June 27, 2005
Moto > Nearly Rosario, Argentina 3:34 / 2.5h / 172k 16900k
GPS S 33.696350 W 59.880750 38m
(Thanks to Jim for donating a Garmin GPS!)
Jump on the 9 North against the headwind that has been waiting for me for months.
North, but somehow staring straight into the setting sun.
At KM 55 the nervous and dirty city falls behind and opens up to the same old grassy plains.
Humming along at 85 the bike is happy to be breathing fresh air and I am happy not to be scraping dog shit from my shoes.
For the first time since Peru there is nothing on the bike I want to change, except for the new tools rattling around in their PVC tube home strapped to the basket.
Thinking to move it upfront.
And maybe repaint it.
New ideas form.
Momentarily the sun retreats behind clouds and at KM 125 it once again breaks out with all the clouds behind me.
Put in another 45k and as the sun sets at 7:00 I call it the day as I pull into the "Don Augustine" roadside stand.
A pitstop for the tourist buses on their way into the city.
Their final feeling of country before being back in the city.
A place where they can stock up on "artesanal" oranges and gords and cheese and whatnot.
The kind of crap most city-goers get excited about.
Buy my share of cheese and bread to join up with my fruit and chocolate and dulce de leche cake leftover from last night.
Back to a travellers diet and once again living out of my basket.
Motor a bit further down the road and pull off onto a frontage road.
Setup the tent in the only unclaimed patch of grass.
Police wakes me in the middle of the night to tell me he is scared.
Warm inside my new bag on a cold night.
Christine's Shrodi Becomes Aromin!
June 28, 2005
Moto > Carcaraña, Argentina 10:15 / 4h / 329k 17077k
GPS S 32.856950 W 61.149133 22m
An easy 90 into light wind.
Motor past the industrial town of Rosario where the road turns West with 400k to Cordoba and take my first break halfway to Oliva in the small town of Carcaraña.
Stop at an internet cafe to let people know I am enroute.
That and to enjoy the recent travel stories of my friend Jim Wiggins at
www.iwiggins.com.
Invited to a milanesa before I can leave by the cafe family.
Visiting grandma furthers the hospitality by offering me a place to stay in Cordoba.
The people are much friendlier and open in the country.
Moto > Oliva, Argentina 3:30 / 1.5h / 94k? 17406k
GPS S 32.044400 W 63.569083 265m
Back on the road, a typical Argentina road.
2 lanes of asphalt, caravans of trucks, pampas, cows, nothing to see.
Passing small and poor farming towns every 20k or so.
And just as I thought I had my bike sorted, the packing between tubes on my new exhaust works its way loose.
Stop in Oliva at Caranassi Escapes for the fix.
A gob of special escape glue that he says gets harder as it gets hotter.
Almost too attentive in doing his job, and lucky for me he points out 2 of the 4 bolts that connect the sprocket to the wheel have vibrated out.
Offer me to stay the night inside and fix them tomorrow.
Another kind offer.
June 29, 2005
Moto > Cordoba, Argentina 10:45 / 1.5h / 96k 17502k
GPS S 31.414567 W 64.188117 230m (Cordoba Backpackers)
Finish up the repairs early, clean and lube the chain and set off.
A quick hour and a half on a new road to Cordoba, where 2 girls Lil & Romina who I first met in the San Telmo Hostel are waiting.
Together we grab some empenadas and catch up.
Take me on an inspiring tour of the university with its 6 pretty girls to one normal guy.
Sent on my own for a place to stay.
A dodgy bolivian style pension a few blocks from the main plaza.
Haggle with a man at the front door and drop his demand for 10p to 8p for the 6p room.
Move my moto in (literally inside the room) and take the door knob with me (actually fell off in my hand) on the way out.
There is no other security.
Walk about at night.
Colonial center with some historic old buildings and churches.
Alot of pedestrian roads around the plaza which is remarkably gardened.
A quality lomito (beef sandwich) and chips at Mi Casita for 6p.
A bout of chess at an internet cafe on my way home.
Suprisingly hot shower and bed.
June 30, 2005
No matter where I am I always sleep like a rock after a few days camping.
Make the move to the Cordoba Backpackers, a big clean hostel with all the services.
12p in a shared room of 6 beds but with secure parking for my moto and a fun crowd.
A beautiful blue sky day, perfect for a walk around town.
Cordoba, an easy going and manageable town.
Reminds me a bit of Arequipa and Cochabamba.
Tour myself through the plazas and along the river across town to Parque Saramiento and back.
A few hours on foot which after being inactive in Buenos Aires has me in bed for a midday siesta.
Idle hostel chatter in the background.
"Where you from?"
"How long?"
"Travelling alone?"
July 1-3, 2005
A night at the club with my new hostel friends.
2 brothers of the Dominican Repulic, a man of Israel, another of San Francisco, a girl of Argentina, and two more of Ireland.
Out until 8am.
A day of rest and wash.
A day in Alta Gracia to visit the childhood home of Che Guevarra.
A day in Belgrano with Fernando, a coincidental friend from Azul.
Dissappointingly a week early for the chocolate festival and instead to take a walk in La Cumbrecita with its swiss style houses and waterfall.
A memorial hostel gang and a nice few days.
July 4, 2005
Success in smashing into a comet!
Half way out the door to Mendoza on the first rainy day and decide it better to stay another day indoors and work on a web update through February, 8h/8p.
July 5, 2005
Blue skies, time to ride.
Moto > Carlos Paz, Argentina 11:45 / 45m / 40k 17608k
GPS S 31.411750 W 64.495483 650m
Smooth and simple to Carlos Paz, a pleasent town in the foothills by the side of a large artificial lake.
Take a break for lunch in the center.
A posh restaurant with the standard options, steak, pizza, pasta, milanesa...
Take the steak and fresh soup for something new.
Pick up the newspaper to find that yesterdays rain dropped the first snow of the year exectl where I am headed.
The biggest in years it says.
Luck?
Put on all my clothes before heading back out.
Moto > Mina Clavero, Argentina 1:45 / 2h / 118k 17649k
GPS S 31.712717 W 65.006250 900m
The road climbs into the first mountains since leaving patagonia and quickly reaches the Condor Pass at 2200m where argentinians take a break from their trip to throw snowballs and build snowmen trophies on the hood of their car before turning back down.
Condor Pass
GPS S 31.610633 W 64.838483 900m
A drop of 1300m in a half hour to the small eco tourist town of Mina Clavero.
Low season with most of the hotels on its one main street closed finds me a great deal in the otherwise empty Hotel Porteno.
15p but for a huge room with private bath and breakfast, normally going for 45p during the season.
A king sized bed.
Soap and a towel.
Grab some fresh pasta at a small startup restaurant on a side street.
July 6, 2005
Moto > Mendoza, Argentina 10:45 / 6.75h .5h / 480k 17775k
GPS S 32.890150 W 68.847283 760m (Hostel Huellas Andinas)
Across an "alti-plano" (high by Argentina standards) to the sounds of Mana, Moby, Eminem, & Steve Poltz on MP3.
A seemingly endless ride finally finished by the introduction of grape vineyards as I pull into Mendoza.
Check into Hostel Huellas Andinas at dusk just in time to catch the last half of "The Wall" on DVD.
July 7, 2005
Moto <> Bodegas Tour 10:00 / 6h 4h / 90k
A cold and overcast day.
A good buzz follows me around to 4 of the more popular wineries in Argentina, Lopez, San Felipe, Chandon, & Norton.
And unbelievably one of the best meals in Argentina in a Petrobras service station.
A hearty vegetable lasagna.
I am convinced Petrobras is "the place" to get your gas.
Providing better then 100+ octane, they have the best gas, the best service, and today with someone elses 50p fill and another 80p gets me a nice heavyweight semi-gore jacket of better quality then the one I paid 4 times that for in Puerto Natales.
Even it got a cool checkered flag logo on it.
Stash my lightweight in my bag and make the change.
Rent The Motorcycle Diaries, a story of Che Guevarra's inspiring trails through South America and fix up a popcorn for the gang back at the hostel.
Guitar sing along on Jose which is in desperate need of a revarnish when I reach Valpo.
Determined to get there tomorrow.
July 8, 2005
Moto > Uspallata, Argentina 11:30 / 2.5h .5h / 120k 18344k
GPS S 32.614050 W 69.351000 1865m
South and out of town to the 7, where I start my climb to the Paso De Los Libertadores.
A quality road passing a dozen or so tunnels with a great view of the towering Aconcagua, the highest mountain in South America.
Refill and take a break to buy my last good chocolate in Uspallata about half way up.
Moto > Pendiente, Argentina 2:15 / 1.25h / 67k 18463k
GPS S 32.841583 W 69.839050 2600m
Stop at Pendiente to refill the gas and stock up on reserve before reaching expensive Chile.
The ski slopes here look like an inviting couple days on my return trip.
Moto > The Pass 4:00 / 18530k
GPS S 32.844667 W 70.106867 3100m
Through the tunnel seperating Argentina from Chile and over the pass at 3100m.
The bike is uncharacteristically weak.
To enter Chile for the final time.
Chile - One Last Time
And thank god it is my last time cause it couldn't be a bigger pain in the ass.
2 windows to leave Argentina and 5 more to enter Chile, atleast they are in the same building here.
Only given 8 days for my moto and a peaje of 600p right off the bat, not accepable in Argentina pesos.
Reminds me instantly of just how much and for what reasons I don't like this country.
Strict and without a smile.
Better put on my helmet.
And just when I think I got all 3 forms filled out right, it is back to 3 more windows for stamps.
An hour in all and a broken bottle of wine.
Moto > Valparaiso, Chile 5:45 / 3.25h / 196k 18562k
GPS S 33.035117 W 71.639533 145m (Armando's Lodge)
A surprise arrival.
Rev up the engine hard to let them know I made it.
Luis comes out of the house with a big smile.
The dogs and cats come jumping out and Patricia follows close behind.
A warm welcome "home".
Alot of catching up over some Vino Navegado at a party next door.
Harry's Un Limon y Medio Limon
July 9 - August 4, 2005
Nearly a month of spontaneous projects, thanks to the request for a visa extension.
The revarnishing of Jose (my guitar),
the repainting of Murphy (my moto),
the developing of OptiCut (my software gift to Luis and his sign business),
the day trading away of all my money from ISRG to AAPL and back again in perfect time to miss the 20 point surge,
the final promised web updates since Ushuaia,
and alot of cazuelas and coffees and mariscos and other delights by Patricia.
PopPop's Sad News
PopPop's Even Sadder
Wiggins Chronicles II
August 5, 2005
After nearly a month of hanging out with my "friends" in Valparaiso, I pay the bill and wave goodbye.
A beautiful day to hit the road.
Moto > Santiago, Chile 1:30 / 1.75h / 115k 18769k
GPS S 33.409367 W 70.548483 120m (Rodrigo's Apartment)
Contacted by my friend Rodrigo, one of the Cordoba Hostel gang who lives in Santiago to stay a couple days at his place on my way back to Argentina.
Across town to the Comunes de las condes, a park of upperclass highrises in a gardened area on the outskirts of the city.
Some trees and a bit of fresh air, giving me a different impression of Santiago then my first stay in the center.
Up to his 8th floor "bachelor pad", subdivided and shared by a rash of law students.
Rodrigo, himself a practicing lawyer and fellow guitarist and with a half a dozen guitars strewn about I see we should get along well.
A table of remote controls, cellphones, and empty beer cans.
The type of pad that reminds me of my college days.
An evening of guitar and chess and half of Pink Floyd's The Dark Side of The Moon and Pulp Fiction on DVD.
Pollo Is Worried
August 6, 2005
Sitting around, nothing much.
I am now convinced the sparseness of the Chilean diet is the norm.
A coffee and possibly a piece of bread for breakfast at 9, a small soup or pasta for lunch at 2, and another coffee and bread for "onces" at 8.
I seem to be constantly hungry, tired, and feeling a bit malnourished.
It is suprising to me most Chilenos are overweight, but I am guessing it somehow messes with their metabolism.
Will be nice to get back to Argentina.
Harry Says Thanks
August 7, 2005
Decide to take advantage of another beautiful day to get back to Argentina before the weather changes and leaves me stuck on this side of the pass.
Say our goodbyes and fuel er up for the trip.
Moto > Paso De Los Libertadores, Chile 11:00 / 3h .25h / 155k 18904k
GPS S 32.845517 W 70.118833 2960m (1st Aduana)
A heavy twisty climb back over the pass and through the tunnel at 3200m.
Pass the 1st and presumably the Chile exit aduana untypically without question and in record time.
Sensing something must be wrong as nothing beaurocratic has ever been so easy in Chile.
Welcomed into Argentina I continue on.
Argentina - One Last Time
Moto > 2nd Aduana, Argentina 11:00 / 3h .25h / 23k 19059k
And just as I am getting over the uneasy too easy feeling I am diverted into a 2nd aduana.
A strange friendship of aduanas between Chile and Argentina that routes you differently in the opposite directions.
It is here where the troubles catch up to me.
Sent like a ping pong ball between the various Chile exit offices with no apparent organization.
Confusion over my request for a visa extension and not having the official response makes the tension greater.
The hawkish officer lady's eyes are on me, trying to decide if she should let me go or make a problem.
I pretend stupid and try to avoid the detailed questions using purposefully poor spanish.
Shaking from frozen feet and hands and munching on the last of my Aguirres chocolate bar I try to look innocent.
And finally after holding me there for an hour and processing everyone else first, she ives me the "I bet your guilty" look but decides to stamp me out anyways.
Thankfully out of Chile for the last time, the most strictfully disorganized country in South America.
The end of the huevon.
Once again, entering Argentina couldn't be easier.
A typically friendly lady who stamps me in with a smile after only requesting I hand over the last of my chocolate.
Happy to be back in Argentina.
Moto > Penitentes, Argentina 3:30 / .5h .25h / 9k 19082k
GPS S 32.841733 W 69.838817 2600m (Ayelen Hostel)
Stop at the Puente Del Inca, a natural stone bridge cut under by a hot water spring, on the short stretch downhill to the ski resort of Penitentes hwere I plan to spend a couple days of skiing before heading back to Mendoza and on toward Salta.
A free and interesting site of natural beauty.
It is only too bad they have blocked the bridge off from crossing as I could sure use a hot bath.
Check into the cheapest stay in town, a dorm all to myself at the well kept Ayelen Hostel for 23p, including breakfast.
A much welcomed piping hot shower that is full and furious in Room 24 which appears to be nothing more then a bathroom, strange.
The bode next to the toilet assures me I am back in Argentina.
A short nap and downstairs to take advantage of the better food and cheaper prices by sitting down a lomito, 10p.
The beginning of the boludo.
Entirely friendly, but perhaps the most inefficient people in all of South America.
While researching the ski prices I am reminded of their inherent illogic.
Penitentes Price Schedule
Ski Lifts
1 Day = 75p
2 Days = 150p (Hmmm... No discount for the second day?!?!)
3 Days = 202p (Ahhh... 52p for the third day!)
4 Days = 260p (Ehhh... 58p for the fourth day?!?!)
5 Days = 325p (Awwk... 65p for the fifth day?!?!)
Ski Rentals
1 Day = 45p (Over half the price of the lift?)
3 Days = 128p (Errr... 7p discount after 3 days?)
Decide to stick with the rental shop across the street, with the exact same skiis but for 20p a day.
These people I will never understand.
August 8, 2005
Up early to hit the slopes.
Perfectly happy to pay the single day rate, I am offered promotion at the window to defeat all previous illogic.
50p on weekdays?!?!
Maybe someone could help explain to me why anyone would buy a 5 Days pass?
Completely lost and confused, I ziptye my ticket to my jacket and begin my day.
A day of pain.
All the cause of:
The altitude - The lack of air and not being acclimitized has me gasping dead tired after just putting on the boots.
The skis - Thinking like a "pro" I take the 180s, too long to fight the conditions.
The conditions - After the weekend rush the snow is too icey and hard.
The sun - Much stronger at 2600m, especially when you forget the sunscreen and break your glasses on the first run.
The lift - The t-bar is my only option after losing my pass, which they won't replace and the lift boludo pressures me about.
With a crimson face and eyes bloodshot and burning, I drag my sorry old ass back to the room after only a half day.
Aching and burning and pissing and moaning, I start to accept the reality that I may just be getting old.
Promise myself to rest up good and make a better day of it tomorrow.
Some friendly roomates have moved in, a couple from Buenos Aires on vacation.
A good gang who appreciates my guitar blues and helps distract from my whinging.
Dinner at the parilla next door.
An overcooked Bife de Chorizo for 16p.
It is here where I realise that "al punto" is never really al punto.
Instead of the slightly pink medium implied, it always comes well done.
I attribute this to either the cook being too busy taking a smoke to pay attention or just simply not paying attention to your order in the first place.
I have found that if you like medium then your best bet is to order it "jugoso".
Ordering it this way tends to make them take notice as the average Argentinian prefers their meat dry.
I find it strange for a country with so much steak to not know how to cook it right.
More likely they just don't care.
Many times I find they just don't listen to what you want in the first place.
The server asks you if you want potatoes or salad.
You say salad.
You get potatoes.
It happens over and over again until you are convinced it isn't an honest mistake.
Customer service is definately not their strong suit.
Humour my roomates over my asado revelations until bed.
They agree.
August 9, 2005
Another day on the slopes, now with the advantages of being acclimatized, using 160s, covering myself in sunblock, and renting goggles.
What turns out to be a great day on the slopes.
Much less tired and without the pain.
Run it hard until 4, performing well enough to make me not feel so old anymore.
Another overcooked and overpriced steak.
Suprisingly, the cook here doesn't seem to know the difference between a lomo and a bife.
August 10, 2005
Moto > Uspallata, Argentina 10:00 / 1h / 63k 19091k
Check out and push against the sun and the wind back downhill to Uspallata.
Moto <> Broken Chain 11:30 / 2h 1.5h / 32k 19154k
No more then 16k outside of Uspallata on the dirt road "shortcut" to San Juan I hear a loud snap and drift to a stop.
A broken drive chain, odd in that it was otherwise in perfect condition.
Wrapped itself up good and wedged into the space between the front sprocket and engine block.
Cracked the plastic cover which probably saved my leg from getting thrashed.
Thanked god I packed myself a spare master link and the tools to fix it.
Fixed it up roadside and turn back to take the paved road to Mendoza for a new chain, stopping back in Uspallata for lunch incase the new journey takes longer.
Moto > Mendoza, Argentina 2:00 / 2h / 117k 19186k
Slowly half speed it my way back to Mendoza careful not to blow out the fix uncertain because of the possible damage to the chain.
Find the first open parts shop and pick up a new Non-ORing DID chain to replace it with saving the original as a spare, 428 x 126 links - 45p.
Also take the opportunity to change from the cheap natural oil I added in Valparaiso while cleaning some accidental metal shavings from the engine to a quality Castrol GPS synthetic.
Too late to carry on I check back into the Andinas Hostel in the center.
Nothing exciting.
August 11, 2005
A nice perfect weather day.
Decide to hold off on travel and instead relax the day walking around Mendoza a bit.
To the plaza an around the shopping streets.
Pick up some polaroid glasses to replace my broken Wileys (115p) and later manage to fix the Wileys with a piece of elastic (4p), making my new purchase immediately obsolete.
Matt's Star Sun
August 12, 2005
I have concluded upon further inspection and in a fashion similar to the Space Shuttle disaster that the broken chain was a result of falling debris.
A missing seat bolt that must have rattled loose in the dirt and got caught in the chain.
Tie the second seat bolt to the bike by string to prevent it happening again.
Moto > San Juan, Argentina 10:00 / 2.25h / 170k 19320k
GPS S 31.547350 W 68.513083 620m (Corner Market)
The new oil has the bike in a smooth hum as it touches 100kph, almost double what it pulled me out of Lima at over a year ago.
On the 40 North across the typical nothing an passing the typical small poor carbon-copy farming villages every 20k or so.
Rows of small 20'x20' cement houses all identical in a virtual trailer park of white trash.
The Extremes of South America
It is too hot and too cold,
too wet and too dry,
too high and too low,
too many endlessly wide open spaces and clausterphobically closed mountains.
It is devistatingly dull and intrinsically complex,
too much theivery and even more paranoia for the theives that aren't,
too many poor suffering by the hands of the rich.
Stop in San Juan for a bite and a break.
A small and more homely version of Mendoza, also famous for its wineries but not as much so.
A very nice and uncommon broiled trout with rosemary potatoes, the deal of a lifetime at only 4p.
Load up the basket with groceries of jamon crudo, cheese, bread, olives, and juice for the long trip ahead.
Moto > San Augustine, Argentina 1:00 / 4h / 186k 19487k
GPS S 30.639667 W 67.466733 850m (Service Station)
North through the Valle Fertile to the Valle de la Luna.
Alongside an endless chain of scrambled mountains to the left.
Take a break roadside for a sandwich and am covered in flies.
A very outback feel prevails.
Fill up and carry a reserve for the diversion to the Valley of the Moon.
Moto > Valle de la Luna, Argentina 5:45 / 1h / 74k 19737k
GPS S 30.178133 W 67.832933 1380m (Camp)
Continue on across some of the nicest scenery in months, reaching the park just before sunset at 7.
The real name is Ischigualasto, and am notified by the guards of the route and rules.
Open from 9am to 4pm and costing a whopping 25p for foreigners (10p locals) with a required guide and caravan around the scenic "loop".
Back out just enough to avoid the 3p camping fee and setup my tent in a dry river bed.
Finish my sandwiches and am in bed by 8.
Plans to do the loop in the morning before the guards arrive.
August 13, 2005
Up at 7:45 I rush back to the park where already the first bus of tourists is waiting.
Motor past the lineup of cars and into the park.
A circle that takes me through some mildly stimulating desert landscape.
Nothing too thrilling and definately not worth the entry fee.
Exit the park just after 9:00 past the longer lineup of cars still waiting for the guards to get their act together.
At 19816km my speedometer breaks, and just as I was thinking how long it has gone without breaking.
Back to camp I pack out and plan my route to Salta.
Moto > Patquia, Argentina 10:00 / 1.25h / 106k? 19816k BROKEN!
GPS S 30.043667 W 66.882167 440m (Lunch)
The sign says 106k to Patquia but it seems an awful lot longer.
A dead straight road with nothing to see.
Refuel and food stop.
Pull apart the speedo cable to find the problem is the gears inside the wheel sender.
A difficult if not impossible fix.
Put the gears in my bag incase someone has some ideas.
A slow but nice meal.
Broiled chicken, salad, and fries.
Moto > Chilecito, Argentina 2:15 / 1.75h
GPS S 29.155583 W 67.492683 1120m (Hospedaje)
Onward North merging back with the 40 to Chilecito.
A small and pleasent town at one time famous for its gold mines.
I have been informed that corruption runs rampant here but I don't see any.
It is the hometown of the ex-president.
Stop to wish Rosa a happy birthday tomorrow and being half lazy decide to call it the day and stick around to see the circus passing through town.
Manage to stir up a friendly mechanic who helps me tighten the steering and make a temporary fix to the gears without charge.
Check into a clean single with private bath in the Hospedaje Don Isidro, 15p.
The only disagreeable bit being the Argentina standard lumpy sack of foam chunks pillow that in itself is too sparse to support your head and doubled over is enough to break your neck.
Strange place to try saving money seeing that there are plenty of nice and normal pillows for sale in the stores and they aren't expensive.
Probably paranoid you will steal them.
Give myself a thorough haircut with the battery powered Wahl Groomsman I picked up in Buenos Aires.
My half balding condition has progressed to buzzing it all at a number 2.
A touchup that is needed every couple weeks.
A great tool, much nicer then going to a barber.
Out to stroll the streets after dark.
Strawberries are starting to appear in the markets alongside the normally heavy offerings of mandarines, apples, and bananas.
Take dinner at Los Angelitos, a popular late night lomito shop with a crowd that makes me feel like I am back in Bolivia.
Dirty faces with more of a determination to eat then a smile.
Last night's campout has me too tired for the circus.
Decide to delay it another day and see it tomorrow.
August 14, 2005
Happy Birthday Rosa!
Sit out in the front strumming quitar and eating dark chocolate covered raisins as my moto gear drips dry on the line.
Not a single cloud in the sky, the start of a fiercly hot and nice day.
Take a break from wearing 3 layers and am down to just shorts and tshirt.
Birds chirping amongst a patch of orange, avocado, and palm trees jumping from one to the next.
Used to have a theory saying travelers are people either running away or running toward something.
Recently I have been considering a third catergory.
Those who after having passed the appropriate catergories above and are now just running aimlessly cause they got no better idea.
At this stage in my travels I think I am entering this category.
Neighborhood dogs barking at each other.
The house black cat lounges in the yard enjoying the sun and to hear me play.
Jose looks and sounds great.
All dry in under an hour.
Hike up to the radio tower on the hill for a spectacular view over town.
A really incredible perspective over an interesting landscape.
Back in town I take lunch at El Rancho de Ferrito for their special Costelletas de Cerdo a la Riojana.
The smallest bottle of wine I have ever seen, 187ml and a label instructing you to "drink with moderation".
With your meat you usually get the option of either puree de papa or papa frita or ensalada.
I've learned to choose the ensalada otherwise you get no vegetables.
Anyways, a basket of bread is always delivered first.
They just have to learn to bring a plate out with it and some butter so you can eat it.
A four star meal and all for under 15p or $5usd.
Put it on visa just to make a real deal of it.
Italian music in the background.
A very Italian culture infact.
Would be interesting to see what would have happened if Indonesia landed here instead.
If I am lucky to have been born in the United States, then the question is was it good luck or bad?
To be enlightened in cultures that enjoy their time rather then stress over it, and being well aware that time is indeed money.
To have the money to put myself in this position as a result of stressing over it at one point in time.
Most Argentinians seem fundamentally happy, maybe even more so then most Americans.
Doesn't seem like such a bad place to live here actually.
A really nice day and a nice place to spend it.
Glad I stopped.
Move hotels for a change in scenery.
Check out the Cable Carril that replaced the mule trail of 34k to the old "La Mejicana" gold mine up in the mountains.
A hands on museum, interesting and free.
Grab 3 scoops of icecream at one of the many shops in the plaza, 2p.
A marching band passes through and they lead me to the local futbol stadium where a spirited game is underway.
Finally find my way to the circus at night, 10p.
Good fun.
Felinor's French Salut
August 15, 2005
Moto > San Blas, Argentina 11:00 / 2h .25h / 120k?
GPS S 28.371400 W 67.071367 980m (YPF)
Pick up some ridiculously expensive groceries before heading off.
A small bag of fruit and sandwich supplies for over what yesterdays 4 star lunch cost.
It was the jamon crudo at over 50p/kg?!
Too rich for my blood.
Across a countryside turning more and more into a red clay desert.
An odd incline which funnels me into San Blas where I stop to refuel and lunch.
Moto > Belen, Argentina 1:30 / 1.5h / 95k?
GPS S 27.624250 W 67.023283 1300m (roadside view)
Finally in Belen the road cuts into the mountain range that has been to my left since San Juan.
Moto > Hualfin, Argentina 3:15 / 1.5h .25h / 110k?
GPS S 27.223050 W 66.821017 1870m (YPF)
Adding a few curves and the first real bit of excitement since returning to Argentina.
Alongside a river ravine for a short range.
The road turns to dirt and I spend the next 60k on heavy ripio.
The shaking tears the seating from the bicycle basket mounted to the back and I unload the security chain I been lugging since Buenos Aires.
That and an opened can of wax hauled from the paint job in Valpo.
These roads take a real beating on the clutch and drive chain, especially one without O-Rings.
The true 40 as it was meant to be.
Pull into Hualfin thankful to see a patch of pavement.
A town of physically and mentally deformed inbreads.
Refill.
Moto > Almost Santa Maria, Argentina 5:00 / 2h .25h / 120k?
GPS S 26.852750 W 66.096717 2020m (Camp Shack)
Back on the ripio out of town for another 40k before returning to asphalt.
Take a break to enjoy a sandwich and some olives.
My third and last jamon crudo sandwich.
It just don't make sense.
Faced directly into a strong headwind, the road crosses a 20k desert of throny grass before dropping into a valley between two new mountain ranges.
Continue on a bit further until my neck is sore and cramping up from pushing the wind.
Take refuge in a deserted adobe shack by the roadside for the night.
Shin's In Cusco
James's New Baby
August 16, 2005
A warm quiet and easy night.
Make a discovery in the morning that infact the wind pattern seems to start out as SW and slowly switch 180 to NE by evening.
Better to travel early.
Moto > Santa Maria, Argentina 9:00 / .5h / 20k?
Pass up on what actually looks to be an interesting festival in San Jose.
Refuel in Santa Maria where I am told Tucuman is no more then a ity an the route through Cafayate is better.
Off I go toward Cafayate.
Moto > Cafayate, Argentina 9:45 / 3h 1h / 120k?
GPS S 26.099583 W 65.970483 1640m (Bodega Etchart)
A muddled curvy single lane of broken asphalt followed by 20k of ripio leading to a decently paved double lane for the final stretch.
Further between the 2 predominant mountain chains across a sandy valley of high and thorny grass.
On the other side of the mountains to the left is the endless deserts of Chile.
Pass the ruins of Quilmes, cause I ain't really into ruins anymore.
The thorny grass slowly changes to 3 meter tangled shrub and cactus.
And as if almost by devine intervention I pass a bodega open for tour.
Bodega Etchart, the most internationally awarded winery in Argentina.
Pura suerte!
300 hectacres of high altitude grapes, special robust varieties.
Must be a really nice visit during the harvest between February and March.
Couldn't be more out of season here.
Continue pretending to care about what the guide has to say and waiting for the samples.
4 full glasses of their finest and most awared wines.
Instantly the world seems a more pleasent place.
The first step is to admit your problem.
Having joined the tour in the middle, I am sent back to the start for a second round.
By 12 o'clock the cold and overcast morning has turned strong and hot.
Together with the wine I am happily toasted.
Hold the rails on the steps.
After such a pleasent experience, I can't be arsed to carry on and so lay down for a nap.
Dreams of starting my own small winery in California.
Push on and suprisingly only another 2k further I roll into Cafayate.
Stop at the first restuarant advertising a menu.
Milanesa, sopa, and ensalada for only 4p.
Again makes me reflect on the ludicrosity of my supermarket selection.
Top it off with a glass of vino paterno, the nafta of vinos.
A homemade white variety served out of a 5 liter bottle.
Overpriced at 1p for a tall glass, a drunkards best friend.
No oak, no depth, no tannins, no character.
Quite simply grapejuice fermented.
Idling down the street and through the center I decide on a spur of the moment to stay the day.
Appropriately enough the Hospedaje El Portal de Las Viñas.
Welcomed in by a witch like lady who appears to have been a guard supervisor in a Nazi concentration camp.
Requires me and my gear to be dusted off before entry.
The facilities are complete and immaculate to say the least.
My own 5 bed dorm with private bath for 15p.
Convinced she is also a bit tipsy.
Strange how when you are a bit over you tune into a sixth sense which has you realizing that everyone around you is too.
Shower and siesta.
Rested up and about.
Turns out coincidentally to be quite a tourist den.
Hostels on every block and with good reason, it really is a pleasent town.
Closing in on 100º and 0% humidity my mouth is parched.
Between 12 and 4 the town siesta is well underway, with not a single glass of water to be found anywhere.
Waste the wait in the only open shop in town, an internet cafe.
Bite the bullet and buy back into ISRG at 73.5, accepting the loss from selling it at 47 a month ago.
I seem to be doing this whole trading thing backwards.
Don't plan to touch it for some time.
Passing back through the plaza I peer down a side street, and witness to my complete suprise a couple of Dutch on bike.
Saskia and Jurgen!
And I thought they were somewhere in the middle of Brasil.
A bit of a quick catchup finds them also headed to Salta.
We make plans to meet.
None of us can hardly believe such a coincidence.
Actually the 7th or 8th such coincidence with these guys.
Simply amazing!
Take a seat in the plaza at dusk for some locro (a corn porridge with chunks of meat and some shaved sea plant).
A hungry dog sits at my feet to let me know he can finish whatever I can't.
Artesanal alfajores (rich cookie-like cakes) and bonbons (nutty chocolate cream balls dipped in dark chocolate) for dessert.
Another cozy and comfortable little pueblo to lose your time in.
The sun sets at 7 and a cool but not cold wind rushes over the mountains to the West.
A very inviting atmosphere that finds me on a chair outside my room playing guitar.
For the witch.
Felinor's 30 Ans Au Paradis Dogon
August 17, 2005
Make the big move a few streets down to a dorm in El Balcon, 10p.
GPS S 26.071350 W 65.976183 1620m (El Balcon)
Tour the nearby goat cheese factory, leaving with a good sized chunk of Provencal for the money saved on the room.
Back at the hostel I join in on a free wine tour.
2 wineries, only so-so compared to Etchart but still acheiving the same effect more or less.
As the buzz dies and the day cools I jump on the bike an head to the nearby Colorado River.
An hour hike helped half way by some local sport fishermen finds me the waterfall at the end.
Some very nice desert canyon oasis scenery.
Finish off the day back at the hostel with a half kilo of bife and a bottle of fine wine.
A nice steak dinner all for under 9p.
Out for a night on the town failed for lack of a proper bar, something this town desperately needs.
James's Big Something
August 18, 2005
All set to go and the owner lady convinces me to stay another by inviting me in on their family criolla almuerzo.
A nice barbeque cooked stew of vegetables and meats.
The topic of the bar idea comes up and before long we are in negotiations for opening up one in the unused space besides the hostel.
He wants me to return and set it up to run between January and April.
No rent or papers and split the profit 50-50.
Something to seriously consider.
Another walk about town has me sampling the local specialty, vino icecream.
Two big scoops of Cabernet and Torrontes.
Nice and also effective.
Another siesta and another steak dinner.
This town couldn't be more relaxing.
August 19, 2005
Say my goodbyes and leave my email incase the bar idea becomes of anything.
Moto > Salta, Argentina 11:30 / 11h 8h
GPS S 24.815533 W 65.423867 1190m (Nicer Hostel)
Head North on the 68, a double lane of quality asphalt curving through the Quebrada de Cafayate.
A range of New Mexico like red rock and clay structures carved over the years by wind and whatnot.
Beats the Valle de La Luna hands down and is free.
A very scenic trip highly recommended.
A trip that alone justifies going south through Argentina from San Pedro de Atacama instead of Chile.
Stopped alot along the way to trek a bit.
A worthwhile turnoff at KM17.
An impressive Boca del Diablo, a unusual and massive crevice you can climb.
Textured rock formations of every imaginable color.
There is something to see the whole way.
Do it in the late afternoon and bring a polarizing filter for your camera.
Nearly reach Salta and now that I am no longer on dirt roads I get the idea to clean the chain.
Helped out in the garage of a loose oil shop, a kind old man offers what I need.
With rapid success on that project my mind starts formulating new projects for when I arrive.
Pull into Salta after dark and before even finding the center I decide I need another problem in my life.
To change the front brakes even thouh they work perfectly fine.
I always say "If it ain't broke, then break it so you can fix it".
A simple project that ofcourse turns out bigger then expected.
Before long a fat man has disconnected the brake line, dripping out the fluid and replacing it with some from an opened bottle, hammered in the wrong part and left me with brakes that are smoking but dont work at all.
Ride the rear brake which never has worked well searching for a place to stay.
Check into the first unmarked guesthouse I am pointed to with plans of fixing it myself tomorrow.
Salta - I am now convinced I am back in Bolivia.
Outskirts of chaos and grungy clutter with people and cars in all directions.
Rusty pimped up and broken Fiats whizzing by with blue lights and no mufflers.
A 24 hour comedor bar where a drunk indian blood man wearing a tshirt in support of terrorism hits on the waitress as I sit at a table with a cockroach standing on the sugar bowl waiting.
Handed a burnt biscuit of a "milanesa" as the combi music in the background grows louder.
August 20, 2005
Closer inspection shows that the brake pad is touching the caliper preventing the piston from moving.
Wedged in halfway on one side it is constantly touching the disc and therefore overheating.
The only fix is to throw the pads away and find a second set that actually fits.
Smoke it to the nearest parts shop that will let me work on the bike out front and use some of their tools.
Manage to find a set of pads that actually appears to be the right ones for the bike.
European pads that cost a small fortune at 45p but should last the rest of my trip.
Change the brake fluid with quality and clean DOT4, 15p.
Stops on a dime.
Give the bike a wash and while doing so notice the battery is dripping acid.
A filler cap that was flawed right from the factory and finally worked its way loose.
Helped out by a friendly shop down the road to fix it with Poxipol, fill it with acid, and seal it, 6p.
Taking advantage of the facilities I decide to change out the rear brakes.
More parts that don't quite fit, this time as a result of excessive drum wear.
To finish up the work on Monday.
A fixed menu Marinera (scrambled beef and egg pancake with ensalada), 4p.
Quite a step up from last night's milanesa and at half the price a deal.
They speak very fast hear.
Taxi to the center and check into a proper hostel.
Spend the remainder of the day walking about.
Jurgen's Enroute To Salta
August 21-23, 2005
Eventually manage to fix up the rear brake using a copper spacer sleeve around the brake shoe seating pin.
Spreads the pads apart enought to almost make up for the difference.
Decent aftermarket pads at the least a whole lot better then what i had, 20p.
Full braking power for the first time since buying the bike.
Feels good.
The battery managed to short itself internally after adding the liquid acid to replace the acid that dripped out.
A slow loss that left me confused if it was the fault of the battery or the rectifier which never seems to completely shut off even with the key out.
Finally I decided to dump out the excess liquid and re seal it and it started working again.
The lesson learned is not to add acid to a gel type non-maintenance battery even if acid leaked out.
Leave it at that.
The most interesting thing is during all this work I managed to find a small mechanic shop on the outskirts of town who has the exact same engine sitting in a box on the floor.
Someone's old Hyosung chopper that is slowly being fixed up or left to die, whicheer comes first.
Dreams of scalping parts from it for my bike.
Lalo - Hyosung Motor - tel. 156057185
Other then fixing my bike I spent a day around town.
Extremely hot and dry, the driest season infact in the past 10 years.
Up the teleferico to the mirador for an really nice view.
A really nice town in some parts and very Bolivian in others.
Seems to be a place where the poor come in hopes of making something off the rich.
Met up with Jurgen and Saskia over a pizza and fill them in on the moto trauma.
They are both very analytical people, good at helping solve these sorts of problems.
Besides they know what it is like, having to work on their bikes all the time.
Headed North through Bolivia, shouldn't see them again for some time.
Finally ;)
Moved hostels to a nicer cleaner pricier side road one without the all night Fiat parades passing.
Angelina Falls Up The Stairs
Shin's Near Nazca
August 24, 2005
A gang suggests I follow the train to the clouds tracks on a loop North before pushing East toward Brasil.
Moto > San Antonio, Argentina 10:30 / 5h 1.5h / 160k?
GPS S 24.218317 W 66.320583 3800m (Ditched Hotel)
Along the route of the Tren a Los Nubes.
A rocky and rippled road of packed clay that crosses back and forth the tracks on its climb to San Antonio.
Along the base of a now dried Rio Toro river canyon, passing forests of cactus.
A route that interestingly enough takes me out of the clouds instead of into them today.
Cross into blue skies at the one shack town of Chorrillos at KM50 where the road turns to decent asphalt.
GPS S 24.747317 W 65.750933 2170m (Chorrillos)
The further I climb, the more inspiring the scenery gets and the more fierce the winds become.
The sun lights up the cactus from behind causing them to glow golden in fields of warm halos.
Over the first pass at El Chañal at 2950m.
GPS S 24.482233 W 65.904317 2950m (El Chañal Pass)
90k from Salta and 70k more to go to San Antonio.
The road dips down slightly into a barren sheep herder valley before pointing back upwards.
The winds are really moving and the power of the bike starts to drop off with the altitude.
But still it pushes me onward suprisingly without complaint.
At 3700m the cactus begin to disappear and before long it is just rock.
Over Abra Blanca pass at 4100m.
GPS S 24.314917 W 66.124983 4100m (Abra Blanca Pass)
132k from Salta and 28k more to go to San Antonio.
Back to dirt for the final stretch.
Across an altiplano of llama grazing on low shrubs.
The wind quits as I pull into the small dusty nothing much mining town of San Antonio.
Sit down for a bife and the stiffest and nicest Coca tea I have had in South America.
A therapeutic dose that numbs my mouth as it warms my body.
Suprisingly good food, or maybe I am just very hungry.
So far everyone I have met and seen in this town has been either heavily pissed or clinically retarded or both.
Apparently the gene pool up here has grown a bit too thin.
Typically round and chubby red mountain faces.
They like to hug me.
They are friendly.
Check into a right dodgy lodge for 10p and head out to try and see the famous bridge before sunset.
Moto <> Famous Viaduct Bridge 5:30 / 2h 1h / 36k
Too late to see it in the sun, decide to make a return trip tomorrow morning.
A hotspring on the return changes my mind about my luck in timing.
An abandoned adobe hut with a pool of perfectly hot mineral water that never looses it's bite.
My first hotspring in quite some time.
Feels incredible.
GPS S 24.218317 W 66.320583 3800m (Abandoned Hotspring)
Back at the hotel the typical high mountain pinball rodeo music plays next door as I try with all my effort to draw hot water for a shower.
Hoping to atleast get a rinse from the sulphur seeping from my skin.
Colder then ice.
No luck.
Lay down on the bed and it hammocks me in half.
With a pillow as wide as the mattress and ofcourse made out of a slab of foam exactly 3/4 as thick as it needs to be.
It is made this way so if you fold it in half it becomes 1 1/2 times what it needs to be.
Either way it is useless; however, much better then the lumpy version.
San Antonio - A pathetic and cold and poor and miserable high altitude village.
The type where you wonder why everyone doesn't just pack up the animals and leave.
A sort of last of the Mohekans with no education, no real industry, nothing really.
Just a bunch of drunks and other oddities looking for something to do.
A decent lomito and fries at a street stall.
A 10" toasted sandwich complete with 2 considerable slabs of meat, a fried egg, lettuce, tomatoes, aji, and mustard for only 1.50p.
To record, the cheapest complete and decent meal I have ever eaten anywhere.
The sandwich leaves me wondering how the hotel I am in could be worth even half of what I paid.
Work up the courage to ask the old lady for a discount and when I am denied I decide to take back my 10p and move out.
The middle of the night searching for a protected place to lay my bag.
Offered shelter on the cold cement floor inside the YPF service station.
Bad time to find a leak in my Thermarest.
A cold cold long night.
August 25, 2005
Up early an back to the bridge.
Moto <> Famous Viaduct Bridge 9:30 / 3h 2h / 36k
GPS S 24.203233 W 66.413900 4150m (Viaduct Bridge)
Rivers are all frozen from last nights 15 below.
A quick stop at the hotspring to recover.
And finally the bridge in full light.
Built in 1904 and standing 64m x 224m, the Viaducto La Polvorilla for some reason or another is famous.
It is an impressive bridge but i've seen nicer ones.
Back to town and top it off.
