Chapada Diamantina

Still in Salvador, I had a tough decision to make between one job offer and another interview invitation. The offer came from a local school in Bahia, who were just opening a new School for the community; they would need me to work part-time starting in 2 - 3 weeks. The pay would not be great but I would get discount on Portuguese lessons. The invitation came from a school in Rio named 'New Start'. The director (Adam Reid) emailed me in response to me sending my CV to him. New Start are a school who run courses of business English for working professionals www.newstart.com.br. I called Adam who sounded very interested, he told me that his organisation pay comparatively well. I told him I would be in Rio the following Monday and would call him to arrange a time. Both sounded very positive and I figured I would go to the interview, which would be my preference, and if this was unsuccessful I could always go back to Salvador.

Arthur had arranged to go to Chapada Diamantina with a couple we had met in Morro. What is now a jewel of the eco-tourism, was once a refugee of precious stones hunters. The cities that border the National Park are filled with colonial buildings representing the architecture of this time, a vivid memory of the richness of the diamonds, which made Brazil the first world producer of the stone during the beginnings of the 20th century. Lençois, (pronounced len-soiz), the main village in the Chapada, lies 400km (250 miles) west of Salvador. The city grew up around the huge diamond boom in the region in the mid-1800's. At one stage it had a population of 30,000, but as a result of the discovery of diamonds in South Africa, the town began to go into decline. It is home to the largest waterfall in Brazil, apparently so high that the water never actually touches the ground as it evaporates and turns into misty rain.

I was torn between going back to Rio or join Arthur. I ended up rescheduling the interview, pushing it back 3 day to Thursday; Adam was fine with this and still sounded keen.

We set of early on Friday morning for a 6 hour drive. The Brazilian countryside boasts huge stretches of green mountain ranges surrounded by miles of fields that seem to fade into infinity. I was amazed as we passed through rural villages home to just a few hundred people. One seemed to have only a small hall and four houses; the residents all seemed to be congregating under the village tree. Arthur and I joked about this - 'What are you up to today?' 'Oh, I'm just gonna hang out under the tree, you?' 'Yeah me too.'

We arrived and were all greeted by excited locals all trying to sell us accommodation and trekking. One particular guy who called himself Washington seemed overly keen to impress us. He would be our guide for the next two days' trekking.

We set out early - around 8am with our packed lunch. The plan was to make our way by jeep to a mountain, climb it and then return to Len Souz across 20km of country.

We reached the mountain in about 1 hour and began our ascent. It was not a tough climb, in fact it was hardly what you would call a mountain and after about 30 minutes we reached the peak. We must have climbed the short side of the mountain as when we reached the top, the peak revealed a huge stretch of mountains and rich Bahian countryside.

We then trekked 20km across this amazing and huge countryside it was so beautiful and, well, massive. I have never seen hills stretch so far, far, further than the eye could see. And the sky, well the sky just seemed so much larger than I am used to. With some much land to cover, there was plenty of time for self-reflection and deep thought.

As I writing this, the owner of my current place of stay is blaring Celine Dion and singing along in the most completely tone-deaf wail. Does he realise how gay he sounds? Please make it stop. ARRRRRG.

Day two - Trek of Terror

We woke the next morning to meet Washington for the second instalment of adventure. We had arranged for him to take us to the second largest waterfall through the forest and later, a big natural waterslide. Unfortunately, when he arrived, he brought bad news with him; he would not be able to guide us as he had injured his leg. Instead, he left his older and cross-eyed brother in charge, which was obviously of slight concern to us. He led us in almost silence and at a fair pace, leaving half of the pack behind. Eventually we reached a white water river, stopped for a short break and then continued to climb up the river. I must admit it was at times a harrowing experience; he actually led us through the river on multiple occasions. I kid you not, if any of us had slipped on the damp and algy covered rocks, we would surely have broken numerous limbs if not perished. We continued and it became apparent that the guide was ad-libbing the journey. At one point we came to a complete halt and the guide seemed concerned that there was no way ahead. He then proceeded to wade through the river hip deep and beckoned us to follow. Bearing in mind that we all had and mine included my camera, we decided this wasn't wise. After some discussion, half the group stayed behind to swim in a pool and look after the bags. That left four of us to continue. It got even worse after that, we had to literally scramble up a river that was battling to absorb us. The worst part was holding on to the side of a rock face with just fingertips and shuffling across two inches of ledge, for about 50 yards.

