was built between it and Rio de Janeiro and now it survives on tourism.

Upon arriving at our prospective dingy little hostel we were told that they did not have a room for us - someone (and now ex-employee) had forgotten to update the system. The manager apologised and promisd he would quickly find us " another room at a similar price and standard". We were dubious. That is until he walked us to his" friend´s" hostel. Turns out this friend was the ex mayor and the hostel reflected his grand standards - bird of paradise flowers decorated the entrance, colonial furniture and pictures adorned the rooms and while ascending to our room we saw two hummingbirds feeding from a hanging feeder at the top of the stairs. The room itself was ensuite with a four poster bed and 40 inch flat screen tv. "We´ll take it".

After a short session of charades with our non english speaking ex-mayor to find out which direction to head for dinner, we stepped out into the street into the beginning of a thunderstorm. In true tropical fashion 2 seconds later it was pouring. We ducked into the nearest restaurant, just so happened to be the nicest restaurant in the whole of Paraty, the weather obviously made it impossible to leave... - with a background of candlelight, palms, drapes and live, soft Brazilian music we tried local gastronomy, including fried plantain, manioc (a root vegetable, tastes a mix of parsnip and potato) and mango and ginger milkshakes. The ironic description of the ´mini melting chocolate pudding´was too much for Tanya to resist. Standard. Matt tried to help out but was viciously fended off.

View down a street in the Historic Centre

Same Historic Street

Paraty advertises its historic centre as an attraction - a section of old but well maintained buildings from colonial times, with distortionately high prices... and coverable within one hour. The weather remained rubbish the next day. So instead of spending the day island hopping between white sand and clear water beaches, we went cycling up what turned out to be a very, very steep, long and muddy mountain road. It doesn´t sound fun, and it wasn´t.

Evil Bike Ride

After two nights, we packed to leave and made our way to the bus station, discussing the whole way how "lucky" our stay had been and were even as bold as to nickname the place "Lucky Paraty". No suprises then when, upon arriving at the ticket office, we were told all the buses were full until one in the morning, leaving us with over 14 hours to kill time.

Our next destination: Sao Paulo, of which we had heard nothing but crime stories.