Moto > Purmamarca, Argentina 12:45 / 4h 1h / 140k?
GPS S 23.746033 W 65.498900 2330m (Plaza)
Pure and classic Ruta 40 ripio across an altiplano desert of sand and knee high shrubs.
Reach the Salar Grande and the road does it's best to completely avoid it, taking a route as far around as possible.
If you are looking for a shortcut, jump in the salar as soon as you see it an head to...
GPS S 23.608467 W 65.864967 3420m (Salar/Rt52 Intersection)
where it reaches the paved Route 52 to Purmamarca.
Back on asphalt and over the final pass of Cuesta Lipan at 4180m.
GPS S 23.699250 W 65.654900 4180m (Cuesta Lipan Pass)
Where I shut the engine off and enjoyed the most spectacular switchback drop I have ever driven.
Coasting all the way to the sleepy and attractive tourist town of Purmamarca with only a little help from the engine.
Moto > Tilcara, Argentina 5:30 / .5h / 24k?
GPS S 23.572450 W 65.396833 2480m (YPF)
Turn North to Tilcara, beginning a 120k diersion recommended by Jurgen and Saskia who say I should atleast make it to Humahuaca before turning back.
Check into a friendly lady's homestay, the first on on the way into town, 8p.
Drop the bike trying to lift it over the fence, breaking the basket off the back and cracking the plastic throttle lever.
Spend the evening fixing it with a candle flame.
August 26, 2005
Now that I am truely on pavement for awhile I spend the morning once again cleaning and lubing the chain and air filter.
Moto > Humahuaca, Argentina 11:15 / 1h .25h / 42k?
GPS S 23.206317 W 65.346417 2960m (Lomito Stand)
Nice views of the Mountain of 7 Colors on the way with the quarter moon propped up nicely behind, but nothing special after the trip to San Antonio.
Stop enroute for a couple photos and to adjust the brakes and steering after last night's spill.
Humahuaca - A small pleasent nothing much town that in itself isn't really worth the diversion.
Stop for a nice lomito before turning back.
Moto > Pampa Blanca, Argentina 12:45 / 3.25h .25h
GPS S 24.530800 W 65.075567 770m (YPF)
Past Tilcara stopping only to give the bike a bath on my way to Jujuy.
Plans to make a token stop and then decided to just skip it realizing it would only be a token stop.
I am really getting excited to see Iguazu and get out of Argentina and into Brasil.
Pick up some nice strawberries roadside enroute to Pampa Blanca where I stop for fuel and a break.
They are down to 2p per kilo and really quite nice.
Moto > Metan, Argentina 4:30 / 1.5h / 120k?
GPS S 25.504017 W 64.973500 850m (Hotel Salta)
4 lanes of quality asphalt, the biggest road since I can remember, crosses a rolling valley dense in green shrubs and small trees.
The bike hums beautifully smooth without a care in the world.
Pass tomorrow's turnoff and continue on to Metan.
Metan - A medium sized pleasent and wide tree lined avenue town.
Immediately find a shop to replace the basket and check into one of the possibly only two hotels in town.
Doesn't seem to be a tourist destination in any way, but nice none the less.
The Salta Hotel, where my moto just manages to squeeze down the long hall entry to its parking spot in back.
More of the cold hot water and pay before you stay Bolivian culture which appears to have defined Northern Argentina.
Set to work finding the pinhole in my Thermarest.
A very hard find even using soap.
Not even a pin hole.
To the internet to research the fix.
In order of preference: The Kit, Urethane Glue, Shoe Goo, Duct Tape.
Which will it be?
August 27, 2005
Up early and out, looking forward to a long hot dull day on the road.
Moto > J. Gonzalez, Argentina 10:00 / 2h / 115k?
GPS S 25.123267 W 64.122583 380m (YPF)
Been awhile since I have used my MP3 and so I fire it up for the trip.
Money For Nothing.
Backtrack the 15k for the turnoff to the 16E, the long road to Brasil.
The beginning of the 700k trip to Resistencia.
Are You Gunna Go My Way?
Moto > M. Quemado, Argentina 12:15 / 2.25h .25h / 161k?
GPS S 25.813333 W 62.839250 220m (Service Station)
A few curves for the first 50k to Algarrobal and then dead straight for the rest.
More 3 meter shrubs and small trees.
What I am beginning to think all of Argentina was before they cleared it to plant grazing grass.
The fresh sweet smell of green tea.
Red Red Wine.
Do a few exhaust tests leaving me undecided as to how many Suppertrapp discs are best.
Using the successive approximation method I conclude that 9 seems to give me the smoothest acceleration without choking the top speed.
The problem is the road isn't perfectly level and so it is hard to compare.
Really need a dyno or a race track.
Take lunch in the Refinor service station.
A milanesa sandwich next to all the truckers who have taken a break for a beer or two.
Two to a 2 liter bottle.
A double flatbed pulls in that they all have their eye on.
Moto > Avia Teray, Argentina 3:30 / 3.25h .25h / 230k?
GPS S 26.705683 W 62.745433 100m (Camp Service Station)
Flocks of birds flee in all directions across the road.
Potholes best to avoid and trucks swerving at all times to do that and throwing clouds of dust into the air.
Switch to reserve just as I reach the 1st intersection at Avia Teray.
Stop for a refill and eyeing the setting sun decide to call it the day.
Scouting for a place couldn't be easier.
A huge park behind the service station setup for campers like me.
And for a peso all the scalding hot water you want.
A nicer shower then most hotels.
A strange sight next to squat toilets without paper.
No lights.
500k today 200k tomorrow.
August 28, 2005
The Thermarest seems to have recovered on its own a little, with no noticeable leak at night.
Moto > Resistencia, Argentina 9:30 / 2.5h / 200k?
GPS S 27.443133 W 58.977600 60m (Plaza)
The distance between settlements shortens as I approach Resistencia.
The landscape changes to tall swamp grass and palm.
Resistencia - A good sized city, seemingly pleasent on a Sunday.
Take some fruit at a stand on the entry to town and pass through without stopping.
They say Corrientes on the other side of the bridge is a nicer place.
Moto > Corrientes, Argentina 1:15 / .25h / 22k?
Over the bridge and into Corrientes, apparently the vacation spot for Resistencians.
Parrillas along the river costanera.
Stop for lunch at a tenedor libre that draws me in for its live music, 11p.
A social crowd who tries to get me to play music myself after the band quits, but I ain't interested.
I know it will suck me in and I really am getting anxious to get to Brasil.
600k to Iguazu.
Moto > Ita Ibate, Argentina 1:15 / .25h / 22k?
GPS S 27.427950 W 57.338033 70m (Hotel Rancho Grande)
The 16 turns to the 12 which begins to finally curve North, skirting Paraguay on the other side of the river to my left.
2 lanes of good asphalt and not at all busy at this time.
Driving in argentina is best done during their siesta hours between 12 and 4.
The scenery begins to diversify.
Forests of eucalyptus and other tall trees between countless lakes and swampland.
Sparsely residential.
Feels like things are starting to change, but between all of this the vast cattle ranches persist.
They could really use to change their diet here.
Relying too much on one main source of food cannot be all that healthy.
My weight is still climbing but they are for the most part thin.
I attribute this to the fact that they are essentially following an Atkins Diet without knowing it.
That and all the chain smoking and mate drinking must have them in some sort of ketosis.
Maybe that is what makes them nervous.
Pull into Ita Ibate before sunset and check into the small Hotel Rancho Grande.
Mosquitoes and lots of them.
Light a coil, turn on the fan, and shut the door behind me on my way out for food.
Down to the end of the road at the river lodge for dinner.
Something different and very welcomed, baked river fish.
Enjoyed alongside a gang of sunburned sport fishermen from Brasil and Buenos Aires.
With pictures of catfish 6' long and 35kg on the walls, they are sour on today's less then trophy performance.
Cheered immediately up over the company of a gringo who actually speaks spanish.
They were suprised.
Vino Tinto induced world philosophy in competition with an old french man.
Jaques Cousteau I believe; who, convinced he had more travel experience then me, showed it by breaking in and repeating everything I say but massaged into his own story.
Did you know I was the only "real" American in my UCSB graduate class of 50?
None of the mosquitoes seemed to die but the rickety fan managed to keep them away.
My first night warm and without sheets.
August 29, 2005
The language is starting to change and the fruit is getting better.
Moto > Posada, Argentina 9:45 / 2.25h
GPS S 27.401467 W 55.921417 130m (Service Station)
Overcast and warm with a slight wind at my back.
Perfect riding conditions for Pink Floyd.
It has taken me quite some time, but I think I have finally figured out how my IAudio 5 works.
Take it out of shuffle mode to get a bit of continuity in the theme.
The road curves gradually and the winds shift and soon I am fighting a strong quartering headwind.
Take a break in Posada for a lunch of cheese and crackers.
300k to the falls.
Moto > Solar de "Che", Argentina 1:00 / 2.5h .25h
GPS S 26.614450 W 54.780250 140m (Che's House)
Onward straight into heavy wind over rolling hills of lumber pine, providing shade for the yerba growing underneath.
Connect this with the sweet odor I smelled before.
Apparently this is where the bulk of mate is produced.
The hills get bigger.
A surprise detour to the Solar de "Che", the place Che Guevara lived durin his first 5 years.
A wooden house deep in the jungle alongside the river.
A nice view just a stone throw across to Paraguay.
Moto > Iguazu Falls, Argentina 4:15 / 2.25h
The final stretch to Iguazu Falls.
A road with no shortage of sandstorm buses and trucks and other typically argentinian asshole drivers who seem to think they should be able to pass a motorbike without leaving "their" lane.
They treat it like a bicycle that really should be riding the shoulder.
The only strategy against these self-righteous dickheads is to position yourself in the left third of the lane.
Not too far left where they try to pass on your right or too far right where they hug you on the left.
Arrive at the falls after the 6pm closing.
Scope around a bit through the park without a sign of a guard anywhere, strange.
Opens at 8am and costs 30p for tourists and 12p for locals.
Decide to camp nearby and enter tomorrow before they open.
Strain my foot trying to dodge oncoming headlights while scouting out camp.
Getting too old for this.
Pitch my tent a good ways in on an unused dirt road.
August 30, 2005
Enter the park before 7 and find a hiding place behind the stadium-like arena to the left of the entry gates.
Lay still and quiet until just after 8, and when I hear the first big group passing merge with them.
In without charge, couldn't have been easier.
Together we board the train to the Gargantua del Diablo, the biggest falls of them all.
An overcast day.
The lack of sunny blue skies and rainbows being the only things missing from an otherwise incredible site.
A virtual themepark of waterfalls all bigger then Niagara, absolutely impressive.
Hobble from one to the next alongside my two new brasilian/arabic friends.
5 hours to see it all if you are a pathetic cripple like me.
Back at camp the cops are waiting.
Having found my "hidden" bag and emptied it they are onto me.
An infraccion for camping on an "unhabilitated" part of the National Park and with the suspicion that I didn't pay the entry.
In the end they tow me back to the ticket window where the man at the counter neither couldn't vouch for me having paid or not, nor could care less.
Railroaded into actually "paying again".
Tomorrow I face the "judge".
In the end, not worth the adventure were it not for the story.
Had my moto not been there I would have gotten away clean.
I recommend you taxi there and try it.
Moto > Iguazu, Argentina 2:00 / .25h
GPS S 25.597933 W 54.568733 190m (Hostel)
Check into Hostel Iguazu Falls in town, a nice traveler hangout with a pool and hammocks where a dorm bed goes for 20p.
An inspirational crowd eager for new entertainment like myself.
The guitar goes a long way in making friends.
To arrange my visa for Brasil.
A photo and 360p ($130usd) and 2 hours for only a 3 months stay.
They call it a "reciprocal policy", but frankly it is hard to see any similarities between Brasil's and America's position.
To me it appears more like a comparison between apples and oranges.
Political games that are put on the average Joe.
Possible to get a 3 month extension.
Limp about town in a growing pain that tells me something got torn pretty bad.
A ripoff of a town where prices on everything are easily twice the going rate in the rest of Argentina.
A street stand posing as a deal and selling gnocchi for the same price a 4 star restaurant normally sells a prime steak for.
A porqueria as they call it.
The only consolation is that neighboring Brasil costs more.
August 31, 2005
Jump from my top bunk forgetting of my foot and land in pain.
Limp my way down to the Guardaparque Jefazo avoiding the thousand eager taxis without meters.
A kind older man who sees through the beaurocracy and tears up the infraccion.
Too bad I offered my ticket to a dormmate or he would have refunded that too.
Live and learn.
Cold and rainy and with a few new friends I decide to rest my foot and stay the day, atleast waiting for some sun to see the falls from Brasil.
Cafe, guitar, ping pong.
September 1, 2005
Another grey and rainy day, enough to delay again.
Around town with the hostel's spanish contingency, Patricia and Fernando of Madrid.
A nice albeit painful walk to the triple border between Argentina, Paraguay, and Brasil.
Some hammock shopping by the girls in the souvenir markets.
Personally organize a BBQ at night with considerable success.
All you can eat and drink for 4p, a deal over the same being offered by the hostel for 15p without drink.
Entertainment for free alongside the vegan Louis Armstrong, classic.
Have attracted the eye of a German girl named Dorotea who is interested in traveling to Rio with me.
After having worked the last 3 months in Salta at a hostel and recently broken up with by her argentinian boyfriend Lucas, she appears on the rebound.
A very pretty girl, but with some obvious issues.
Should prove interesting.
September 2, 2005
The first nice day, really nice.
Plans to leave delayed by Dorotea suggesting to visit the falls but instead laying by the pool.
I take the opportunity to daytrip to the Brasil side of the falls.
A simple crossing that instantly turned complicated after realizing I lost "the paper".
Special Argentina import bike papers I am nearly sure I was never given at the border from Chile.
Leave the bike at the border and hitch it.
Brasil - For A Day
Decided to just pay the price and avoid the adventure, 20r or $10usd paid in dollars.
An equally impressive viewing of the falls but made much nicer by the blue skies and rainbows.
I recommend you hold off on seeing them for a nice day.
Back at the border the negotiations continue, attempting to assure I can leave with the bike tomorrow.
Argentinian Aduanas - The most unorganized and inefficient system in South America.
As if it is my fault when the copy they were supposed to keep also cannot be reproduced.
All the computers and all the officers and without this paper they are completely lost.
After a few hours of unreturned phone calls across the country the one man with sympathy offers me the escape.
If I leave now he won't stop me, but if I wait for tomorrow the whole process of confusion will start fresh.
Because it will be a different boss and writing a personal note between the two doesn't seem realistic.
Manage to arrange move my bike to the other side tonight an picking it up tomorrow, hoping nobody steals it.
The officer flags down a passing van to hitch me back to town.
They are very friendly, just useless.
Argentina - For A Night
The gang is waiting for me with dinner in exchange for another night online.
More drinking and Louis Armstrong.
Cuba Libres at a club.
I only really remember sitting on the spare tire in the open trunk of a VW Bug, my sandals scraping the ground over the bumps.
September 3, 2005
Easy my way up an out with my new travel partner, Dorotea.
Made possible only after downsizing her luggage from a 30 kg pack (3kg of lipstick) to whatever would fit in her sleeping bag stuff sack.
An introduction to travelling light.
Hike > Argentina Border 11:00 / .5h / 2k
Hike to the border and walk across to luckily find the bike waiting.
Feel like such a bandit.
Dorotea Begin
Moto > Brasil Border 12:00 / .25h
Quick motorcycle riding instructions and we are off together to the Brasil border, quite comfortably infact.
A border where you actually have to go out of your way to stop at and when you do (only Americans) they sit you down for the same fingerprint an photo we put them through.
I hit you so you hit me.
Absolutely ridiculous backwards and blind politics.
It is like something only kids would do.
The difference between us and them is here it is done by an old man who can't even see the keyboard and has absolutely no training.
After sitting there an hour patiently waiting, he has just managed to click his way through the "wizard", 5 times.
This whole slow and unorganized and lazy and long inefficiency is nice to see in a culture but not in a government.
The patheticness of it all is stunning.
Hands me my passport with a grin and points me to the aduana for my motorcycle.
Another old man also hunting and pecking his way through a "wizard".
It takes him three rounds to get my passport number correct on all the documents, there are quite a few.
As all this passes, so does a hundred cars and buses of people without stopping.
How stupid I feel.
Do yourself a big favor, forget the visa and just drive by.
An interesting aside while waiting.
The Portuguese (it is what they speak here) calendar labels the days of the week as D,S,T,Q,Q,S,S.
Confusing?
Brasil
VISA
Americans - 360p arg ($120usd) 90-Days on Application
Everyone Else - FREE 90-Days on Arrival
Extension - 22.08r ($10usd) 90-Days From Federal Police
ECONOMY
2.25 Brasilian Reals = $1
Diem = $/d ($ over Days)
Extras = ...
Food = 5-10r (Churrasco, Saltadas, X-Burger, some good food)
Room = 10-20r (More or less the same as Chile)
Gas = 2.30-2.90r/l
Web = 1.50-6r/h (Relatively fast)
NOTES
Mostly very warm and friendly fun-loving people
Learn to whip snap your fingers when you talk about something exciting like futbol (soccer)
They love futbol and are dead sure that Pele was better then Diego Maradona
Very exhibitional showing alot of Public Display of Affection but without the A, only the PD
The first beers are poured at sunrise
The roads are mostly paved but dangerous with potholes and swerving trucks to avoid
Asking directions is an invitation for a 5 minute monologue
ESSENTIAL BRASILIAN
They speak essentially Portuguese
The accents on the vowels can be ignored
"x" is pronounced as "sheez"
"ç" is pronounced as "s"
"te" is pronounced "che"
"ade" is pronounced "adjey"
"lh" is pronounced "ly" like spanish "ll"
"nh" is pronounced "ny" like spanish "ñ"
"são" is slurred off at the end of the word like French
Oi = Hello
Chau = Bye
Obrigado = Thankyou
Si = Yes
Nao = No
Bon = Good
Legal = Cool
Muito = Very (Much)
Aberto = Open
Feishado = Closed
Falar = To Talk
Fazer = To Do
Colocar = To Put Together
Trocar = To Change
Pegar = To Take
Fica Tranquilo = Stay Cool (Relax)
Calma = Relax
Mi Irmao = My Brother (Friend)
If you speak Spanish you will be understood with the following changes:
"h" is changed to "f"
"cion" is changed to "são" and slurred off like French
"eria" is changed to "eira" and is also slurred out
Words never end in "n", when they do, change it to an "m" but keep the pronunciation the same
Dorotea now good and tired of strumming the same song she knows over and over is excited to see me through.
Something french sounding by the Beatles.
She has a nice voice.
Finally we are in.
Stock up on Reals at the ATM, pick up a bag of sandwich supplies at the supermarket, and a map of the country.
Ponder over our route, agreeing that in the two weeks she wants to be in Rio we have time to see the Pantanal.
I think it will and should take longer but am compromising to meet her artificial schedule.
Really she has no plans for what to do after Rio, but talks of returning to Salta.
She is really bent on being on the losing end of the Lucas train.
Having a hard time getting over it.
Moto > Itaipu Hydroelectric Dam, Brasil 3:00 / .5h
Accidentally find our way to the Itaipu Hydroelectric Dam, the biggest in the world and one of its seven modern wonders.
Just in time for the last tour of the day, it's free.
A short movie and a park bus around the complex, all the while barraged with chinese-like propaganda.
Apparently there must have been quite a bit of opposition to the dam as it all tries to justify the nature.
To me it is justified simply because it generates 100% of Paraguay's and 25% of Brasil's power, cleanly.
After hearing that the 1000 species of insects the flood plain displaced don't sound so important.
Obviously impressive.
Moto > Santa Terezina, Brasil 4:00 / .5h / 20k?
GPS S 25.431017 W 54.438150 260m (Camp Pavilion)
Light rain and wet streets throw a mist of mus of dirty water on my face.
The result of cutting too much of my front fender off in Valparaiso.
The result of it flapping in the wind so much in Patagonia.
Decide to stop early.
Ask around town and are shocked that the cheapest beds are 20r each.
Contemplate our move over some nice coffee and beers with a gang from Sao Paulo on the return from Paraguay.
With a heavy storm on the loom we decide to head out of town toward the dam's lake and find a roof to camp under.
Our good luck finds us an empty wedding pavilion next to a church next to a bar of farmers busy gambling over cards and drinking.
They say it is ok and so we setup my tent in the rocks.
A tent that is hardly big enough for one, but comfortable for two.
Heavy showers all night.
September 4, 2005
Last night's storm continues through the morning, convincing us to stay the day.
A friendly 23 year old black lady bar keeper smiles up some more nice coffee and sweet and salty crackers.
Her child is a charm, pretending to be too cool to answer our questions.
Dries up a bit and we visit the lake.
Teach her to drive.
September 5, 2005
The start of a nice day and so we pack out with a plan to make some ground toward Campo Grande.
Moto > Guayra, Brasil 10:00 / 5h / 200k?
GPS S 24.082550 W 54.245783 260m (Hotel)
A short day of travel made long by countless pee and cigarette breaks, it is her last pack.
Sunny and hot over rolling hills working hard to avoid the potholes and the trucks.
Roll into Guayra in the late afternoon.
As we take some kebabs by a street stand the fighting begins.
Only 2 days together and it is already the beginning of the end.
It seems to be all about respect, something already on shakey ground between Europeans and Americans.
She doesn't like how I ask questions to people on the street without first fully introducing myself.
I mean it is fine to think you know better, but to tell someone they are wrong is another thing entirely.
Explainations as to why I do the way I do don't seem to satisfy her.
She wants to be right.
With both of us to bull-headed to compromise it sets the mood cold.
I mean what does she know about travel?
She spent her whole 3 months vacation sitting in Salta.
I just don't like being told to act a certain way which I don't agree with by someone who doesn't know what they are talking about.
Maybe I am the stiff one, but this sort of thing can flex both ways and she won't settle for that.
Reminds me of the attitude of most europeans that try to tell people right from wrong.
Reminds me of that annoying lady who rides her horse the english way.
Into a panaderia where the discourse is distracted by a Canadian man who moed here to marry an internet love.
It isn't long however before the topic comes back around.
Check into a hotel for 20p the couple.
Things go sour and insults start to fly.
Sad, but I don't see this going very far.
September 6, 2005
Moto > Just Past Somewhere, Brasil 10:30 / 6h 1h / 250k?
GPS S 22.128283 W 54.796100 410m (Camp)
More in the morning opens up the can of worms I had suspected back in Iguazu.
The Euro-isms start to fly.
How Americans are messy and loud and overweight and rude and arrogant and on and on.
How we like war and how Bush is a criminal and blah blah blah.
Seems she forgot what Germany did only a few years ago, instead focusing on inflicting her ill-informed beliefs on me.
I can't take it much longer.
I wish she would go back to Salta.
Now I see why Lucas got rid of her.
A long arguementative day on the road.
Searching for a camp after dark she burns me up by having to herself ask all the directions enroute.
And in the heat we pull out onto the road and swerve to the shoulder within one foot of a car in the opposite direction passing others without headlights and travelling at 100kph.
The closest I have come in my travels to certain death.
The only good thing of it was she quickly shut up.
That is it.
Setup camp under a mango tree in a field oasis.
Giving her the cold shoulder makes her want me more.
A crazy drama queen like the English girl in India.
Drives the conclusion that modern world women have serious issues.
I mean since I met her she has asked me if she is pretty on the hour.
She is, but it doesn't matter how much I tell her that she doesn't believe me or pretends not to.
And to make it worse every half hour she reminds me how pretty her beloved Lucas was.
And how could he leave me?
No body ever leaves me.
He was the first.
Hurts your pride you know.
Jesus, please stop!
Constant discussions about how disgusting she thinks beer poster ladies are for showing their bodies for money, because it makes people look at her like an object.
But in reality that is exactly what she wants people to do.
A girl who is exactly the corruption of the society she hates.
Superficial and petty and unable to accept.
September 7, 2005
Everything picks up in the morning as though it never stopped.
Moto > Some Town, Brasil Early / 2h?
We make it to some small town where we stop for fuel and breakfast.
The only open shop is a sort of lowerclass bar, drunk scragglers.
Quick to tell me it is the sort of place she would never visit in Germany.
Sit down for a coffee and I immediately start making mistakes.
My explanation of how to catch an armadillo and cleaning the road dirt from my nose failed to amuse her.
Before long the entire list of my problems were being iterated.
Here they are:
My Problems
(According to a German Girl)
Arrogant
Egocentric
Boring
Dirty
Not Accepting
Too Sensitive
Ridiculous
Irresponsible
Unsocial
Inconsiderate
Picking My Nose
A Mom That Is Not Educated
...
Alongside of another list of her strengths over me, abbreviated here as smarter, taller , stronger, prettier, ...
More paranoid is more like it.
Sounds like she is getting back at me for her problems with Lucas.
I mean taller?
It isn't hard to see she is atleast a bit crazier.
I could take it all pretty well until she got to the part about my mom must not be educated to have brought up someone like me.
It is then that I said goodbye to her and left her to take a bus to Rio.
Back to travelling solo, thank god.
Absolute disrespect.
Dorotea End
Almost instantly my travel experience improves.
Hanging out at the service station waiting for light rains to pass I am invited in for a coffee.
We chat it up for quite some time and I start to remember what I have been missing from my travels.
Moto > Bonito, Brasil 10:00 / 2.5h?
The sun comes out as I pull into Bonito at 12:30.
Settle into a nice room, negotiated down from 25r to 15.
A hot shower and a nap to ease the pain.
Walk about to the only hostel in town to find a pack of gringos paying more then me and sharing rooms smaller and dodgier then mine.
Decide to stay put.
Espitinhas (shish kebabs of steak over a plate of white rice) at night for dinner, 4r.
Everything else here starts at 20r and up.
Shin's Inutil In Argentina
September 8, 2005
An early morning trip to some "Ihla Do Padre" jungle island resort which turned out not worth it.
Back in town I settle on spending the day at the municipal beach.
Pull in behind two local men on Honda XR 200s.
Odair and Rui of Sao Paulo on the return trip across the country to the Pantanal.
Impressed by each others light traveller nature, we are instantly connected.
That and the fact that Odair speaks good English.
Quickly they decide it better to make a real day of it rather then pushing on and so I show them back to the hotel to checkin at my already bargain rate.
Grab some sandwich supplies and beers in town and back to the beach for the rest of the day.
Schools of good sized fish swimming in unison with the tourists in an absolutely crystal clear river one meter in depth.
A environment in striking harmony between nature and man that I have never witnessed anywhere else.
Rent a snorkle and mask to drift down the lazy river and join in the fun.
As the day grows on and the novelty of the fish wears off the local tourists turn to me for entertainment.
Out comes the pretty single girls, the Pele fans, and the waggy finger snappers.
A lively gang mostly from Sao Paulo and here on vacation.
Unusually excited to meet a "real" tourist.
As the group grows, the ice cream man decides it best to stick around.
Making a killing on 1r cups of fresh Milho Verde (green corn) ice cream.
A good time and a memorable exchange.
A considerable sunburn.
Shower up back at the hotel and out for dinner.
Introduced to the Brasilian buffet.
A few dozen dishes of various vegetables and meats priced simply by weight as 10r/kg or 12r for all you can eat.
Odair and Rui weigh theirs out, I eat as much as I can.
A novelty that would never work in the States.
Beers and guitar back at the hotel.
September 9, 2005
Philosophy around the breakfast table in the morning before my friends pack up their bikes and take off.
A sad goodbye, to see them again in the future whenever I make it to Sao Paulo.
Moto <> Local Sights 12:00 / 7h 5h / 70k
Decide to spend the day searching for back doors.
No luck at either the "Abyss" (an abyss) nor the "Gruta Do Lago Azul" (a blue lake cave), the 2 biggest local attractions.
Breakdown and pay the 25r to book an "official" tour of the cave tomorrow, rappeling the abyss being just way too expensive.
Relax at the hostel for lack of company.
September 10, 2005
Moto <> Gruta Do Lago Azul 7:00 / 2.75h 1.75h / 50k
Back to the cave this time with a proper ticket.
A nice cave with some impressively blue water, but not worth the ticket unless it is Dec-Jan when the sun enters directly.
Packed up, I push on toward the Pantanal via the dirt road to Bodoquena.
Moto > Porto Da Manga, Brasil 9:45 / 7.25h .25h
A rough dirt road until it meets the pavement at Bodoquena where it turns head into strong wind.
Stopped by the police for my construction helmet not being up to code and using my MP3 player.
After playing a few songs by request and sharing a chilled mate I am back on the road.
Wooden bridge river crossings every 1k along the 60k dirt road detour through the Pantanal Park.
Thousands of exotic birds, sunning aligators, easily frightened beaver looking hogs, and other oddities.
Absolutely loaded with impressive wildlife.
Ferry > Other Side 6:00 / 5m / 8r (moto)
A ferry across a good sized river.
Accidently left my bag on the other side and had to hitch a fishermans boat back.
Decide to push on through night rather then paying the 25r that Mr. Only Hotel wants.
Moto > Corumba, Brasil 6:45 / 1h / 60k
Reach Corumba at the border with Bolivia and decide to just push through to save money on the nights stay.
My moto is also in need of a new back tire and they are considerably cheaper in Bolivia.
Less then a third the price of the same tire in Brasil.
Strange because the tires are made in Brasil.
- Quickie in Bolivia -
Moto > Puerto Quijarro, Bolivia 7:45 / .5h / 10k
GPS S 19.002650 W 57.713533 150m (Train Station)
Out of Brasil and into Bolivia without even stopping at the border.
Nobody even cares.
Couldn't be easier.
Learned my lesson entering Brasil from Argentina.
Change $40usd to 320 bolivianos and check myself into the dodgiest room possible for only 12b, a quarter of the Brasil price.
Out for a pollo a la brasa, overpriced by bolivian standards but still a relative bargain at 9b.
Amazing to see the immediate contrast in culture.
Bolivia, a country where your money lasts forever but at the expense of mostly ugly and unfriendly people,
pain in the ass drunks like the one passed out on the floor infront of my room, and the non-existance of quality.
Walking back to the hotel along dusty dirt streets of trash lined by plastic sandal markets and loud however empty "discos".
Duct tape mechanics fixing their cars by the roadside and giving them push starts.
Drunk men pissing wherever it suits them.
As they say "No hay plata para vivir, solo para tomar."
Back at the hotel a gang of clean and obviously foreign scragglers welcomes me at the door.
Selma, a german girl backpacking her way to La Paz; Fatima, a Brasilian girl studying medicine in Santa Cruz, Bolivia on return from breaking up with her boyfriend of Curitiba; and Boguslaw, a polish man working on writing a slang Spanish to Polish dictionary.
Lucky to find a quality crowd for an evening of door step guitar and chat.
The wildly bucking and ratcheting fan above me fools me into thinking it is pouring rain outside.
Working as hard as any fan could but with absolutely no effect whatsoever of wind.
I can only imagine it is the noise which keeps the mosquitoes away.
A hot no-blanket night.
To buy my moto tire tomorrow.
September 11, 2005
A cold and rainy day.
The first since crossing into Brasil.
It is Sunday and so all the shops are closed.
And if that weren't enough to distract my project for the day ofcourse there is a festival.
The annual Traditions of Santa Cruz and Support Our Autonomy day.
Follow the parade down to the mirador for the party.
A food festival featuring chicharron de jacarai (alligator), a white meat with the texture of fish and the taste of chicken, 10b.
Other then that and the incessantly boring announcer who loves to hear himself talk, nothing to keep my interest.
Back to the hotel to nap it off.
Meet up with the gang in the evening and manage to rent some DVDs.
Fatima, apparently on the rebound, moves closer.
September 12, 2005
Another cold and rainy day made more depressing by my unsuccessful search for the tire.
Strange that they don't have them here, instead it appears to be mostly a car tire market.
I would have thought it would be a popular place for Brasilians to restock.
The next closest town where I am sure to find it is Santa Cruz.
Might have to take this detour deeper.
A daytrip with Selma on the back of my bike to Puerto Juarez.
Nothing much.
As the girls board the train to Santa Cruz I further contemplate going myself tomorrow.
To find a tire ofcourse ;)
September 13, 2005
Line up down at the station in the early morning to buy my ticket.
52b one way for the cheapest seat possible and leaving at 2pm.
It is decided.
The expected brawl with the owner over the price for the room on the way out, seemingly a bolivian standard of exchange.
They can be real assholes sometimes and actually quite often.
Decide against trusting my moto to him and find another place up the road willing to store it for 30b per week.
Pay for a week upfront and make sure to demand a receipt to carry along so he doesn't try charging me again when I return.
A mocochinchi (sweet fruit tea) at a train station stall as I wait and am charged twice after a fly landed in it.
Have I mentioned how much I don't like it here?
Train > Santa Cruz, Bolivia 3:30 / 21h / 52b (bench seat class)
GPS S 17.782167 W 63.185800 410m (Hotel)
Moving slightly faster then a bicycle and rocking wildly back and forth we depart over an hour late on our 600km and 20 hour journey.
Hold off on the heaps of vendors pushing through to sell their dodgy food until absolutely necessary.
A small piece of overcooked and dry chicken and a smaller piece of boiled yucca on a heap of lard enhanced white rice, 6b.
Feel sick just looking at it.
A long and uncomfortable and dull trip alongside an unsocial crowd only made survivable by MP3.
Really how much does a set of springs cost a railroad company every 10 years?
September 14, 2005
A long stop at night for whatever reason has us even a few hours later then late.
A festering toilet with a heavy stench that penetrated the entire coach.
A trip climaxed by the corn empenadas ladies copying my ticket number down for the lottery, thinking I must have good luck.
Maybe you can use it too...
0141345.
Happy to be off the train.
Santa Cruz - The second biggest city in Bolivia.
Suprisingly clean and friendly.
Organized in a concentric ring system of roads around the center.
A system that is fairly easy to figure out but for some reason hard to get around in by public transport.
From one collectivo to the next I slowly converge on the center where I check into the first cheap stay, 20b.
Immediately out to make good on my tire purchase.
250b for a brand new Pirelli MT40 4.10-18 rear tire.
190b for a brand new Pirelli MT40 2.75-21 front tire.
Under a third of the Brasilian price as expected.
Decide against the front tire as mine still has some life and grab myself the rear.
Mission accomplished and all in under an hour.
Well, I already paid a week for my moto so I might as well take advantage of it.
Out for a burger with Fatima and friends.
September 15, 2005
A nice sunny day, the first in nearly a week.
Today's holiday is Social Workers day or something like that.
Another one of their hundred some excuses for a "paro" (literally means "stop").
A country that is on holiday atleast once a week other then the weekend.
Ofcourse nothing is open and so there is nothing to do.
Strum guitar outside my room as a line of backpackers shuffle in.
I seemed to have happened upon the trail.
A hotel that must be in "the book".
A gang starts to form.
Invited over to the neighbor kid's 6th birthday.
Down to the main plaza for some chess with the old men.
A pleasent town to lose time in.
So lost in the game that I miss my meeting with Fatima.
Long and hard hours in her final year of medical school offers a small window of opportunity to meet.
On the return I take good advantage of the best qualities Bolivia has to offer in my opinion, the fresh orange juice 2b and italian gelati style ice creams 4b on each corner.
A really comfortable and friendly city that makes for a nice stay.
Void of the bulk of hard-core pure-blood indians that are responsible for most of the Bolivia's bad mood.
A place that makes me reconsider my sour position.
Back to the plaza with my guitar and drawing the usual crowd of curious girls and boys with out of tune guitars.
Should really learn more spanish music then just Mana and Ritchie Valens but they like it here.
September 16, 2005
The waiting game.
All day I wait and in the hour I leave, she arrives.
The type of person who invites you somewhere and then you end up seeing them once on the day you arrive and once on the day you leave.
Decide to make a web update the priority for the week inbetween Fatima visits.
Atleast I have the hotel gang to keep me occupied.
A german girl "taughting" english in a small town nearby who can play the 4 Non Blondes and Tracy Chapman on guitar.
A south african boy who is on a quick get away from home and seems somewhat confused by it all.
A danish girl who reminds me exactly of my friend Carina who also is burnt like a lobster and resembles a turtle sandwiched between her oversized backpack and daypack.
Jonina and Sigurodur, an icelandic couple who are considering my suggested route through northern Argentina and ending in Valparaiso, Chile.
Raimer, a brasilian boy who studies anthropology in Amsterdam and is just touring around on a whim.
Youngre, a korean boy who is headed back home shortly and carries all the korean traveller essentials, ie. red pepper paste and seaweed.
Tyler, an american boy from Idaho who transplanted himself to California as an engineer and is now throwing it all away in his first year of an endless world tour like myself.
Together we do fruit, muesli, and yogurt breakfasts and grilled fish lunches at the local market.
That and the standard drinking beers and talking travel back at the hotel.
There isn't much else to do.
September 17-20, 2005
9 O'clock and the shops push their heavy steel garage doors open.
Sit down for some serious web work.
All the photos and stories from Valparaiso Chile through Bonito, Brasil.
A few hundred photos in all and a good month and a half of speak.
Work which takes me a few days to finish between chats.
An incredibly slow connection.
September 21-23, 2005
The gang has mostly parted and I am still mostly waiting and so with my tire around my neck I packmy bag and leave.
If you are considering a relationship with a doctor, think again.
Nobody to wave goodbye to.
Break down and upgrade my return ticket to Express Pullman class for 115b.
Train > Puerto Quijarro, Bolivia 5:00 / 16h / 115b (express pullman class)
A world of difference.
Comfortable fully reclining seats, on time, and fast.
Climate controlled and with movies on DVD.
A completely different experience then my previous trip.
Paying 2x and getting 8x.
Definately worth it.
Stretched out across 2 seats in the half empty train.
The first movie was ok.
By the second movie I was asleep.
Too bad they played a third before turning the lights off.
An upset stomach from the fish this morning.
A toilet that actually wasn't all that bad.
David's Work Travels
Victor's Strange Birds
September 24, 2005
Offering a 6 hour savings and a heap more comfort, do yourself a huge favor and take the express pullman.
Back in Puerto Quijarro the bike is waiting and the receipt saves me the discourse.
Pack er up, fill er up (at 3.50b/l, also a third of Brasil prices), give er a quick bath (with my last coins), and clean and lube the chain before jumping on er back to Brasil.
Moto > Corumba, Brasil 12:15 / .25h / 10k
Put on my "helmet".
Not because of the police, but because of the people.
- Back in Brasil -
Pass directly through Corumba without stopping, in the direction of Campo Grande.
Moto > Rain Shelter 12:45 / 2.25h .25h
GPS S 19.892650 W 56.866133 130m (Farm)
Motor along happy until a flash storm has me taking refuge under the tin roof of a grain drying silo.
And just in time before it starts really whooping down.
Heavy flooding in under a half hour.
60kph winds violently shifting directions.
A hurricaine I suspect, dropping more rain then I have ever seen before.
Moto > 16k to Miranda, Brasil 4:00 / 1.5h
GPS S 20.190183 W 56.505400 110m (Da Cida River Lodge)
Calms down after an hour and I am back on the road.
Motoring on through medium showers until finally giving up just before dark at a river.
Completely soaked through and through I negotiate a discount at the lodge under the bridge, 20r.
Apparently a famous vacation spot for sport fishermen from Campo Grande.
If tonight's dinner is any indication on the food quality of Brasil, I will definately be gaining weight here.
Caldo de Pirana as an appetizer to a 7 course meal of assorted vegetables and meats, 12r.
Obviously delicious fish.
Incredible.
Galia's Kazanova
September 25, 2005
Heavy rain that continued through the night and into the morning.
Plans to hold off another day and do some fishing.
Another heavy pounding for Cafe Da Manha (breakfast).
A full fruit plate, bread plate, cheese and cold cuts plate, juice, coffee, and chocolate.
This place is serious about it's food.
Really good quality and a suprising variety.
Argentina may have the steak and wine but Brasil has the rest, including real napkins.
The people of Brasil seem to be always smiling carefree and happy.
Four men with four beers and one fishing pole.
Eventually the rain scares them inside.
I sit on the porch transcribing songs and taking trips to the bathroom to squirt out the remainders of the bolivian fish.
Moby Porceline, U2 One, Divid Matthews Smooth Rider.
A second dinner to beat the first.
I have to hand it to the two fat women in the kitchen for some of the best food I ever eaten.
This place has to be an exception.
September 26, 2005
A sunny day.
Pack the bike up and pull out.
Moto > Campo Grande, Brasil 8:30 / 3.25h / 220k?
GPS S 20.464683 W 56.619967 540m (BR Service Station)
Back to the broken asphalt.
As I leave the Pantanal the road curves over eternally rolling hills.
Speed bumps, roundabouts, jughandle turn arounds, and police checkpoints.
More road disturbances per kilometer then any other country I have been.
The lazyness of South America where instead of patrolling they setup obstructions in the road and wait for you to come to them.
The troubling bit is there is almost never anyone actually there on patrol.
Stop in Campo Grande for a refuel.
The gateway city to the Pantanal.
Not an entirely huge and unpleasent place.
Moto > 100k to Bataguesi, Brasil 12:45 / 4.25h .75h
GPS S 21.754050 W 53.266150 380m (Truckers Lodge)
Stop for lunch at 1:30 and I am already too late.
My Argentina late and lazy days have to start earlier here it seems.
The standard plate of rice, beans, and salad topped with a slab of beef and a fried egg, 5r.
Together with a can of Guarana soda it makes for a complete meal.
Back on the road, the worst section so far, blanketed in potholes and patched over.
Deep with wheel wells from the way too many and way too heavy trucks that obviously used the road way too soon after paving it.
A constantly bumpy ride full of suprises.
A country in obvious bad need of a cargo train network to reduce the heavy loads on the roads.
As the sun sets I pull into a truckers lodge for the night, 12r my cheapest stay so far and not so bad actually.
An early night to make the distance tomorrow.
September 27, 2005
Weigh myself in at the local farmacia, 71.7 kg.
Down a few tenths since Buenos Aires, but still about 5 kilos too porky.
I don't think I am going to lose it here.
Moto > Primavera, Brasil 7:30 / 3h
Decide to make the shortcut route for Curitiba instead of the highway route.
Stop for an oil change in Novo Ando.
After over 150 liters of gas (5250 km), the Castrol GPS synthetic oil I added in Mendoza comes out black and burnt.
Replaced with Mobil Super Moto 4T, their best natural oil for lack of a synthetic option, 12r.
Good for 2000k they say.
Another look at my front tire says I shoulda picked a new one up for it too.
A hard to follow web of backroads that eventually crosses the hydoelectric Porto Primavera, a dammed river where Mato Grosso do Sul meets Sao Paulo.
It is where the road goes from lumpy to lumpier.
At a roundabout lacking in signs I flag down a passing car for directions.
Leonel, papa of the Papa Leguas Moto Club.
Points me the way but not without first inviting me back to the crib in Primavera for a coffee.
The town service station that he operates with his wife.
A window plastered in stickers of the other visiting clubs around Brasil and an outdoor patio of plastic chairs.
Coffee turns to lunch as I am introduced to the gang who trickle in as they hear "a celebrity" is in town.