Finally we turned a corner and there she blew, a monster of a waterfall with a massive pool at her foot. There was a larger cliff next to her and guide urged us to climb and jump off. I was first of course and without giving it too much fear-inducing thought I left into the pool. The water was brown - from a reaction with the surrounding plants - but very refreshing.

We then swam toward the waterfall and climbed behind the rushing water. Wow. The air was pounding us as the gallons of water forced it out of place, it felt like being in a wind tunnel (I imagine). There we stayed in complete harmony with nature. I felt so alive. There was a convenient flat-topped rock place just behind the rushing water, we took turns in laying down to be massaged. I could have stayed there for hours just thinking. We each went for another dive. This time, I decided to brave a headfirst attempt. It reminded me of diving off the top diving board at The Prince Regent Swimming Pool. As I hit the water, I became completely blind from the brown colour; I must've gone pretty deep as I had to swim a few seconds to reach the surface. As I did, something felt wrong with my leg. I felt my calf and to my shock there was a tennis ball sized bulge. I thought I must've snapped my leg or something but felt no pain. Was it the shock? I recall thinking. As I was swimming to the edge I was massaging my leg and before I had reach the edge, I'd pushed the bulge back into place!

We made our way back with military-like pace, I was happily enjoying this but others kept complaining. We had one more stop before our journey back to the town - a natural water slide. Eventually after an hour or so we arrived there and it was amazing. Arthur, the guide, another Brit named Ru and myself climbed to the top. It didn't appear very hospitable on the waterfall, bare rocks, which had been pummeled by the streams of water from god knows where for thousands of years, formed a smoothish slide. Arthur braved it first; he seemed happy enough although it looked like a very bumpy ride! I went next and was pleasantly surprised. It was bumpy but didn't hurt at all and after, at one moment I almost lost control, however, managed to steer myself back on track in time for the plunge at the end.

After a smoke with the locals and a mean Pag Thai curry we went for a drink in a local Reggae bar pretty much dedicated to Bob Marley and then went to bed.

Geronimo Banda Mont'serrat

After arriving back in Salvador, we returned to our Pousada o Pagador Promessa. Aptly named after the steps it overlooks; these steps being famous for sharing the same name as the first Brazilian film to win a prize at the Cannes Film Festival. There was a band setting up on the steps.

We dumped our stuff and headed out for some food. After buying some dirty street-meat from a vendor and then promptly throwing the uncooked old meat away. We went back to the steps to find things hotting up. They were playing 'Chan Chan' by one of my favourite bands, Buena Vista Social Club, from Cuba. This as usual reminded me of my Father, who introduced me to them some years ago.

There was Makahonia being smoked everywhere quite openly. It was being passed selflessly around for all to enjoy. I spoke to a local named Miacho and he took me off to score some. We chatted about football and where we were both from, largely I was just agreeing with him enthusiastically, while clumsily forming sentences with the little Portuguese I have picked up. I did pleasantly surprise myself and both the journey and transaction took place with no English being muttered. The weed was good.

Arthur and I had a smoke and then returned to our pousada to enjoy the band from our balcony. The band were absolutely awesome. Mixing elements of afro-jazz, funk, soul and traditional Brazilian.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P3kU9yBb4-I

After the band finished playing we went out to enjoy the Tuesday night festivities. Tuesday is like our Friday night over here. We ended up in a Reggae club in the main square of Pelarinho, it seemed very inviting from the outside although once inside, felt completely different. Arthur and I headed for the back of the club but when we got there we were warned not to go any further. I needed to piss so went off in search of a commode and ended up doing a full circle to no avail. A guy must have picked up on the fact that I seemed a little lost and came over to talk to me, I asked where the toilet was and he beckoned me to come with him. I followed but felt a little uneasy. We walked into the area I had been warned off and he pointed me in the direction of a very dodgy looking alleyway. I had a piss and he led me back onto the dance floor, before he left he warned me to stay where he could see me, at this point it became apparent that his intentions were honest and that he worked for the club as an undercover bouncer. I was relieved. I met Arthur again and told him what had happened. We then went to get a beer and I was approached by a pregnant women pleading me to buy her a beer. Obviously I wasn't going to contribute to the harm of her child and refused, she then tried to go in my pockets! I removed her hand at once. Later Arthur and I were dancing and again we were approached, this time by a thin looking white guy. He introduced us to two Maori NZ`s. He then offered us coke which we refused but then insisted on introducing us to his `man`, we then refused again but the trafficante started racking lines up on the dance floor, right in front of the security guard. He said it was okay because they didn't have any weapons! We eventually left with the two Maori`s and the two peddlers - who were heading to an after party. It turned out the after party was in a favela so at the first available opportunity (when in sight of armed police) we said our goodbyes and went home. What a crazy night that was?!