Soon enough the photos come out and all the hogs and choppers for miles around are buzzing with the excitement.
Rounds of hugs and smiles, welcomed in like family united by the love for motorcycling.
Toured around town and down to the river to see his other business, dredging river sand into trucks for sale elsewhere.
It is where I meet his brother, who is preparing a fishing trip, and before long I am on a boat with a pole in the water.
Crazy how things happen if you let them.
8 peixes all by the hand of the old man next to me with not a single nibble on my line.
A man who's fishing license proclaims him as a "professional", must be the reason.
Anyways it is nice to see the nature around us.
In the evening the gang returns to introduce me to my first "official" churrasco.
The Brasilian equivalent of an Argentina asado, however much saltier.
One Crystal after another, the popular favorite pilsner with absolutely no effect.
Requests for a flock of country songs from 70s I probably should learn.
Creedence seems to be the common ground.
Check into a ragged hotel room for 10r, easily negotiated down from 15r.
My new cheapest stay.
September 28, 2005
Another day around town, where my passport and notepad have become the main exhibits in Leonel's exhuberant introduction.
Excited he is to convince the disbelieving audience of all the places I have been.
It has become an act of sorts, where I have learned to offer the documents for inspection on gesture.
Everyone is curious and enthusiastic and it is fun, but I am getting tired of it.
To his parents home with high surrounding walls for a reason.
An incredibly opulent lifestyle in an otherwise poor neighborhood.
A large swimming pool and an even larger table where we snack off a fresh watermelon as his mother meticulously sanitizes after everything touched.
Father arrives alongside a commity of serious looking business mates and we off to lunch.
A similar rice and beans and meat plate as before prepared by their maid.
In and out in a half hour, occupied all the while by the TV.
Off on a journey across the countryside in search of a fix for my speedo gears.
That and to reach out to more friends in the endless quest for introductions.
Passing surrounding ranch lands, he points left and right pronouncing what is his.
In some way or another he or his family seems to own everything.
In with the right family it seems.
Back in town without an answer, we settle on a machine shop to manufacture the gears.
Faustini, a friendly polish man who couldn't be more excited to make his contribution to my mission.
Should be done tomorrow he says.
Really nice people here.
Back at the service station the gang getting off of work readies their bikes for a "tour".
Prepare my little 125 to keep up with their much bigger bikes by swapping out the main fuel jet for a bigger one.
The lean reverse throttle backfiring quiets down and I pickup a bit more power.
Still not enough.
Moto <> Euclids Du Cunya, Brasil 6:00 / 90k return
GPS S 22.557250 W 52.592333 290m (Second Chapter)
Another churrasco in another service station with the second chapter of the club in a small town some 45k from Primavera.
Another steady stream of introductions to a good and friendly gang.
More Creedence.
September 29, 2005
Plans to head out today stalled by the speedometer gear project.
All day waiting for Faustini to finish his other projects to start mine.
Turning a hypoid gear out of a piece of rebar using only a lathe.
Looks good but it doesn't work.
Has only 8 teeth instead of 9.
Tomorrow to try again.
Selma's Stuck In Cochabamba
Vishal's Greetings
September 30, 2005
Heavy rain.
A bad day to move on.
A second shot back at the shop using brass this time press fit to a steel shaft.
With 9 teeth and a new cable it actually works!
Tomorrow to make a couple copies just incase.
No charge, really nice people.
October 1, 2005
Overcast, but hot and humid.
Early in the morning we finish up the copies and refit my muffler properly using a custom bushing.
A nagging issue I have been meaning to resolve.
Back at the crib they convince me to stick around one more day to join them on a motorcross event tomorrow.
I may never leave here.
Another churrasco.
October 2, 2005
The motorcross event is a no show.
Say my goodbyes over the phone to Leonel still in bed on a lazy Sunday and take off.
After 60km I reset my odometer and "officially" declare it working at KM 19942.0.
Moto > Maringa, Brasil 10:00 / 2.75h / 19942k 180k
GPS S 23.417367 W 51.973817 570m (Service Station)
Cross into Parana and the roads instantly improve.
Blasted by sand trucks and pelted by insects big as a baby's fist.
Mostly head into a strong wind.
Moto "officially" turns 20,000km since it's bolivian makeover.
A condition that really happened some thousands of kilometers ago just past Mendoza.
Another 103km and the speedo needle drops to zero.
Broken again.
Drift into Maringa unexpectedly on empty.
Seems the bigger jet consumes a good bit more gas.
Sit down for a lunch buffet in the service station, 10r.
Adjust down the throttle needle to its lowest position to compensate for the bigger jet.
Swap out the speedo gear looking like a pro, expecting it to atleast work another tank.
Moto > Just Past Imbau, Brasil 2:30 / 3.5h / 20103k ?k Broken
GPS S 24.747200 W 50.536717 800m (Truckers Lodge)
3km out of town it breaks again.
I give up.
Back to Chile?
A 3r toll every 100k.
3 decently paved lanes with the third alternating directions over each hill.
Hills all the way.
Stop at another truckers lodge at sunset.
A pure tile room resembling a bathroom with a bed, 10r but worth less.
Socialize with the roadcrew that is calling this there home for the next couple months.
An early night after a long day.
October 3, 2005
Up early in attempt to reach Curitiba before the truckers do.
Moto > Curitiba, Brasil 7:15 / 2.75h
GPS S 25.428533 W 49.269267 860m (Mandarin Hotel)
More tolls and hills and construction.
Roll into the highrise center of Curitiba early in the day.
Too lazy to search for a cheap place I take the first one easy to pull my bike into.
The Mandarin Hotel near the central plaza.
22r for a proper Holiday Inn sort of room, clean and with a little soap and towel on the bed next to the phone.
My most expensive stay so far in all of South America.
Curitiba - One of the cleanest and most orderly and well managed cities in all of South America.
And as expected with its center of culture founded by germans trying to escape the war.
A system of public transportation that would be a worthy addition to any city.
Loads of pleasent plazas surround the non-conjested center.
A model of development for the rest of the country and the continent.
A walkabout to learn more.
Past the principle university and its social square.
Stop for suco (juice), abacaxi con hortela (pineapple with mint), one of the 40 commonly found varieties in this juice lovers heaven.
To the plaza Osario currently celebrating the arrival of spring with a regional food festival.
Espetinhos (beef or chicken kebabs) from the South for 1r, coconut cakes from Bahia for 1.50r, pastel de carne (sort of empenada) for 1.50r, and Pamonha (sweet corn bread tamales) from the North for 2r.
The stomach sickness returns, possibly still left over from Bolivia.
October 4, 2005
A full and good breakfast worth half the room rate alone.
Overcast and hot and humid.
Seemingly the standard during the 2 or 3 days between rain storms.
Moto <> Nearby Sites 10:00 / 5h 4h / 30k
More near town excursions.
The botanical gardens, nice for a picnic but nothing special.
The Parque Sao Lorenso, a dirty lake with a walking trail around it.
The Opera de Arame, a steel amphitheater in the middle of a lake where they are busy preparing for some special TV concert.
The Parque Tangua, an artificial waterfall of 100' over a cliff and into a lake again nice but nothing special.
The Bosque Alemao, a park and forest where the rich german contingency is busy trianing their show dogs.
In a city, if you are not occupied by work, which I am not.
And if you don't have anything you have to buy, which I don't.
Then what is there to do?
Long walks witnessing people occupied by work or shopping.
Gets dull.
Makes you start wondering what we are really here for?
Finish looping around the city for my 3rd or 4th time.
Internet with Rosa, who started taking english classes.
Nice to hear how things are going in Buenos Aires.
The gym I used to workout in burnt down.
October 5, 2005
Rainy morning holds me back from moving on.
Another session with the thermarest in the shower finds me a second nearly impossible to detect stream of bubbles.
With nothing else to do I decide to get serious about fixing it.
A stick of hot glue from the neighborhood crafts store for .40r lit with a match and dripped on.
An international solution that doesn't require the "special repair kit".
Seems to work!
Spend the remainder of the day trying to learn something about Flamenco guitar.
Interrupted only for a buffet lunch of costellas and juice, 10r.
Starting to reconsider my position on the variety of the average food in Brasil.
Rice and beans and salty wellcooked meat about sums it up.
It is all starting to look the same.
A nation that also has a weight problem.
I think it has to do with the all you can eat buffet mentality.
That and the heavy servings of starches and liberal use of the deepfryer.
Softdrinks or beer (even early in the morning) are the standard drinks.
Alot gets wasted.
Speaking of waste, my money is just dripping away here.
My budget here has more then doubled from an average of $10 a day to over $20 and I am not really buying anything.
Just eating, sleeping, and motoring about.
October 6, 2005
A pronounced and full breakfast before a 9-5 day of work seems to be the city schedule.
A work-oriented culture in many ways similar to the States.
It is no wonder their economy is growing so rapidly here.
They have the mentality.
An overcast and threatening rain day.
Too bored to stay another I pack out.
Moto > Blumenau, Brasil 9:15 / 3.75h .25h
GPS S 26.895150 W 49.072117 10m (Bus Station)
Destination Blumenau, thanks to my friend Odair's advice, with the goal of helping make their annual Oktoberfest a success.
Supposedly the second biggest in the world next to the real thing.
Kick off is tomorrow.
We shall see.
Through the clouds and an icey cold mist over the mountains and dropping down to Jaragua Do Sul in a tropic valley of bananas and palms.
Motor into Blumenau just as the real rains hit making my search for a cheap place during this big event a miserable experience.
Find myself at the only youth hostel in town, sharing a room with 10 beds for 34r.
Grun Garten, the cheapest stay in town even at double its off-season price.
Setting the new standard in pricey stays.
Blumenau - The Epcot Center theme park variety of a German town.
The built to look like the real thing sort of place.
Other then the white stucco with wooden 'X' facad and the upcoming Oktoberfest, there doesn't seem to be anything else german about it.
A walk down the main street and back to the hostel after feeling like I have seen it all.
If there weren't the festival there wouldn't be a reason to visit.
The hostel slowly fills as the time to kickoff nears.
Murray, an Australian in all senses of the word (with the flag underwear to prove it) is the first to arrive.
Mike and Jeffrey, the dutch couple arrive second, following closely behind burping as they go.
Carol and Julie, from Sao Paulo appear third, causing Pavlov Dog reactions by the others.
The "bea vagon" gang forms...
October 7, 2005
Another rainy day.
A fine german breakfast of very light and white bread and coffee (Ruppert would kill me for saying that).
Join the gang down to the center to begin the festivities and in search of the now infamous "bea vagon".
The price of absolutely everything is double and it quickly becomes apparent I need money for this experience.
The struggle to extract money from a Brasilian ATM machine.
The kind that have pictures of all the standards on the front such as Plus, Cirrus, Visa, Mastercard yet accept none of them.
And a long line of people that couldn't be slower filing their taxes from them.
I actually think they do.
A concerted effort by the whole gang finds me the one machine in town that works.
It isn't long before we are all fairly smashed, wearing felt hats around, and singing german beer drinking songs.
And that was before we entered the pavilion for the real party.
A faithful comparison to the real thing, but with less business reservations and a more casually intersocial crowd.
"Eins... Svei... Drie... Suffa!" or something like that.
Up until the early hours.
October 8, 2005
A slow morning on another rainy day makes way for another night of wreckless drinking, even heavier and later then last..
October 9, 2005
A relatively dry and decent day.
A long goodbye at the bus station to a great gang.
Plans to meet the Dutch couple in a hostel in Florianopolis, the Australian in Ihla Do Mel, and the girls in Sao Paulo.
Moto > Barra Do Largo, Florianopolis, Brasil 3:30 / 3h .5h
GPS S 27.390350 W 48.430333 5m (Beach Camp)
Moto to the coast and then down the 101S against great wind to Florianopolis.
Cross the island in search of "the BACKPACKERS on the other side of the wrickety bridge" as Murray put it.
And in a coincidence of determination and chance somehow I found it.
The Dutch still haven't arrived and so I sit down for some pizza across the street.
And in an even greater coincidence I sit down next to two skydivers (the tshirt was the dead giveaway) from Santa Barbara, California.
Kurt and Forrest who happened to know the same gang as me and are just beginning a 2-week surfing vacation on the island.
Brings back alot of memories from "back home".
A small world indeed.
Alot of "so what's happening" and "no way" sorta chat as they invited me to finish what they couldn't.
With no other plans I follow them in their rental SUV to a remote beach for an evening of drink and chat around a campfire.
Setup the tent in a forest of tall pine trees protected from the strong wind.
It has been awhile since I have done a proper campout.
October 10, 2005
The boys are gone by morning, probably in search of the surf.
Thousands of mosquitoes swarm my tent and start their attack as I hurry to pack out.
GPS S 27.574233 W 48.421933 12m (Backpackers)
Back in town I check into the "backpackers" alongside the Dutch couple.
Shower up and take lunch.
Fresh seafood by the sea, discounted in this off-season.
Barro Do Largo - A small and relaxed community of fishermen and their colorful boats in the bay.
A beautiful white sand beach with a rich blue water.
Far enough from the limelight of tourism on the island that you can relax the days away in peace and close enough to join the life at night.
October 11-13, 2005
A couple sunny days (the first in weeks) has me quickly burned and exhausted on the surf.
A couple late nights and a "kid's day" party has me socially drained and dehydrated.
A plate of raw oysters has me terribly sick.
Throwing up and diarrea.
A day of recovery before moving on.
Bananas and water and sleep.
October 14, 2005
Moto > Guaratuba, Brasil 10:00 / 4.25h .25h
With the wind at my back and the sun hidden behind light clouds the moto goes fast and smooth and silent on the return up the 101N.
Perfect riding conditions until Joinville where rain follows me further along to the ferry crossing at Guaratuba.
Ferry > Caioba, Brasil 2:15 / .25h / 2.30r (moto)
A quick and painless crossing.
Moto > Paranagua, Brasil 2:30 / 1h .25h
Take the wrong way into town, fooled by the sign pointing me to the industrial port.
Arrive to the tourist port just as the final ferry at 3:30 is preparing to untie.
Quickly find an overpriced parking spot (10r/d) for my moto as they hold the boat for me.
Turns out it would have been much faster and easier and cheaper catching the boat from Pontal do Parana instead.
Boat > Brasilia, Ihla Do Mel, Brasil 3:45 / 1.75h
A small wooden 20 person ferry slowly pushes us across a stormy straight to the island.
"Get off the second stop, it is Brasilia" says Murray, supposedly waiting somewhere on the island for me.
In under two hours the boat makes its first stop in Brasilia.
Once again, confused by an australian.
I get off assuming that is what he meant.
A quick walk around that part of the island finds me nothing waiting.
A man at the Spiro Giro juice bar thinks he saw the crazy aussie at a hostel in Encantadas, the second stop.
Find myself a cheap homestay for 10r with plans to cross the island tomorrow morning to continue my search.
Join in their informal churrasco in the rain.
More Creedence.
October 15, 2005
Terribly cold windy and rainy.
The trend seems to be 2 days of sun followed by 3 or 4 days of rain.
If this is true I shouldn't be getting any nice days here.
Unfortunate as the island appears to be a white sand beach sunny day sort of destination.
Trek > Encantadas, Ihla Do Mel, Brasil 8:00 / 1.5h
GPS S 25.568167 W 48.314367 5m (Hostel)
Hike across the island to Encantadas from one white sand beach to the next along narrow trails deep in the rain forest surroundings.
A dramatic forest made even more so during the rain.
Reminders of the Perhentians of Malaysia and the Half Moon Beach of India.
Encantadas, the more hip budget sort of Bob Marley-esk side of the island.
Quickly zero in on the legendary hostel and check in.
Murray left yesterday evening with some local chick he picked up in the bar.
His good luck.
Around the breakfast table I stir the interest of a group of biologists from Belo Horizonte.
Lucas, a lively character and the discoverer of "Billergia Lucas Coelho" who also speaks english.
Invited to walk through the rain in search of interesting varieties of flowers around the nearby grotto.
Did you know vanilla is actually an orchid?
My good luck.
Lucas serves as an enthusiastic guide, seemingly knowing something about everything we saw, plants and animals.
Check out his interesting website...
Lucas'Insanidades Cotidianas
Back at the hostel word has it that Murray is actually still around.
He only moved out to move into a cabana further down the beach with his new woman.
Eventually he shows his head and we sit down for a buffet.
Extremely salty and fried seafood seems to be the specialty.
Not so nice.
And just as stealthly as he arrives, he dissappears leaving me at a table with his girlfriend's four 22 year old girl friends.
An evidently superficial gang arranged in a leader through followers type hierarchy around the table.
It isn't long before the "leader" starts digging into me with her obviously rehearsed arguement.
"I hate all americans... they deserve to be attacked."
My god... what have I done to deserve this?
Coming from a girl who strangely looks and sounds just like my German "friend" Dorotea.
With the same big breast skinny waist and strategic tattoo "look at me but don't look at me" type body attached to the permanantly depressed angry at the world face.
The same confused and blind follow the doctrines of socialism without looking at the reality of the world around her type.
What is it with these 22 year old girls who think they have the world sorted?
Dejavu...
An hour long one-sided and spirited extremist arguement, stopping not for a second to consider any other point of view.
An aggressive and successful consumer preaching socialism in a "save the world" while pompously flicking her Bic lighter to smoke her next Marlboro and down another Budweiser type.
A hypocrit who dives deep into Marxist philosophy, bringing with her all the experience of the book she read last week in school.
Almost european in many ways and disagreeable in many others.
Pausing only once or twice during the ranting monolog to flash her masses at the rasta-dreaded boy working the bar for attention.
Almost like a master showing the treat to the dog before the trick.
It ain't her brains which put her at the top of this social circle, that is for sure.
And ofcourse this is followed by the dog doing his tricks and eating his treats.
Exhibitionist type heavy kissing and fondling in the middle of the everyone.
Void of true passion and seemingly to show everyone around her what she has and can have if she wants.
An obviously fake sort of passionless yet public affair that I have seen over and over again among the youth of Brasil.
Strange affairs.
And with an ending almost as fast and hard as it began, on her last word and with no interest in hearing my responce the "discussion" ends.
And so it is that I need to "...get intouch with the locals and not the tourists if I want to really learn."
Funny... I thought I was doing just that.
On her terms and under her own analysis she is now satisfied that my country and therefore me are the cause of the world's problems.
We are the corrupt and greedy that are taking advantage of the meak and meager.
Back to the small talk as though nothing ever happened.
Small talk in Portuguese between her friends.
Quickly I am bored.
Eventually the bill comes and all eyes turn to me, to pay for the beer they have been ordering for the past 4 hours.
I guess money doesn't really matter after all.
Amazing the ignorance.
Invited to follow them to a beach party on this icey cold and rainy night.
After having lost all interest in the "local scene" and their "social system" I dissappear to bed.
My final warning to you is that she mentioned strapping explosives to herself if her way of changing the world for the better doesn't work out.
Seeing that her way seems to be harassing tourists like me and ignoring the reality around her it would be wise to stay on alert.
October 16, 2005
The third ugly, cold, and rainy day .
A pretty island but without the sun (and without a friend), what is there to do?
Jump on the next boat out.
Boat > Pontal Do Parana, Brasil 11:00 / .25h / 6r
The shortcut back through Pontal Do Parana.
Take a nice street stall espetinho sandwich while waiting for the bus to Paranagua, 2r.
Somehow my watch is off by an hour.
Daylight savings?
Bus > Paranagua, Brasil 12:00 / 1.5h / 2.70r
GPS S 25.519917 W 48.504750 5m (Hostel)
An unbelievably slow bus.
A trip that is 20k as the bird flies, 50k as the road goes, and 70k after stopping everywhere enroute.
An hour and a half in total, putting our average speed at 30 kph.
And to my complete suprise the garage where my moto sits is closed on Sundays, something I have never seen before.
Infact, the whole town is closed and the streets are empty.
It is as though nobody even lives here.
The phone number on the door doesn't work.
Apparently it is just as backwards and broken here as everywhere else in South America.
Find the only HI in town and check in at the members price, without the card.
An HI hostelling card will save you about 25% off the non-member price in the many associate hostels of Brasil.
But if you don't actually have the card, just tell them you lost it.
Their greed for business usually beats their principles.
Only they need an excuse.
With nothing to do I head out for a walkabout.
Paranagua - An attractive port town of colorful boats, old and crumbling colonial architecture, and cobbled streets.
Finish the loop over the bridge and back in an hour and am back.
Still nothing to do.
Sit down in the "sala de covivencia" (room to coexist) all alone with my guitar and spend the remainder of the day strumming.
Dire Straits - So Far Away - Intro B A E, Verse E B, Chorus A C#m B A E
October 17, 2005
Another overcast day.
Manage my moto from the garage, pardoning for having been closed yesterday and head out.
Moto > Sao Paulo, Brasil 9:45 / 7.75h .75h
Shortcut Curitiba on the return by taking a road through a spectacular national park instead.
The PR410, a cobbled stone road winding its way up above the clouds through an impressive scenic scape.
Pleasing me with all the rain forest deep jungle diversity one would expect of Brasil.
Reminders of my trip to Manu but on a much nicer road.
A great shortcut.
GPS S 25.519917 W 48.504750 5m (Pass)
Over the pass, and shortly thereafter meeting up with the 116, the principle highway to Sao Paulo.
Over rolling hills thick in untouched jungle broken only by an occasional banana plantation.
Stop at a truckers service station enroute for their "special almorso", 6r for all the rice, beans, and beef you can eat.
Actually a rather typical brasilian lunch buffet where you are quite sure the food has been reheated a dozen or so times in the past week.
The following uneasy stomach is nearly a guarantee.
Stopped by a 20k lineup of traffic punctuated by massive protest in the troubled town of Juquitba.
Apparently the local government has been up to no good and the best solution by the people is to burn tires and make a scene.
Eventually they let me sneak through and onward I enjoy the entire road to myself.
Sao Paulo - One of the world's biggest cities.
Too late on the response of my local contacts I immediately begin the search for a hostel.
Snake through the center along its massive sea of traffic and find a place on the other side.
An overpriced but easy HI joint that I was given a flyer for back in Paranagua.
A quite normal 8 bed shared room for 21r with marginal facilities.
A room full of germans.
No more then 15 minutes after checking in my contacts come through in a coincidence of timing that is almost guaranteed.
Odair, the motocycle man met back in Bonito.
A retired chemical engineer with free time on his hands and anxious to host my stay.
To meet up tomorrow.
Out for a quick drink with the hostel gang.
October 18, 2005
Heavy rains pour down for the 5th straight day.
Odair greets me at reception bright and early.
A quick song on guitar before checking out and braving the sea and the storm.
moto > Odair's House 9:00 / 30m
GPS S 23.494467 W 46.689767 760m
Back to his family house where after a few snarls by the pitbull at the door I am warmly welcomed in.
A small 2 story 3 bedroom home with a 2 car garage fitting 1 car and now 3 motorcycles.
The traditional middle class family unit; husband, wife, daughter, son, dog, and maid.
And all together and just in time for a half hour lunch, carbon copy of Primavera.
Everyone offs to work and school as the maid begins the wash and I lay down for a nap.
A couple hours of good sleep before being woken by the sound of jazzy chords on guitar.
Odair, downstairs busy practicing his Samba and Bossa Nova technique.
Sit down together to exchange tricks.
Socialize the remainder of the day away.
Wine induced world culture philosophy inspired by recounting the Marx Girl of Ihla Do Mel and eventually turning toward the Kyoto Protocol.
Brasil is voting on its right to bear arms tomorrow, a hot topic of serious abuse here.
October 19, 2005
Perhaps my best sleep in all of South America on a perfect bed with a feather pillow and not a single mosquito.
A spare bed in Andre's room where the dog sometimes sleeps.
My neck is rejoicing.
Andre doesn't seem as happy.
Neither does the dog.
Manage my way down the stairs to find Odair missing.
A cousin from Mato Grosso unexpectedly died in the middle of the night and so he is gone for a couple days.
Depressing news.
What to do now?
Introduce the maid and the daughter to an american breakfast of soft boiled eggs on toast with bacon.
Spend the day on the internet catching up and starting an update.
Carol of the Blumenau gang is anxious for my visit to her place in San Bernardo, an hour ouside of town.
Would like to spend atleast a week here before moving on.
October 20-24, 2005
A few days of just relaxing and hanging out with the family in a big city that I have no interest in otherwise.
A very nice family.
The highlights: a web update, a night of bingo, and meeting up with Rui over a mound of motorcycle repairs.
Nearly a thousand photos and the remainder of the stories built up since my partial update in Bolivia.
The spoke repair, alignment, and balancing of the rear wheel while finally replacing the tire with the one I have been hauling since Bolivia and the reworking of the rear brake lever.
Papa Leguas Photos
October 25, 2005
A spontaneous and last minute decision by Odair to take advantage of my presence and tear down his old Honda XLX 250r.
A bike that has been sitting unused and in the rain for years after experiencing some unexplained and long forgotten breakdown.
Appears to need an entire new top-end including cam shaft, rockers, bearings, timing chain and all.
Hand over a list of parts for him to buy and seeing the hole he dug for himself offer to return after visiting Carol to help him put it all back together.
Moto > Sao Bernardo Do Campo, Brasil 5:00 / 1.25h / 30k?
GPS S 23.666150 W 46.560033 800m (Carol's Place)
Finds me to the final fork in the road to Sao Bernardo and waves me a "see you later".
Heavy traffic all the way.
Meet up with cellphone clutching Carol at the Mc Donalds in the Metropole.
Follow her taxi back to her place, an apartment on the 10th floor.
Carol, 18 after her birthday last week and studying to be a lawyer.
Excited after having just received her drivers license.
A test easy to "pass" after handing over 600r.
A test evidently you don't even need to take.
Obviously, she is already skilled at "law".
An evening recounting the Oktoberfest.
TV and beer and guitar as her friends stop in to see.
October 26, 2005
Carol's classes are cancelled and so we spend the day together.
Out to lunch with her lawyer friends from her old work 5 floors down.
Picadinho, roasted beef and potatoes in molho (sauce), 5r.
Feishuada, a pot of black beans mixed with anything goes, 10r.
Cocoada, sweet coconut cakes for dessert.
A casual walk around the city park, a nicely gardened and fenced off park where we discover the delightful red raspberry-like fruit of a Pitanga tree.
To her university where after showing my passport I am allowed to bypass the fingerprint machines to enter.
Introduced to Acai, a deep purple fruit turned sweet ice cream and served with bananas and granola, 5r.
Sushi for dinner, 35r and bad fish.
Back to the university to pick up her friends for a microbrew pub night out, 30r and bad beer.
October 27, 2005
As expected Odair is in deep and needs my help.
Back to Sao Paulo.
Moto > Sao Paulo, Brasil 12:00 / 2h
Meet back on the side of the road where he waved me goodbye just a few days before.
Driving fast and well ahead of me he skids into a turning truck, injuring slightly his shoulder but luckily escaping with no real damage.
Streetside arguements and negotiations ensue as I take down the plate, BUX9147.
A deal is made on the spot and we are off again.
Seemingly not having learnt a lesson, he is again in a hurry and well ahead of me.
Before long I can no longer see him and I am lost at a fork in the road.
On my own I manage to remember my way back to his place.
And there it sits in pieces all over the garage floor, waiting.
With half the necessary parts to the side, we begin the work immediately.
Rebuilding A Honda XLX 250r
Decide to open the side cover to remove the timing chain properly, instead of breaking the chain.
A pile of old and broken seal material and a metal pin and a bolt from who knows where falls out, adding suspicion.
And ofcourse the chain sprocket is behind absolutely everything else.
An already big project grows bigger.
First the clutch, made fast by a previously air gun tightened and mangled nut.
Two people, a half hour, an indian set of tools, and a bit of luck manages it loose.
Add the well worn clutch plates to Odair's shopping list, might as well do it right.
Second the oil pump, with its three over tightened bolts, two hidden tubes, and associated set of o-rings.
Another half hour but not too bad.
Third the spark sensor, a precise electronic pickup best not to touch but required to remove for 2mm extra and necessary clearance.
Amazing the engineers who designed this mess.
It reminds me of a Rubix Cube.
Fourth and finally the timing chain itself.
But not first without removing the tensioner and upper sprocket fastened by a couple bolts in a way that is sure to cause a headache putting it back together.
The RFVC engine, reliable perhaps but terribly unfriendly.
The sun sets and we need more parts and so we call it the day.
Andre, not into sharing out his room any longer shows me to the "official" dog house.
A party of fleas eventually forces me back to the nice bed upstairs.
October 28, 2005
A full day in an oil stained shirt with a wrench in hand putting it all back together while Odair observes and makes runs to various parts shops.
The reverse process of taking it apart, ofcourse with its own new set of secrets.
First the timing chain, even harder then expected.
An hour long process involving Odair holding back the tensioner spring in pain, Andre lining up the marks with a maglite, and me fussing with the sprocket bolts which are determined to cross thread.
A process that is repeated thre times before the marks actually line up correctly.
Second the spark sensor, an easy couple screws.
Third the clutch.
A relatively easy install followed by an uninstall and reinstalled on false suspicion of having got the order wrong.
Was it plate-pad-plate-washer or pad-plate-pad-washer?
Download assembly drawings from the internet.
It was right the first time.
And forth the oil pump, requiring a fish hook technique to hold the pipe behind in position while bolting it down.
In place with confidence in only six tries.
Or is it?
Andre secures the side cover as Odair puts the top back on and I move on to the carburator.
The most corroded, dirtiest, caked-up carburator I have ever seen.
There is no way gas could have ever made its way through.
Move on to the air filter in hopes of finding something on the bike that is good.
Take the cover off the box to find a fine powder of foam laying on the bottom.
The completely disintegrated remains of what was once a filter.
The battery, also the original and long ago dead and dry.
The spark plug, the original and missing its electrode.
More parts required.
To finish tomorrow.
October 29, 2005
Up early with the excitement of finishing up.
Clean the carb and replace the spark plug and air filter while Odair empties the gas tank of its prehistoric juice and cleans it.
Using a feeler gauge I set the valve spacing explaining how to do it as i go.
Together we fill er with 2 liters of cheap oil.
She's ready!
The Trials
A half hour of heavy cranking by Odair on the kicker...
!!!BANG!!!
Throws a meter long flame out the exhaust nearly burning Andre outside busy washing the car.
Check the valves and the timing to be sure the marks still line up.
Everything is fine and so we mark it off to exhaust ignition.
Take a break for lunch.
Another half hour of cranking has puffs of black smoke on each stroke, a sign of too rich a mixture.
While adjusting the carb leaner I notice gas dripping from the bowl.
A faulty float needle it seems, something I had noticed while cleaning the carb but tried ignoring in the interest of finishing.
Shutoff the gas and give it time to dry before the third round.
And on the first kick.... BRRRRRRRRR!!!
A smooth hum almost too quiet and clean to believe.
It works!!!
Bring er up to temperature and make the final carburator idle adjustment.
As the engine heats, a lower case rasping sound gets louder.
I suspect the loose main bearings that noticed while installing the timing chain.
A much bigger project that right now I am not interested in.
But it works, only with a warning.
To change the rusted rear wheel and the battery for a test drive slated for Monday.
Tomorrow the shops are closed.
Nicolas's Iran & Central Asia
October 30, 2005
Invited to a Sunday churrasco/birthday party of a family friend.
An energetic crowd.
Most brasilians remind me of Texas ranchers for some reason.
Perhaps it is their look and fashion which has that country flair to it.
I imagine the lady with the tag hanging form her hat.
Cottonfields and fried chicken.
Brasilian Churrasco - A lazy to arrive, serve the beef as it cooks in rounds over hours of small group planetary socializing with pilsner beer in hand.
Alot of commotion and noise and seemingly purposefully disorganized.
Quite a different atmosphere from an argentinian asado.
Argentina Asado - A prompt and orderly arrival with a short casual chat over ordervours until the entire rack of meat is ready.
The asador gives the signal and the group sits together focused on eating, returning to sociality only after everyone is done and the mate is passed around.
Wine replaces the beer.
Stuck in a heated discussion of world culture, and not only the Diego/Pele who's better rivalry between Argentina and Brasil, but things deeper.
Interestingly most think that Brasil is more culturally diverse then the States.
Everyone hates Bush.
October 31, 2005
A day mostly lost to things like lunch and errands and strange coincidences.
With nothing else to do I join Odair down to the motorcycle parts district for the final parts.
A 6x6 block set of streets with a thousand new and used bike parts shops and a few thousand more bikers.
A sort of daily bikers convention hidden in the theme of pimping your ride.
The Karl Barg of South America, this is definately "the place" for parts.
Standing in a shop deciding on one of 6 new rear brake levers for my bike, I overhear someone trying to use gringo spanish to negotiate their purchase.
Turn to look and what do you know? Taka!?!?!
The same japanese crazy biker Taka I waved goodbye to back in Torres Del Paine some 6 months ago.
And right now standing infront of me with a huge grin, equally lost and shocked in surprise.
Of all the places and all the shops, this is a coincidence I cannot believe.
Take lunch together to catch up.
Since we parted he toured North through Chile and Peru to Cusco where he cut through the Amazon North East as far as the French Guayana before turning back South.
Down along the coast of Brasil to Sao Paulo and with plans to continue through the Pantanal back to Argentina and across to Chile.
Figure eights are his style it seems.
Together we help him find some suspension bearings at a wholesale distributor for 5r, a 65r discount over what the Suzuki dealer was asking.
Feeling good about it all but in a hurry to finish our project we drop him off back at his bike and wave goodbye once again.
Nice to see.
Amazing.
Little do I know the second significant coincidence is just around the corner.
Stop in Kazinski Motors where legend has it they are really Hyosung motors renamed, and they are!
File through the parts catalog like a kid at Christmas, ordering all the original parts I ever wanted.
Heaven on earth.
A new speedometer gear for starters 105r, a rear shock 450r, a clutch cable 25r, head nuts 10r, and a couple oil seals 10r.
At 600r in all, about 3 times the price I would have expected, but after searching for 2 years who am I to argue?
And to push the excitement over the edge I decide to finally break down and buy a "real helmet" (a half helmet not "officially" legal but better then my construction hat) for another 40r.
Mostly a compromise to put an end to the locals persistance on the issue and partly so mom can rest happy.
Lay down my visa with a smile.
Parts to be here tomorrow.
Looks like one more day.
Incase anyone else is driving around South America on a Hyosung and needs parts, here you go:
Hyosung Parts Dealer
MotoNac - Kasinski
Av. General Olimpio Da Silveira 421
Santa Cecilia, San Paulo
Brasil
CEP 01150-010
TEL - 11-3828-1300
WEB - www.motonacmotos.com.br
GPS S 23.531067 W 46.660767 800m
Ask for Fabio Nogueira Debessa (fabio@motonacmotos.com.br), he speaks english and is a very friendly and helpful guy.
Back at the house, kids startle the dog into its normal barking frenzy as they pass in costume asking for Halloween treats.
November 1, 2005
Return for my parts and spend another half a day waiting and copying the manuals.
Back In the garage we finish up the Honda and change out the parts on mine.
A successful test run on both bikes.
Surprised by the power the Honda XLX 250 has.
Update my website.
November 2, 2005
The day I finally leave.
Moto > Guaruja, Brasil 10:30 / 20126k START 120k / 1.75h
GPS S 23.989550 W 46.286233 5m (Gas)
Through a number of lengthy tunnels on "The Best Road in Brasil".
A scenic trip through mountains mixed in clouds and sun to the coast at Guaruja.
Bike is running great and it is nice to see how fast and far I am going.
Stop for lunch.
Moto > Maresius, Brasil 1:00 / 20230k 110k / 2h
GPS S 23.789017 W 45.552267 5m (Casa Das Palmeiras Pousada)
Along the scenic coast on a road that hugs the cliff edge.
Roll down hill into the relaxed white sand beach surf town of Maresius, where I was recommended to stay.
Choices are either the empty hostel asking 24r or a homely pousada for 10r?
Omar, the old man running the pousada, almost knowingly asks me if I play chess to seal the deal.
Wiggins' Second Wind
November 5, 2005
After 2 days of bad weather on an empty beach and nothing to do I decide to make the move on.
Ofcourse the sun immediately comes out.
Moto > Trinidade, Brasil 10:15 / 20347k 170k / 5.25h 2h
GPS S 23.347767 W 44.722250 5m (Camp)
More beautiful coastal road over the cliffs from one white sand beach to another through small weekend vacation communities as I go.
I am actually glad it is a nice day for the views instead of having wasted it laying on a beach.
Stop in Sao Sebastian for coffee and coshinha (teardropped shaped breaded chicken dumpling) and hizoles (the same but with cheese), 4r.
A semi-industrial working town rather then a vacation spot quite different from the other towns on the route, whatever that means.
The people here still all look to be on vacation.
Friendly people.
A scene that Mana's Mariposa coming from the music shop on the opposite corner compliments perfectly.
An easy place to lose a week or two in without realizing it.
Pass the BP refinery and tanker port, the apparent industry, on the way out.
More nice scenery that finally warrants me breaking out my SLR for the first time in a month.
Stop again at Ubatube for an Acai, the grape-sickle flavored stuff that is getting addictive.
Detours to see a waterfall and a village about 5k offroad.
The small surf town of Trinidade, another recommended stop.
November 7, 2005
Two days of camping and laying on the beaches with Dalmiro and Fabio, 2 local tourists on Suzuki Intruder met while drifting down the hill on the way into town.
Two days of continued clouds, enough to fool me into thinking I wasn't getting burned.
I was.
Trinidade is nothing terribly thrilling but it is a nice place with some nice beach scenery.
A bit hippie.
Moto > Mangaratiba, Brasil 10:30 / 20522k 174k / 4.75h 1.5h
GPS S 22.975067 W 44.031900 5m (Beach House)
Follow the Guevara-esk with their bags hanging in all directions from their beater bike two out in gang fashion.
Together we stop in Parati for a quick walkabout around the historic center and to the fort.
A total tourist trap, nice but not thrilling and a bit too "built" for me.
Onward, heavy rain follows us all the way past Angra Dos Reis (where I knew I should have stopped) to Mangaratiba (where they decided I should stop) to catch the boat to Ihla Grande.
Once again in the wrong town for the fastest and cheapest ferry option.
We wave goodbye as they continue on back to their home near Rio.
The next ferry leaves tomorrow.
As the rains continue to fall I find an small corner coffee shop to escape to, watching the rain from the patio.
Soaked and cold I down a coffee and fill up on a X-Burger, substituting the fake burger for a couple eggs.
I have been in Brasil over 2 months and can count the number of nice days on one hand.
Definately not the season to be in the South.
As the storm tails off I head out to find a place to stay.
Of the two dodgy pousadas in town I cannot decide which is better, the whorehouse one for 65r or the "luxury" one for 85r and so I off in search of a sheltered place to pitch my tent.
The search pays off at the very end of the road along the coast, where it meets with a train track.
A friendly guard who arranges for me with a friend who happens to have an abandoned but equipped place on the beach.
A spot to spend the night and a place to park my moto while I am on the island.
Still, I prefer to setup my tent on the porch under the roof rather then fight the mosquitoes all night.
The waves gently lapping up against the beach would have been perfectly peaceful were it not for the disruption.
The experience of a 50 car train overloaded with iron ore so heavy that it leaves the tracks glowing red and with all the noise of a lumberyard milling 2x4s from steel trees.
For 10 minutes on the hour all night.
Add to this the rain which found its way through the roof and the mosquitoes which found their way into my tent and you can see why I slept all of about 3 hours, in 30 minute segments.
Now I know why the house was abandoned.
November 8, 2005
Up at 6 (whatever that means) to catch the bus back into town.
Bus > Into Town 6:30 / 7k / .25h / 1.60r
Boat > Ihla Grande, Brasil 8:00 / 2h / 5r (weekdays) 12r (weekend)
GPS S 23.134000 W 44.165167 5m (Port)
Another rainy day on a sunny day island.
Check into the recommended Aquarius, managing to negotiate the otherwise empty room down from 25r to 20r.
Bored with nothing to do in the rain.
A batch of 20 something arrive on the late boat from Angra.
An even split of English and Swedes, a cliquish couples only sort of gang.
Still bored and with nothing to do.
November 9-11, 2005
3 days of rain with only momentary bouts of calm in which I managed a few "sights".
The first day, a walk across the island one way to Lopez Beach with a couple swedes sharing the room.
A nice beach, but the "Best in Brasil" as it is claimed in their book seems a bit of a stretch.
Took the 10r boat back to avoid the return hike.
The second day, another walk across the island in another direction to a "prison" and back.
Turned out to be nothing at all in the end, just a long tiring walk over quite a climb.
I keep telling myself that I needed the exercise.
The third day, which looked like sun for an hour but wasn't fooled me into a boat snorkel trip to the "Blue Lagoon", 25r.
Didn't look very blue by the time we arrived in the rain.
Fooled me into thinking lunch was included, but really got cattle steered into a cooperating and costly restaurant.
Found myself a shack down the beach for a cheap pizza instead.
Unsatisfying.
November 12, 2005
Boat > Angra Dos Reis, Brasil 8:45 / 1.5h / 10r
Once again like dejavu I decide to leave on the first boat to the wrong place and bussing it from there instead of waiting all day for the right boat.
An empty boat on a hurried return to pick up the next crowd waiting for their weekend trip to the island.
The sun comes out in full and lasting force for the first time all week.
Bus > Jacarei, Brasil 11:00 / .75h / 1.80r
Bus > Mangaratiba, Brasil 11:45 / .5h / 1.80r
Hitch > Beach House 12:30 / .25h
There is no direct bus to Managartiba.
Public transport is a pain in the ass.
Lucky to hitch the final stretch with the very same man who is holding my moto back to the house.
Unwrap the bike, hand him a few Reals, and gear up for the ride to Rio.
Moto > Rio de Janeiro, Brasil 1:45 / 20709k / 1.75h
GPS S 22.966633 W 43.188133 5m (Parking)
Start the trip along the coast which I somehow manage to lose before entering Rio and wrap around the city the back way.
Find my way straight to Copacabana where I was offered a place to stay with a Swede living there who rents out his apartment for only 20r a night, a deal over the normal hostel rate of 35r.
Welcomed in without a hitch and spend the rest of the evening finding parking for my moto.
10r a night and only if booked for a week is the best deal I can find and so I take it.
In the end, is it a deal after all?
Free Caipirinhas!
Maybe.
November 13, 2005
A beautiful sunny day, something to take advantage of here.
Bike around to see all the "sights" in one day, just to "get it over with".
The Jesus on the hill, an incredible view you gotta see to believe! Free!
With a sky full of hang gliders above makes the site all the more impressive.
The favelas (ghettos), described to me as dangerous cities inside cities with no laws... Watchout! Wasn't scared.
The Sugar Loaf at sunset, nice view but not as good as the Jesus and definately not worth the 35r admission.
100k in total around the city, a nice city.
November 14-18, 2005
Nearly a week of solid blue skies spent during the days like a true Carioca (people from Rio), laying on the beaches.
Copacabana, a bit of a scene with lots of gringo tourists doing the pay for a hooker type thing.
Ipanema, more of a local scene but with alot more scoping going on.
Both were able to offer me the tan I was looking for.
In the evenings I was kept occupied by the apartment gang, the caipirnihas, and popcorn by the DVD.
A 33 year old man from Sweden depressed over losing his brasilian girlfriend, "...she lied...".
A 45 year old gay man from the states who currently lives in Thailand looking for men, "...he lied...".
Two swedish girls desperately out trying to meet brasilian men, "...they all lie...".
A couple "normal" french couples just to mix it up.
And Magnus, the swedish apartment owner resigned to a loner lifestyle, after having been lied to.
November 19, 2005
Moto > Cabo Frio, Brasil 2:00 / 20918k 162k / 2.75h
GPS S 22.885050 W 42.023900 5m (Hotel)
Against strong winds on the costly toll road to Cabo Frio, 7r.
Cabo Frio - A coastal tourist town with a bone white powder fine beach, dunes on one end and a historic fort on the other.
A picturesque bay with some nice bridges and a handful of pousadas.
A struggle to find a 20r stay.
Stroll around through the evening and play a game of chess against a beach hermit.
November 20, 2005
A buddist-like clockwise circle around the entire perimeter of town in an attempt to learn of everything inside.
A long walk which without a hat and sunblock leaves me well burned before even reaching the beach.
Explore the fort and lay down for a siesta to kill the bulk of the day.
The search for the chess hermit fails me for something else to do.
Sit down to some internet.
An old and overpriced dinner buffet in the evening followed by some beers at the local hole.
There isn't much to this town.
To move on tomorrow.
Murray's Whirlwind Trip
Nick's Palau Pics
November 21, 2005
Moto > Campo Dos Goitascaes, Brasil 8:30 / 21098k 197k / 3h
GPS S 21.764617 W 41.328733 15m (Gas)
Along the coast on a secondary road until Rio Das Ostras where I decide to cut inland a bit and jump on the 101N to avoid the sea of speedbumps.
Over rolling hills in light rain to Campo something or other where I stop for lunch and to give a shot at extending my expiring visa.
To the Policia Federal, a lazy office where no one is very motivated to help but eventually they do.
A one time extension of 90 days for 22 reais and 8 centavos, payable only in the Banco Do Brasil ofcourse on the other side of town.
Across town and a half hour standing in line with photocopies of everything.
Back to the station for the stamp which covers only me and not the moto, which is handled in a different office, only in Porto Seguro.
An hour and a half buerocratic process in all which atleast is the same for all nationalities, unlike the initial visa.
Take lunch in the popular and colorful central market.
Saltados and espintinhas with guava juice, 4r.
Moto > Vitoria, Brasil 2:15 / 21303k 240k / 3.5h
A dull and long inland ride to Vitoria.
Take the long cut through the center of the big busy and trashy industrial city before realizing it is nothing more then that and is no interest to me.
Moto > Praia Da Capuba, Vitoria, Brasil 35k / .75h
GPS S 20.110400 W 40.173100 5m (Camp)
Left at the coast and start a desperate sunset escapre to the outskirts to find a discrete campout.
Success under an abandoned covered beachfront pavilion off a small dirt road on the far side of Praia Da Capuba.
Mangos, bananas, and biscuits for dinner.
November 22, 2005
A relatively easy and decent sleep with no suprises.
Moto > Linhares, Brasil 8:00 / 21579k 111k / 1.75h
On the Rodoviaria Do Sol in the pouring rain through plantations of eucalyptus.
Eventually it meets back up with the 101 where the ride bores me all the way to Linhares.
Stop for a break and an oil change and some more bananas and biscuits.
Moto > Sao Mateus, Brasil 11:30 / 21690k 80k / 1h
GPS S 18.714050 W 39.855917 45m (Farp Hotel)
The rain gets heavy and so I decide to pull off in Sao Mateus for an early lunch.
A service station churrasco buffet with enough salt to raise my blood pressure on the spot, significantly and permanently.
Tired from the campout and only a day from Porto Seguro where I am to meet the Papas Leguas Primavera gang on the 29th, and so I call it quits for the day.
An incidental chance to appreciate this "historic city".
Check into the Farp Hotel, not entirely dodgy for only 7r.
Where it not for the storm dripping down through the roof humidifying the room enough to grow mold on the walls and the electrical short in the shower threatening to kill me at any moment and the hammock ratty bed it would be nice.
The owner is busy watching a news broadcast about the red neck woman who tried to sell off her child right here in Sao Mateus just a few days ago and has been caught.
Infact, she also stayed at the Farp.
Wait for the bulk of the storm to pass and head out for a walk.
A long walk with an ice cream cone costing half my stay.
Strange economics.
Down the hill to the fire savaged "historic port" and along the muddy river linking the poorer neighborhoods.
A typical 3rd world scene of colorful and half finished brick houses where chickens and laundry serve as the decor.
Barefoot african faces with a carefree smile and a baby in tow fill the single main dusty street.
Beautiful friendly faces with a glow that easily hides their obvious predicament.
Back uphill to the wealthier streets and houses, quiet and void of activity and emotion.
I imagine their maids are the ones climbing this hill everyday.
Secured by high walls and topped in broken glass and electrical trip wire, entry is only through intercom at the door.
Street stall espitinho dinner in the church square.
Heavy storm all night.
Mario's India Blog
November 23, 2005
More heavy rain all day, spent in the internet on an update and playing chess.
10 hours and 20r of mind numbing losses.
Pizza in the evening.
Way too much cheese and way to little sauce and way too expensive; probably because of the cheese.
The good thing is since it is so heavy with grease it should last 2 meals.
The floor of my room is now a swimming pool.
The musty smell is so thick I can hardly sleep.
November 24, 2005
More heavy rain but with nothing to do and not at all interested in another day like the last I decide to brave the storm.
Moto > Almost Itamaru, Brasil 8:15 / 21775k 215k / 3h
GPS S 17.014567 W 39.542850 115m (Service Station Hotel)
Spend the rest of the morning contemplating over this grave mistake as I swim my moto up the coast through the most horrid downpour ever.
Drenched and shaking and with 160k to go to Porto Seguro I call it off once again at a roadside service station.
Another salty churrasco as I drip dry by the grill fire.
The man offers me a shot of something strong to bring me back to life.
Check into the pousada at the side for 12r, an impressive stay compared to the last.
A clean and well kept room with private bath, fan, tv, and most importantly a dry roof.
Shed all the layers to dry and hang them up.
Damaged my passport and everything paper.
As I settle in with a hot shower the clouds ofcourse clear to a beautiful evening.
Spend the time making for thge bike a new front fender extension out of a 2-liter plastic bottle and regluing down the peeling bridge of my guitar.
Clamped overnight in the press of a borracheria.
November 25, 2005
The 6am truckers schedule breakfast has me up and out early.
It seems to be a rule in Brasil that all tables and chairs have one leg too short and all forks are bent.
As I scramble to pack out the clouds return.
Hopefully to make it to Caraiva before the flooding I see on the horizon.
Moto > Almost Caraiva, Brasil 8:30 / 21992k 50k / 3.5h .75h
GPS S 16.804967 W 39.153467 30m (Verandao Parking)
A much nicer trip without the rain and the spray off my front fender.
Over more rolling hills of eucalyptus.
Accidently pass my turnoff by 25k before realizing and turn back.
A secondary dirt (now mud) road to Caraiva at the coast.
Blanketed in potholes, puddles, and speedbumps as if it weren't bad enough.
Completely washed out in places.
It has been some time since my bad road techniques have been exercised, the end of Patagonia if I remember correctly.
The adventure feels good.
An hour and a half to carefully negotiate the 45k.
Caraiva - Perhaps in "the book" but atleast in this moment definately off the beaten track.
An extremely laid back small village where river meets the sea.
Very near where the original Portuguese explorers landed for the first time.
A protected lot, with vehicle parking on the opposite river bank, to enter only by row boat.
The friendly lady owner of the "Verandao" at the top of the hill offers me parking for only 1r.
She tells me the place is packed with tourists in December and so it is a good time to visit.
Stash my unneeded gear with her and cross into the village.
RowBoat > Caraiva, Brasil 12:45 / 5m / 2.50r
GPS S 16.804967 W 39.153467 30m (Verandao Parking)
Hungry, I find my way to the beach and the only one open restaurant on it.
As I put down a very nice nice however ridiculously overpriced fruit salad fresh yogurt a girl to my side speaks up.
Jane, a canadian ex free-lance photographer who sold everything to start a life of indefinate wander.
With a free ticket to Sao Paulo and family in Porto Seguro, Brasil became her obvious start.
A "natural" things hippie gypsy type girl with the fully expected dress.
Strum guitar as we quickly cover the stories leading up to today.
She wants to join me by bike to Porto Seguro.
The sky darkens as he light storm clouds that have been threatening turn heavy.
The colors out over the sea cycle through an inspiring palette of greens and blues to browns and greys.
A serious storm is upon us.
A couple german sisters stop in asking about the weather, which I assure them has only just begun when I arrived a few months ago and will surely continue as long as I am here.
They introduce me to a pousada just a bit up the coast where I check into a small wooden tee-pee cabana for 10r.
An almost magical little place made even more so in these conditions.
November 26, 2005
A moment of sun in the morning has me up and about on the network of small sandy streets that define the village.
Happy and snapping away pictures of the many impressive flowers and fruit trees, cashews and almonds which I have never seen before.
Back at the shack I get a bit of exercise in practicing the karate moves I learnt way back in the Amdahl days.
It isn't long however before the rains take over again.
A mixed Argentina/Spanish couple moves in.
Cards around the table into the evening.
November 27, 2005
Heavy rain all night drips through the roof as I lie awake under the mosquitoe net pathetically sore from yesterdays workout.
To leave today or hope for a better day tomorrow?
I am worried about the road onward to Porto Seguro as legend has it that it is worse then the road in and unpassable in rain.
Even worse is to have a passenger on the tail, and not a small one at that.
I need to be in Porto Seguro by the 29th to meet the gang.
What to do?
As I consider the options the rains grow heavier until there aren't any options left.
More cards and more nothing.
November 28, 2005
Another day of rain.
The couple is on their way out via taxi, the longer and easier way back how I came.
In a last minute manner I decide that to join them is my only real option.
I will return later to pick up my bike.
Sorry Jane...
Murray's Return To Cafayate
RowBoat > Almost Caraiva, Brasil 6:00 / 5m / 2.50r
Back across the river by row boat to catch a taxi with the two back the way I came.
Taxi > Europolis, Brasil 6:15 / 2.5h / 15r (each)
And the road that was already bad, is even worse.
And if the other road is even worse, there is no way I could have taken another.
And anyways how would it feel to do this by motorbike through the rain?
However rash, I definately made the right choice.
Bus > Porto Seguro, Brasil 9:00 / 65k / 1h / 6.50r
GPS S 16.447733 W 39.062950 5m (Hotel)
The usual chain of public transport that I so despise.
Search and find the Hotel Navigantes where they will stay, to arrive in the evening.
Check myself into the Pousada Frances next door for half the price, 15r.
Papa Leguas arrives!
Run across each other strolling the Passarela (the main strip) with complete surprise.
They never thought I was serious when I said I would meet them here.
Well here we are.
Gunnar's Soaked With Shit
November 29, 2005
Overcast with light showers.
2 hours down at the Receita Federal working on renewing my moto visa.
An hour in line and an hour wait while the head secretary prints out copies of some forms from their internal-net for me to fill in.
Exactly the same forms I got at the border for my bike.
Why they can't just stamp a new date on them?
He says they need to see the bike.
Move hotels to one a few blocks behind and a few reais cheaper, 10r.
Out for dinner with the gang.
November 30, 2005
A beautiful morning sets me on the early ferry across the river to Ajuda where I can catch a bus to Caraiva to recover my moto.
Ferry <> Ajuda, Brasil 6:55 / 5m / free
Cross the river and wait over a couple games of pool with the locals only to find the bus still isn't braving the road.
Maybe tomorrow they say.
The first day of sun in a week should dry the road good by tomorrow.
Something I make a small prayer for, as my moto visa expires the day after.
Ride the back of Leonels Intruder 1500 to tour the historic sites and beaches North with the gang, biker style.
To the beach where the "discoverers" from Portugal landed to setup their first settlement.
And on to another beach a bit further where we landed to drink alot of beer and eat Carne Do Sol.
Back at the Navigantes I sit down to relax with my guitar and before long we are all out on the street seeing if we can earn our dinner.
Over 5 hours and 50 songs to a crowd of interested people watching from the sidelines, a safe distance from actually dropping a coin in the hat.
A net gain of 2 Reais in total, 1.50 of which we started with, and 1 of which a 5 year old kid snatched from the hat.
A cheap bunch of tight asses the Brasilians are, perhaps the worst of any country I have been.
They just walk by acting like they gotta be somewhere.
One man even tried selling me a block of cheese.
Regardless we managed to treat ourselves to a gourmet meal in reward for atleast trying.
December 1, 2005
Back aboard the ferry and across the river for a second try at recovering my moto.
Ferry > Ajuda, Brasil 6:55 / 5m / free
And luckily to find out the bus is running.
Bus > Caraiva, Brasil 7:20 / 70k / 2.75h / 12r
A slow and bumpy ride in a drastically oversized and undermaintained bus along a dirt road that would have been rough and definately impossible with two in the rain.
To find my moto happily waiting.
Moto > Nowhere 11:00 / 22129k 2k / 5m
With pure blue skies over the sea to my right and a blanket of clouds over the rolling countryside to my left, I ride the thin line between, under a black cloud seperating the two and warning me that I have not been forgotten.
With all the good luck of the day so far it isn't long before the troubles begin.
Only 2k enroute and the engine stops unexpectedly.
A couple hours of confusion spent taking nearly the entire engine apart by the roadside with no sign of reason.
Clean the carb, but it has gas.
Change the spark plug, but it has a spark.
Open the head and adjust the valves, but they are within spec.
It just doesn't make any sense.
Decide that the only possibility is that the gas just doesn't burn.
Empty out the tank to find it has turned the color of rust, something I have never seen before.
Not mixed with water, just somehow it has rusted, the gas.
Take a walk to find a pirate in the village to charge me a fortune for a few liters of something better.
Fill er up and put er all back together.
Cranking for a half hour only serves to kill my battery.
Kicking for a half hour only serves to put me in a sweat.
A car drives by with a dune buggy in tow, spattering and backfiring to start.
Decide to ask if he can give me a pull.
A good long drag and it starts.
Must have been the gas.
Low confidence.
Moto > Ajuda 3:00 / 22136k 70k / 1.75h
Take er for a few circles to feel good before the trip back.
35k of dirt and sand and another 35k of decent pavement back to the ferry.
No problems.
I chalk it up to just plain bad gas.
Brasil by far has the worst quality and priciest of gas in all of South America.
Ferry > Porto Seguro, Brasil 5:15 / 5m / 5r (moto)
The ferry charges only for vehicles, passengers are free.
Back in Porto Seguro I park the bike alongside the gang and clean up for the start of the III Moto Encuentro.
The 3rd annual biggest biker convention in all of Brasil.
Thousands of motos from everywhere have taken control of the city.
The smoke from skidding tires and the whine of over-revved motors fill the air.
Things are heating up.
Waiting for the gang I finish filling out the new temporary import forms in duplicate with the exact info from the original in preparation to finish the deal tomorrow.
I still can't explain why a copy machine or a simple stamp wouldn't suffice.
On an interesting note, if I sold my moto here I would have to pay a 22.5% "Import Tax" plus another 25% "IPI" (compounded after the 22.5%) on the "Declared Value" of the bike.
Since I fictitiously declared it as being worth $1000usd when I entered, that means I would owe 1287.48r in tax alone.
That's roughy 60% of the value of the bike!
The theives and the government, pirates they are all.
Not to fear though, if you plan to sell your bike here either just give it a ridiculously low "Declared Value" when you arrive or even easier just throw away the papers they give you.
Since they have no real computer record of it and no one ever asks to see them at any of the 100's of road checkpoints, you won't have any problem.
A reminder of the completely useless beurocracy that seems to define this country.
December 2, 2005
Another drawn out round at the Receita Federal has me my 90 days.
The days pass like this...
Up at 9 to meet the gang.
Moto together in pure Hells Angels fashion to a beach nearby by 10.
Drink and eat all day.
Return to the hotel by 4 for a shower and a nap.
Rally on the Passarela around 9 for dinner.
Browse the motorcycle crowds checking out the freaks and their bikes.
Redlining and flames shooting out the exhaust.
Airbrush experts and tatoos.
The biggest bike show I have ever seen.
December 3, 2005
The same beach scene except with heavy showers.
Clears up long enough in the evening for the highlight of the entire event.
The Alto Giro Show - 5 ultra radical motocycle freestylers putting on the most spectacular moto act I have ever seen.
Wheelies, jumps, slides, pyramids, explosions, everything.
Absolutely incredible their skill.
Inspiring.
December 4, 2005
Time to move on.
Say our sad goodbyes and hit the road North toward Salvador.
Moto > Almost Una, Brasil 11:15 / 22236k 307k / 6.75h 2.5h
GPS S 15.321550 W 39.065567 80m (Camp)
A long and boring ride.
Stop at a service station in Paradise for lunch.
If it isn't my bike causing trouble it is another.
Stop to help a couple stranded roadside with a flat tire.
Unable to pry the tire off the rim with my tools I carry the man on a 20k return to the nearest borracharia and back.
They offer me a liter of gas to cover the trip.
The time spent helping them finds myself in the middle of nowhere after dark.
Setup camp in a clearing down a dirt side road.
A world of curious animals active at night.
December 5, 2005
Brasil normally sleeps until 9, but for some reason this particular road wakes at 6.
It is when the flurry of curious nighttime jungle is replaced by a flurry of curious people, stomping by and talking as loud as they possibly can.
Old men with their heehaw donkeys, thumping horses, growling trucks, and unmuffled motos have me up and out early.
Moto > Ilheus, Brasil 7:15 / 22543k 60k / 1.75h .75h
GPS S 14.843583 W 39.025367 5m (Service Station)
Stop for breakfast in Uno, perhaps the most early waking and active town in all of Brasil.
And that is after recovering from last night's carnaval, busy packing their tricks along the river.
Looks like I missed something.
Shoulda pushed on last night.
Onward through a forest of cultivated palms over rolling hills of green to meet the coast South of Ilheus.
A kilometers long white sand beach with sparse but plush resorts.
Stop for a fueling and am given a free wash for both the bike and me.
Further through the center, a historic port of interest with grand colonial homes on the hillside and an industrial port.
Pass it up for lack of interest and continue North along another stretch of resort beaches toward Itacare.
Moto > Itacare, Brasil 10:30 / 22615k 80k / 3.5h 2h
A scenic coastal drive similar to that of Rio Santos.
Stop for a coconut and some candies at a roadside mirador on the edge of a cliff looking back over all.
Inspired by the scenery I take a detour down a dirt road where the sign points to Praia Jeribucasu.
A detour that nearly had me and my moto.
An hour of sketchy push throttling straight up a horse trail stairway as wide as the bike and with a sheer dropoff to one side.
Heavy stress and sweat and moments that I thought it was all over.
I can only thank the "Dynamite" guarana extracts I was curious to sample in the morning for the energy to succeed.
A nice and empty beach besides.
A few high society gringo couples giving each other massages and drinking coconuts.
Shocking looks on their faces as to how I made it.
Back on the road it isn't long before I pull into the small coastal village of Itacare, a tranquil and beautiful small town.
The kind of place you could relax for some time on the cheap.
Stop at the first churrascaria on the way in for an excellent 7r feed.
Churrascaria Sara, across from the posto.
The one where all the homeless dogs hang with big and well-practiced pitiful smiles.
A black native woman across the veranda breast feeds the baby of two german hippies... odd.
A graviola juice, nice and natural and a Caracu "Cerveja Forte Escura" (strong dark beer), nicer.
Caramel coloring?
Upon further inspection and after falling victim to Pousada Street I see that my initial assesment is all wrong, atleast the cheap part.
The typical tourist shanty where the greater part of town existing purely on the income of tourism.
The kind of place that may have gained popularity way back as "off the trail" and now because of this is smack dab in the middle of it.
Its focal point saturated in pousadas, restaurants, and tour agencies.
The kind of place where they serve you a 3r watered down coffee and when you hand them a 50 they look at you like you are the crazy one.
Actually you probably are for being here in the first place.
It isn't right to put it down though.
It does have some nice beaches and quaint corners.
There is a reason these people are here and it is called convenience.
The kind of place that sucks in tourists for their entire vacation doing things like taking surfing lessons.
Later to return home having not actually experienced the real country or culture.
But then again it doesn't matter because they where never interested in that in the first place.
The surf is good.
Other then that it feels like a playground.
The sad bit is that more and more I seem to be finding myself to these places, despite my commitment to experiencing the culture.
Mostly through taking the advice of other travellers, but the real blame is on me for following it, knowing damn well that is where I will end up.
I am starting to worry myself.
Have I become a softy?
Is adventure something I am now trying to avoid?
These tourism traps seem to have become my destination.
I got to break free.
Una looks like it would have been a nice place stay a couple days.
It is no suprise I ran into the same 2 german girls of Caraiva again here, even though they never mentioned this place to me.
Both places were recommended to me by the French couple in Rio which in itself was recommended by the Swedes in Ihla Grande.
...
Check into the hostel to hopefully meet more of these people to recommend more crap for my trip North.
Pathetic no?
December 6, 2005
Walk along the rocks South to a couple beautiful and lightly treaded white sand beaches.
Coco verde, açai, karate practice, swimming in bathtub warm turquiose waters, nice and lazy.
There is definately a reason these sort of places become what they are.
Atleast it is a healthy town outside of the tourist heart.
A whole different world, the true brasilian world.
Live music from every crack in the wall brings life to the streets.
Bossa Nova - A man of 40 desperately trying so hard to change between as many odd chords as possible without repeating one while lipping lyrics to the feel of "The Girl From Ipanema".
The apparent desire to play so awkwardly that it produces a net effect of boring and emotionless.
All the songs sound the same regarless of the intricacy of the chord patterns.
Forro - 4 teens banging on whatever they can; in this case a drum, triangle, tamborine, and an accordion.
A very salsa-like rythm which again seems to never change despite its energetic appearence.
Quickly boring.
To extend my stay another.
Not for the streetlife but for the beach.
December 7, 2005
Another round at the beach.
The beach where everyone seems fanatic about fitness except for me.
Where everyone is in top shape and busy doing backflips, juggling, surfing, playing soccer, and flexing their muscles for the others to see..
Makes you feel a bit guilty for just laying around all lazy to the point where you find yourself doing pushups and situps just to fit in.
Another forro, the same as last night.
December 8, 2005
With a nice tan on my hide and being well on my way to a shapely fit I grab the remainder of the cookies from the fridge and pack out.
There is just no stopping me.
Ferry > Peninsula Marau, Brasil 11:15 / .25h / 5r (moto)
The ferry across to Peninsula Marau, enroute to Barra Grande.
Moto > Barra Grande, Brasil 11:30 / 22698k 50k+14k / 2.5h
GPS S 13.893017 W 38.952300 10m (Pousada)
Once again the moto stalls only minutes after the start.
And once again the gas is a deep deep shade of rust red.
I start to wonder if it is a chemical reaction with the new fuel filter or fuel hose I installed in Sao Paulo.
Give it a hard push start and it sluggishly comes to life.
50k and 2 hours slowly on the ugly Cambodia grade dirt and sand road that runs the length of the peninsula.
Not really too much to see along the way, and besides most of your focus is at the road dead straight infront of you.
Break for a coconut in a beachside village halfway.
Be sure to turn right about 45k from the start where there are only signs for pousadas and nothing to tell you that is actually the right direction.
Otherwise you will be 14k to the end of the road and back after realizing your mistake.
Barra Grande - The most significant population at the very end of the peninsula.
An extension of the more motivated tourism from Itacare.
Expensive pousadas, restaurants with pizza, and internet for 10r an hour.
An old church, a quiet port, a nice beach, sand dunes for roads, and not much else.
A quaint and romantic getaway type place.
The Pousada Sabia, an exceptionally cheap yet decent stay for 10r during this off-season.
An early evening walk about and a swim.
Take a predinner street snack of Abara, a biscuit of polenta-like dough steamed inside a leaf like a tamale then cut in half and stuffed with Vatapa (a hummus-like paste), Camarao (whole small shrimps), Salada (a salsa of green tomatoes), and Molho (a tabasco-like preparation of red peppers).
For 2r it is the locals fill and also the most traditional food of Bahia, the North of Brasil.
Finish off at La Preta, the italian restaurant at first base in the baseball diamond mound of sand called the central plaza.
A 6.50r mixed salad with fresh bread and cocoa juice which by the way tastes nothing like chocolate, very nice.
Reminds me of lunch with the Roma's in Santa Barbara.
Marco's Greetings From Switzerland
December 9, 2005
Boat <> 5 Islands Tour 10:00 / 6h / 20r
Boat tour of 5 islands for lack of any better ideas.
A similar arrangement as that in Ihla Grande where the most of the costs are hidden.
Aleast the restaurant we were railroaded into at the end wasn't so bad actually.
I recommend the Crab.
Back at the pousada they are stuck in a crisis of plumbing that has me without a shower until it is fixed.
Two grown men wondering how the 20 degree junction of two new water mains they already cemented underground will ever come together using only 90 degree elbow and straight connectors.
I point out the simple geometry of overlapping and joining them atop each other instead of besides.
A simple pointer that leaves them thinking they have a genius in house.
Take my shower.
Sit in my room transcribing Jack Johnson - Taylor on guitar while they continue the workday by painting the floors in acrylic and fuming me out.
A repeat on yesterdays dinner, this time replacing the Abara with Acaraje, the exact same recipe only deep fried instead of steamed.
Like a spicey shrimp sloppy joe inside a big falafel and equally hard to eat without making a mess.
The same salad this time with not so fresh bread, a different juice which somehow tastes the same.
December 10, 2005
I find myself getting up ridiculously early to catch boats and buses which apparently run such hours to avoid the midday heat.
It is 7 o'clock and it is already hot so I really don't see the difference.
Ferry > Camamu, Brasil 7:20 / 1.25h / 5r (me) + 10r (moto)
The ferry to Camamu only so I don't have to backtrack.
A scenic journey snaking our way through a maze of mangroves in the final stretch.
Camamu - A beautifully colorful and energetic colonial port town.
An unexpectedly nice arrival that makes me feel like I have entered a new country.
A mass of poor and black as I had actually imagined Brasil to be.
And before I can even stop them, a swarm of 4 haulers lift my bike off the boat and then start haggling over the price.
They demand 2r each and so I hand over 1r and they pretend to be dissappointed before rushing off to their next trick.
Moto > Jequie, Brasil 9:45 / 22765k 153k / 3.25h
GPS S 13.855183 W 40.078433 210m (Churrasco)
The road to Jequie, 90 meters of perfect asphalt followed by 10 meters of potholes, all the way.
Teams of kids no older then 13 claiming their days bubble gum standing in the middle with shovels atleast pretending to fill them in with sand.
Now I see where the slogan "Order & Progress" so proudly pronounced on the flag comes from.
The potholes are dangerous but it is really the traffic in the opposite direction that will swerve in any direction at any moment to avoid them that you have to be careful of.
That and the old men on donkeys dragging reams of sugarcane and whatnot in tow.
The kicker is that instead of fixing the holes they are actually making more speedbumps.
Maybe they think that for every hole you need a bump to balance the shocks or something.
I just don't get any of it.
Brasilian Mechanics - So I was thinking a quick and painless in Camamu before heading off to replace the possibly bad gas hose wasn't such a bad idea.
A half hour later I am following this "mechanic" around town by foot and sweating under intense heat to a half dozen shops to find this simple small piece of rubber hose (he told me he had one before I took it off).
So now I am cutting it to put it on for fear he will cut it too short and then it is back to searching and he starts playing with my chain.
After flicking it briefly with his finger and poking me on the shoulder with absurd gestures I must assure him it doesn't need tightened.
Distracted finishing up the first job while he continues to fiddle with some wrenches.
70k down the road I hear a crackling popping sound coming from around the rear wheel and stop to take a look.
Somehow I find myself confused by what should have been instantly obvious and take it to another "mechanic" for a look.
In the process of pointing out that the chain is too tight he carelessly bends my automatic oiler tube in half.
Spend the next half hour adjusting everything back to how it was and oiling the chain.
I can only guess the extent of the damage that has been done.
Reminders of India.
Hills turn to mountains as I follow the banks of a large swampy river to the left.
Pull into Jequie hungry and am lead across town by a friendly cyclist to the best churrasco in town.
Espeto De Ouro - The traditional "rodizo" style churrascaria where without a word and within minutes of taking a seat you are barraged by garçones slicing all cuts of all animals onto your plate.
They keep coming in waves relentlessly until you have to beg them to stop.
11r for all you can eat and then some.
Moto > Itaete, Brasil 2:30 / 22920k 180k / 4.25h .5h
GPS S 12.986950 W 40.962833 305m (Pousada)
Eventually the road turns away from the river, narrows and becomes even patchier to the point of equal parts dirt and asphalt.
Infact it was never asphalt after all, only spray painted with a 3mm slur of tar to give the rightfully angry tax payers of the day the false impression that there was progress being made.
Driving it has gotten to the point of autopilot where I can avoid all but the most bastardly holes without even considering them.
I am the only traffic on the road, a road that passes through some actually quite inspiring scenery.
The Brasilian Outback, chock full of grazing cattle fattening up for the rodizo.
Break in the maps crossroad town to find out the map is wrong and the turnoff is actually 10k further along, so therefore it isn't really a crossroad town after all.
Turnoff on the dirt road that runs 60k to Iramala and then turns to broken pavement for another 25k before becoming a road under construction with rough dirt for the final 12k to the nothing town of Itaete.
Check into Pousada Central and find myself some entertainment on the one dusty street, an open window of a 20x20 stone and cement house.
Inside sits Galego, a 30 year old man playing a yamaha synthesizer and singing "Forever Young" in portuguese.
His little brother jumps up to sit in the sill and slaps his knee to the rythm.
Determined to keep the excitement going he follows it with a carefully selected mix of petshop 80's rock hits.
Passing neighborhood girls stop to ask me how old I am and why I am not married.
Thirsty from the dirt road I question about a place for a drink.
Without a signal and somehow within minutes a lady with a living room restaurant across the street opens her doors.
Served up a pitcher of the best fresh mango juice I have ever tasted, 2r.
News travels fast in small towns like this.
December 11, 2005
Mosquitoes patrol the netting and a baby next door cries all night.
Hot and humid showers in the morning has me nervous that I am stuck but quickly passes.
Invited to an unexpected cafe by the owner of the pousada who moved here from Salvador 5 months ago to get away from the city.
Has big plans to fix er up and sell er.
An excited man at the posto on the way out of town draws me a crude map of the sites while tapping me on the shoulder ever few seconds.
He loves the Chapada it is obvious.
The most people here really seem to like this place.
Moto > Poço Encantada 9:30 / 23100k 25k / .5h
GPS S 12.944517 W 41.104600 390m (Poço Encantada)
Off to the first site on the list, the Poço Encantada.
Another blue cave lagoon like in Bonito and once again in the off season when the sun doesn't enter directly.
The best time to visit is between April and September, from 11am to 1pm.
Atleast this one is a relative bargain at only 5r.
Moto <> Poço Azul Parking 11:30 / 23125k 26k / .75h
Back to the main road and onward 4k to the Fazenda Boa Uniao right hand turnoff, no signs to the Poço ofcourse.
Found with the help of another man on moto who went completely out of his way to help me.
The people here are the most laid back and friendly and happy people of South america.
They don't have lots of money, but beautiful nature and they just don't stress over anything.
Very warm and welcoming.
18k on dirt, straight ahead when in doubt to the ferry crossing.
Watch out for fresh cow patties as they will splatter up onto your face if you hit them.
Ferry <> Poço Azul 11:30 / 23125k 26k / .75h
GPS S 12.944517 W 41.104600 390m (Poço Azul)
An innovative and automatic ferry crossing powered by only the current of the river and guided by the direction of the boat.
Here the sun enters directly between February 9 and October 27, from 1pm to 3pm.
Some great luck I have, having sucessfully missed every prime poço opportunity in Brasil.
Would have been better for the timing and the weather to have started in the North and made my way South.
Son Rafael guides me through the poço while mama Alisi prepares lunch for us on the return.
A nice poço, perhaps nicer then Encantada and with the possibility to swim, just not this week for some fault in paperwork ofcourse.
An excellent homemade carne do sol, frango, green bananas, and palm leafs, 8r.
Moto > Mucuge, Brasil 2:45 / 23152k 56k / 1.5h .5h
GPS S 13.003983 W 41.369550 990m (Pousada)
On to Mucuge, a small historic town at the base of the Chapada Diamontina National Park.
Welcomed in by a gang of teens drinking moonshine cashasa in the otherwise empty plaza.
Find my 10r pousada and take a walk to the Bizantine Cemetary on the opposite side of town.
No matter where you are in Brasil atleast 1 and usually 2 cars have the trunk open and are providing the city with music.
This town has 3, with one infront of each of the liquor stores in Plaça Coronel Propecio and one at the lanchonettes in Plaça Garimperos.
It can get really annoying especially as they don't seem to mind overdistortion so long as their car is louder.
Electric plugs run to an accessory inlet by the tow hitch and power is supplied by the lanchonette themselves.
A snack shack so desperate for business to allow this while at the same time somehow so unaware that they also have the radio on.
Brasilians like things loud.
December 12, 2005
Another unexpected breakfast impressively complete, this time the mistake of the maids who weren't told my special price was without.
When the owner woke up she freaked out, probably not a brasilian.
An overcast day spent doing laundry, transcribing more songs on my mp3, and touring about.
Jack Johnson - Flake with the same progression as the Red Hot Chili Peppers - ConeHeads.
F C Dm Am A# C F - Dm F A# F/C
Walk up to the big rock mirador behind the pousada, a really nice view over town.
Back to the cemetary in better light for a photo, nothing special really.
The 2 waterfalls of the Sempre Viva Municiple Park, hundreds of plants I never have seen before.
December 13, 2005
Moto > Igatu, Brasil 8:00 / 23246k 25k / .5h
GPS S 12.897160 W 41.319350 760m (Fernando's House)
Finally on to Igatu, at one time the capital of the diamond miners with over 20,000 in its hayday.
Today, a hip little abandoned town of only 400 natives and artist hippy types and growing back for its tranquility and natural beauty.
A landscape of huge boulders precariously balanced on hilltops perfect to build a dream house under.
And that is exactly what everyone seems to be doing.
Land selling at 15r/m2 up from only 1r/m2 just 10 years ago when my friend Fernando settled in here from Curitiba.
A beautiful and large stone house on the hillside overlooking town.
Motor up the steep single stone slab of a "road" to his ladder.
There is no addresses persay but everyone knows everyone so just ask.
Knock the door expecting at best to be greeted not by Fernando but by a friend he had informed me might be staying there while he is on vacation through December.
Wake a scraggly man from his sleep, who sluggishly finds his way to answer the door.
Low and behold it is him, an utterly shocked Fernando himself.
Apparently I am not the person to invite to your house unless you really mean it.
And so with a big abraso he welcomes me in.
My luck in the encounter was his misfortune.
Not in that I am here but in that it turns out only a few days into his trip his health suddenly went bad.
And just 2 days ago he returned from the hospital diagnosed with hepatitis A.
A condition they suppose has become after having ignored another condition having to do with food or water.
A somber mood on an otherwise happy encounter.
As we recount our adventures since we last parted in Torres Del Paine, Chile his girlfriend puts herself together.
An ex-girlfriend in the process of moving her stuff out and back to Salvador.
Fernando himself is here partly to clean the place for his friends arrival next week and partly resting up for a trip back to Curitiba to see his family.
A trip he delays by a couple days to show me around a bit by moto.
Spend the morning helping the two cleaning up and packing out.
Fernando knows absolutely everyone.
The town bus driver stops in to say hi and with nothing better to do as the air brakes on his rig are broke and the parts are on the way from Salvador.
Takes the stress off Fernando to show me around town.
To the old diamond mine with another friend picked up enroute.
A nice and peaceful grotto that was at one time the focus of the entire region.
Today, just a beautiful and nearly forgotten treasure.
Down to the old church and on to the dream home of one of the recent arrivals.
An old school revolutionary involved I am sure in just about every conflict this country has seen.
An extremely impressive and inspiring house under one of the nicest rocks with one of the nicest views all the way to Andarai 20k away.
The spiff circles on every occasion.
The social glue that appears to bind this society of artists and renegades.
There don't appear to be any police in this town.
Nobody cares.
Nice dinner back home and guitar by the campfire on the stargazing rock out front.
December 14, 2005
As Fernando continues packing for his trip South I clean his telescope.
He has made his living here giving informal seminars of the stars with various tour agency groups.
A skill he has committed himself to learning on his own since he moved here.
A few a month is all he needs to live he says.
No stress.
Not bad.
With alot of talk in the air about building me a dream house of my own we take a break to tour some sites.
An American who owns an entire mountain and is just starting to build on it.
A Dutch couple with an impressive place perched at the top of a cliff looking out over a 100m drop off.
An Argentinian woman painter just starting her little dream.
The common factor is to use a massive rock as the principle structure, an unbeatable view, and a vastness of wild fruit and fauna; mango, papaya, pitanga, lemon...
That and the fact that most of them purchased the property when it was only a few reais per meter.
Today the pickings are sparse, but still everyone is full of inspiration for this place and the idea.
A great piece of "energy" in their own little "paradise" to use their terms.
They all love it here.
December 15, 2005
Slowly finish packing out and off together on a motor tour of the park before he takes off on his own trip.
Plans to be back tomorrow.
Moto > Capao Valley, Brasil 2:00 / 23271k 116k / 3.5h 1h
GPS S 12.606400 W 41.511883 915m (Hippie's House)
Together on the dirt road along the western border of the park, stopping at every house enroute to shake hands with another friend of his.
Absolutely everyone knows and loves Fernando.
Make it to Capao by dusk and ofcourse instantly run into a long lost friend who offers us a place to stay.
A one time hippie "community" of sorts, now dissolved and divided over petty issues of ownership.
Complete bushes of weed hanging to dry by the fireplace.
Solid night of sleep.
December 16, 2005
Capao - Another hippie-esk community, only much more hippie and populated and in the spotlight then Igatu.
Fernando is off and so I decide to stay behind for a few days to look around so as not to waste the trip.
Moto > Palmeras, Brasil 10:00 / 23387k 23k / .75h
Say our goodbyes after carrying their friends to nearby Palmeiras to pick up their motorbike.
He points back to Igatu and I push on for a day trip to some nearby grutas.
Moto > Gruta Torrinha 1:00 / 23410k 27k / .5h
GPS S 12.348283 W 41.603150 650m (Gruta Torrinha)
Decent churrasco at the Carne Assado truck stop on the way.
Gruta Torrinha - "The most complete gruta in Brasil" as the signs say.
All the standard formations of stalagtites and mites and a couple new forms I haven't seen anywhere else.
A "flower" that grows in the form of a sea urchin and something else which doesn't seem to care about gravity, growing in any direction and looking like spaghetti.
A 2 hour tour nice but hardly worth the 23r admission unless you are a geologist.
Moto > Capao Valley, Brasil 5:15 / 23436k 50k / 1.25h
Back to the hippie pad.
27k of asphalt to Palmeras and 23k of dirt to Capao.
December 18, 2005
Join Andrigo and Kalassa on a 5 day trek to Pati Valley and back.
Moto > Pati Trail Head 8:30 / .25h
GPS S 12.654817 W 41.488267 940m (Pati Trail Head)
Them with huge and heavily loaded packs and me with only my camera and pockets full of mangos, banana passas, hard boiled eggs and cookies we start at the trail head in good spirits.
Trek > Pass 9:00 / 1h .25h
GPS S 12.684350 W 41.485700 1280m (Pass)
A slow and easy 45 minute climb to the pass between the two valleys at 1280m.
A half hour rest and smoke for the two.
I am not even tired.
Trek > High Ridge 10:30 / 3h 1h
GPS S 12.723750 W 41.493583 1410m (High Ridge)
Across a long low grassy saddle valley to a river where we take a few hard boiled eggs as lunch.
Up an adjacent high ridge of stone to avoid the rough jungle landscape straight ahead.
A short and steep climb to another short thorny grass plain.
Trek > Shortcut Down 2:00 / 1h .25h
GPS S 12.781467 W 41.478017 1305m (Shortcut Down)
A long and dull walk at the edge of the ridge to a shortcut back down to the Blue House where we stay our first night.
Start looking for the shortcut about 700m after the stone wall.
It is straight down over 200m and saves atleast an hour over the normal route.
Trek > Blue House 3:30 / 1h .25h
GPS S 12.781233 W 41.475283 1105m (Intersection)
GPS S 12.775083 W 41.475367 1090m (Blue House)
On the way down at the first intersection turn left to make it to the Blue House.
Camping is 5r, staying inside is 7r, and a matress inside is 12r.
There is a small shack with very basic cooking supplies and food.
In the high season they serve meals for 10r.
Juan, the only resident welcomes us in.
An ice cold but refreshing shower.
Prepare a basic pasta and smashed potatoes for dinner.
A long and tiring day on the trail made only so because of the heavy gear which I ended up carrying in the end in an effort to reduce the number of smoke stops and make it before dark.
I highly recommend you only carry a camera, a small water, a few fruits, and some sunscreen and repellent.
December 19, 2005
A late rise after a solid night of sleep on a matress under a roof protecting us from heavy rain.
By 10am the rain tapers off and clears to a bright and sunny day.
Trek <> River 10:00 / 6h 5h
GPS S 12.771017 W 41.470183 1060m (River)
Spend the entire day slowly lounging our way down the river one waterfall at a time.
The time we spend seems to be defined by the time it takes to smoke.
Im not really into smoking so it all kinda drags for me.
Return to wash up and prepare dinner.
Pipoca around a campfire under a sky of stars.
December 20, 2005
Trek <> Big Rock 10:00 / 7h 1h
GPS S 12.812717 W 41.448967 1230m (Big Rock)
Being on a brasilian trail is even worse then a brasilian road in that it leaves you at a loss for any signs or legitamate directions.
Doing it with a couple brasilian hippies only adds to it ensuing arguements where no one wants to be right and likewise no one wants to be wrong, but eveyone is a leader and don't know when to call it off.
3.5 hours into our supposed 2 hour trek to a famous waterfall and we sit lost on a big rock which I am just guessing is half way back to Mucuge.
Turn back.
Hiking with hippies can really be a drag, literally.
Stopping every 10 minutes for a 10 minute smoke you don't get very far even though it seems like you have been walking forever.
Back at the Blue House Juan assures us we were indeed on the right trail and probably only missed the waterfall by another 5 minutes.
Depressing news.
Trek > Second House 6:00 / 1h
It is dusk and they decide to hike to another house instead of spending another night.
1 hour over the hill on a difficult trail to navigate in the dark without a light.
The same rates but welcomed in to a nice prepared meal that we promptly devour.
Negotiated a "half dinner" for 5r that appears just as big as a whole dinner.
A real bed instead of just a matress on the floor.
A better deal then the Blue House.
December 21, 2005
Fix the family guitar and off we go to a third house for our final night.
Trek > Third House 10:00 / 2h
The "prefeitura" with a nice view straight up to what they call the "castle", a mountain of rock in the middle of the valley.
There is nothing to do so we just relax on the river.
This whole trip has actually been quite boring.
Lend Andrigo a 20 to buy himself more pot.
He looks at me like im a savior.
December 22, 2005
Time to go, atlast.
Trek > Capao Valley, Brasil 8:30 / 22k / 6.5h 1h
GPS S 12.762550 W 41.438933 790m (River Below)
A hilly trail back the opposite side of the castle through the jungle we avoided by climbing to the ridge on the way here.
The first hour and a half to a river where you must be careful to the right hand trail to the bottom of the waterfall, not the left hand trail which goes to the top.
A mistake I made ahead of the two which led to us getting separated.
Hollering out from the top eventually they respond from the bottom and I backtrack to find the trail.
Instantly they dig into me in a blameful way.
They like to argue between themselves and I take it as a simple extension of that power struggle.
I mean is it my fault I wasn't listening to nor understood everything some dope dealer told them over their purchase?
Remember, they speak portuguese here.
I hardly understand spanish.
And anyways, does getting separated even have to be someones fault?
Does it really matter?
I was perfectly happy to laugh it off before I was met with stern faces.
I should have turned it around on them using the classic "fica tranquilo".
Im not much enjoying this trip and it is nobodys fault, I am just not enjoying it.
A seemingly endless climb onward on a thick closed trail of thrashing jungle.
Once again their huge packs has them falling behind what I consider a normal pace.
This time I pull ahead and away on purpose.
It feels better finally pushing my own pace rather then lagging in their aura of attitude.
A really nasty trail up until finally the jungle thins and turns to barbed razor grass that slashes me good tearing at my clothes and leaving my legs and arms scored.
Back to the high plain but on the opposite side, hot and dry.
I highly recommend returning the other route unles you enjoy humping hills and pain.
Take a long break at a wonderful oasis of a river near the drop back into Capao.
No sight of the two anywhere.
I limp down the final hill on a cramped leg and sore from head to toe.
I can't even imagine doing this with a 30 pound pack on.
Celebrate the end with a few tall caldos de cana.
5 days through the heart of Chapada Diamontina, 4 1/2 too many.
Sift through my pockets to find my moto keys lost and even my spare no where to be found.
Quickly learn how easy it is to unlock the steering and hotwire a Hyosung.
2 small screws removes the entire key assembly and a short between the red and orange wires lets it run.
Sit down to wait two hours with no sign of the two.
Three hours and just as I am about to leave they arrive, without a word.
Haul them home and take a cold shower only to wait starving as they heat water up for a bath.
They don't seem to care in the least that I am always waiting for them, infact they seem to enjoy it.
Finally they are ready and we candle lantern our way into town for a pizza.
An eccentric pizza made special by condiments of honey/red pepper sauce and soy sauce.
Everything is better after a few beers.
To the corner bar, the only real hangout in town.
A place that shines of the immigrant nature of these around the park villages.
It is where the rastas go to polish their dreads and recount old Bob Marley songs over and over and where hippies go when their spaceship tells them to or when there is nothing to protest.
The type of place that you gain authority by tying your beard in knots and wearing Lennon glasses.
A few Marley tunes on guitar has them in glee asking me to return tomorrow.
Incredible story tellers brasilians are.
Exaggerating on them to give the impression that where they were is the place to be.
Talking with and finger snapping their hands to emphasize the scene.
December 23, 2005
A silent "tchau" met without response on the way out the door.
A quick trek on the way out of town to see the famous Fumaça waterfall.
Moto > Fumaça Trail Head 7:30 / 5k / .25h
Trek > Fumaça Waterfall 8:15 / 7k / 1.25h .75h
GPS S 12.597583 W 41.493383 1010m (Fumaça Trail Head)
GPS S 12.600583 W 41.454700 1270m (Fumaça Waterfall)
A clear trail with a heavy 30 minute climb followed by 45 minutes across a rocky and sandy plateau.
At the end of it all nothing more then a small spray of water showering down an inverted cliff facing East of a few hundred meters in altitude.
Quite a letdown on the quantity of water, but surely more impressive in the rainy season.
The view straight down beats the falls itself.
Mark it and move on.
Recommend starting the trail early to avoid the heat.
Moto > Palmeras, Brasil 11:15 / 23525k 20k / .75h
Blue skies with scattered clouds, but pure sun up above and serious heat down below.
Take a break from the midday heat and for lunch in Palmeras.
Moto > Lençois, Brasil 12:30 / 23546k 52k / 1h
GPS S 12.563520 W 41.389740 410m (Hostel)
Pass the bus staion to the end of the road at the bank of the river.
Lazy under the tamarindo tree as the towns ladies arrange their wash to dry on the rocks as the rest of the family prepares a churrasco under the mango tree.
Lay back for a nap.
The smell of fresh sheets and barbequed beef.
The sound of the river and the kids splashing through it.
Tune out with Jack Johnson on mp3.
Find my way over the old bridge and into the heart of town.
To the only hostel in town in search for some friends to spend Christmas with.
A mixed crowd of brasilian through croatians.
Long travel chat with Kevin Bergstrom of South Africa, a traveller with a very similar backgrounds and ideas as me.
Dive into the details of an overland jeep trip from Morocco to Cape Town.
Good company.
December 24, 2005
Trek <> Ribeirao do Meio 9:00 / 3h 1.5h
A short one hour trek with Kevin and Cesar of Sao Paulo to the Ribeirao do Meio.
A nice river spot featuring a natural rock slide of 20m into a deep and attractive natural pool.
A great place to relax and keep cool.
Trek <> Cachoera Primavera 1:00 / 3h 2h
Back at the hostel Kevin packs out on his way North and Cesar and I off to the Cachoera Primavera, another waterfall not so far.
In town live only guides and nobody is to tell you how to get anywhere without one.
So to get to Primavera I marked the points enroute, making it easy as 1 2 3.
1 - GPS 12º56289 41º39826 460m (Trail Head)
2 - GPS 12º56282 41º40124 460m (Cashoerinha Waterfall)
3 - GPS 12º56100 41º40604 530m (Primavera Waterfall)
To get to the trail head go to the river by the bus station and walk up the river until you reach the first point.
At this point the rocks are big and between them starts a sandy trail which you take to the second point.
Cashoerinha is actually a nicer waterfall then Primavera so you can save yourself alot of effort and stop here.
But if you must see Primavera, then continue along the trail beginning immediately to the right of the Cashoerinha fall itself.
The trail splits and you go right.
It climbs above and to the side of the main river on your right.
A typical brasilian trail in that is somehow goes up in both directions.
And finally after a half hour sweat there it is, nothing really.
All of 8m with a a few small pools around to swim.
Not worth it.
Back at the hostel the gang sits down to a turkey dinner feast.
The food here and the breakfasts are very good.
The owners are very friendly.
!!! Merry Christmas !!!
December 25, 2005
Call mom and mark and jodi in Florida to wish them all a Merry Christmas!
A stenchly hot day unfit for any activity except laying in a hammock in the shade and reading.
Men Against The Sea - A true story of the months long plight of a group of 19 on a 10m boat making their way back to Timor after a mutiny and with nearly nothing, interesting
Back to the Meio to cool off.
December 27, 2005
Goodbye to the gang as they off for Poço Encantada and me to Andarai finally enroute back to Igatu.
Moto > Andarai, Brasil 9:00 / 23603k 32k / 2h
GPS S 12.807000 W 41.331860 410m (Lunch)
27k on the legendary moto trail direct to Andarai.
A horrendous and heavy sand and boulders trail notorious for swallowing motos in its network of rivers.
A rough pass that convinced me a 125 can handle any trail solo and with little luggage, but you really need the envelope of safety a bigger bike like a 250 provides especially if you are carrying something more.
A passage "muito legal" with loads of wildlife and scenery enroute.
Stop at a tremendous waterfall midway to let the engine rest and make sure it is all still connected.
Adjust the chain which has stretched considerably in its dry and sandy state.
Plow onward through dunes of sand to eventually reach the pavement 7k from the center of Andarai.
Stop for lunch and the last internet before Igatu.
Moto > Igatu, Brasil 1:30 / 23636k 41k / .75h
The extremely long way back to Fernando's after missing the nearly unmarked first turnoff.
Fernando is far South and so I find the key and let myself in.
12 days after my 1 day trip and finally I am back, gear and guitar waiting.
A much needed shower and shave brings me back to life.
Knock on the door of the neighbors and sit down to dinner with the welcoming crowd.
Felicidade, the queen of town perched high with a commanding rock above all others offers to showoff her place to me tomorrow.
December 28, 2005
She wants an absurd $450,000usd for her 10,000m2 plot, including the house.
A plot she bought 10 years ago for less then 5k and built up for another 5k.
A beautiful place for sure but at a profit of over 4000%?!?!
Not for me.
There she sits just waiting for pay day to sail in.
What a life.
Take a look at Marcedo's place, the dentist from Salvador.
150,000r for 5,000m2, including a nice house but not under a rock.
A much more reasonable deal but still not appealing.
Playing guitar in the plaza at night and who taps me on the back for the keys but Fernando's friend Christian.
Arrived with a gang and moving in for the next few months to run his jewelry business in town.
Move the guitar show back to the house and let them all in.
December 29, 2005
A day of more serious property searching.
A few more options that are better then yesterday, the best of which is about 4,000m2 plot with a partially constructed small stone house and a huge rock up high that might be possible to build under.
What makes it a deal is the owner only wants 40,000r for it, a relative great deal nowadays.
To check into it more in the future when Fernando returns in February if it isn't already sold.
December 30, 2005
A bit more research before heading off.
Stumbling back through the lots with a short jefro-afro-wiggy man named ShiquiShiqui or something like that who is apparently this town's unofficial real estate agent when he isn't the one of 3 bars in the four corners of the plaza.
Introduces me to a rich man from Denmark "in love" with a native lady who consumes the negotiating time warning me to be aware of local women who are after foreigners for their money.
Having decided I look "normal" and am not a "hippie" who he doesn't want to sell it to for moral reasons he deems me an "acceptable" buyer.
He is looking to sell it to someone who will help the town and bring commerce to it instead of leeching off of it.
Is this a pet dog or a piece of land?
In the end he sets his price so absurd I have to try hard not to laugh.
He wants 80r/m2, apparently not realizing that 10r/m2 is the competing rate.
A nice 3,500m2 plot but come on man.
Wish him good luck and head out already too late to make it to Salvador tonight.
Moto > Itaberaba, Brasil 3:15 / 23678k 157k / 3h .25h
GPS S 12.510560 W 40.310260 300m (Hotel)
This time I catch the shorter road out, saving me a good 30k on the return to Andarai enroute to Salvador for New Years.
It meets the main road at KM56 just before the big bridge over the sandy river.
Across the typically rolling landscape of cattle grass fazendas.
Stop in the truckstop town of Itaberaba at sunset and check into the 35r truckstop hotel of Portal do Sol for 15r.
A price that quickly dropped in stages to reasonable as I turned to leave.
It is still too much.
Damn square doorknobs so close to the door frame you can't avoid smashing your fingers when you close it.
Light switches on the back hinge side of the door that need flicked a few times before turning on.
Toilet bowls without seats flushed either by the tank a good 2 meters above which produces such a wash the contents splash out or the electric on demand shower so close you are best to handle all your business at once.
Either way the floor is always wet and you are never sure if it is water or waste.
Amazing architectural oddities of extreme ineptitude.
A half hour knocking the mosquitoes off the ceiling.
December 31, 2005
Moto > Feira De Santana, Brasil 6:45 / 23835k 165k / 3.25h .5h
The final 70k to Feira where the road however ugly up until now turns ridiculous.
Broken sections of sand so much that it has even the trucks at a crawl.
You can't tell me that what they charge for gas and for taxes here that they cannot fix this.
A condition so bad and for so long that it has changed the entire landscape of roadside business.
Borracherias line both sides one after the next.
Even more kids holding shovels in one hand and a hat for "road repair" donations in the other.
A shovel that has only ever touched the ground to lean on.
Pathetic.
Interestingly enough the worst of the holes happen to be at the roadside and exactly where they are standing.
I suspect the egg came before the chicken here.
Prefer the dirt shoulder.
Goggles to protect from the sand storm.
Moto > Salvador, Brasil 10:15 / 24000k 117k / 1.75h
A much improved road onward to Salvador eventually getting busy with riffraff drivers.
Pull directly into the recommended historic center of Pelorinho and check into the first place that will park my bike.
Albergue do Posso, a rip off boring unsocial place at 25r and with cold water.
Quickly find a small gang to enjoy New Years with.
Cesar of Palmeras and two Argentinians of Buenos Aires, Federico and Nacho.
Straight to the Praia Da Barra for the show.
A small display of erratic fireworks amongst a big crowd of lunatics and 14 year old girls on the prowl.
Champagne rockets arch through the sky as the New Year begins.
!!! Happy New Year !!!
January 1, 2006
Managed to straggle our way home in the trunk of a VW van.
A lazy day at the beach about an hour bus ride up the coast.
Back in the evening for some beers in the plaza.
Plans to head to Morro de Sao Paulo with the gang tomorrow.
January 2, 2006
Rushing about for lots of little errands fill the morning.
Mailing my photo CDs home, putting 5 rolls of slide film to be developed (expensive at 17r/roll), helping the Argentinians pick up their bus tickets at the station.
The hostel won't hold my moto for me while we are gone to the island.
Decide because of their bad character to just pack out completely and take it with me, to meet the rest on the island.
And on my way to the port I happen across a friendly mechanic shop willing to hold it for me for free.
Ferry > Bom Despacho, Brasil 2:30 / .75h / 2.65r (just me)
A pleasent ferry crossing across the bay to Bom Despacho where buses continue on to Valença, a stones throw from Morro.
A much cheaper option then the 2 hour and 50 reais direct super ferry between Salvador and Morro de Sao Paulo.
Bus > Valença, Brasil 3:30 / 1.5h / 10.13r
Off the boat and right into an easy express bus to Valença leaving from the port.
Comfortable and with air conditioning, manage myself a nap.
Valença itself is a nice little town and a great place to pickup supplies cheap before the final ferry to Morro.
A couple cases of beer, a case of guarana, a bag of cookies, and a bag of mangos.
A few streets walk to the port.
Ferry > Morro de Sao Paulo, Brasil 5:30 / 1.75h / 4.60r
GPS S 13.378000 W 38.925000 5m (Reggae Hostel)
Another pleasent but slow ferry crossing the channel to Morro, really slow.
Here is where I would highly recommend spending another 4 reais on a faster ferry which does the trip in a half hour.
Drift into the island after dark banging on guitar with some new friends met enroute, a brasilian Satriani type hyper speed solo master and his girlfriend.
4 hours of travel time and 17 reais, quite a savings over the 50 reais direct super ferry.
A posh and crowded island full of Argentinians splashing out.
Hawked by a "guide" off the boat to find me the Reggae Hostel where the gang waits for me.
An expensive stay in a 30r dorm where they won't even let me turn on the fridge to cool the beer.
An evening of warm beers.
January 2-5, 2006
Days spent relaxing on the beautiful white sand beaches and evenings dancing besides the beautiful argentinian women.
The grilled fish, the beach soccer, the mud bath, and the naked 5th beach that really wasn't.
Memorable experiences with the gang; Cesar, who drank all our cachaça "it wasn't me"; Federico, the deep philosopher "two days ago we were here... and it is now"; and Nacho, who could somehow sleep standing in the middle of the dance floor.
A nice stay, but far too posh and expensive to stay any longer.
January 6, 2006
To the lighthouse for a view over all before starting the chain of travel back to Salvador.
Ferry > Valença, Brasil 11:30 / .75h / 10r
A relatively slow trip back on the fast ferry, stil much faster then the trip to the island.
Bus > Bom Despacho, Brasil 2:45 / 1.5h / 10r
A bit of a delay waiting for the bus, spent playing guitar with more new friends.
Ferry > Salvador, Brasil 6:15 / .75h / 2.85r
GPS S 12.970850 W 38.507570 35m (Rasta Homestay)
Technical difficulties with the ferry has us an hour delay on a boat so overly crowded and loaded it makes me nervous.
Like something only Pelni would do.
A long ride back at half speed.
Mechanic shop is closed so I must return for the moto tomorrow.
Still despising the original hostel I separate from the gang to check myself into a hidden homestay for half the price, 10r.
House number 14 on the sloping pedestrian way infront of the church.
Welcomed in by a cool rasta man who sub-rents out his apartment full of makeshift bunks.
A friendly college dormitory sort of environment with a lively new crowd of its own.
A brilliant view from the living room windows, a common area full of hammocks.
Definately the best deal in town.
January 7, 2006
Spend the morning returning to the port to pick up my moto.
Against his will I hand the man 10r for helping me out, what the other garages in town wanted per day.
Pick up my developed slides.
With absolutely depressing results, the 85r spent on the 5 rolls seems even more dear.
Looks like the colors died 6 months ago.
Probably not a problem with the shop, but with the film itself.
Film I have been carrying in my bag almost a year.
Back at the pad I relax into a hammock for a siesta.
The midday temperature here is unbearable.
The two argentinos Federico and Nacho leave for Fortaleza.
Seeing my shaver Federico pleads for a quick cut before heading out.
Nothing nice and neat, chopping at whatever we can in the half hour before their bus leaves.
Cesar comes over to share a pasta dinner and before long we are feeding the whole place.
The party continues out on the streets where we follow around a french couple twirling red coals on a string.
As predicted back in Porto Seguro, the show ends without donation.
Cesar chalks it up to the brasilian tradition of "mao da baca", the hand of the cow that never shows itself.
1 am and manually pushing my moto uphill to park inside for the night.
A whistle rings through the air in within seconds Military Police is forcing me against a wall to slap me in handcuffs.
A show of power where he is using his best force against a terrible perpetrator who isn't even resisting.
Cuffs that grip so tight the feeling in my hands numbs to a point where i worry it may never return.
Aggressively pushed and proded by sharp jabs of his stick in my back to the station as though he caught a ruthless criminal.
The charge, entering a moto into a pedestrian zone.
A zone without a single pedestrian at 1 am?
Pushing it by hand?
It isn't long before the police have all between themselves convinced each other I deserve punishment for such a horrible act.
A sort of authority rules account where not once did they ask me what happened nor stopped long enough to listen.
Only paying mind to the officer who is in fumes over how much he doesn't like tourists and how I must be the worst.
A brutal ass who is convinced I speak fluent portuguese and who gets even madder when I don't understand.
Thankfully atleast one of them sees it just to remove the cuffs.
Papers are filled out, even more tediously and painstakingly inefficient then those for entering the country.
Back to the bike to wait for a tow truck to take it away, without the condition for return.
Looks like simply they have decided to take my bike and that is the end of it.
A stroke of luck finds rasta man stumbling home from a bar to see the conflict out front.
Quickly he produces a declaration by the municiple which infact allows vehicles to pass between 12 and 4am.
A document which doesn't seem to be met with any interest by the officer who is by now well convinced something must be done.
Heavy rains shower down as the truck arrives with Transit Patrol, the only officers actually with the authority to subject the vehicle.
They recognize the document, but under pressure by the now pleading officer agree to take the bike away, leaving me atleast with the assurance it can be had back.
A fine will need to be paid.
It is 4am as we jump in the taxi to follow them to the yard.
Abastamento De Vehiculos - A junk yard of all the vehicles apprehended in Salvador.
A sluggish operation that is always open to take a new one in but closed until Monday to take one out.
Furious and unrelenting at the gate I manage to stir up enough interest to deal with the problem now.
It is 6am before they start to listen.
Slowly and one by one they are convinced that really I never did anything wrong to begin with.
An air of confusion and guilt sets in across the committee.
And just as slowly as realizing they were wrong to begin with they come up with other reasons for keeping my moto to replace this guilt and erase their mistake.
Their first revision, the license plate doesn't have the "seal" on it connecting the plate to the frame.
A silly metal wire and press seal device they use to assure the numbers don't get tampered with.
The fact that Peru doesn't use such seals and that indeed it is a Peruvian bike doesn't seem to matter.
You are in Brasil so you need the seal.
Then why didn't they give me one at the border?
Hmmm...
On to the second revision, you need an International Drivers License translated to Portuguese.
An arguement easily rounded by translating it for them on the spot.
Eventually the chief of transit on duty calls it off.
He admits they made a mistake and drops all charges.
To return at 8am and pay a small unavoidable fee of 7r for the day's parking and you are free.
...January 8, 2006...
Back to Pelorinho by bus to clean up after such a long and rainy and sleepless night of struggles.
The rain makes me think of the two girls from Uruguay who I lent my tent to without the rain fly.
But that is not all...
Back at 8am the staff has changed and I am told by a whole new set of officers that nothing happens until Monday.
Insisting that I was given the ok just an hour earlier that I would get my bike back today they have me wait until 9am, when the man responsible actually arrives.
A different man ofcourse, who goes through the whole story again this time adding a final revision, there are no mirrors.
A revision which he is convinced has no reasonable solution and so therefore I cannot ever get my bike back.
More painful hashing away offers a second solution and only slightly more reasonable solution.
You can have the bike back, but you need to have it towed out of Brasil.
Even more painful hashing offers the third and mostreasonable solution.
Put mirrors on the bike and it is yours.
Out I go walking across the highways looking for any open motorcycle shop on today which is now Sunday.
Realizing I am on a completely hopeless mission and that there is infact an even better solution I stop in a favela to ask a man a question.
"Can I borrow your mirrors for 15 minutes?"
A friendly man that understands my struggle and lets them go for a 20r deposit.
Back at the dump the man is finally satisfied with my effort, but not quite.
Quickly the secretary works up the bill, raising the price from the agreed upon 7r by the 36r "service" of towing the moto in the first place.
Yeah, what a great "service" that I cannot thank them enough for.
Too tired to fight it any longer, I accept.
But still it isn't the end.
To pay the bill at the Bom Preço supermarket down the road, wiggling his finger into space.
Jesus, I can't believe they pay their traffic violations in supermarkets here.
A 15 minute climb up what seemed to be the steepest road in the world and a road by road search from there.
15 more minutes in line behind an old lady buying chicken and chewing gum and paying in only loose change.
Handed a receipt to return with, a piece of paper that almost seems like gold in the moment.
Back at the dump I toss the paper over the counter and finally I am free.
But not until the guard at the door watches me screw the mirrors on to assure the state I am complying.
And so after 10 hours of hell and 71r (18r in two taxis, 3.40r in bus fares, and 43r in "services") I am truely free.
I put on my illegal helmet and drive out of that mess without looking back.
Straight to the mirror man to return his mirrors and collect my deposit.
At first he is gone and I begin to think he never wanted the mirrors back in the first place, but then he arrives.
It took me so long he had started to think I never planned to return in the first place.
Hands me back my money as Ihand over the mirrors with a smile.
Motor back to Pelorinho to find myself some proper parking with more help from rasta, 15r for 3 days in a bad side neighborhood.
And as if my bad luck wasn't bad enough on my walk back I am assaulted by 5 teens.
A jacket with too many pockets to protect as they close in and grab from all sides.
I drop to the ground and start kicking and screaming, creating a scene that scares them off.
Too late they already opened two and grabbed what they could, my digicam and notepad and moto papers.
Luckily they didn't get as far as my money and my silk safe with my passport and cards in it.
The chase begins as I run after them back up and into the favela where I left my bike.
They quickly decide the only thing worth keeping is the camera and drop the rest, throwing stones back at me as they run.
One big rock tags me in the shin, cutting me good.
The commotion stirs a chase with the son of the parking garage owner on his moto and me on mine.
We track them to a high grass drop off where they manage to slide away.
The camera is all they got, that and the photos of Morro de Sao Paulo that were on it.
Photos which I think have more value to me then the camera itself.
A camera which doesn't really have much value to them without the charger.
They will sell it on the black market anyways.
- Digicam Stolen -
Something is telling me to get out of here.
A strange voice that actually I heard in my head before any of this happened but chose to ignore.
January 9 - 13, 2006
A few days doing the only thing that I can do safely around here, a web update.
A huge project covering the couple months since Sao Paulo and Rio and taking over 24 hours of online time.
Something I really had to do to clear my mind of the burden this website is becoming to me.
A burden that begins again as soon as it ends slowly building day by day until I have to do it.
I mean I am thankful for it and the chance to do it and what it will someday mean to me, but it is alot of work.
The nights spent in the street parties with the gang.
A good and memorable gang from all ends of the earth.
Wave goodbye to the french couple as they eagerly snap photos of this odd traveller sitting on his bike.
Moto > Praia De Forte, Brasil 12:15 / 24151k 92k / 2.5h
On the Estrada Do Coco, past luxurious resorts and condo farms of wealthy locals on some of the most beautiful and executive beaches in all of South America.
Past some serious eco-tourism all the way to Praia Do Forte where I took a break to visit the Projecto Tamar.
Projecto Tamar - A sea zoo responsible for helping save sea turtles from extinction.
A small park ironically sponsored by Petrobras (probably the worst corporate offender of sea turtles) where they try to raise peoples awareness of the problem and the simple solutions that don't include trading in their cars for bicycles.
A breeding ground where they release thousands of baby turtles to the sea a year.
Projecto Tamar
Anyways, it is nice to see.
Makes you feel inspired by them, if not atleast during the time you are there.
Sit down to a 22r/kg ice cream on the walk back to my bike through the super posh disneyland-like ultra tourist town itself.
A smidgeon of each of the 60 flavors filling a very small bowl for 4r.
The man checks the weight twice, suprised I somehow managed the cheapest bowl of the day.
Very nice.
Continue North along the tolled and patrolled "Linea Verde".
Why Verde?
It is the color of money.
Moto > Conde, Brasil 4:15 / 24243k 110k / 1.75h
GPS S 11.866140 W 37.572810 10m (Camp)
As the sun begins to set I am stopped once again infront of the turnoff to the village of Conde for not having mirrors.
Repeated threats of a multa (fine) however not followed through with.
Only an attempt to scare me into offering to buy my way out.
Just keep circling the arguement until they give up.
They are human and so they eventually get tired.
Don't pay anything.
Decide in the process to just call it the night in Conde.
Pull into town and sit down to a pizza, another failure.
3.50r for 6" of worse then frozen quality pizza.
Again, far too much cheese and too little sauce on a crust that resembles a piece of Wonderbread.
And once again its lack of nutritious value fills me quick but at the same time leaves me feeling sick.
Straight to the banheiro to pass alot of gas.
Another ice cream would have been a better deal.
Motor through town and on to the praias (beaches) to find a place to camp.
An abandoned beachfront parcel of short grass and cactus.
By 7pm I am trying my best to ignore the heavy wind and rain that threatens to leak through.
Somehow the tent kept the storm out and somehow I managed to catcha little sleep.
January 14, 2006
By 7am I am awake and sweating from the intense heat of direct sun.
Moto > Brejo Grande, Brasil 8:00 / 24361k 270k / 7h 3h
Pack out and back on the Linea Verde, a coastal road that rarely shows you the coast.
Stop for a quick and early cafe at a service station enroute.
The people around me are already eating steaks and downing beers as if they don't have to eventually get back in their cars and drive away..
I take the safer option of egg on bread and a juice, because my bike doesn't have mirrors.
Despite the vast availability of exotic fruit juices, they usually all taste about the same, like sugar.
It is because they don't actually use the fresh fruit, but instead frozen bags of pulp concentrate.
A concentrate which somehow has been extracted without the original sweetness of the fruit so that sugar needs to be added to reconsitute it.
A somewhat artificial luxury.
As I sit down to enjoy it the skies instantly change from blue to grey and it starts pouring rain.
Heavy showers and wind pushing the rain drops at 45 degrees to the horizon.
Finish up after 15 minutes and the sun is back.
Brasil's weather is always unpredictable and extreme.
Back on the road I continue on around the outskirts of Aracaju, and by Japaratiba the rains are back.
This time not so lucky, becoming instantly soaked before even having a chance to pull over.
Find shelter under the tarp of a roadside vendor selling the usual array of snacks.
An ear of boiled corn .70r, a mango .30r, and a coco verde 1r are consumed before the rain turns off again.
Pull just a pinch further into Japaratiba for a shot at a secondary road that passes closer to the coast.
A wide dirt road in very good condition with only minimal rippio and moderate sand and loose stone.
Absolutely beautiful views across palm forested fazendas of lilly lagoons along a coast of dunes.
An excellent distraction from the otherwise boring Linea Verde.
Meet back up with the paved road at Atalho after 50k and an hour of great scenery.
An unmarked right turn takes me further into the small village of Brejo Grande by 3pm where I take a late lunch.
The standard Carne Do Sol, a low quality of beef heavily salted and left to the sun to "cook".
To me it is just that, to them it is something special.
However this time it isn't so bad.
A pleasent and slow village of friendly people.
A nice place to relax for a few days or to just wait for the ferry that crosses the river to the road on the other side.
A port that sees only a few cars pass a day.
Kids throwing stones up the mango tree, women doing their laundry, men scraping half digested shit from the stomach lining of a freshly killed cow (the smell is awful), dogs waiting for scraps.
Missing loads of kodak moments.
I am dying to have my digicam back.
Ferry > Piasabusu, Brasil 4:45 / .25h / 5r (me & moto)
GPS S 10.407820 W 36.432820 5m (Pousada)
A scenic small ferry ride a bit down river to the equally small and attractive port town of Piasabusu.
A pleasent enough town to call it the night.
Check into a friendly and small pousada for 10r.
Really kicking myself for not having my digicam.
January 15, 2006
Spend the entire morning drying my molding gear from yesterday's storm and hopelessly trying to clean yesterday's road spray and this morning's dog spray from my clothes (hotel poodle).
Around town searching for a place to make a photocopy of the next section North on my map.
Everything is closed on Sunday.
Moto > Sao Miguel, Brasil 10:30 / 24631k ? / 2h?
GPS S 9.864810 W 35.914090 70m (Mirador)
Beautiful paved road without traffic onward along the coast.
Turn in to the beach at "Paradise of Sul" and ride the low tide sand for 30k before turning back to the pista.
An incredible experience over what may be considered some of the best beaches in the world.
Warm blue and green waters gently lapping up onto white bone white sands.
Small fishing villages enroute.
Back on the paved road, I find myself to an incredible roadside mirador at Praia Du Gunga.
A 70m high tower looking out over vast fields of sugar cane and coconut palm to the picturesque city of Sao Miguel sitting across a bay.
Perhaps some of the best photo opportunities of my entire trip through Brasil so far, missed.
Moto > Tamandare, Brasil 1:30 / 210k ? / 4.5h?
GPS S 8.722450 W 35.088530 5m (Camp)
Stop for lunch just outside Maceio, from which the road cuts inland for some 150k of rolling hills of sugar cane.
The staple crop for the making of the Cachaça spirit.
Plantations that have completely raped the countryside of its true agricultural value.
At dusk I take the turnoff to Tamandare in search of another quiet beachside camping experience.
Instead I find myself in the middle of one of the busiest tourist beaches for locals escaping Recife on the weekends.
And it being Sunday night has them all in a huff to get home for work tomorrow.
A traffic jam lineup of cars for some 20k all the way to the beach.
Eventually reach the end of the road as the last are pushing off.
Invited to sit down for a beer by a beach bar beer stand owner elated after a strong weekend of sales.
600 bottles at 3r apiece is what he pulls in each day on the weekends.
Gives me the thumbs up to use the empty lot besides his rig.
Another rainy night in fear, this time not so lucky.
January 16, 2006
Moto > Recife, Brasil 8:00 / 24958k 105k / 1.5h
GPS S 8.058570 W 34.885160 10m (Hotel)
More vastness of sugarcane covering every available inch of land as far as can be seen the entire way to Recife.
Stop on my way into town at Roda Moto to finally have my front wheel literally hammered back into shape and balanced after getting slammed in Chapada Diamontina, 10r.
In the process he reversed the tire direction back to forward after the mechanic in Chile put it on backwards nearly a year ago.
I am a little reluctance about how he put the tube back in without securing the stem first, but it rides smoother and should make the tire last longer.
A bit of searching around finds me a YHI hostel for 25r a dorm or a private room at the Lido Hotel for 20r.
Decide against the chance to meet some new "friends" and throw the saved 5r into a few outrageously priced color copies of my map instead.
Impressive copies covering the trip North and West to Belem where I will take a boat through the Amazon to Manaus.
Interesting Note: Since leaving Bahia, the gas is giving me nearly 15% more kilometers per liter.
January 17, 2006
Moto > Almost Goiana, Brasil 8:30 / 25090k 60k / 3.75h 2.75h
60k outside of Recife and my front wheel starts shaking.
Look down to see it has gone flat.
Pull over to the side of the highway and prop the bike up on a stick.
Pull the tire off the rim and the tube out to find that as expected the stem was installed wrong and has torn itself out of the tube.
Imagine that.
Wrestle with a makeshift 12mm bolt head turned allen head wrench to remove the axle and the tube.
A teen driving a van who sees my struggle kindly pulls over to give a hand.
Too much of a hand perhaps as he somehow manages to spear my spare tube with the screwdriver.
A couple hour affair that leaves me with no option for repair.
Thank him for his help and he takes off.
Put it back together and push the bike down the road to where a team of military police are preparing to make a new road.
How crazy is this that even the road construction in this country is handled by the military?
Guess it comes in handy to have everything painted in camo if someone tries ambushing a grader.
Atleast the 35 guys laying around also in camo can hide well.
So there they are, 35 military types in camo laying around and avoiding any sort of work.
Slowly I work my way through the first few layers of command and each of their 20 questions until they start looking interested in helping.
And somehow with all of these resources they have not a single patch or pump, let alone a tow to carry the moto into the next village.
For this I take it all back apart to just carry the wheel.
Into a van and into town we quickly find a moto shop where I buy a new Pirelli tube for 22r.
Oversee closely as the borracheria across the street fits it correctly and patches the spare for another 2r.
Back at the bike put it all together again.
Another hour long affair where all the while it appears that this may infact be the most progress this team has seen all week.
Invited in to lunch and a few rounds of photos before leaving.
Moto > Ponto do Seixta, Brasil 12:30 / 25153k 80k / 1.25h
GPS S 7.148667 W 34.796250 33m (Farol Cabo Branco)
GPS S 7.154667 W 34.793139 0m (Extreme East)
And at precisely 12:45 today I arrive at the Farol Cabo Branco, marking the eastern most extreme of Brasil, and hence South America.
The placard puts it at S 7º09'28" W 34º47'30" but my GPS puts it at S 7º08'55.2" W 34º47'46.5", must be continental drift.
Turns out upon further questioning that the light house isn't at the real point most east, but it is somewhere on the beach down below.
Down to the beach I shuffle through the sand along the water with GPS in hand hoping to hit the spot dead on.
And so finally at 2:30 and at S 7º09'16.8" 34º47'35.3" I find it, or atleast as close as I can get during high tide.
Standing proud andsurely looking ridiculous right infront of Flavio and Naudino, a couple local teens of Joa Pessoa busy drinking a beer and otherwise oblivious to the significance of where they sit.
Sit down and join them.
It seems their real interest is which are better and put out easier, brasilian or california women?
Take a swim after they leave.
I have now bagged 2 of the 4 corners of this great continent.
Moto > Almost Natal, Brasil 3:45 / 25233k 67k / 1h
GPS S 6.023080 W 35.239090 70m (Camp)
Nearly to Natal I decide it best to camp the night before hitting the city.
Pull down a side road advertising a Camp Clube only to find a guy trying to charge 18r to setup my tent on his grass.
Instead, I setup my tent in the empty lot next to his for free.
Strange business sense.
Chocolate cookies and a couple extra cheese sandwiches from the road crew for dinner.
January 18, 2006
It is hard for me to get any real sleep without a proper pillow.
Moto > Natal, Brasil 6:15 / 25400k 30k / .5h
GPS S 5.781660 W 35.200020 80m (Tia Helen)
Into Natal and directed toward the resort beach of Ponta Negra, pricey and dicey.
Happen into a couple of backpackers from Korea resting beachside after a long bus ride here from Salvador.
Take breakfast together and desperate to find a few more "friends" to talk english to I copy down the "best hostel" from their guide.
Tia Helen, a comfy but dodgy for the price stay in Petropolis near the center of the city, 18r.
My "friends" for the day become 2 englishmen, one missionary and one perhaps the exact opposite.
Some good talk through the day and evening.
January 19, 2006
Moto > Canoa Quebrada, Brasil 9:45 / 25466k 386k / 6.75h
GPS S 4.525990 W 37.702890 65m (Pousada)
Back out of the city the way I came.
The road turns sharp West and the hills and tropical fauna relax into what looks and feels just like Argentina.
Endless pampas of short and dry grass with small shade trees for the cows.
The wind at my back and humming along easy at 85kph.
The speedo starts bouncing indicating atleast one of its three principle components is on its way to broke.
Put it up against the GPS to judge its accuracy.
Lunch at a small shack across from the posto of Lages.
As the day continues on and I move futher West it gets hotter and drier.
The landscape slowly becomes a desert of short shrubs and cactus.
Brick furnaces billowing of black smoke burn my sinuses.
A long and dull ride over unpredictablly potholed pavement.
GPS says 100.0k and the odometer says 101.6k.
1.6% over isn't enough to answer why the speed needle is swinging over 100kph.
I reckon the odo calibration probably has always been off and this is simply a problem with the needle itself.
Absolutely nothing the whole way to the turnoff to Canoa Quebrada, a small tourist town nestled in sand dunes on the coast.
Perhaps a town that only became really popular because it is the only real stop for so long along the coast.
A sort of oasis.
A hard find on a reasonable stay during this locals holiday season.
20r for a grubby room without fan or breakfast or hot water, actually something missing since Salvador.
An almost purely argentina and spanish crowd who brings all their culture with them.
Late to sleep and late to rise.
January 20, 2006
The street finally falls silent at around 6am in a contrast so drastic it wakes me up.
Walk along the sand dunes and cliffs overhanging the beach for a few photos with my film camera, a beast I will have to start getting used to pulling out for some time.
The town begins to wake at noon and by then I have seen it all and am ready to move on.
Moto > Fortaleza, Brasil 12:00 / 25855k 200k / 4h 1h
GPS S 3.720090 W 38.514010 10m (Hostel)
Along the coast to Beribe where I detour 10k back along the beach to see the Praia Do Fonte.
A few plastic pipes sticking out of rocks following fresh natural water to the sea.
Nothing spectacular as the roadside propaganda makes it seem.
Infact, I didn't even stop to really look.
Pull into the big and rather ordinary city of Fortaleza and find myself another hostel.
YHI hostels are in general a bad deal.
This one is right dodgy and expensive at 20r for a dorm and another 3r for sheets.
One of the only places in the world that I have seen where the sheets aren't included.
To add to that my roomates are 2 gay brasilian men in their late 50's.
Awake the entire night with the lights on and standing around in their underwear.
Doors wide open, mosquitoes swarming, and with heavy traffic noise all night.
January 21, 2006
By 6am somehow the entire room became full.
A skewed schedule I can not see ever getting used to, even if I were argentinian.
A trick i have happened across is to put my down sleepingbag inside a tshirt and tie it shut.
A luxury feather pillow which even under the circumstances afforded me a solid sleep.
After all of these rough nights of sleep it is hard to believe i never tried this before.
Weigh myself in at the local farmacia, 69.4 kg.
Down over two kilos from entering Brasil, but still about 3 kilos too porky.
Must be the heat.
Moto > Umirim, Brasil 8:15 / 26055k 111k / 2.75h 1.25h
Just out of town and past the toll booths and am flagged down by 2 cops for not using headlights.
Quickly they scan my bike for other issues and add the lack of mirrors, the not good enough helmet, and the missing license plate seal to their list.
And so there we squabble over a half hour of threats to take my moto and write me a 500r 'multa'.
Idle threats that I can see right through, and as the request drops to 50r I can see the end is certain.
The whole 'I would like to help you if you could help me' game.
A game that I never lose.
Pushing deeper they begin to fiddle with their cellphones, pretending to call it in to the office.
An office which is obviously closed today and so they further by explaining that if they did take my bike I would have to wait till Monday to get it back.
An extra rough condition that they are hoping will tip the balance in their favor.
Once again denied.
Attacking from another angle they start pretend scratching out the fine on an already used carbon copy of an old ticket.
An absolutely ridiculous act that has me nearly cracking a laugh right at them.
It isn't long before they realise they aren't getting anywhere with this one.
Their request for 50r lowers to "whatever you have" and that is when I know we are on the final stretch.
In a last throw they commence a circular arguement in attempt to tire their prey on technicalities.
An arguement that in the end does no more then go around and around again, finding me stronger on each lap.
Having tired themselves they finally give up, dropping their demands for "whatever you have" to "something... anything...".
At this point I start just staring them down making their pleading reflect on them as desperation.
Before long they hand me back my license and shoo me off, making a last plee for "a Coke...".
Wave me off with a 'bom viaje' as they flag down the next moto along.
And in the process they cause a van to swerve out of the way and two cars to collide.
A smashup that they completely ignore while marking up their next victims faults.
An accident that infact only seems to be a distraction from their 'real' work.
Feeling sorry for them, I return with a bottle of water for all their efforts.
A further compromise on their final plee.
A compromise that wasn't necessary but was the least I could do for them, considering how hard they are working and how rough it must be standing in the sun all day arguing with people for money.
They are really working hard, you gotta respect them for that.
The recommendation here is not to outfit your moto nor follow the rules as best as you can, because it really doesn't matter.
They flag you down first and then they begin searching for the problems, and believe me they always find something.
The best you can do is to play a strong hand when they do stop you, showing them you are not the easiest person to take money from.
As long as you are steadfast and have a good sense of character, it never results in 'real' trouble.
It is because they just don't have time to waste on you while opportunities continue to pass.
Somehow find myself completely lost in Cavacaia looking for route 222.
Redirected in all different directions by everyone I ask.
It is 10 o'clock before I am actually on the road and leaving town.
Brasil is a total mess for signs and roads and directions.
Stopped again another 30k down the road by an older officer, this time just to play a song.
These sort of scenes repeat themselves atleast 2 - 3 times a day, everyday.
Moto > Jijoca, Brasil 11:15 / 26166k 196k / 3.5h .75h
Turnoff at Umirim, aiming the bike toward Jijoca.
Stop at a small roadside bar midroute for lunch.
A friendly folks on the farm type setting with horses tied to posts, chickens flocking about, old men playing dominoes and discussing local politics.
The type of setting that would make good on the other troubles of road travel had it not its own problems.
To have to answer the same 20 questions to everyone you meet, everywhere you go, everyday also grows old.
'Todo bem...
si, California... pero moto de Peru... muito longo, si...
dois anos... Peru, Bolivia, Chile, Argentina... muito tempo, si...
mais uma... vo a Venezuela... despois Colombia...
solzinho, si... si, mulher bonita aqui... pero no quiero...
no, falo poco portuguesa... si, parece espanol... obrigado...
belleza...'
A delicious homemade Galinha Caipira com Capote (stewed wild rooster with pumpkin) for only 6r.
Memorably excellent.
GPS S 3.40771 W 39.73766 50m (Lunch)
Back on the road.
Racking your rims, fracturing your forks, choking your carburator, pinging your piston, that is motorcycling Brasil.
Pull into Morrinhos having missed the turnoff to Jericocoara and turn back to figure out where I went wrong.
It is at the Posto Triangulo service station where you must turn right.
Ofcourse, there are no signs.
Moto > Jericocoara, Brasil 3:15 / 26363k
GPS S 2.79657 W 40.51614 15m (Hostel)
Finally make it to Jijoca, "The Gateway to Jericocoara" as the sign over the guide gate proclaims.
An information booth where the only information you get is that "you won't find it without a guide because we removed all the signs".
After questioning about a bit more I learn how to get there "the easy way" (without crossing the dunes) and without a guide.
Pass straight through the small town of Jijoca and follow the signs to MangueSeco.
After 20k of dirt road you reach the Lanchonete O Done Bar.
GPS S 2.84269 W 40.55660 10m (Lanchonete O Done Bar)
Turn left onto the dirt road directly across the road from the bar.
This takes you another 2k through mild sand past a dried mangrove and finally over a long wooden bridge to a white sand beach.
GPS S 2.82926 W 40.55710 5m (White Sand Beach)
If you look to your right you will see Jericocoara in the distance.
Drive there along the coast about 10m from the waters edge.
Heavy winds sweep the white sands into a sea flowing strongly in the opposite direction.
Pushing forward, layers of skin are peeled from my face.
Looking back, the setting sun gives dramatic contrast, absolutely brilliant and stunning.
Stop for a photo and in 5 minutes my bag has become a new dune.
Check into a tent at the only "hostel" in town.
For only 10r it is a much better and mosquito free option then their dorms going for 25r.
Sunset from the top of a dune.
January 22, 2006
4:30am and an old man is raking the parking lot and around my tent.
For all the noise in the background, i gather that the entire town is awake at this time.
The schedule in these tourist meccas bewilders me.
Most of the tourists at this time of year are from Argentina, but even there it isn't like this.
The rest seem to be from Scandinavia.
Not sure why.
An early morning walk to the rock archway, the principal attraction of the park.
Free, but nothing special.
After 6 the town instantly grows silent as last nights party crowd retire.
Back to my tent for a nap.
An afternoon of drinking caipirinhas out of coco verdes on the beach while listening to live lounge samba.
Pricey, but pleasent and relaxing.
A repeat trip to the dunes for sunset.
Not as striking as that of yesterday.
Join up with the gang for an evening of guitar and a night at Mama Africa bar.
Stumble back into my tent sometime between 4:30 and 6.
January 23, 2006
Moto > Parnaiba, Brasil 10:00 / 26392k 251k / 6.75h 2.5h
Run across the Korean couple once again, and once again we do breakfast together.
A fly infested local hole in the wall serving dodgy fish, which could very well be the start of illness.
Wave them goodbye for a final time.
For lack of information I miss out on an easy 40k beach ride to Camocim and instead spend the entire morning laboring bad roads.
25k of sand and dirt back to Jijoca, 60k of heavy sand to Granje, and another 25k of pista to Camocim the round about way.
Put my bag down (GPS strapped to outside) to push my moto over a sand dune.
A "friendly" man hands me my bag back and quickly waves me goodbye.
On the way to Granje I become aware of the GPS missing.
- GPS Stolen -
Stop in Camocim at a Bank of Brasil ATM to take money.
Begins its shuffling about as it attempts to count the bills prior to dispense.
For the next five minutes the clicking continues until finally the screen goes blank.
A faint buzz and it pops up with the ATM equivalent to the blue screen of death.
"Error counting bills!" leaving me wondering if I was charged.
Pull into Parnaiba after another road war, 30k of "under construction" far worse then the sand and dunes enroute.
Straight to the pleasent central plaza where I succeed in finding an ATM that works.
Check into a pousada only a few streets away, Senhora de Lourdes.
10r and including a full breakfast and easy and secure parking.
Clean and well kept, the best deal I have found in all Brasil.
Parnaiba - After the past month of moving between one tourist destination and the next it feels good to be in a city which isn't the center of an itinerary.
Just a nice and pleasent real town with a life of its own.
Friendly people and fair prices.
Reminds me that travel isn't about site hopping.
Start internet organizing a package of travel gear to ship to Rosa in Buenos Aires, who is planning to meet me in Venezuela sometime before my birthday in April.
A task made heaps easier thanks to WieMing Ang, a computer engineer who happened across GroovyDomain by fate and so inspired is now in the process of planning a South America by moto trip of his own.
In forming his ultralight pack list, ofcourse he decided to set himself on the right path with some GroovyGear and so that is how we met.
After helping him design a backpack for himself he offers me one.
And so to consolidate it all into a single shipment.
A great guy who I hope to have the chance to buy a beer for enroute.
Thanks alot WieMing!
January 24, 2006
A day spent on an internet update of the end of December and the beginning of January, 10 hours and 20r.
January 25, 2006
A day spent just relaxing, doing laundry, and walking around town.
January 26, 2006
Like I said, tours are not normally my thing, but so many locals are recommending a tour of the nearby Delta and so I decide to give it a go.
Boat <> Delta Tour 8:00 / 8h / 40r
And suprisingly it was actually very good, one of the best tours I have been on.
The Parnaiba Delta - The third most diverse in the world, following the Mekong and the Nile.
25 local tourists and me squeeze through a maze of mangroves on a two deck 15 meter boat to see crabs sleeping in the mud, iguanas lounging in the trees, and remote sand dunes.
The included lunch was good and the guide didn't talk too much.
But the best part was in the end when they set out all the crab you can eat.
The other tourists were stunned at just how much crab I can eat.
Easily worth the fare.
A good tour.
January 27, 2006
An uneasy stomach through the night turning into the squirts by morning.
Not sure what to make of it.
Moto > Paulino Neves, Brasil 10:30 / 26643k 162k / 6h 3h
Back on decent pavement, crossing the Parnaiba River by bridge.
Stop for an oil change enroute and to clean the chain which is really showing its wear since Jericocoara.
Looks like it will need replaced soon.
Stop in Tutoia to give er a full wash of the accumulating salt.
A close and thorough wash for only 3r as the local checkers masters show me just how bad I am at checkers.
As the road returns to dirt and sand I question the practicality of the wash in the first place.
Heavy dunes on the trail to Paulino Neves where I am redirected away from continuing on to Barrerinhas directly by a drunk man on the corner.
Apparently Cabure is a better destination to see Lencois Park from and has the advantage of being an easier ride.
Plans instantly change as he waves his fingers in the distance and in all directions, describing how to get there.
Something about a beach.
Moto > Cabure, Brasil 5:15 / 26805k 20k / .5h
Over dunes to the beach where I luckily meet a guided group with a jeep waiting for low tide.
Along the hard coastal sand at low tide to the tip of the peninsula at Cabure.
Pull in sputtering after a river crossing enroute chokes the bike with its salty water.
This trip is bound to destroy the bike in one way or another.
Cabure - All of a half dozen ridiculously priced pousadas and a few dozen fishermans shacks.
Manage to negotiate pitching my tent aside one pousada as long as I agree to dinner there.
And so over a 4r chunk of watermelon (the cheapest thing I could get away with), I chat with the local guides about all the possibilities for seeing the park.
Experienced guides that take turns test driving my ride and assuring me my only real option is heading back to Barrerinhas.
The problem is that the dramatically under-sized rear sprocket I put on the bike good for highways is no good for sand dunes.
It just doesnt have the low end torque needed for driving in the heavy sand.
To try would risk burning out the clutch.
They recommend I buy a 250.
Drrrr...
Ponder the night over what to do as a swarm of mosquitoes cling to the netting outside.
January 28, 2006
Ferry > Mandacaru, Brasil 7:30 / .25h / 20r
150 bottles of compressed butane, the bike, me, and a half dozen stragglers accompany the biggest pirate in Brasil across the bay to the lighthouse at Manacaru.
20 reais for the 15 minute trip!
A pirate indeed.
Off the ferry the bike refuses to start.
Cranking for 15 minutes has it idling fine but then stalling on open throttle.
Suspect it is the water from yesterday fouling the carb.
Take it apart on the dock and clean it.
Runs fine after.
Add 4 liters of reserve "just incase" gas from the small mercadinho where lives the second biggest pirate in Brasil.
Heavy negotiating brings the price down from 3.50r a liter to 3.25r.
Nobody has to teach this man about supply and demand.
Ready to begin what is sure to be an adventure, I sit down with a Coke enjoying this final trouble-free moment.
Speaking of trouble, still haven't passed anything solid since Parnaiba.
Starting to think the Delta tour wasn't such a deal after all.
Could have been the fish in Jericocoara.
Or the mass of papaya seeds I ate.
Moto > Atins, Brasil 9:00 / 26823k 9k / .5h
If this is any indication of what is to come, I am in deep.
Heavy sand dunes cut by 2 Toyota tracks trail to Atins.
2 spills and a couple drop the gear and push parts.
After a half hour and only 9k I feel thankful to have even arrived at all.
Intensly sweating and exhausted I find my way to the Pousada do Buna as recommended by the guides.
It is here I am supposed to find help crossing the Lencois.
It is here where the owner Buna thinks I am absolutely crazy and tells me that those guides are drunkards.
That there is no way I can make it alone, but he is willing to put me in with a jeep tour of the park he has planned for tomorrow.
A half day trip to a famous Lagoon somewhere in the middle and back for 50r.
An offer that in this condition regardless of how ridiculous it truely is actually sounds tempting.
The new problem being that rooms at this posh resort are way out of my budget at 70r.
Buna a kind man offers me a place to pitch my tent, again under the pretense of dinner.
Spend the afternoon swimming in the pool and strumming guitar while considering the options.
With a dire hunger that hasn't left since Tutoia I brave the trail into "town" for lunch.
A tourist restaurant in itself outrageously expensive but a relative deal comparitively speaking.
12r for a prato feito of curried fish done in the house way, nice.
As I eat I eagerly scratch down on a napkin the detailed local map on the wall.
That and questioning people around town brings the confidence I need.
To do it myself.
More of nothing back at the pousada until dinner.
4 reais for a small cold mineral water, again the least I can get away with.
January 29, 2006
Up at 6 to be in progess by 7...
Problem 1 - Starting the bike.
More bad gas mixed with water problems.
A half hour of kicking and finally a push has me sweating and exhausted before the adventure even begins.
Sit down back at the restaurant in town for breakfast.
It looks like it is going to be a long and hot day.
Stock up on water and biscuits.
Problem 2 - Actually getting to the beach.
The heavy dune that defines the "road" through town is supposedly the worst part.
A half hour of throttle pushing under an intense sun for 3k to reach the hard sand of the beach.
From here I am to follow the beach some 12k until some fishermans shack where I am to ask where to go next.
Problem 3 - Waiting for low tide.
Since I am not sure where I am going, I have no idea what is sufficient.
Go too soon and I may get stuck on the way, wait too long and I may get stuck on the way back.
Take my chances with 8:00.
Moto > Lago Do Maro > Lago Do Rancho 8:00 / 26832k 36k / 3.5h 2.5h
Problem 4 - Getting lost.
Turn left at the coast and ride the hard wet sand for 3k to a vast grassland nobody warned me of.
Aim for a town of 6 shacks in the middle hoping to find directions.
The village of Canto Do Atins it turns out.
Referencing back to the map I drew it seems I might not be lost after all.
Straight to a small group of people busy loading up a truck.
Nobody has ever heard of Lago Do Rancho, and so instead they send me off in another direction completely.
Away from the beach over some dunes to another small village where I manage to find someone to show me their lago.
Lago Do Maro - Not the dune surrounded oasis lake I was described but a nice swim to cool off.
Pointed back to Canto with the advice of asking further at the restaurant.
A restaurant I don't remember seeing but somehow magically appears on the return.
As I sit for a drink the friendly lady and her son fill me in on how to get to Lago Do Rancho, a lake they say only Buna really knows about.
And the only reason they know is because his tour groups stop there enroute for drinks.
Infact, Buna's group passed by just a half hour earlier.
"you should see the tracks"
And so off I go back to the beach following faint tracks in the wet sand faithfully recording the directions for future travellers.
Really too bad I no longer have my GPS.
Exactly 12k from the restaurant along the beach you will pass 2 grass huts.
Another 1k and there is a third hut.
Before the third hut cut directly inland toward the dunes.
If Buna has passed within a day or two you should see the tracks.
Don't ride in the tracks though as it is easier besides them in the fresh sand.
This will take you immediately through a swampy area.
After 3k from the beach you reach a series of small lagoons.
Cut through them to the right and as you do look out for some tall sticks in the sand.
Follow these markers over the dunes for another 2k until you see the lagoon ahead and on the left.
Wave to Buna's group on the return.
A desert oasis of sorts, crystal clearand blue in the middle of a sea of white sand dunes.
Absolutely beautiful and worth the trip even during this dry season.
The best time to visit is just after March.
Some quick photos and swim.
Back before tide returns.
Moto > Atins, Brasil 12:00 / 26868k 25k / 1h
Back to Atins much faster and easier now knowing the route.
Verify the distances and times just to make sure...
5k and 15 min to the beach
13.8k and 20 min to the restaurant
6.2k and 25 min to Atins (Posto De Saude)
The hardest part of the trip is indeed the 3k of sand leaving Atins.
It is really not a hard trip once you reach the grasslands outside of town.
Back by 1pm and celebrate the accomplishment with another fish lunch.
Actually I ordered something completely different, but that doesn't seem to matter.
You have to be careful with fish in Brasil.
They do not do anything about removing the bones.
Infact, they seem to cut the fish in a way that makes the bones even worse.
Moto > Barrerinhas, Brasil 4:00 / 26895k 37k / 2.25h
Back to the pousada to pick up my stuff and on my way out I run across the
Tropical Adventures Expedition.
A half dozen 4 wheelers, each loaded with an older couple paying 350r for the day trip from Barrerinhas to Atins.
An expedition that stops at Bunas for a lunch buffet before returning to Barrerinhas straight through the parks dunes.
Alfonso, the friendly owner and guide invites me to follow the group back.
An incredible adventure indeed!
32k of heavy sand and dunes, expertly guided by an ex-moto champion.
Trades out his 4 wheeler with me to show me how it is done (and possibly burning out the clutch in the process).
An amazing trip straight through the middle of the park over the dunes.
An absolutely incredible experience and possibly even worth the 350r if I were paying.
Constant foot trapping to avoid spills has torn the webbing from my Tevas.
Switch to reserve as I sputter to the ferry crossing at Barrerinhas by dusk.
Purely on vapors I pull into the first real gas station since Zaka, amazed by the coincidence.
11.8 liters and 230k ago, completely shocked at the high consumption.
A record low mileage of 20kpl, where above 33kpl is normal.
Glad I didn't try crossing it alone after all.
Thank Alfonso for his great generosity.
If you got the money, I would have to recommend his tour.
Otherwise, I would have to recommend a 250 with an over-sized sprocket and double the gas.
A heavy and demanding 230k trip that easily aged the bike 5000k.
Crash hard sunburn and busted in a 15r pousada negotiated down to 10r.
January 30, 2006
A day of rest and repair.
Again I revisit cleaning the bike and the chain and the air filter.
In the process somehow the rear tire goes flat as a result of a broken stem.
That makes two broken stems in Brasil.
Another coincidence which I cannot believe didn't leave me stranded in the middle of the park.
I think it resulted in having lowered the tire pressure for the sand and then raising it back after.
The tube must have squewed itself with all the bumping around.
Replaced with the Chinese spare.
Find a hardware store that has the original side cover bolts for the engine.
Replace the lot just for good looks and kicks.
The hottest day I can remember in Brasil.
2 showers and 2 liters of water.
Midday siesta.
January 31, 2006
Onward to Sao Luis.
Moto > Sao Luis, Brasil 9:00 / 26933k 263k / 5.5h 2h
Smooth sailing over some of the finest asphalt I have experienced in northern Brasil.
Take a break in Rosario and for a fill and notice the rear chain sprocket popping bad.
A look at the sprocket finds the teeth bent at 45 degrees and threatening to break off.
Spend a half hour removing the rear wheel and reversing the direction of the sprocket.
Half speed for the first 25k to give it a chance to break into its new grooves without breaking completely.
The teeth have bent back to normal and it appears to be fine.
Soon the chain and sprockets will need replaced.
The usual hour of circling around the city searching for the historic center.
A cheap prato feito on the way in for 3r.
The standard white rice, red beans, plain spaghetti noodles, and your choice of beef or chicken.
A side of cabbage salad and farinha de puba, a grapenuts toothbreaker version of what was farofa further south.
Impossible to eat without cracking a tooth and with no flavor, not sure why they bother.
Check into one of the dodgiest stays so far.
Pensionato 3 Irmaos, a 2m x 2m cardboarded off section of an attic for 10r.
Squeeze myself through the .5m wide by 3m tall door that apparently is the result of cutting a real door in half and using it on two rooms.
The kind of place prostitutes stay when they aren't working.
Doubt it includes cafe.
Walk about the historic town, old as dust and with lots of character.
Down to Praia Grande, a 2k wide mud river bed during low tide.
To the heart of the old city tourist district where in the plaza the police are doing a parade for themselves infront of their own team of photographers, apparently to see how nicely they dress.
All the while a man on the corner is peeing on someones car.
Back along the main shopping strip in desperate search for necessities.
A professional dental supply store that doesn't sell toothpaste.
A Bank of Brasil that doesn't change money.
A simple and plain baseball hat in a country where fashion is all about loud neon thrift store primary colors full of trashy marketing logos.
Stop in the plaza for a very nice guarana shake of papaya, avocado, honey, ice, milk and guarana powder and topped with nuts and chocolate, 1.50r.
A new addiction.
Back at the pension am confronted with the decision of keeping my room with a window and no fan or switching to a room without a window but with a fan.
It seems that having the two together would be too much luxury and so the absolutely mental lady is creating a stir.
The room with the fan and no window wins for fear of the mosquitoes.
Move into another cardboard box, this time plastered in psalms of Deus and various bible propaganda.
This is exactly the type of place you need to pray for.
Crumbs and what not falls from the ceiling.
Jesus!
A bathroom door that opens halfway before hitting the toilet.
Climb over and in.
February 1, 2006
A day walking back around the historic streets snapping some photos, on film ofcourse.
The search for the discrete baseball hat continues.
I have now unwittingly become a sponsor of Bad Boy, the best I could do.
I was just happy it was navy blue.
February 2, 2006
Moto > Porto Itaqui, Brasil 7:45 / 27197k 13k / .25h
Small push out of town to Porto Itaqui where the ferry cuts me across Bata Sao Marcos to save me a good 200k on the trip to Belem.
Miss the 8am ferry by 5 minutes and am left to wait for the next one at 10.
Sit down for a Bolo do Tapioca (cheesy gluey coconut loaf with seeds) and a cupuasu juice for 1.50r.
Take some of the time heading back to the nearest gas station to take advantage of the cheapest gas in Brasil so far, 2.25r per liter.
Ferry > Cujupe, Brasil 10:00 / 1.5h / 22r (with moto)
A nice ride across a wide river bay.
Moto > Pinheiro, Brasil 11:45 / 27215k 85k / 1.75h .5h
A rough road heavy in surprise potholes.
Considering the ferry fare and the condition of this road I might recommend just taking the long way around, assuming it is any better.
Some nice palms in the swamp type scenery have me stop for a photo.
Having cleaned the lens on the boat has me waiting for it to dry.
Stop in Pinheiro for rest and lunch.
Cupuasu juice seems to be the local favorite.
A fruit that kind of tastes like fish glue at first and later isn't so bad.
I prefer caju.
Moto > Nunes Freire, Brasil 2:15 / 27302k 113k / 1.5h
Long, hot, and bumpy trip onward to meet up with the long looping main road at Nunes Freire, a dusty truck stop.
The end of a 200k road joining both the cheapest and the priciest gas of all Brasil, 2.80r per liter.
Fill the tank and continue on.
Moto > Santa Luzia, Brasil 4:00 / 27415k 150k / 2.25h
Sunset as I pull into the broadway avenue truck stop of Santa Luzia.
Check into the only pousada in town, a homestay with a friendly old couple, 15r.
Out "on town" to find dinner.
Back to the strip and 1k back out of town the way I came in to the "Bar E Churrascurinho Santa Luzia".
A redneck hole in the wall dive which serves fresh and all you can eat churrasco for only 4r.
Very good, perhaps one of the best churrascos I have had in Brasil.
A highly recommended stop.
February 3, 2006
Moto > Belem, Brasil 9:00 / 27565k
Stopped twice enroute for mirrors and ofcourse let go on a warning.
Getting tired of the hassles I break down and get the smallest mirros available for 20r.
Mirrors that will never get used nor asked for again, I am sure.
Pull into Belem by midday, the end of the road for me.
Plans to take a ferry for 5 days along the Amazon River to Manaus, avoiding a few thousand km of supposedly nasty road.
Enter the city along the port road and am instantly flagged down this time by hawkers about the boat instead of police about my mirrors.
A boat that is leaving in a few hours that I have no interest in right now.
I need atleast a day to relax and settle a bit.
The next one is on the "segunda feira" (monday) at 6pm.
150r for me in hammock class and another 150r for the bike.
A pricey trip, but surely beats doing it by bike in the rain.
Pick up my ticket at their agent office.
Happen across the Fortaleza Hotel (where all the backpackers stay) by accident.
A dodgy dorm bed in a room of 8 others for 8r, a relative deal actually.
Walk in to a recent arrival of gringos and their story of their bus being assaulted by gunmen on their way from Sao Luis.
A spanish man, a couple french, a canadian, an american, a swiss, and an english all with nothing.
Apparently during the slowdowns over the potholes they stop the buses and take everyones money.
Buses that take the long looping main road around for some reason.
Guess the shortcut is a better route after all.
February 4, 2006
The second time someone has stolen my motorcycle tools.
Out from their under the seat hiding place and on the floor for an hour while I solidly fix my guitar.
The bridge just can't take it anymore with all the fluctuations in climate and rain and is threatening to let go.
Screw on a bridge saddle to take the stress off 20r and while I am at it swap out the strings for new 20r.
Sounds and looks much better and shouldn't give me anymore troubles.
Return to put the screwdriver back and the tools are gone.
My luck has taken a swing down since Salvador.
First the digicam assault, second the bad slide film, third the "pedestrian" incident, fourth the missing GPS,
fifth the busting of both tire tubes, sixth the crab shits, seventh the failing sandals, eighth the failing guitar, and the tools makes nine.
And to make it all even worse I discover number ten while at the local internet cafe in the afternoon.
My ISRG stock dropped 25% yesterday, for a loss of over $20,000.
Gone, all the money I had planned to buy that dream house under the rock with Igatu.
I thought bad things were supposed to happen in twos, not tens.
Been playing alot of online chess lately.
Site 'www.freechess.org', User 'groovyd'.
Anyone up for a game?
February 5, 2006
Rosa is tossed about meeting me in Venezuela.
To go by land or by air is the question.
Which is cheaper, which is easier, when.
The date keeps getting delayed.
A nothing day preparing for tomorrows boat.
Stock up on 2000mg of Secnidazole 10r in case the "issues" that haven't gone away since the crabs get worse.
Two boats arrive from Manaus, filling the hostel to capacity.
Out with the new gang to an alternative bar at night.
Lively place overlooking river and overloaded with girls on the prowl.
February 6, 2006
The hotel owner is a money grubbing godmother type.
She loves to put on long and loud arguements between her staff especially early in the morning.
Heavy rain outside signals the first of what I am assuming with all my luck will be a 5 day storm.
5-Day Amazon Ferry to Manaus
Ferry > Manaus, Brasil 19:30 / 150r me + 150r moto
February 6-11, 2006
What in the end suprisingly turned out to be 5 perfect days and nights up the Amazon River.
Aside from a few stops enroute and in Santarem to change boats it was smooth sailing on the "Love Boat".
The gang, Yolanda & Lucia of Barcelona, Tomotsugu & Shoko of Kyoto, Alex of Quebec 'not Canada', & Talya of TelAviv.
A columbian man on a Yamaha 650 returning home after having rounded Ushuiaia in a month.
The activities, playing guitar, drinking caipirinhas, winning chess & checkers, responding to the meal whistle, and hanging out in hammocks.
A crowded deck, decent food but nothing special, and nice scenery.
River dolphins.
February 11, 2006
Arrive at 3:15 and quickly everyone goes their own way.
Alone again.
But not for long as hawkers converge offering to lift my bike off the boat and up 10 meters of stairs to the street for 10r.
A sweaty fighting hassle after being confused by the 10r charged for using the dock itself and thinking that was for the hauling.
An arguement that ends up putting my bike back on the boat and being surrounded by assholes all against me.
Too stubborn to accept what I thought was a ploy, I try unloading it myself while hundreds taunt me.
Half way up the stairs after the motor stalls and the battery dies I give in.
Cough up another 10r for them to finish the job.
They win.
Moto > Opera Plaza 5:00 / 27788k 8k
Tired from the boat hassles I head straight to the center in search of a room.
An endless hassle on one way roads that make it impossible to get to where you want to go even though it is only one street away.
The opera plaza, where stands the first opera house of South America, an impressive building.
A hotel along the side street settled from 40r down to 20r for an AC room with queen bed.
Still with an uneasy stomach I decide to down the pills.
The start of weeks long steel mouth and orange pee.
Wash my clothes.
A quick walk about.
Around town things are already pumping up for Carnaval to begin on the 24th.
February 12, 2006
Move hotels to something of half the price but without inside parking, and a whole lot dodgier.
The Hotel Rondonia, where condom wrappers seem to serve as floor tile along the dingy hall to my room.
Hot and humid, dark and dirty, but it is cheaper and suprisingly includes breakfast.
A walk down to the port market to resupply my toolbox.
A couple screwdrivers, a couple fixed box wrenches, a chinese 8" adjustable wrench, and a couple allen heads, 15r.
Begin work on Stealth Send, a tool i have had in mind for months.
A small and simple windows utility that silently FTPs all the files in a given folder to a given server and survives reboots.
A tool that will allow my photo downloads to be unattended.
February 13, 2006
Fine tune and finish up Stealth Send in the morning.
Publish the website.
Run across Talya in a tour agency asking about a 5 day tour of the jungle nearby.
A boat over the river, a 45 minute drive to Rio Parana de Araca, motorboat to a lodge with hammocks, assorted activities from there.
Canoe rides, fishing piranas, alligator and sloth spotting, jungle hiking.
A package deal that they are asking an absurd amount of money for.
750 reais, equivalent to 150 reais a day!
Too rich for me.
Plans to do it myself and see how far I get.
Spend the evening catching up while waiting for Alex's tour to begin, which never does for one reason or another.
Talya is off tomorrow on a 2 day and 300r speedboat to the border with Columbia.
Alex's tour gets postponed for one reason or another.
She teaches me how to say "Lama Ma Kara" while waving my hands to signify "Who Do You Think You Are" in Hebrew.
February 14, 2006
Nice morning sun.
Around town for a few pictures and the shoulder strap breaks, sending the camera to the ground hard.
Breaks the door latch off, spoiling the film inside but otherwise it seems to work.
A repair center wants 20r to glue a pin in it.
Decide to just tape it shut instead.
SLRs are too big and bulky for travel.
Will get rid of it after I finish the 15 rolls of film I still have from a year ago.
Moto <> Porto Ceasa, Brasil 2:00 / 27796 30k / 3h 2h
A quick ride to the Porto Ceasa to find out more about the ferry crossing for tomorrow.
Boats leave at 6, 7, 10, and 12.
Stop at a mechanic enroute for a valve adjustment, 5r.
Not that it needs it but it just seemed appropriate at the time.
An adjustment that actually makes no sense to do with the engine hot, but I do anyways.
Tack on a few small electrical repairs related to why the battery died on me off the boat.
Apparently the unloading hassles tugged a wire loose from the rectifier to the battery.
An already weak battery that without a charge loses its juice fast.
Continue my search for tools.
The parts shop next door gifts me with a perfect spark plug tube wrench, something often hard to find.
Amazingly, he has one old Hyosung original drive chain that I should have bought for only 20r but didn't.
The never ending search for a 12mm bolt to serve as an allen head for the awkward front wheel axle.
It is amazingly hard to find millimeteric hardware in South America.
Even though all the bikes are Japanese, all the cars are American.
Everything is Standard, a system I really wish we abandoned.
After 4 days on the drugs, the itchy wormy feeling has finally left my ass.
I think the bug is finally gone, even though the steel mouth will linger for another week.
February 15, 2006
Moto > Porto Ceasa, Brasil 11:30 / 27826k 13k / .25h
Back to the port on my very own 5 day jungle tour.
Ferry > Careiro, Brasil 12:15 / 1h / 7r (including moto)
Across the river on the ferry to Careiro, a small fishing village on stilts.
Moto > Parana De Araca 1:30 / 27839k 40k / 1h
A paved road takes me an easy 40k to the bridge over the river.
Quickly find a man willing to look after my bike for me as another offers me a ride down the river.
To drop me off at a tourist lodge enroute.
Boat > Mamori Adventure Lodge 1:30 / 27839k 40k / 1h
Sheeting down rain as we sputter down the river in a 7 meter 5hp longtail.
Past alligators and birds and into the "jungle" with cows.
Not quite what I expected, but it is only the start I try to remind myself.
Completely drenched and dropped off at what appears to be an abandoned 30m pagoda.
Walls of wood and bugscreen and sheltered by a galvanized roof.
A roof that roars of the rains renewed vigor as I step inside.
A half dozen hammocks and a table with coffee.
Having escaped the storm I strip off the layers and hang them to dry as small skrawny man walks in.
"Bienvenido a Mamori Adventure Lodge" he proudly announces, at the same time offering a coffee in one hand and to shake the other.
Juan, the owner of this fine camp.
The same camp that all the big tour agencies send their package tour kids to from Manaus.
It is where the food and guides and day trip tours are actually organized from.
A friendly man who quickly makes it clear that the other guests are out fishing and so now would be a good time to strike a deal.
And so after a few fast and easy rounds of bargaining we both converge on 50r a day, a third of what the others are paying and for the same tour.
He is however glad that I came directly as the agencies pay him even less.
Not to tell the others...
Ofcourse.
The rains pass as I settle myself into a room upstairs with a bed and a mosquito net, something that normally costs extra.
Quickly Juan organizes my very own guide for the remainder of the day and a canoe to do some pirana fishing myself.
A hook through a chunk of raw meat on a fixed line at the end of a stick.
Slapping the stick on top of the water to attract the predator.
They bite fast and you have to jerk even faster to snag them.
Two small ones with big teeth.
Paddle back through another wave of rain.
The other groups slowly return from their fishing trips.
I can hardly contain myself as I see Alex walk through the door.
Surprise!
He is convinced I must be following him.
A quality dinner with the gang.
A crazy japanese man who folds origami and wears a headband that reminds me of some world war suicide pilot.
A couple swedish zoo owners just back from 10 days camping "deep" in the jungle, one with terrible bad breath.
A couple more swedish excited to give a shot at a few days of camping themselves.
Alex, the one who thinks I am following him.
And me.
The guide catches a live alligator and passes it around.
This is great!
The best part might be just knowing what I have saved.
February 16, 2006
More heavy rain through the night has me decide against a hike with the rest of the gang in the morning.
It clears by the afternoon and Juan organizes a motorboat to take me to 3 Bocas where the rivers join to see the pink and grey whales.
Curious creatures who leave behind trails of bubbles under the boat and surface from not so far to take a look.
They are smart animals that hang out here to catch the fish as they head down the river.
Take a swim myself.
Back at camp we are served an excellent pirana fish lunch.
The food here is very good, perhaps in itself worth the stay.
Ofcourse it is the same old rice and beans and meat, but prepared better somehow.
After lunch the rest of the gang heads back toward Manaus as Alex and I are send for our "deep" adventure.
A motorboat down the river and across the Mamori lake to the "real" jungle camp for a couple days.
Boat > "Deep Jungle" 2:00 / 3h
Over 3 hours by 5hp put-put across a seemingly infinitely long and wide lake.
A trip with very little scenery that leaves me brain dead bored, imagining the other things I could be doing instead.
They could really improve this part of the tour by using a real motor boat and cutting the trip down to a half hour.
Better yet to even offer waterskiing along the way.
The perfect lake for a pull.
By dusk we are paddling the final stretches through swamp grass to the "camp".
A jungle shore not really any more "real" then the camp we came from.
Throw a plastic tarp over a few sticks already in the ground and hang our hammocks.
Make a fire for dinner.
An awfully over-salted and not-so-nice chicken and rice.
No animal sightings.
Straight to bed.
February 17, 2006
Up early and another fire for breakfast.
A couple boiled eggs and a roll.
Pack out and paddle back through the same grass to a second site where we do our "jungle trek".
A couple hours along a worn trail and again with absolutely no animal sightings.
The guide shows us a few interesting plants, including the Brasilian Nut, but nothing really amazing.
He lets us know that he is getting 20 reais a day no matter how many people he shows around.
Obviously looking for a guilt tip.
Back for another fire for lunch.
The same salty chicken, this time with noodles instead of rice.
A few hours afternoon nap.
Boat > "Native Home" 2:00 / 3h
Back in the boat and back the way we came for another 3 hours of mind numbing nothing.
Arrive at our "Native Home" for the night, just as my mp3 fades out on Dire Straits, Brothers In Arms.
Wooden planks on slilts at the river bank with a half corregated and half palm roof.
8 kids, 6 dogs, 4 cows, a dozen chicken, and a heard of pigs; all the animals you would expect to see in the jungle.
I take a bath in the lake as Alex and the guide go off for some more pirana fishing.
Beer can candles light the dinner table, set with plain oily spaghetti, rice, and Spam.
Of all things, Spam!
Why we didnt atleast eat the 3 fish they caught?
I continue to ponder this silly excursion as wire my hammock across the living room.
A hammock that instantly glues you up with over 10 years of body odor sweat caked on that no one ever washed off.
As I try to fall asleep the "Natives" are glued to the TV in the corner of the room.
A faded Black & White that still manages to kick up a good bit of light and sound, but fails to overpower the "wild" animals outside and the snoring man next to me.
I highly recommend skipping this "Deep Jungle" part of the package and just spending a couple days at Juan's lodge.
You will see the alligators and the whales and the sloths and catch your piranas and eat good food.
Save yourself the extra 2 days and the money, especially if you are paying the top dollar tour.
Its a scam, this bit the most i think.
I mean, imagine paying 150r ($75) a day to sit in a slow boat for 6 hours to eat spam in a poor ramshackle on a lake of mosquitoes and sleep in stench next to a TV and a snoring man.
Hardly the best vacation I can imagine for such a price.
My only salvation is that I am paying a third.
Still it dissappoints me.
February 18, 2006
A slow bog by bog paddle back by afternoon in a desperate attempt to atleast spot one animal.
Caught, a sloth that our "professional guide" bats out of his tree, breaking the branch he is sleeping on to drop him 10 meters into the water.
Splashed out of a dream into a nightmare and scaring into a slow struggle to get away.
Sloths make for slow and easy targets.
Even swimming as fast as he can takes him only a few meters before the fat man comes back down from the tree and we paddle out to grab him.
A funny strange animal with huge claws and a dazzled and drugged look on his sleepy face.
A picture with the wet rodent and the guide and Alex to remember it all.
One of the few pictures I have taken here.
I am more just thankful that we will finally get to return to the lodge.
Happy to be back, I begin work immediately on an idea that has been brewing since this episode began, the Daryl Board.
A homemade wakeboard made out of a short piece of 1x10 with a stub of a fin nailed on and some old shoes strapped on using more nails and string.
A piece of PVC pipe and 15 meters of rope and a empty gallon bottle makes for a pull line.
Manage to convince Juan to take me out on their big 40hp for a test pull.
Already a hard start on a 40, and a narrow board at that finds me a half dozen unsuccessful drags and then a broken handle in rope burned hands.
Out of the water to fix the handle with an insert of steel piping and to bandage up my cuts.
Back out with rubber kitchen gloves, a new determination, and a new strategy.
To let the boat think it is winning by letting it pull me over and then at the last second to stand up.
3 more drags and on the 4th shot I stand!
Wakeboarding the Amazon!
In the end, the best part of this "tour".
The suprise on Juan's face is something I will never forget.
He has never seen anyone ski before and says I am the first person ever to do it on this river.
A pioneer it seems.
And so back in the lodge I paint the board up with a proper logo and hang it for future generations to enjoy.
The legend of the Daryl Board.
February 19, 2006
A lazy decision to spend one more day, and to make the most of my board.
A pull in the morning after breakfast and another pull before dinner.
All of my muscles are completely sore and spent.
Shows me just how out of shape I have become since those good old days of Club Chuck's at Lake Nacimiento.
Days when I could ski the lake for hours without a problem.
An afternoon resting it off by reading "The Namesake" by Jumpa Lahiri.
An interesting story about a cross cultural family and their relationships.
Very well written and with a keen insight into culture.
Expresses many ideas I have learned through travel.
Two California girls arrive, one cross cultured herself, parents from Vietnam.
Some good catchup and chat and guitar.
Nice to meet people from the states.
February 20, 2006
A final pull in the morning and pack out after lunch.
In total, 6 days and 5 nights at 250 reais all inclusive.
As I said, 2 of those nights and 100 of those reais were wasted, but that is hind sight.
The skiing in the end was the best part.
If you go there, ask for a pull on the Daryl Board.
Goodbye Juan, it was fun.
Boat > Bridge 2:00 / .25h
Find my moto happily waiting for me back at the bridge.
Happy, but choked in water after bathing in the rain for the past 5 days.
Driving er down the ramp and pushing er back up for a half hour with an old man proves useless.
Tear er apart to empty the carb and some bad fuel from the tank.
Another round of pushing eventually brings the bike to life.
Maybe giving the man 5r to care for the bike was too much.
Moto > Castanho, Brasil 3:30 / 27883k 60k / .75h
A smooth ride to the end of the road at the ferry crossing in Castanho, only out of curiosity to see the end of the road.
Stop for an early dinner at a diner river side and decide to stay the night before heading back to Manaus.
Check into my typical 10r shifty pousada.
Castanho, a small 1 street town existing only because of the ferry.
Nothing to see and nothing to do.
Call it an early night.
February 21, 2006
Moto > Careiro, Brasil 8:00 / 27947k 102k / 1.25h
Ferry > Porto Ceasa, Brasil 10:15 / 1h / 7r
Moto > Manaus, Brasil 11:15 / 28050k 12k / .25h
The same chain of transport back to Manaus.
Check back in at the same hotel, this time full for the Carnaval kickoff in 2 days and with only a 20r AC room available.
An air conditioner that i must take apart to fix before it even turns on and then after carefully adjust to not give a screeching sound.
In the end it doesn't really cool the air at all.
Out and across the street to treat myself for my savings from the tour and the fact that I am leaving Brasil to an all you can eat gourmet rodizo and sushi buffet at Bufalo for 25r.
A posh buffet for foreigners and ultra wealthy locals alike.
I manage my fill of sushi.
Interestingly, the people at the table beside me are japanese.
A good dine but be careful because they charge you extra for drinks and even coffee.
February 22, 2006
Moto > Presidente Figueiredo, Brasil 8:00 / 28064k 126k / 2.5h .5h
The never-ending urban sprawl of Manaus.
20k out from the center and I find myself going back and forth 2 times in search of the turnoff to Boa Vista.
An interesting situation considering it must be one of the only principle roads in the region and by far the most important.
You would once again at the very least expect a sign of some sort somewhere, but you would be once again wrong.
Immediately after the large fiscal checkpoint you turn left down what looks like a back entry to a gas station.
Pass through the station and then turn right onto what looks like a neighborhood road.
After a kilometer you will finally see a sign assuring you that you made the right moves.
107k to Presidente Figueiredo, 208k to Reserva Indigena, 758k to Boa Vista, & 2250k to Caracas.
Somehow I seriously doubt the accuracy of their measurement through Venezuela, and even somewhat their measurements through Brasil.
Finally all of the heavy and dusty traffic of the city is gone.
A decent road through what actually appears to be a jungle closer to "real" then the tour.
Stop at the Cachoera Da Asframa on the way into Presidente Figueiredo.
3r entry talked down from 5r, 5 meters of water, not worth it.
Pull through town to find only expensive pousadas living off the promise of the local waterfalls.
Pick up a map at the Pousada Pedra, where the man explains to me that the good falls are down the side road toward Balbina.
On my way out of town I stop to play some chess against a few kids at the local boys club.
Pretty good players, but not good enough.
Moto > Balbina, Brasil 3:15 / 28205k 80k / 2.75h 1.5h
Hit the road to Balbinas stopping at the various falls enroute.
Falls at Km12 - 5r & 10 meters, nice and worth a visit. Since dropping my camera it has been acting up and eating film.
Irregular electrical glitches and now the batteries are low.
Falls at Km57 - free & nothing. Either always nothing or just now there is not enough water to make something of it.
Maybe that is why the man at the gate let me in free.
The road turns into an airstrip for a few k before reaching a checkpoint for visitors entering Balbina.
They need your license and name incase they start experiencing trouble with their hydroelectric dam I guess.
Sign in and within another 10k I am at the end of the road in Balbina.
A strange town planned around the dam they built not too long ago.
A seemingly rich community disconnected to the Brasil around them.
A sterile place with a sort of cookie cutter feel.
I guess people move here for free electricity.
Check into Pousada Po Do Sol (Sunset) for 15r, half of what she initially asked.
There isn't alot of tourism here, atleast not right now.
February 23, 2006
A solid night of sleep in a dark, cool, and silent room without mosquitoes and on a new matress.
One of the good things about a town so planned out and recent.
Everything is still fresh.
Moto > Presidente Figueireda, Brasil 9:00 / 28300k 100k / 5.25h 3.75h
Slowly make my way back to PF (spelling the name always slips me, as most names in Brasil do).
Stop at the dam lake for a swim and to learn how to cast a fishing net from the small pier.
Here the jungle is much fuller and more "real" and even accessible then the tour.
I am convinced now that even paying 50r a day is a waste.
Just come here and take a walk.
Catch yourself a fish bigger then a pirana.
On to the dam hospital/zoo where they are breeding and repairing the endangered animals as a result of building the dam and poachers.
Peixe Boi (manati), lontra (otter), ariranha (giant otter), and various birds, turtles, and other weasels are on display.
Nice work and a friendly guide that I can see truely cares.
Free and interesting.
And finally on to the dam itself.
A private tour arranged from the zoo.
The first time I have seen the real workings inside a hydroelectric plant.
Walked through all the rooms and sectors by a very friendly plant management official.
A small plant relative to Itaipe but still big enough to generate about half of the power for Manaus.
5 generators cranking out 50kw.
Free and very interesting.
One more missed waterfall on the way back.
Falls at Km13 - 3r & 3 meters, nice spot for camping but the falls themselves are nothing special.
I recommend the dam attractions over the waterfalls themselves.
Back in PF I complete my final ATM transaction in Brasil.
An event worth celebration.
At the end of the usual line of a half dozen people filing their taxes.
By now I have learnt that the only reliable machines are Bradesco.
Moto > Junia, Brasil 3:00 / 28400k 225k / 5.25h 1.25h
The road onward.
Happen across Julian an englishman with roots in the states bicycling in the other direction.
Stop to say "wow" to each other and chat over travel things for a good hour, through a passing rain.
He has been on the road for 9 months now down from California.
Interesting bloke.
Pass the Indigenous Reserve Park gates just moments before their closing time at 6.
A 150 k reserve with "no stopping" and "no pictures" and really nothing to see anyways once you cross the brilliant bridge that marks the entrance.
Through the dark, dodging potholes against a slow but steady stream of oncoming trucks, highbeams from every one.
High prices on the two pousadas of the small 4 snackstand truck stop village of Junia at the end of the reserve.
Apparently the nearest place the indians can come to get drunk.
Attempt to setup camp in an emtpy lot and am barked out of town by a pack of stray dogs.
Just a kilometer further along I find a roadside mining area of a strange iron pellet earth.
Holds the tent stakes well and conforms to provide great back support.
A perfect place for the night.
The howling monkeys I missed in the jungle.
February 24, 2006
Back into Junia for cafe.
A group of hungovers who don't seem to have any interest in serving you unless you are also.
Eventually a couple eggs overeasy and bread make it to the table.
The TV on the wall reminds me that Carvanal has begun!
Moto > Boa Vista, Brasil 8:00 / 28630k 436k / 7h 1h
Hightail it the final stretch to Boa Vista to witness the party.
At 8:30 I pass the Equator, marked by a big steel boomerang roadside at S 0.00'00" & W 60.38'45" extending into a painted line across the road.
Fail at a few attempts to balance things on the line.
I heard you can balance an egg on it.
Onward the thick jungle eventually relaxes into a rolling average Brasilian countryside.
Pull into Caracarai for a late lunch at 12:45.
Gas has climbed from 2.50r per liter in Manaus to 2.85r per liter here.
Looking forward to Venezuela, where I hear the gas is almost free.
The TVs are all tuned into Carnaval in Salvador, or perhaps that is the only thing being broadcast.
The final 50k and the rolling and lightly forested countryside fades to flat pampa.
Heavy winds by the time I finally reach Boa Vista.
Check into a reasonable pousada, the Lua Nova with a matrimonial room for 15r.
A pousada I found not through the advice of the tourist office, because they lost their "notebook" of hotels and otherwise have absolutely no clue; but through a friendly local visiting the tourist office who himself knows alot more then the whole lot of them.
Wash my clothes and head out for the opening ceremonies.
Boa Vista - A Clean and modern city where all roads lead to the center, convenient for gringos like me during events like this.
On the way in curiosity and hunger leads me into a "Bob's Burger", a brasilian copy of Mc Donalds.
A place where a "value meal" doesn't much seem like a value at 15.50r.
A sloppy bacon double cheese with a small fries and an Ovaltine shake.
Normally brasilian food is way too salty, but this has the rest looking like a low sodium diet.
Only able to stomach the half of it.
Absolutely aweful and at only 3 times the price of something way better.
I made this mistake so you don't have to.
A big mistake.
Carnaval in Boa Vista - Nothing like carnaval in Salvador but good enough for me.
Starts by selecting the king and queen who are to preside over the 5 day fiesta.
It is where the fattest man with the jolliest smile gets paired up with the fittest women with the best ass.
Having judged the 4 men and 18 women contestants down to the winners, the keys to the city are handed over and the king orders the party to begin.
From then on it is music onstage and anything goes on the streets.
Boa Vista is actually kinda lame.
Kinda wish I was able to see it in Salvador, but my visa ends on the 28th.
February 25, 2006
Small web update to finish off the second half of January, 3 hours and 6r.
The second night of Carnaval.
More bands on stage and more crazy people in the streets.
But not really as crazy as I was expecting.
See it in Salvador.
February 26, 2006
At 2.90r per liter the gas has reached its all time high.
Moto > Guyana Border, Brasil 10:30 / 29082k 125k / 1.75h
Against the heaviest winds since Patagonia I ride the long straight and dull road to the border with Guyana.
To visit this forgotten english colony only for one day and only out of curiosity and proximity.
Check out of Brasil in under 5 minutes without having to hassle with the moto.
The friendly guard lets me keep my papers intact.
Guyana
VISA
Not necessary for a day in Lethem
ECONOMY
200 Guyanese Dollars = $1 : 80g = 1r
Diem = $/d ($ over Days)
Extras = ...
Food = 1200g (Chinese to Same as Brasil)
Room = 2000g-4000g
Gas = 1000g/g
NOTES
Feels strange speaking english in South America
I can't say much about Guyana after one day in Lethem
Lethem is a ghost town
ESSENTIAL GUYANESE
They speak essentially english but with a Jamaican jive
Moto > Lethem, Guyana 12:30 / 29207k 1k / .25h
Just over the border and the bridge over the river that should be welcoming you to Guyana is under construction.
According to the locals, it has been that way for over 2 years and looks no closer to finished today.
A 20m wide lazy river where they are all waiting for a ferry to cross.
A ferry which runs every few hours.
They point me to a spot just down the banks where you can cross as long as you don't mind getting wet.
And so I cross waist deep in water, suprisingly making it without the moto complaining too much.
Have a good laugh over the whole scene with a couple black men on the other side.
Two men who I have to really listen hard to to understand.
It is english they speak, but it jives like Jamaican.
Speaking english in South America feels strange.
A small dirt road onward leads me unwittingly to the T&M Restaurant.
The food doesn't look bad so I take a seat for a plate of basically the same food from Brasil.
Shocked by the bill, converted from guyana dollars into reais at 14r!
Double the price of Brasil!
Point me in the direction of town.
A dusty maze of dirt roads in random directions with no obvious focus.
Pointed from one guesthouse to the next in search of anything reasonable.
First the Takatu Guesthouse, 3500g for a room or 1000g for a hammock.
Second the Savannah Inn, 3000g and up.
Third and finally the unmarked Ameridian Hostel, the 2 story warehouse across from police station.
Where the kind owner lady first warns me that it might not be up to my standards.
An otherwise empty dorm room with 4 bunk beds, absolutely fine and infact better then most of my usual stays.
"The price?"
"What you like"
Seals the deal.
Out for a ride around the dirt roads.
Absolutely nothing to see or do, probably because it is Sunday but I doubt this town sees much activity ever.
Stop in the only open "curiosity shop" where an old man serves me a pepsi for 120g and a pack of cookies for another 100g.
He settles for whatever spare change in reais I have in my pocket.
I am his only customer today and he is happy for the company.
Talks me up a storm, none of it made much sense.
Points me down the road to the "gas station", run out of someones garage.
Add a gallon to the tank (crudely measured to the side of a plastic bottle +-1l) and am charged $1000.
Shocked at first until realizing she means Guyanese Dollars.
Hand her a 20r and she changes me 600g.
Apparently there are 80g to 1r and 200g to $1us.
So basically gas costs $5 per gallon here.
About the same as Brasil.
With nothing to do I find myself back at the hostel trying to fix my speedometers bouncy needle.
A sealed unit that cannot be fixed without cutting it open.
With nothing else to do I sit in the room and play guitar.
Strong winds blow through the slated glass window.
Out after dark for dinner.
A small chinese dive I saw on my way in.
A decent rendition of Chicken fried rice for 500g (6r).
Something tells me I got shafted on lunch.
Back at the hostel the fierce mosquitoes force me to setup my tent on the bed.
February 27, 2006
Hand the lady 10r on my way out and she gratefully serves me breakfast.
I guess she never expected so much.
Down to my last 100r.
Moto > Brasil Border 8:00 / 29233k 4k / .5h
Chain pops off the moto mid river, stalling the bike in a spot deeper then yesterday.
One of the riverside men helps me push the bike to a sandbar in the middle to fix the chain back on.
Half of the teeth of the sprocket have started to break off and it is clear I will need to change it in Boa Vista.
Make it across without further problem.
Continue on the back dirt road well into Brasil before deciding to turn back on the main road and get stamped in.
You could easily leave the country without any problems here if you wanted.
Just turn onto any of the dirt roads before the checkpoint.
They all lead to the river.
Anyways they are friendly enough at the border and stamp me in without a question, even giving me a few extra days to make it to Venezuela.
Officially my visa ends tomorrow.
-Back In Brasil-
Moto > Boa Vista, Brasil 8:45 / 29236k 126k / 1.5h
The return to Boa Vista much calmer and faster with the wind.
Stop at the posto into town to borrow some tools in attempt to salvage the chain.
After taking it all apart I decide it best safe then sorry and just swap it out.
The new sprockets I have been carrying since Azul and the "old" o-ring chain that broke off near Mendoza.
A chain that is actually in relatively new condition other then the mismatched master link that caused it to break.
A chain that has the same number of links (126) but is about 3 or 4 links shorter, amazing the stretch.
Swap it out using a good master link in an hour.
Check back into the same place and the same price and the room next door.
My final night of Carnaval.
I have decided that parties are boring alone.
You need a gang of friends.
February 28, 2006
Moto > Venezuela Border 9:00 / 29369k 213k / 3h
150k of flat grassy plains followed by 75k of a winding climb through the foothills of the Grand Sabana.
Having planned to make it to Venezuela on vapors, I end up one kilometer short.
Pushing the bike uphill towards the border, a friendly car stops and sells me 2 liters for 3r.
My first taste of cheap gas.
A pinch of the illegal load he is smuggling in his trunk back to Brasil.
Helicopters circle overhead trying to spot smugglers.
Today I am one.
An equally easy stamp out of Brasil after handing over my moto papers, the first thing they ask for.
Waved goodbye to a "boa viagem" after a "gracias a Deus" for them not having already expired.
Brasil is really a friendly country.
Venezuela
VISA
90 Days FREE on Arrival
33,600b Tax on Exit ??!!
ECONOMY
2200 Bolivares = $1 (bank rate)
2900 Bolivares = $1 (black market)
1000 Bolivares = 1 brasilian real
Diem = $/d ($ over Days)
Extras = ...
Food = 7kb-15kb (empenadas, arepas, pollo a la brasa, corn tortillas replace the beans of Brasil)
Room = 10kb-25kb (broken bathroom cold water, broken bed shabby sheets, breakfast not included)
Web = 800b-2kb/h (Fast)
Gas = 70-97b/l (Free)
NOTES
Finally back to Spanish!!! ... or is it?
For the most part you can skip Venezuela, however there are a couple nice sights
The nice "sights"; however, are well off the track and require costly tours to visit
The prices are relatively high and the quality is relatively low, a first world price for a third world service
The budget accomodation (10-15kb) is very hard to find and is well dodgy, ask around often times they are not posted
The people are friendly but at times cort and offish, they couldn't give directions to save their life
The people either drive absurdly slow and carefully or wickedly fast and wreckless, there is no happy medium.
The country is full of trash and looks somewhat like a massive disposal site, they just don't care
The food is not very inspiring, imagine a inch thick deep fried corn tortilla and some dry and shredded chicken
The only real inspiration for me was the price of gas
ESSENTIAL VENEZUELA
A very fast spanish spoken in one impossible to decipher monosyllabic puff of air
Vaina = Cosa = Thing (use as often as as possible)
Pana = Amigo = Friend
Chamo = Amigo = Friend
A La Orden = De Nada = Your Welcome
Welcome to Venezuela!
Suprisingly stamped in without question and in under a minute.
The only country to ever ask for my Yellow Fever vaccination card.
A card i got in the jungle of Peru which they informed me is invalid because it is not "international" but quietly accepted it anyways.
An hour waiting for the lady to return from siesta to "liberate" my moto and another 15 minutes to stamp it directly into my passport, another first.
Looks like they are serious about making sure the moto leaves when I do.
It is nearly all Yamaha here.
Feels good to be in a country that isn't so big you feel resigned to living there just passing through.
6 months was short for a country like Brasil while 3 months is too much for Venezuela, or so I am told.
Finally back to Spanish, and just as I was getting the groove of Portuguese, a language I have since learned to like better.
Smoother, warmer, and more abbreviated.
Catch myself speaking Portuñol.
The changeover is tough.
Moto > Santa Elena, Venezuela 880m 1:45 / 29585k 15k / .5h
Light rains force me to call it the day in Santa Elena, just a spit over the border.
Gives me a day to settle and organize myself before going in deep.
Santa Elena - A chaotic and scabby little border town with the lively latin street life lost since Bolivia.
People with a bit of a cort tough guy attitude, tossing trash from their busted 70's American beasts.
Horns announcing who has the right of way.
Check into Hotel Fatima for 15,000b, a room on par with what what I would get in Brasil for 15r.
Hand the lady my final 20r and get 5,000b in change.
Apparently and conveniently there are 1,000 Bolivares to 1 Real.
A similar level of accomodation for a similar price.
A bit dingier maybe and without breakfast.
Down to the Plaza Bolivar in the town center in search of am ATM to stock up.
The Bank of Guyana, an archaeic space invaders type console which only delivers an equally archaeic maximum of 150kb ($60) per transaction and charges a 5kb ($2) "fee" to do it.
A fight with the machine over entering the last 4 digits of a "numero cedular" which I don't have and must guess at.
After a few tries (and surely a few "fees") it accepts "8489" but only using a mastercard, visa is hopeless.
This should be interesting.
Clutching my 150kb tightly with a feeling of success I search for a late lunch.
Sit down for what appears to be just about the only food on offer, anywhere.
"Pollo Asado" - A small and dry leg of chicken on a plate with white rice, a small mound of plain noodles, a equally small cabbage and carrot salad and a hotdog looking stick made from steamed corn flour without any filling and without any flavor.
A side of a flat bread made from ultra dried and tool hardened tapioca.
Some sort of a plaster cracker which is impossible to break and tastes like foam after leaving it in your mouth to dissolve for 5 minutes.
A peasents ration of a meal void of any nutritional value and costing a whopping 6kb!
More expensive then Brasil and of lower quality and without even the beans.
Happen across the local chess club hashing it out on the street.
A couple wins and a couple losses, good fun.
Back in the hotel I try to wash up but end up fighting with the tap for an hour instead before napping away the remainder of the afternoon.
Out again for dinner.
A heaving street scene of vendors selling any sort of chinese garbage anyone might want.
Take a couple fried beef and chicken empenadas from one vendor after realizing it is the only thing I can afford, 3kb.
Apparently looking desperate on the way home, I am invited by a friendly man to a stick of churrasco and a coke, 5kb.
There really aren't many options and what there is is definately more expensive then Brasil.
Music outside my window all night keeps me from sleep.
March 1, 2006
Up early and out, excited for a day motoring across the Gran Sabana.
Moto > "Gran Sabana", Kamorim Service Station Camp 1150m 9:45 / 29603k 181k / 8h
Straight to the gas station on the way out of town in anticipation of my first cheap fill.
But not so fast.
2 pumps, one for "venezuelanos" with no line and costing 70b/l (8 cents per gallon) and one for "international" with a line 5km long and costing 200b/l (25 cents per gallon).
Ofcourse my Peru plate and an armed guard forces me to the end of the "international", behind a 5km lineup of cross border traffic.
A crowd of Brasilians who don't mind spending the entire day waiting for what amounts to a free fill.
While I wait I can't help but to think how absurd it is for charging foreigners 3 times the price of locals.
Somehow I feel cheated even though i am paying only 2% of what I would have paid just a few kilometers over the border.
The same gas, the only difference is the politics.
Damn politics.
Still I manage to fill the entire tank for 1000b or 1r or 40 cents US.
The gas is for all practical purposes free here.
The Gran Sabana - 2 absolutely void of traffic lanes of pristine suprisingly pothole free asphalt across a high rolling grassy plain scattered with palms and surrounded by canyons along the horizon.
With a quiet and clean hum Murphy pushes me effortlessly through the iconic landscape while I meditate on the natural beauty that surrounds.
In utter euphoria not to be constantly on the guns to avoid the mammoth and always omnipresent man swallowing potholes that typified driving in Brasil.
With free gas and smooth roads, this may not be so bad after.
A motorcycle dream ride.
Eventually the canyons grow closer.
A pallete of colors ranging from a dull beige to a deep rust and all shades in between.
Forests emerge from the folds in the canyon walls where water falls abound.
A scattered population of clay and stick huts of 4m with grass thatch roofs.
People of aboriginal indian descent smile and wave as I pass.
It is a beautful day and I feel good.
Stop at a particularly striking waterfall enroute for my first photo of the day.
'clk... brrrr... '
Figures that in the middle of such surroundings so far from anywhere that the batteries decide to die.
A rash of missed photos opportunities from here on.
Salto Kama - An absolutely stunning nearly 100m fall roadside and absolutely free.
Climb down the hill to the base and take a swim to just where the water falls with such tremendous force I cannot make it any closer.
The immense and amazing the power refreshes me from the heat of the midday.
A falls which alone makes all of Pres. Figuerida look like a joke.
More falls and sights every few kilometers all the way to Kamorim.
My first "real" Venezuela gas fill, service station PDV.
Two grades of gas, 91 octane for 70b/l (3 cents per liter - the same as the "local" pump at border) or 95 octane for 95b/l (4 cents).
A military police is on duty logging license plates and consumption, looking for cross border offenders I guess.
Decide to bite the bullet and pay for the good gas.
Fill the tank for 600b (under 25 cents), the same fill that would cost me 12r or 22x more in Brasil.
I am really wishing I had a Harley here.
To put it in perspective I sit down for a small empenada and pay 2000b.
That empenada that hardly tickled my hunger is worth 3 full tanks of gas here.
Put another way, what was easily a third of my entire budget in Brasil is now the crumbs of a bad empenada.
It is true the price of food and rooms is more here, but now I can afford a bit more.
A budget of $10 a day is once again possible assuming I camp a bit and don't splash out at restaurants.
$20 a day would be to do it in relative luxury.
I was spending that in Brasil and skimping hard.
Rinse the empenada down with a shot glass of bad coffee.
A coffee that also incidentally is worth 3 more tanks of gas.
Infact, gas seems to be the only thing they use their coins for here.
Happy with my revelations, I push out a few tunes at the request of the cook.
Make it to a police checkpoint at Luapa where I discover the turnoff to Salta Angel (the highest waterfall in the world) is just a few kilometers back.
A sight I don't want to miss and a dirt road that I apparently passed without notice.
The kicker is that the only place that I have a chance of buying a replacement battery for my camera is 185k back in Santa Elena.
Since gas is cheap and apparently so is my time I decide to turn back.
It is dusk as I pull back into the service station at Kamorim.
For all my luck a "guide" busy filling his tourist jeep informs me that it actually is not possible to see the falls from here.
To do it would require a 4 day hike through a jungle with an indian guide and 4 more days back, and still I would have to pay the price.
A mixup in facts that I have trouble deciphering for the truth.
A hike I definately have no interest in.
Informed that the cheapest way is to see it via Ciudad Bolivar by flight.
And so I once again change my mind and turn the bike back around.
Darkness sets and I pull off the road and setup camp under a tin roof at the bridge by the station.
March 2, 2006
A thick mist storm all night has everything wet, somehow through the tin roof and the walls of my tent.
Heavy cloud cover through the morning that keeps me in bed cold and with all the clothes in my bag on.
It is nearly noon before the rains finally clear.
About the same time I manage to get my bike going by push starting it for 5 km.
Always after rain it is the same chore, to clean the carb and the plug.
I just don't have any idea how the moisture gets in.
Moto > "KM 88" San Isidro, Venezuela 180m 12:00 / 29814k 94k / 1.25h
Back through the Luapa checkpoint with a quick explanation why I am bouncing around so and onward.
A second checkpoint just a pinch further where they stop me not to push for a bribe but to take my moto for a spin.
A moto that never fails to impress even though it is surely one of the weakest fault ridden bikes on the road.
I think they assume that whatever a gringo is riding must be good.
The Guarda National can be a pain in the ass here.
Over the pass where the grass plains and canyons turn to thick jungle as the road angles sharply down.
Dropping in a half hour by over 1000m and out of the park at San Isidro, labeled "KM 88" on my map.
By now the cold of the high plain has turned hot and humid low jungle.
Stop for a break, a refill, and to shed the now dry gear back into my bag.
Another late pollo asado lunch, no better then the first.
Moto > 30,000 KM 2:15 / 29908k 92k / 1.25h
And at 3:45 and KM 623 of Tronc 10 my moto officially hits its 30,000k birthday since the Bolivia rebuild.
Unofficially the speedometer hasn't accounted for some 10,000k or more while it was broken.
Anyway I stop to admire the milestone while I finish drying my gear in the now unforgiving sun.
Pull off the road into the lot of 3 old men busy putting an extension on their shack and today with the luck to share this moment.
A bit of good company to sit in the shade with and talk motos.
I gift them with my Haviannas sandals, unused since Manaus.
They gift me with the beef soup shits.
Moto > Tumeremo, Venezuela 4:30 / 30000k 60k / 1h
Pull into Tumeremo just before dusk and gift it with an oil change.
Mobil 1 SuperSyn 5-50, the best oil it has ever seen, 20kb.
Check into the cheapest stay in town, and it ain't that cheap.
15kb for a rancid dirty bare cement box of 3m x 3m.
A broken spring matress with ratty mismatched rags for sheets that jab you in all the wrong places,
a smelly lumpy foam pillow that wrenches your neck while leaving you wondering if the last person used it for their head or their ass,
a rickety fan that does nothing to distract the mosquitoes that enter through the broken window and cardboard ceiling with missing sections,
cold water from cracked plastic piping that climbs the walls like vines and sprays in all directions but down,
a sink with a broken spigot that breaks off in your hands,
and a toilet that has no seat and no lid and hasn't flushed for years.
Breakfast is out of the question and payment is expected upfront, before you even get to see the room.
Expensive and awful accomodation at a much lower level then Brasil and at a higher price.
Camping is your best option in Venezuela, just be sure the tent is truely waterproof.
March 3, 2006
Some shopping in the early morning.
Trade my chinese 8" adjustable wrench bought in Manaus and busted trying to change the oil for a quality imported american one, 13kb.
Wait for the only camera shop in town to open and purchase their only 2 CR2 batteries for a supply and demand price, 35kb.
Decide to push on to El Callao instead of waiting in line all day to use the town ATM.
Moto > El Callao, Venezuela 11:45 / 30064k 44k / .75h
Arrive in El Callao and the bank is closed for lunch.
Sit down myself this time for something different, Castello Guiano.
Roast beef bones and mashed potatoes and a small salad for 8kb + 10% "service".
Not so nice but definately a welcome change from the roasted chicken norm.
Same story at the ATM, this time atleast offering 200kb per transaction.
Moto > El Manteco, Venezuela 1:30 / 30104k 120k / 1.5h
Decide on a back road detour to El Manteco in search of a legendary land route to Salto Angel with no success.
Apparently some years ago a huge storm destroyed the connecting road and nobody has bothered with it since.
Once again, even if you make it you gotta pay the price.
Invited to stay with the family of a hotel security guard who helped me in the process.
A poor family with a mound of kids and offering me a better bed then any hotel so far.
An evening of chat on the porch with papa who is fond of motos himself.
A great and friendly bunch giving all they have.
Introduced to the illustrious arepa, a fat 1 inch thick corn tortilla sandwiched with goat cheese.
A half a kilo and half the size of a small hamburger but packing you as though you ate three.
They aren't bad but you don't really feel like you ate anything despite being full.
March 4, 2006
Spent the morning fixing their beater old 2 stroke for them.
A broken kick start and rear brake.
Wave goodbye with the feeling in the end that they were expecting me to pay for the stay.
Moto > Ciudad Bolivar, Venezuela 12:00 / 30224k / 5.75h
A beautiful and relaxed backroad to Upata where I take a break at a bodega for a bottle of water, 1.5l = 2kb.
Take a seat on the curb besides the dozen or so local drunks who seem to make this their home everyday.
Plug my mp3 into the bodega booming PA that serves the purpose of village radio station.
They pretend to enjoy my music but their patience doesn't last long before it is back to mexican cowboy songs.
My patience doesn't last long either before I push on.
Hit 4 lanes of autopista and remain bored all the way to the industrial truck stop city of Ciudad Guyana and straight through toward Ciudad Bolivar, stopping only momentarily at the 2 tolls enroute to fish 50b out of my pocket.
30k short of Ciudad Bolivar I take advantage of a makeshift roadside fish market for lunner (late lunch early dinner).
A huge and fresh fried fish quite a deal at only 8kb and obviously "the place" judging by the masses of truck drivers it draws.
A gang who prods me to perform a few songs before letting me leave.
A different sort of crowd then Brasil who actually attentively and quietly listen and applaud at the end.
Whereas in Brasil the people treat music as no more then a tool in enjoying themselves, here it is something they feel they need to show respect for.
They are amazed that it is infact a small guitar and not a "cuatro", the 4 string local instrument that it appears similar too.
The long stretch into the center of the city along the touristy but nothing special river passarela.
Check into the first reasonable find, the Hotel Italia for 15kb.
A decent room with a double bed and a private bathroom.
Toilet paper and soap.
Wash my clothes for the first time since Brasil.
A ghost town after dark.
March 5, 2006
A tourist is bound to die from starvation (if not first from boredom) every Sunday in Venezuela.
Absolutely every shop is closed for the entire day and the streets are empty.
After walking nearly the entire city in desperate search I luck into one chinese restaurant doing its best to break tradition.
A decent pork fried rice and coke for 12kb.
A kid who won't admit to speaking chinese.
Chinese are shunned in South America.
An absolutely dead and silent ghost town.
With nothing to do I spend the day sitting in my room and scanning through a guide book lent to me by a tour agency.
To copy some maps and in search of ideas on things to see and do in Venezuela.
Bored to death.
March 6, 2006
Switch to the Amor Patrio Pousada as recommended in "the book".
A german owner who looked at me and shuttered when I told him I stayed in the Italia.
"They are all thieves who stay there... they will rob you..." paranoid like the rest of them.
Offered a 10r hammock on the roof and an unexpected treat more, free internet!
An update covering all of February and taking me 7 hours to complete.
A nice place otherwise but still a bit too "german" and packaged for me.
5-Day Cauro River Tour
March 7, 2006
Moto > Las Trincheras, Venezuela 9:30 / 30485k / 5h 1h
I went 16km too far so you don't have to, so listen up.
200 meters after the KM 796 marker is the unposted left hand entry to the dirt road to Las Trinchas.
A principally dirt road with a patch of pavement every half kilometer in an attempt to drive you crazy.
After 29k you arrive at the first significant `Y`, take a left continuing more or less straight through.
Another 12k and you arrive at a second significant `Y`, this time take a right.
Ignoring all other detours for the next 7k and the road ends at the river.
Likely you will already notice a swarm of gringos (and their tour jeeps) congregating outside a dingy hut on the right.
Lose the gringos long enough to talk to Jonas quietly outside of their presence.
He will accept 200kb if you push it, the same trip they are on for 550kb.
The infamous 5-day Rio Cauro Tour to El Playon and back.
Manage my negotiations after a few rounds and just after the group leaves on their tour.
Hang out with the local men drinking coke and whiskey and playing guitar while the ladies whip up an orange torta for a drunkards 16th birthday.
Plans to send me off in a boat of my own to meet up with the gang down the river.
Why they delayed negotiations requiring them to provide me special attention I don't know.
A huge beurocratic jumble that in the end cost them more money then what they didn't save trying to push the price up.
The group has already paid a massive amount of money.
The boat and the food and the guide have already been arranged.
To put me onboard really cost them nothing.
Boat > 'Camp #1' 6:30 / .5h / 200kb (all included tour)
6:30 and the boat returns from dropping off my group, only to find itself refueled for a return trip.
An impressive boat, of the like I have never seen before.
Massively 10m by 1.5m and carved from a single hollowed out tree, no seams no glue no nails.
A 14 year old at the stern fires up the Yamaha 40hp outboard.
A beautiful river at dusk swamped in the dimming orange glow of the setting sun.
Just enough light for the boy to carve us a course between thousands of massive rocks and rapids.
A half hour of slaloming through what slowly becomes a real life game of Night Rider.
To make it more interesting the kid isn't even looking at where he is going.
Thankful he has done this trip a few times before.
Arrive at camp to the groups welcome.
A massive grass pagoda full of hammocks already prepped up and ready.
A jolly gang 8 from the Czech Republic wondering what took me so long and already half way through dinner.
Add another plate to the large wooden table.
An impressive meal.
Offered a hammock but prefer my tent instead.
More comfortable and free of mosquitoes.
March 8, 2006
Up early and in anticipation of the days journey, the gang snaps photos down by the river.
An even more beautiful river by daylight that leaves me wondering how we even managed to make it here without accident.
Pack out and stuff into one boat for a daylong trip further up the river to `La Playon`.
Boat > 'La Playon' 12:00 / 30224k / 5.75h
Another awefully long and boring boat ride, recounting my experience in the Amazon.
I begin wondering if I hadn't just made the same mistake.
3 hours before a tuna salad sandwich lunch at an `indigenous village` and 2 more hours after.
Atleast this time there was good company and we were moving fast enough to actually feel like we were getting somewhere.
My butt lost of all sensation other then painfully throbbing pins and needles.
My back bent and broken along every vertibrea.
My legs bright red and burned.
A terrible headache.
After nearly 6 hours `La Playon` finally comes into view.
A large white sand beach on the river bank.
What I would normally chalk up to nothing more then a decent remote beach but under the circumstances appears to be some sort of storybook paradise.
Our second `Camp`.
A half dozen clean and well constructed tourist grade grass pagodas like the first.
A well organized `indigenous` management that informs me the 15kb per day for a hammock was not included in my deal.
As the group checks in I setup my tent to the side.
Management is dissappointed.
Up to the `mirador` at sunset for an unforgettable view over and down the river from which we arrived.
Another excellent dinner prepared by our columbian `chef`.
A well tired gang retires early.
A great night of sleep.
March 9, 2006
On the trail to Salta Para by 9.
Trek <> Salta Para 9:00 / 8h 2h (return)
A 3 hour slow and easy hike through dense jungle.
A jungle richer and thicker then any others I can ever remember hiking.
Some good sightings and conversation enroute.
One of the Czechs who is serving as their guide speaks english and even though this is his first stint as a guide he has quite a bit of travel experience.
His father is a biologist.
`The Czech type...` he adds, `not scared to hike alone for days in research...` a pause,
`not like whimpy American biologists in their offices all day`.
Just as things are getting interesting we arrive at the salta.
An extremely impressive waterfall of the likes of Iguazu and nearly as big and worth the entire trip.
A lengthy round of photos, a quick picnic lunch, and down to a beach below for a swim.
The Czech types get naked, not like the whimpy American in shorts.
Back before dark.
A very nice day with a great gang.
Yet another classic feed, italian style spaghetti and chicken.
March 10, 2006
8:30 and we are boarding the boat for the return trip.
Confused as I thought this trip was for 5 days.
It doesn't really bother me though as I have had my fun and another day might bore me.
Boat > Las Trincheras, Venezuela 8:30 / 5.5h .5h
A shorter and easier return trip down the river with the current.
Brothers In Arms is a great album for river trips like this.
A quick break in another local village of `indigenous` indians.
3 families and 50 people
Farmers of yuka, papaya, banana, and cotton struggling through an abnormally dry season.
Bare breasts, painted faces, and a very Asian look with their short bob cuts and slanty eyes.
A suprisingly authentic experience.
A sad goodbye to a great gang.
A quality tour that I would definately recommend but not for the tour agency price.
Go on your own, negotiate directly, and enjoy the sights while keeping quiet about the savings.
I did it quite easily for less then half the price.
Moto > Main Road 2:15 / 30782k 46k / 1h
Decide to continue down the main road a bit farther to Maripa out of curiosity.
Moto > Maripa, Venezuela 3:15 / 30829k 20k / .25h
Maripa - A nothing town with a crazy 25kb posada lady that doesn't seem to realize something is better then nothing.
The place is empty.
She seems happy to keep it that way.
I am starting to realize that the reason hotels seem more expensive here then Brasil is because they price the room instead of the people in it, and the assumption is 2 people.
Basically they assume everyone travels as a couple and when you show up single they don't know how to renegotiate the rate.
Here you are paying the double occupancy price even if you are alone where as in Brasil they charge based on the occupancy.
So to travel with a partner here is a better deal, but alone it is worse.
Turn back in hopes of finding a cheaper stay enroute.
Moto > Guarataru, Venezuela 4:15 / 30855k 45k / .5h
Call it the day after a rough search for a cheap stay lands me at a roadside shack just outside of Guarataru.
An unused 3m x 3m cement block shack sharing its lot with a bar.
Broken windows, broken springs, no water, and absolutely filthy.
10r for my cheapest stay so far, the bottom line.
Service my chain, take a bucket shower, and out for a quick pollo a la brasa just a few shacks away.
Hassled by a drunkard looking for a hand out.
A circus is passing through town but I have no interest in more drunks so I call it the night.
Regardless, the drunkards win by moving their party to the bar next door.
Impossible to sleep with the same 3 songs blasting over and over.
March 11, 2006
The music is still going strong as I pull out at 7.
Moto > Ciudad Bolivar, Venezuela 7:00 / 30906k 200k / 3h
Back to Ciudad Bolivar, the same way I came.
Stopped twice enroute for a full bag and bike search by the Guardia National.
They like to claim I am going 4 times faster then I really am as an excuse to wave me down.
This time they broke the bag my motorcycle tools are in trying to open it without using the zipper..
They are incredibly annoying the most of them, acting all macho and pushing everything around.
Nothing ever comes of it though.
Stop back in the city to pass the heat of midday.
Sit down quickly to post the February update.
The update I wrote back at the Amor Patrio but could not post because of problems reaching my FTP server.
Lunch on my way out of town, the staple 5kb quarter of a roast chicken.
Pollo a la brasa similar in format to that of Peru, but dryer and lacking the house special sauce.
Haven't seen beans since leaving Brasil.
For some reason the bill is always quite a bit higher then the menu price.
That is after they round the prices up to the nearest thousand, add a 10% service charge, and then re-round the result.
Cheated?
Moto > Ciudad Guayana Ferry 1:30 / 31105k 123k / 1.75h
A hot and straight and boring ride back to Ciudad Guyana the way I came.
Ferry > Los Barrancos, Venezuela 3:30 / .5h / Free!
Slip past the 3 hour lineup of cars waiting for their chance at the ferry crossing to Los Barrancos.
The advantages of travel by moto ;)
Moto > Barrancas, Venezuela 4:00 / 31225k 87k / 1.25h
Heavy winds strip my face with sand as I cross desert plains enroute to Tucupita and the Ornico Delta.
An 8k detour to Barrancas for a refuel has me decide to just call it the night.
A small town with a friendly air and an easy feeling in the center of town.
Check into a plush room in the Hotel Paraiso for a discounted 15kb.
Turn on the taps in anticipation of a quality shower to find there is no water.
Down to notify the man who turns it on for me and find I have locked myself out.
From behind the door I hear all the taps that I forgot to shut at full stream.
The man opens it with a smile using a key to the room next door.
Interesting...
A quiet room with a large clean bed that helps me catch up on the past week of bad sleep.
March 12, 2006
A dazingly comfortable and quality sleep that is instantly shattered at 6:30 by a symphony of computerized church bells announcing today as Sunday.
Sunday, ghost town day in Venezuela where absolutely nothing is open all day.
Quickly I rationalize that I should take advantage of my position in such a comfortable bed and make it a day of rest.
Somehow manage myself back to sleep atleast until the bells begin again a half hour later and then every half hour thereafter..
Give a shot at ignoring the second round but after the fourth round I can't take it anymore.
Out on the streets with prayers of finding an open market before it shuts.
Once again `gracias a dios por los chinos` (thank god for the chinese) who neither believe in god nor would ever consider taking a day off.
A panaderia serving yesterdays stock at todays price.
A stale sweet roll and a can of iced tea for 4kb.
It is bad but it is all I got.
Too bad they don't believe in honest business practices either.
Moto > Comorindo, Venezuela 9:00 / 31313k 52k / 1h
The road Y's without indication and my best guess has me in the nothing town of Comorindo asking directions.
A roadside gang busy discussing Chavez politics while busily downing a case of Polar Light beer with the drunk beer distributor delivering by bicycle rickshaw.
Within minutes they have me with a beer in one hand, my guitar in the other, and another beer waiting on the ground infront.
Wave over the kids to deliver me with a chain of arepas (thick steamed corn tortillas stuffed with meat) as I work through an abbreviated song list.
There are only a few english songs they recognize here, and not everyone does.
Hotel California is one that atleast the beer man knows.
Excited to keep the party going Mr Beer Rickshaw invites me to visit around town serving as my `guide`.
Follow his rickety bike through town to where his family is in the middle of celebrating two grandparents joint birthday party.
Lots of loud music and single women.
The porch of a lime green 10m x 5m cement block single story house plastered in diplomas and kids photos.
A family sprawling out front and onto the street of 40 or so in total.
The prettiest ladies make their rounds offering trays of breaded cheese sticks and finger sandwiches with a wink.
Despite how beautiful everyone tells me Venezuelan women are, I have to say I am personally not impressed.
Never the less one after the next they make their move.
The fashion of belts long and floppy in the front are in.
I tell them I am married.
The drunkest men gravitate around the seemingly endless supply of 'frias' (coldys) practicing the philosophy of 'Drinking' = 'Fun'.
Polar beer is the golden standard and comes in a 222ml 'mini bottle' for 1kb or by the case for just a little more.
A company that I suspect is preparing the kids for their future by offering them a non-alcoholic `malt` that looks and tastes just like brown ale.
Perhaps a better non-beer beer then the BudLight style pilsen they are pawning off on the adults.
Incidentally, such preparation isn't necessary as I notice a couple 6 year olds taking tugs off their pop's brew.
The accepted procedure for drinking here is to shake off the first bit and leave the last bit, throwing the bottle to the street.
In the middle you only actually drink about 200ml of it and so needless to say alot of bottles get passed around.
It all adds to the part about having 'Fun'.
The older kids back from baseball practice take turns batting at a pinata in the form of a black boobie.
And everyone else is busy at once trying to talk to me over one of the loudest boom boxes i ever heard; 'Loud' = 'Fun'.
I wouldn't even understand them if they were speaking english.
Slowly the porch crowd divides itself into 2 groups; the ones who turn the music down and the ones who turn it back up.
A tug of war over the big silver dial on their Sony 3-disc changer.
The fingers go in circles.
Leave before it gets too exciting.
Moto > Tucupita, Venezuela 1:30 / 31365k 100k / 2h
Take the road to its end a few km further out of curiosity and return to follow the other fork in the road.
Tucupita - Abandoned and empty on a Sunday as expected.
Pausing in the plaza to catch my bearings I am instantly scouted by an unofficial Ornico Delta Tour guide.
To maybe put something together for tomorrow if he can find any other tourists in town.
Helps me find the Pequena Hotel where a senile old lady discounts me to 12kb after telling her I am from Mexico and then changes me for 7kb unable to make out the numbers on the bills.
Clean up and into town for dinner.
Back to the center where I happen across a german looking to do a tour.
On a 3 week vacation and giddy with himself over 'not having planned anything' (even though he has) and going against his hyper-organized upbringing.
A fairly standard german spirit gone awry.
And so back to planning the tour.
March 13, 2006
Awake with a feeling that I really don't care for another river ride.
At about the same time Mr German chooses for himself a hyper-organized tour company charging 600kb for the 3-day excusion.
He just can't imagine sleeping in a hammock and besides this company has hot water showers.
It all adds up and so ofcourse I call it off.
Failed attempt at pulling cash from an ATM before leaving town.
Coincidentally all ATMs are broken.
Pack out and point toward Maturin, back the way I came.
Moto > Maturin, Venezuela 12:15 / 31412k 237k / 4h .5h
Across more flat and windy pampas.
Stop in Temblador for lunch.
Once again the standard (and practically only) option, roasted chicken.
A quarter chicken, a side salad, and a couple fat corn tortillas for 5kb.
A can of Coke for another 2kb.
Not bad but nothing special.
Maturin - A large and modern city with good services (ATMs that work) and relatively clean.
Actually the ATM failed on its second operation during the 'counting bills' phase.
Wonder if it docked me my dough...
A mass of traffic and businesses but suprisingly no hotels under 25kb!
Make my way to the dodgier outskirts where a healthy population of arabs sell shwarmas and whatnot.
Stopped by another Syrian looking for an American girlfriend.
NackatNassar@Hotmail.com is his email incase there are any girls interested.
Eat my falafel and decide to just keep going.
Moto > Roadside Jail Under Construction 6:15 / 31649k 2k / .25h
Fill er at a BP and within 2kon the busy road leaving town the engine suddenly cuts out.
Push er another k to the site of a future jail house under construction.
2 night watchmen open the gates and let me in, eager to give me a hand fixing it in hopes of a handout.
Talking between themselves about how much money a gringo might be willing to pay, not knowing i understand everything they say.
I pull out my tools and avoid their bad advice as much as possible until they realise they ain't getting anything.
Pull off the gas line, there is gas.
Pull the plug out, there is a spark.
Nothing looks wrong and there is no indication of a problem, yet it refuses to start.
The coincidence of the service station and having received bad gas is the suspect.
Remove the carb and empty er out, running through new gas.
A half hour of push starts fires er up.
Hmmmm....
By this time they have settled between themselves that their spectatorship is worth atleast a pack of cigarettes.
Too tired to argue it out and thankful for having a place off the road to work I follow the man to a bodega and cough it up.
Offered to setup my tent in a future cell.
Snap a section of aluminum pole for my tent and replace it with a spare.
March 14, 2006
Woken at 6 by the one guard proud to show off his pistol and pack out by 6:45.
Moto > Caripe, Venezuela 880m 7:15 / 31653k 105k / 2.5h .5h
A busy highway onward toward Caripe, alongside a moving junkyard of old Fords, Dodges, Chryslers, etc.
The big revolution here is having just switched to using unleaded gas.
Maybe that is the problem I can't help but think...
No further problems, strange.
A standard roadside breakfast of guava juice 1kb and beef empenada 1kb.
Light mist turns to rain as I climb the mountains approaching Caripe.
Stop again to fabricate a makeshift fender extension out of a 2 liter pepsi bottle to prevent road spray.
The one I made back in Brasil was busted off by the Manaus haulers.
This time I decided to bolt it on.
Caripe - 'The Gateway to Cueva Guacharo' the sign proudly states, a famous cave I guess.
A pleasent mountain village existing off of its tourism and otherwise a nice place to relax in the nature.
Decide to hold off on the cave until the rains pass.
Something different for lunch, 'the second option'.
Menu Ejecutivo - Any one of 4 or 5 basic varieties of the same thing.
Today it happens to be a carne guisado (saucey roast beef), soup, spaghetti, fried bananas, and an iced tea for 7kb.
Follow it down with a typical mountain village desert of strawberries and cream, 2kb for a dixie cup full.
Looking for a place to stay proves to be the tough task it always is in Venezuela.
Either it is too expensive or not open or they don't have any rooms.
I get the feeling sometimes they just don't accept foreigners.
Something I doubt in a tourist town like this.
Manage the Bar Hotel just outside of town, 15kb.
The rain gets heavy forcing me to call it a day of rest.
March 15, 2006
The sun peeks through promising a decent day.
To the cave.
Moto > Cueva Guacharo, Venezuela 8:00 / 31763k 6k / .25h
A 45 minute and 3kb guided tour that can be avoided by doing it with a good flashlight at 7am, an hour before it opens.
Nothing terribly special though except the Guacharo birds which you only really hear and don't see.
Skip it.
Trek <> Salto La Paila 9:15 / 2.4k / 1h .5 (return)
Across the street begins a 1.2km and 15 minute hike to a 10 meter waterfall.
A nice fall with little flow right now but surely impressive during the rainy season.
Picturesque but requires a wide angle to capture because of its canyon location.
Best seen midday when the sun is straight up.
One thing that plagues the beauty of Venezuela is its blatent disregard for trash.
'Just toss it' is the motto and there is garbage everywhere.
Perhaps it is its heavy syrian influence.
To the mirador of Caripe from which there really isn't much of a view at all of anything other then the big tree they planted right infront.
A poorly designed and now defunct building which was obviously at one time someones idea to draw tourism.
Stop for an early lunch in San Agustin on my way out.
Mi Querencia - A small and curious looking natural foods restaurant with an eccentric garden atmosphere.
Impressively gourmet food and reasonable prices, very good.
A 'find'.
Moto > Rio Caribe, Venezuela 10:30 / 31769k 135k / 5h 1h
The road banks down, dropping over 1000m to foothills where they meet the Carribean Sea at Carupano.
Catch my first glimpse of the Carribean as I make a right toward the coastal town of Rio Caribe.
A scenic drive alongside the vast turquoise waters whipped up rough by heavy winds.
Once again it is the proliferation of trash that spoils it.
Pass through the lively and colorful but ultra-dodgy peninsula port and continue along into the pleasent town of Rio Caribe.
Considerable searching about finds me a 15kb posada on the back side of town.
To the pier for sunset.
Kids fishing.
Quarter chicken.
So far every town I have been in except Santa Elena is quiet after 7.
With not much to do I am in bed by 8.
March 16, 2006
Still haven't figured out the secret to a cheap and decent breakfast.
The bakeries serve yesterdays stale stock and at a pirates price, the few street vendors are busy selling hotdogs, and not every town has a real market.
Besides, the only fruits for sale (assuming you find a store selling them) are bananas, oranges, and sometimes pineapples.
Must not be the season.
Settle for the bakery option.
A 2 day old small sweet roll and a can of iced tea for 3300b.
Brasil was much better for breakfast.
Rio Caribe - A small and friendly typical venezuelan village.
Typical in that there are more bodegas and lottery stalls then all other businesses combined.
A quick count about to find; 4 bakeries (all announcing fresh bread), 6 posadas (5 posh and mine), 3 farmacies, 6 internet cafes, 10 bodegas (with crowds out front), and 8 lottery stalls.
It is all about drinking and gambling I guess.
Take the camera up to the old church on the hill for a shot, blocked by weeds.
Across town and up a much bigger hill to the water tower Jesus, a much better view.
Gets me thinking that maybe they named the town as such for its similarity to Rio, not for the dirty stream of pollution that cuts through the center.
Stopped on the way back by a couple kids and a 'quatro', a 4 string version of a mini guitar.
And so for atleast an hour there I sit, learning traditional songs and chatting over the complexity of spanish and drinking chicha (ricemilk, vanela, cinnamon - a thicker version of mexican horchata).
Lunch at the Fior Daliza, run by a hindi lady who moved here from Trinidade and speaks 7 languages.
Decent food with a bit of variety but after a long wait and at twice the price.
She seems to be the informal tourist information and agency in town.
Interested in putting me on a tour to some 'medina' beach nearby.
Spend the remainder of an otherwise swelteringly hot afternoon playing chess online.
March 17, 2006
Fior left me with the idea.
Moto > Medina Beach 10:30 / 31904k 27k / 1.25h .5h
Along the 'ruta de cacao', a scenic and enjoyable ride through a jungle of chocolate trees from one small pueblo to the next, passing beaches inbetween.
Stop for a taste of the local artesianal specialties of coconut icecream, almond and peanut butters and liquors, and chocolate ofcourse.
A friendly lady mixing up her next batch of 'bolos', balls of pure 100% cacao too strong to taste.
Points me in the direction of Medina and tells me PuiPui is better.
A dirt road detour for the last 10k past the old man in a straw hat busy grading the final section down to the beach.
Medina Beach - A decent beach of normal sand similar to those in Brasil but not quite as nice.
Cold water with a strong smell of fish.
Brasilian beaches are clearly the leader.
Locals playing volleyball.
Lots of fat, probably from the masses of arepas and fried empenadas they eat.
Brasilians are also definately the more athletic bunch.
There I was the flab and here I am the fit.
No capoera or martial arts guru yoga types anywhere to be seen.
Instantly Mr Umbrella scouts me out trying to keep me in the shade for 10kb as I scout out a free palm to rest beneath.
Why would anyone want that when there is a grove of palms just to the side?
Mr Fish is closely behind pushing a small fried fish for 18kb and quickly dropping to 13kb and then further to 10kb before giving up.
It might be worth 7kb, if I were hungry.
Catch myself searching for a cold coco verde or acai instead.
Two things I am already missing.
A couple hours relaxing before hitting the next beach.
Been awhile since I have laid in the sun.
Moto > PuiPui Beach 1:15 / 31931k 14k / .5h
PuiPui Beach - A much broader bay beach then Medina and quite a bit further along and out of the way.
If anything a bit less impressive I would say and with a bigger monopoly on food, 18kb firm.
Had an idea to camp on the beach but not really inspired by the ratty population nearby.
Camping here would be a bit dangerous I would say.
Settle on the only thing I can afford, a Coke 1kb.
One good technique I have learned is to have a bill they cannot possibly change, like a 50 and another handful of loose change amounting to the price you actually want to pay.
They will usually prefer to accept the lesser amount then hassling over the change of the big bill.
A combat technique for their overcharging in the first place.
750b is what they accepted.
On my way out I happen across a mixed family (father venezuela, mother france, & 2 kids) inviting me to exchange some songs for some noodles.
A tuna salad noodles that in the end I paid for to a grubbing local who masked his help as a favor until it was time to leave.
Atleast the company was good and the songs were fun and it was far cheaper then the alternatives.
Moto > Chocolate Grove Camp 5:15 / 31945k 7k / .25h
Back out to a little chocolate grove where I setup my tent behind the cover of the trees.
Back into a small village insearch of a drink finds me the PuiPui Golds Gym gang busy pressing cinderblocks in the middle of the street.
Invited to exchange a few songs for some homemade pork soup and oatmeal chicha.
This time the friendship was authentic.
March 18, 2006
Mosquitoes swarming the tent.
Do as much packing as is physically possible in the 2 foot tunnel before zipping open the net.
Moto > Guiria, Venezuela 8:15 / 31954k 110k / 2.75h
A hilly and slow ride from one speedbump village to the next all the way to Guiria.
From here a ferry goes to Trinidade on wednesdays, otherwise there doesn't seem much of interest here.
Take time for lunch.
A very long time mostly waiting for a simple milanesa in one of the only only real restaurants open in town.
The one besides the church in the main plaza.
The one that isn't very good.
Decide to push on for the final stretch of the peninsula with Macuro as my destination.
Not sure why I am set on Macuro, just seemed like something interesting to see the last town on my map.
And besides the man here says I can make it in under an hour.
Moto > Military Naval Base 1:30 / 32070k 40k / .5h
A rollercoaster ride on a wildly undulating but well paved road along the coast with impressive views.
An excellent tour by motorcycle.
22k and the road turns to rough stone and dirt, returning to groomed concrete for the heavy climbs.
Some of the steepest road I have ever driven.
A 400m climb in under 1k.
Atleast 45 degrees straight up to an abandoned stone tower lookout from where you can see both coasts of the peninsula.
Stop to admire the view across the vast national park before pointing down the back side of the mountain, where the cement becomes overruled by bushes and eventually breaks up into rubble.
Left with a fairly rough trail onward and dangerous at such inclines, especially on a 125.
Roll into the postcard iconic ultimately tranquil single street pueblo of Rio Grande.
A thin row of colorfully painted cement block and stucco houses with rusted galvanized roofs line the 100m strip of concrete the road through town.
Bring my moto to rest at the first shop on the right, piled high in empty bottles.
The market and conveniently also the towns meeting place.
A few stunned faces curiously watch as I rearrange things on my bike in anticipation of even rougher roads ahead.
Sit down for a rest on the curb as the most elderly and wise gather around.
A simple question on how much further I have to go leads to considerable cross-questioning amongst themselves.
3 old men who seem to be in comfort haggling with each other over such terribly daunting issues.
How far is it?
The answers range from 10k to 60k.
Is it even possible?
As they hash it out, I contemplate my destiny over a bottle of coke.
A flock of turkeys gobble about in the middle of the road with such confidence that nothing will ever hit them.
And so it is.
In the end, the concensus is that I cannot get there from here by road.
It has been some years they say that any vehicle has passed and what was the road is no longer.
Turn my attention to the market gang.
A 10 year old with a fat gold chain around his neck talks politics with a 40 year old 'Pat' over a few beers.
A gun shot rings out in the distance, starting the turkeys in a yodling match with a dog excitedly barking back.
An unstable sequence that grows louder and more rawkus until an old lady steps out of the market and throws a shoe at the dog.
It becomes apparent nothing much of anything happens here.
Decide to push through and see for myself as I have learned you can never take anything anyone says too seriously.
Especially in places like this where no one has actually ever left town far enough to see if what they are saying is even true.
And so work my way another 6k over some serious sketch where it is obvious atleast what they said about 'no traffic' is true.
A grass trail in parts and trecherous stone climbs in others.
Even steeper then before, putting me at max revs in 1st and struggling to get over the crest before the engine stalls.
A nervous sweat in knowing that if the engine does indeed stall there is only one direction for me and the bike.
And it won't be under my own will that we go there.
Certain disaster.
Luckily I just make it, leaving an even more dangerous descent.
Down the back in second with the engine screaming and the brakes burning and at a pace on the verge of danger.
Loose stone and sharp curves which threaten to put me sideways at any moment.
Try to avoid anxiety taking control to clutch the bars tighter.
Once again, there is only one direction from here.
Somehow I avoid catastrophe and find myself at the bottom of the hill on a now suprisingly and pristinely paved road toward a beach.
A lowered chain across the road announces itself as a military base, no entry.
It is lowered and besides there is no way I can turn back here and so I pass through cautiously.
Met by a Captain Humberto Monesinos, second in command at the naval base ¨Francisco Gutierrez¨.
A friendly man who speaks perfect english after having lived in Mississippi for some years.
Ask if I can pitch my tent for the night before turning back and am unexpectedly and eagerly invited in.
Follow the electric golf cart back to his home, a plush pad away from his true home in Victoria.
A quick tour about, souvenirs from Mardi Gras adorn the walls.
A master bedroom and a second dormitory style guest room with 4 beds, throw my bag on one.
To the kitchen, where he is quick to crack open the fridge and serve me up a 'fria' and some chocolates.
Back in the living room he flicks on the TV and hands me the remote announcing 'my home is your home'.
Some good chat for sometime over his experiences in America and how much he likes the american people.
A very warm welcome, not at all what I had expected from the military of Chavez.
Head out together in the 6-seater golf cart for a privilidged tour of the base.
Along a beautiful white sand beach to the deep sea pier where they provide support for ships in transit.
To the command center to shake hands with the various officers and further to the troop barracks.
Explains to me this base was originally built by the americans some 50 years ago before being turned over.
For this I reckognize that everything has an american look, built using american materials and standards.
Continue on to the troop club house where a gang is well on their way to the night's party.
Shows me a cock fight stadium (obviously added later) on the way to the captains club where I bowled a spare on the 1st bowling alley in Venezuela, pins set by hand.
Back to the house.
Think it interesting that this is the first place in South America I have been able to leave the keys in the bike.
Turn on HBO to watch a film with Jack Nicolson and sift through back issues of Leatherneck, 'Magazine of the US Marines'.
An odd magazine of the likes I have never seen, advertising things such as attack helicopters and mixing in cartoons of marines in Iraq.
Odd and a bit scarey to me how it idolizes the killings and operations with a boyhood wargame toyishness.
Browsing the combat fatigues ads you almost forget it is a real war and not some paintball 'who's badder' fashion contest.
Talk of my plans to reach Macuro and interestingly am informed that Macuro is famous for being the 1st place Columbus landed in South America, coincidence.
With that he continues by explaining that boats enroute to Macuro from Guiria often stop here.
And so with that my destination is indeed certain and he will inform me when one arrives.
If anyone would know it would be him.
A really warm and generous welcome.
He excuses himself to get back to work and I spend the day cleaning up and relaxing.
How nice it is to be in an american house again.
The toilet works.
Wake from a overly active brain repeating to me this advice...
Midnight Brain Fart
Don't live your life without goals for tomorrow because of the intrinsic uncertainty of the world around you.
For in the achievement of such goals is motivated a level of dedication that is the key to opening the doors to the most essential desires, love and prosperity.
Rather push forward with the healthy inspiration to acheive your dreams and the wise confidence to accept when things do indeed change.
Not really sure what it means, but there it is anyways.
March 19, 2006
Awake to a continental breakfast after an otherwise restful night on the most comfortable, firmest, cleanest, creasefree bed in South America.
No pestering mosquitoes, squawking chickens, or drunkard tape loops.
Though my invitation was welcome he now seems set to make sure I move on.
Finds me a speedboat headed to Macuro with 2 locals.
Boat > Macuro, Venezuela 11:00 / .25h / Free?!
Pound through rough seas hugging the coast to Macuro.
Macuro - A quiet 2-street town with a proud 500th anniversary monument to Christopher Columbus who landed here 1st in 1498.
Suprisingly other then a bay full of fishing boats there isn't much else.
With the locals help I find the small and friendly Los Reyes Catolico posada where I get a nice room for 10kb.
A relative bargain as compared to my previous experiences with 10kb rooms.
A quick walk about before sitting down to lunch at a fat lady's home on the corner, 5kb.
Back to the room for a siesta during the sweltering heat of midday.
Join the hotel owner ladies for a short walk to a fishermans beach over the hill.
Cut from the gang and huff it up to the lighthouse on the way back for a view over town.
Overgrown and wild it is hard to get a good view unless you pry off the sealed door and climb up inside.
Back for dinner with the fat lady.
She informs me the boat back leaves at 5am, a brilliant schedule.
An early night.
March 20, 2006
5am and still pitch black and a crowd gathers on the pier.
Boat > Military Naval Base 5:00 / .5h / 5kb (10kb to Guiria)
A 10m fiberglass fishing boat idles as 50 people pile in shoulder to shoulder.
At this hour it feels like a clandestine boat of refuges from Cuba.
No lights and navegated only by the faint quarter moonlit outline of the coast.
Thank god no one else is crazy enough to be in our way at this time.
No vests.
A boat that if it went down would surely see no survivors.
A fact the owner of the boat (who only showed his face long enough to take the money) is well aware of.
A quick calculation tells me he is making a cool 500kb off of this crowd, and if anything did happen there wouldn't be a dime to offer anyone.
A hell of a service indeed considering this trip is costing him nothing in gas.
There is definatley room for competition on this route.
Pushed by 2 75hp outboards.
A heavy rubber tarp lays over the huddled mass, protecting it from salt spray over the sides of the boat which are within inches of the water.
Stay underneath until a lack of oxygen has me lightheaded forcing me to brave the spray.
An aweful journey.
Welcomed back in the early morning hours by the captain, already awake and dressed for work.
Still too dark to set off just yet I crash back in bed, savouring the final moments of luxury.
Just as I am finishing up my thank you note to leave by bike heavy rains wash down making that option dissappear.
Coincidentally Humberto arrives and suggests I ferry back with a naval ship instead, leaving after lunch.
Spend the meantime at the hospital where the doctor has offered me a full checkup, something I haven't had since leaving California 6 years ago.
Recent stomach problems have the doctor order all the tests; blood, urine, and stool tomorrow morning on an empty stomach.
Guess it is another day of TV at 'home'.
Kinda happy actually.
Lunch and my final supper with the officers in the mess hall.
Not bad food at all.
Nothing more until after the test.
Humberto returns from work late at night and right behind him arrives his 'suprise' birthday party gang.
I keep the gang occupied playing a special version of Hotel Humberto on guitar as they dig into cake and beer.
Happy Birthday Humberto!
March 21, 2006
Chalk me up for 2 more cavities.
Atleast they were filled for free and by two of the most beautiful dentists I have ever been to.
The pain wasn't so bad.
Pass my urine and draw my blod, but ofcourse after a week of the squirts nothing comes out.
Mierda!
Back at the house I stuff down as much cake as possible hoping to give it a push.
Success!
Lube the moto chain and give it a wash during the wait for results.
Midday and the doctor stops by with the report.
Good news, no problems.
Boat > Guiria, Venezuela 1:45 / 1.25h / Free!
Humberto, now anxious to see me carry on, quickly finds me a ferry.
With a stream of orders and salutes my bike is loaded easily onto the military patrol boat.
Alot hard to wrestle it off without the salutes in Guiria.
Moto > El Pilar, Venezuela 3:30 / 32124k 129k / 3h .5h
The naval armada may be a service to the country but the national guard certainly isn't.
Stopped three times at informal checkpoints within 10k of each other.
The usual full bag and bike search, this time even taking off the seat to peek into the air filter box.
A 15 minute squabble over visa issues that don't exist.
According to them visa to the country isn't enough to visit the state.
A guard who is confused by the whole concept of travel itself.
Eventually his superior informs him the visa is indeed valid.
On my way.
Pull into Yaguaraparo hoping to make it a stay and end up wasting the final moments of light waiting for someone to come to the door to tell me there is no rooms.
A claim that more and more seems to be the answer and more and more I highly doubt.
I suspect it is an excuse for something else.
Make it to El Pilar after dark after a 20k roundtrip to a sign posted 'Posada Oliver 3k' away.
In the end, at the end of a country road in the middle of nowhere I find the pirate pissing himself as he demands 50kb for a farmhouse sty.
Cargo a hitchhiker back to the center of town who enlightens me to my eventual stay.
An unmarked homestay with a drunk man in a room smelling of urine for 10kb.
A lunatic who follows me around town all night because there is only one key to the house.
After an already rough day on the road it is an even rougher night of sleep.
Springs poking me in the ribs as mosquitoes pinch at whatever they can manage.
The drunk snores all night infront of the TV left on.
To tell you the truth I am more and more thinking that the only thing I like about this country is the price of gas.
March 22, 2006
Turns out the naval armada is no less of a pain in the ass then the national guard after all.
Moto > Carupano, Venezuela 9:00 / 32253k 37k / .5h
Passing through Carupano and on the way out and pulled over by undercover agents of naval intelligence.
Don't trust their badges or claims enough to hand over my passport until the police arrive quickly after and they start recounting for me all the steps I have taken for the past week.
Excitement on the radio as I overhear them announcing that they got 'the guy they have been looking for'.
Shit, what did I do?
As my mind races back to climbing the lighthouse they raise the issue.
'We want to see the photos you took at the military base'.
'What?!?!', pausing to consider what photos I actually did take on the base.
'You mean the one I took of my friend Humberto after asking him if it was ok?'
With this the looks of suspicion deepen.
'It was a photo of him and nothing else...' as they prepare to take me in.
Apparently a visiting intelligence authority (the fat man with the constipated look who is also in the picture) saw this and raised the hassle.
A huge hassle.
Follow the flashing lights fleet back to the local headquarters where I am committed to intensive questioning.
One man points a video camera at me while the other tries to find holes in my description of events.
They think I am some sort of spy apparently, sent by Bush to disrupt Chavez.
The first problem is the photo is on slide film which would take several days to send to a photo lab in Caracas to develop.
Quite an interesting predicament for a national 'intelligence service' to be in.
The second problem is that I am conveniently unsure which of the 20 rolls it is on.
I have to give them credit for not just rashly stripping me of it all.
I only wish this doesn't cause problems for Humberto.
Released after an hour interview which more and more leaves them realizing they are being absolutely ridiculous.
Atleast they fed me lunch and let me surf the web using their computers over their confidential network.
Where is the 'intelligence' here?
My guess is I will see them further down the road over this slip up.
Joke with them about asking if i can take their photo before leaving.
Paranoid fools.
Moto > Chacopata, Venezuela 1:30 / 32290k 105k / 2.5h .5h
Turn off on a secondary road (to shake them) to a scenic stretch of coast just outside of Chacopata.
Stop for some photos and a film winding problem consumes a couple rolls of film.
It has been acting strange ever since I dropped it back in Manaus.
Got to get rid of this dinosaur and get a digicam.
Slide into the dusty oyster husker town too late to catch the last boat to Margarita at 4.
I am told the tickets are 10kb for a person and quite possibly 20kb more for the moto.
From here they use fishing boats that normally don't take anything other then passengers.
Recommend I take a ferry in Cumana and assure we it will cost less.
Decide to take their advice.
Hindsight is 20-20.
Moto > Cariaco, Venezuela 5:00 / 32398k 52k / 1h
Travelling Venezuela you will spend most of your time looking for a reasonable stay.
Anything under 25kb is never advertised, you must ask around and knock on doors that look like (and usually turn out to be) nothing.
Otherwise they usually claim to be full (when obviously they aren't) or are still asking too much.
They will almost never negotiate and the place will stay empty.
Moto > Camp 6:15 / 32450k 14k / .5h
There is almost no, or very little information exchange between people who don't know each other.
Feels a bit cold here without the 'belleza mi irmao' or 'todo bem' of Brasil.
People are usually helpful here but in general it isn't as easygoing and warm.
Without obvious or easy accomodation this can make travel tough.
Put myself on a huge highway (that for some reason doesn't exist on my map) after failing to find anything in Cariaco.
Insearch of a place to camp.
A detour down a dirt side road finds me an empty lot in progress of constructing the next great eco-nature tourist resort.
Big dogs barking from behind chain link fences.
March 23, 2006
Pack out at sunrise to try and catch the early ferry from Cumana.
Moto > Cumana, Venezuela 7:45 / 32464k 100k / 2h
Contrary to the advice, it turns out to be quite a bit more expensive from here then from Chacopata, 21kb per person and another 25kb for the moto.
Moreso, there is no strict timetable for the 'early' ferry and I might have to wait all day behind a huge lineup of trucks for it.
They recommend I continue on to Puerto La Cruz (an even longer boat ride from the island) for a lower price.
Once again I take their advice.
Hindsight is 20-20.
Moto > Puerto La Cruz, Venezuela 12:00 / 32565k 83k / 1.5h
Rush to Puerto La Cruz to try and catch the 1pm ferry and make it in time to queue in a line to buy tickets that stretches out the door.
3 hours later and just after missing the 1pm ferry (which left at 4pm) I am within eyesight of the front.
Fights break out and babies scream as I struggle with my own instincts that are now telling me to call off the whole trip all together.
With a crowd like this it is surely a porqueria of a white sand place I imagine.
Oddly enough it is slightly cheaper from here, 16kb per person and 25kb for the moto.
And so I lean on the rail and carry on, wishing all the while that I went from Chacopata.
Starving and sweating and sore of standing and still waiting.
Not really moving.
And how is it that it takes these people so long that when I arrive I will be paid and handed my ticket in under a minute?
The process is as simple as handing them the cash and taking your ticket.
The problem is that each person in line is ¨representing¨ 6 others and using 3 different forms of payment, 1 of which never works.
And so it is, under one minute.
Ticket in hand by 4:30.
Timing that in the end worked out just right, as I have only a half hour to grab a bite before the ¨arrive 2 hours early¨ for the 7pm ferry departure.
Jesus!
Sit down at a restaurant nearby for the standard chicken.
My body is beaten and worn.
Tired and sore from the wait, the sun, the camping, and the moto.
In dire need of real nutrition and vitamins that the variety in diet here just doesn't provide.
An overcooked and old potato salad and a twice fried and meager piece of dry chicken.
A mound of white rice and a sliver of a fried banana.
Sides of ketchup and mayo that I am not sure where to put.
Add to it a watered down pineapple juice and you are already at 7.5kb.
I find myself eating only the proteins and 'salad' and leaving behind the empty carbs.
Most of the meal is empty carbs.
Lately my back and neck have been the real culprits.
Tight and twisted from hours, days, and months of hunched forward moto posture during the day and sleep without a pillow at night.
I really should add a pillow to my pack list, just that it is so impractical.
So is the guitar.
Not sure which would give me more satisfaction at this moment.
Back at the pier '2 hours early' I inflate my thermarest on the bench and tune into Beck on MP3 as I wait.
And at 7:00 '2 hours later' the first of people start to arrive.
By 8:00 most are here and look ready to go.
It doesn't seem to occur to anyone the boat was supposed to have left an hour ago.
I am starting to think the whole bit about 2 hours meant 'after' and not 'before'.
Shortly thereafter the cars begin to load.
Ferry > Punta De Piedras, Margarita Island, Venezuela 9:00 / 5h / 16kb Me + 25kb Moto
Maybe someone should tell these people that 19:00 doesn't mean 9:00 at night.
Anyways, finally we are on our way.
Spend the entire trip attempting to shut my eyes.
And that they do at 2am just as we pull into Punta De Piedras, Margarita.
Motor off the boat and just a pinch into the desolate town before finding an empty baseball stadium to lay my bag in.
March 24, 2006
For a place promising the 'bahama getaway experience' it sure looks more like what I imagine Iraq to look like.
Atleast from the start at the port it gives a bad impression.
Piles of rubble and rubbish.
Half abandoned half destroyed single story cement buildings surrounded by barbed wire and rebar.
A resigned look on the peoples faces.
Not much different infact then the rest of Venezuela.
Down my 1kb dixie cup of foul coffee before deciding to loop the desolate western peninsula before heading to the busy tourist beaches of the east.
Moto <> Peninsula de Macanao, Margarita 6:30 / 32652k 90k / 10h 8h
Peninsula de Macanao - A dry desert of various cactus and small shrubs and rocks.
Take a break in Boca Rio for an empenada to fill the empty space in my stomach.
Another break halfway around in Punta Arenas to admire the small but decent white sand beach.
Absolutely empty.
Pelicans fight heavy winds to keep a competative position on the incoming fishing boats.
A monkey hangs from the rafters of the beach shack restaurant where I take shade to enjoy a coke.
A clear blue skies day.
Continue along the half decent half rubble small road that circles the peninsula.
Near the end a sign for a national park catches my eye and so I turn down the dusty road for a look.
A jeep speeds by blowing the dust up into a storm.
Stops a bit further out of curiosity.
Enter Pablo, Jose, and Martin; 3 park ranger biologists heading out on field work for the day.
Invite me along in their escapades.
Counting seeds fallen into collector boxes in order to extrapolate germination data.
An afternoon spent walking through wild jungle to a secondary peak of the mountain San Fransisco that defines the center of the peninsula.
All along they way the gang points out every single plant and animal we come across.
Mammoth iguanas, longos, tarantulas, and much more.
Great to be alongside such experience.
Invited to to stay in Jose's home back in Boca Rio for the night.
Moto > Boca Rio, Margarita 5:00 / 10k / .25h
Follow the dust cloud back to Boca where I settle into the bedroom of a roomate on vacation.
An epic home cooked dinner by the ranger gang cook lady.
Rosa finally bought her plane ticket, excited to pack her bags and meet me in Caracas on April 4th at 2am..
March 25, 2006
Spend the day on a shopping trip with the ranger gang to the big Porlamar supermarket.
One of the first places I have caught myself looking at pretty girls.
They do exist, just not so many and only in the posh capital places.
Back in Boca I lend a hand in helping fix up the house they are busy putting together for visiting researchers from around the world.
Jose is really involved in conservation efforts around the peninsula.
They are a really great gang and dedicated to what they do.
Nice to see in a country that so badly needs them.
Out at night to a marengue disco club on the other side of the peninsula.
Have I mentioned that venezuelans drink alot of beer?
March 26, 2006
With a bit less time to meet up with Rosa in Caracas I say goodbye and head toward the popular beach side of the island for a few days.
Moto > Manzanillo, Margarita 11:15 / 32755k 80k / 5h
Motor along the long thin strip of sand seperating the La Restinga mangrove lagoon from the Carribean Sea.
Great opportunities for wildlife viewing.
Stop at the tourist pier in the middle for a fish empenada.
Also a stop on the half hour speedboat tours that tourists take through the groves canals for 30kb.
My map is unclear on whether the road actually continues on to connect up with a principle route further ahead or not.
Ms Empenada assures me that a motorcycle can pass and so off I go.
What is at first a road, quickly becomes a trail and eventually dissappears completely to the sands of the beach.
An ever narrowing pile of loose broken shells for a beach that has my wheels digging themselves deeper showing the shells for a hundred meters behind.
An ever growing high tide that threatens to swallow the final remains of the beach out from infront of me.
The boundaries converge and soon I find myself throttling between the lulls in the waves.
The waters rush in as I frantically search out a clearing in the mangroves to park.
The waters retreat and I throttle hard in an attempt to make progress toward the next clearing 100m along.
Caught in the middle the water flushes the motor sending a cloud of steam into the air and threatening to choke the carb and wash me away.
Catch my back tire in a fishing net off of an old boat abandoned in one clearing.
Luckily the water doesn't reach and after dumping a good bit of gas manage it off.
There are no more clearings ahead and so I decide my best chance is to push the bike over the sand bar to the lagoon side where atleast the water is calm.
In the worst case I rationalize that I could wait 6 hours for low tide.
The swampy edge of the lagoon takes me all of 100m before turning to a murky quicksand that begins swallowing the bike.
The harder I throttle the faster I sink.
Throw all my gear to the side and push frantically with all my effort.
Superhuman strength that in its final moments frees the bike.
Forced back over to the sea side which has now advanced to the point of pushing the bike through the trees between the waves.
With wheels now dug into the axle, rocks are drawn into the chain and pop and crack from the gears.
Sweating and panting and cursing as I cover the final distance to where the road begins again.
2 hours to cover 10k.
In the end Ms Empenada was right but definately crazy and anyone to actually try it is a lunatic.
Do it during low tide.
Pull into La Guardia where the sand meets the pavement, sunburnt and beat.
Never thought I would be so happy to see a bodega.
Stop at the first one I see to down an icey 1.5l of water in under a minute.
La Guardia Bodega - The dirty hangout of all the towns men and one who thinks he is a woman (wink-wink).
Horse race betting over the radio and a promotion to draw in the crowds, buy a case of beer and get a free can to 'enjoy on the road'.
A dozen men shouting at each other as the pot grows to 200kb.
Somehow I enter a bid just by lifting my water bottle and I know it is time to move on.
Thoroughly convinced I have had my share of beach for atleast an hour I cut inland to San Juan.
Stop at a roadside chicharronera for a taste of what I have been missing since Peru.
To make a long story short, Peru has them easily beat.
A few scraps of what might be pork, thoroughly over fried to the point of dehydrated biscuit with huge chunks of fat, 2kb.
Push it down with a sweet corn tamale that under the circumstances is quite nice and a grape soda, 600b.
I like the humorous coincidence that owners of chicharroneras are always fatter then the pig they serve.
Continue on, passing through Alta Gracia against extremely heavy winds.
Up and over a coastal pass at some antenna station with a brilliant view over the island golf course and further down the coast to a lighthouse.
Pull into the small fishing town of Manzanilla and question around for a Mr. Augustine Vargas.
A man who my friend Kevin (South African adventurer I met in Lencois) stayed with while he was here and asked me to check up on.
Invited in by the quirky and friendly old man to his cement house on the hill above town.
Currently in the process of pouring a cement floor and adding a second floor for a future posada idea of his.
Wade through piles of junk to settle myself in an unused guest room to the side.
It isn't much but still better then most of my stays so far.
A good chat on the back porch frequented by the whiskey drunken gang of alcoholics next door.
His daughter puts together a chicken for dinner as we snack on guavas from a tree in his garden.
Augustine is a lamp shade maker by trade and an exotic gardener by hobby but he is really living off of his social security.
Happy for the company and accepting donations until his big project is complete.
Shows me around his collection of interesting fruit and vegetable plants.
Nice guy and a nice family.
Strange neighbors.
March 27, 2006
Spend the day relaxing on the beach away from the tourist crowds just a pinch further down the coast.
A decent place to 'getaway' but it doesn't really have the 'carribean' feel.
March 28, 2006
Bid Augustine and family farewell.
Quick walk along the tourist strip beaches before deciding to give them a pass.
A white sand porqueria just as I had predicted.
Still I had fun here, but that has more to do with the people I have met then the place itself.
Plans to return and visit the Boca gang before catching a ferry back.
Moto > Porlamar, Margarita 10:15 / 32862k 33k / .5h
Pass through Porlamar once again, this time, stopping at a moto shop to straighten out my bikes carburation.
Since the carb changes in Primavera, Brasil I have noticed the bike is uneven in power.
Since installing a bigger jet and dropping the needle to the middle it has been jerky at low speeds.
What I think it needs is a smaller jet and to raise the needle back up.
Carburator adjustments can be a real pain, especially on a cheap aftermarket chinese copy that was not right from day one.
Originally the jet was a 95 if I can remember correctly and in Brasil we changed it to a 110 for lack of any other sizes.
The man here pulls a 102 out of his bag, a size that cuts the difference pretty well.
Swap out the jet and return the needle to one notch above the middle.
An easy start and idle.
An increased power band with smooth acceleration all the way through.
Richer at the low end for more push and leaner at the top end for more speed.
Better then then ever and it should save me nearly 10% on gas over the long haul.
After 2 years of marginal performance it is finally set just right.
No charge!
In the process I came across a diagram that clarifies the tricky relationship between the needle, jet, and airscrew in providing the correct mixture of gas and air to the engine.
Here it is in hopes it helps you get it right alot faster.
Carburator Airscrew-Needle-Jet Relationship
. Throttle Position .
. 0 1/4 1/2 3/4 1 .
. Airscrew ||::-- .
. Needle --::|||||||||||||::::::----- .
. Jet ------:::::||||||||| .
With a well dodgy stomach after the food at Augustine's and tired of the norm and using my accomplishment as an excuse I treat myself to a quality chinese food at Lucky's.
Once again bitten by double charging and rounding off schemes.
Charged once for the tea (which i didn't even ask for) and then again for the glass.
Tack on an additional 10% 'service fee' ofcourse, bringing the 18kb plate somehow up to 25kb.
Moto > Boca Rio, Margarita 1:45 / 32895k 37k / .5h
The moto flies now with an effortless vigor I have never seen, topping 100kph at 3/4 throttle.
What I have been missing and for so long.
Convinced it would have saved me atleast a few hundred dollars in gas in Brasil alone.
Back in Boca I pull the plug to verify that the mixture is indeed correct.
Not hot, white, and dry like it was with the 95, nor cold, black, and wet like it was with the 110.
A nice and warm light tan with a touch of moisture.
Welcomed back in for a final night at Jose's before returning by ferry tomorrow morning.
March 29, 2006
An early goodbye and back to the ferry.
Moto > Punta Piedra, Margarita 5:30 / 32936k 24k / .25h
A much shorter and more efficient line, handing me a ticket in under 15 minutes.
Getting money out of an ATM here is a nightmare.
Assuming you find one that works, the maximum withdraw is 200kb and comes with a 'service fee' of 10kb per transaction.
Moreso the official exchange rate is under 2200:1, a good 20% less then the black market rate that is greater then 2500:1.
I highly recommend bringing sufficient cash in clean US bills of 50's and 100's for your entire stay.
Ferry > Puerto La Cruz, Venezuela 7:00 / 4.25h / 40kb Me+Moto
An amazingly on-time departure and a faster and easier trip back.
Back in Puerto La Cruz I grab a quick empenada before pushing on.
With plans to relax away my remaining days until Rosa arrives in a hammock on a beach I am pointed to Santa Fe.
Moto > Santa Fe, Venezuela 12:15 / 32960k 40k / .75h
Once again back the way I came over rolling hills along the coast to Santa Fe in the Mochima Natl Park.
Santa Fe - A small town with a tourist beach, but really not so special.
Find my hammock, but on the roof of the hotel, 8r.
March 31, 2006
After 2 days of laying around and bored of the beach I decide to take a step closer to Caracas.
Rosa arrives on the 4th and the plan is to eventually find a place close to the airport where we can relax a few days without hassle.
Moto > Piritu, Venezuela 10:30 / 33000k 106k / 1.5h
A frantic push through the heavy congestion of traffic in Barcelona to the relaxed and pleasent colonial port town of Piritu where I take lunch and a break.
Seems like not such a bad place for a stay but in the moment I don't feel like hassling to find a place.
Besides, a roadside billboard in Barcelona announcing skydiving a bit further along in Higuerote gives me my next destination.
Moto > 'Skydive Venezuela' Higuerote, Venezuela 3:00 / 33106k 200k / 3.5h
SkyDive Venezuela
- Pull into the hanger at dusk and welcomed in by a couple Americans, an australian, and a few germans.
The typical high energy and fun loving skydiver types, cracking jokes wherever they see the opportunity.
A gang stoaked on doing a few falls at the bargain rate of $15 from 12,000' over the next few days.
A new dropzone, just opened in November and in the process of heavy promotion.
Unfortunately the big lift is out for repair, leaving us with only a small but clean C206.
Park my bag in the bunkhouse, an ultra-new and clean dormitory full of beds above the hanger.
Accomodation much nicer then anywhere else I have stayed and for free to skydivers.
Join the gang into town for a bite and beer at the pretentious pool hall Poopies.
April 1-3, 2006
Two days and three jumps.
Alot of the laying around type of DZ life along with a great gang.
Rich of Portland, Oregon does his first tandem inbetween sessions on my guitar and teaching me some yoga.
Rich is an excellent guitar player doing well in a band of his own named
A Cautionary Tale that you would be wise to check out.
When not working on his music he can be caught scanning
www.engrish.com
for "fresh daily hormones".
Together with 'brother' Eli, a recently licensed jumper of Eloy, Arizona they are out of the states for a few weeks of fun.
Promised their "cheap carribean getaway" from the website and now stuck with Venezuela.
Might as well spend the time jumping they figure.
A fiercly funny odd "couple" ;)
The rest of the gang, among others are Blake the balling bloke of Oz, Jerry the web wizard of Latvia, and Marcel the crazy swiss dude.
A very interesting gang.
A sad goodbye.
April 3, 2006
Moto > Los Caracas, Venezuela 12:00 / 33305k 95k / 3h .5h
Along the secondary coastal road toward Los Caracas (conveniently close but confusingly different from Caracas).
A beautiful route with no traffic that hugs the coast between thick national park jungle and deep blue sea.
30k of dirt followed by a paved single lane with river crossings and waterfalls enroute.
Stop at a waterfall for a swim along side a school group of kids.
Small and friendly towns along the way.
Take a break in the small and attractive but still unexploited Los Caracas for a snack of artesianal sweets.
Moto > Maiquetia (Caracas Airport), Venezuela 3:30 / 33400k 53k / 1.75h
Out of town through a police checkpoint where the road widens to 2 clean lanes of fresh asphalt, still no traffic.
As I close in on Maiquetia (the Caracas airport city) the towns grow in size.
Small and clean and friendly places one by one become big and dirty and busy.
Stop at the small El Pobre Juan seafood diner for a fried fish lunch, 14kb.
Hoping for something fresh being on the coast but not so.
Pristine and posh japanese luxury cars have replaced the old and busted american classics as I approaching the big city.
Nearly knocked off by a shiney new SUV speeding by and blaring on the horn.
Seems that the nicer cars usually are driven by the nastier warriors.
This country has quite a few.
Pull into the airport to get my bearings on things before Rosa arrives tomorrow morning.
An easy airport to get in and out of and with absolutely no security outside of the gates.
Black market money hawkers on the prowl.
Moto > Las Salinas, Venezuela 5:30 / 33453k 17k / .5h
Continue along the coast on a second secondary road toward Chichirivichi where I was told would be a good place to rest for a few days.
As the sun begins to set I decide to stop short in Las Salinas instead.
After a long day on the road my interest in landing the perfect stay is low and so I take the first thing I find.
A rip-off of a shithole room with shared bath and a steep scent of urine for 25kb.
Take an early night, setting the alarm for midnight.
April 4, 2006
Moto > Airport 1:00am / 33470k 17k / .25h
Make my way back to the airport in the middle of the night.
Absolutely empty streets with absolutely no one anywhere to be seen.
Strange for such a significant city.
Arrive to the desk of LLoyds Bolivia Air to a notification that her airplane is running 2 hours late, to arrive at 4:15 they say.
Loop around trying to waste time and in search for anything open to sell me some food.
An overpriced and sloppy hamburg with a fried egg instead of the beef but with a mountain of condiments that stir in my stomach, 7kb.
Almost everytime I eat here it feels like a mistake to both my stomach and my wallet.
Since arriving Venezuela my stomach has not stopped feeling dodgy and the few solid shits I have had are nearly white.
I know the doctor said I was fine but it sure doesn't feel like it.
Back at the airport I waste more time haggling with shifty characters over the exchange rate.
Manage to find someone not entirely sketchy and offering 2300:1, but I know the real rate is higher.
Push my 2 cards through the 6 ATMs at the airport and they all fail and all for different reasons.
5am and still it hasn't arrived.
Return to the desk to find out that the plane actually never even left its stopover in Santa Cruz, Bolivia.
They tell me it was for mechanical reasons, but having spent time in Bolivia I am sure what that really means is someone is on strike.
I just wonder why they didn't tell me that at 1am when I arrived.
To try again tomorrow at the same time he says.
Moto > Las Salinas, Venezuela 5:15am / 33497k 17k / .25h
Back to Salinas and back in bed.
Moto > Airport 12:00 / 33515k 17k / .5h
Pack out and back to town to check the internet and find out what happened with Rosa.
A quick scan through the news shows I was right.
Bolivia is currently on "paro" (strike) as they always are and I strongly suspect this is the real reason.
An email from Rosa is waiting as expected.
Stuck in Santa Cruz and put up in a 5-star hotel with the 60 others from her flight.
No one really knows what is going on and the company has not told them anything.
They say there is the possibility of trying again tonight.
Back to the airport to double check and the airline office is ofcourse empty (read - on strike).
Desperate for cash I manage to exchange $300usd with an honest character for 2400:1, knowing that it isn't the best rate.
Happen across an older couple of brasilian motorcycle travellers on their Hondas.
Desperate for a place to stay themselves I show them back to Las Salinas.
Moto > Las Salinas, Venezuela 6:00 / 17k / .5h
A few rooms just down the road from last nights.
Much cleaner and with a private bathroom and negotiated down to 20kb with bigger buying power.
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