Morro de Sao Paulo

Morro de Sao Paulo

The girls left for Morro de Sao Paulo that day, a tropical island north of Salvador. There was talk of a full moon party on the beach on the following night (Saturday). This sounded good to Arthur and I, and we arranged to email them for details of where they were staying. Arthur and I would join them the following day.

The next day we took the lift down to the port and catamaraned for an hour across to the island at a steep price of 50 Reals each. First impressions were pretty low and the place just looked like a massive tacky tourist resort. We walked along the coast looking for the pousada which the Americans were staying at. It turns out they gave us the wrong name. I thought I spotted them on the beach but when we went for a closer look. It wasn't them but as soon as we turned to walk away we saw them. They were sitting with some Canadian dude who I took an instant dislike to, perhaps because he was blatantly interested in Megan. I sensed something had already occurred between them. After some chit-chat, they showed us the pousada. It was cheap but cheerful.

Like Ilya Grande, the island forbays cars, so amusingly, their is a massive population of wheelbarrows! Or 'Taxis' as they are referred to. Boys from the age of about 11 ferry these single wheeled carts to and from the port to peoples pousadas, filled with luggage, undetered by the steep hills all along the coast. It is a great system: it provides jobs to the youth in between school (or instead of) but also keeps them extremely fit. It's not uncommon to see youts as young as 12 built like brick shit-houses! There is no begging on this island.

The first night was fairly messy. The beach was full of fruit vendors selling there natural and hand-made fruit cocktails. Despite the volume of these stalls, they all seemed to be busy. There stalls were beautiful full of fresh tropical fruits, all sliced and displayed most elaborately. Although Meg and I kissed at various points in the evening, I sensed a change in her. It was blatantly something to do with the Canadian. The cocktails were delicious and fresh. We drank plenty and went home to chat shit to each other all night.

The next day, Arthur and I went to find a decent beach; we were not disappointed. Most of the tourists just stop by about beach 2 of 4, but if you keep going on to beach 4, you end up turning a small island corner and arrive at a paradise of white sands, crystal clear waters and no tourists. We sat and chilled for hours and befriended a couple of Brazilians who interestingly were auditors for the state treasury.

That afternoon while we chilled back at the pousada, four more Brazilian guests arrived. Two couples: one married, and the other just split up. The girl who was now single was named Sheila. She was black, slender and had a gorgeous face; a fine specimen of Brazilian beauty. They were very friendly and I practiced my Portuguese on them while Arthur and the yanks slept. Sheila was loquacious and her friend, the married girl, kept pointing at her and then me, followed by a beaming smile. I understood and reciprocated the smile. I played her some Brazilian drum 'n' bass and she loved it. She was dancing extremely provocatively and smiling at me. I wasn't about to complain. We drank sangria and shots of Cachaça while laughing and dancing- one earphone each. Her ex, Junior, did not seem to be bothered by her actions and watched also smiling at her then me. Perhaps this was a facade, I wasn't paying too much attention to him to be honest. He left to go to the shop and we danced together already drunk after a few shots. I couldn't help staring at her big soft lips and, picking up on this she planted them on me!

We all had a smoke and then everyone left us and arranged to meet us later. After a passionate hour, we left to meet them down the beach, for more debauchery. We found them and sat in a cirlce drinking. Eventually, Arthur and I broke off from the crowd and went back to the pousada. The two couples were already there and junior came into our dorm for a drink and a pick-me-up. After a few minutes we heard moans. Junior went back to his dorm to find the married couple and Sheila indulging in a Ménage à trois! He was shocked and Arthur and I made a swift exit. Too messy. I'm glad I took the necessary precautions.

The following day we said goodbye to the crazy Bahianos and decided we had had enough insanity, so went to find ourselves a chillout beach. We did, it was unbelievable. Once you get beyond the tacky tourist strip, the island reveals miles of white sands and shallow clear waters. The waves break about half a mile off the coast. We took a special lunch of lobster in one of the restaurants on the beach. A vole-like man served us with great enthusiasm bouncing back and forth with our orders. Four fresh lobsters off the grill cost us about a tenner English in total. Arthur and I joked about how much the likes of Due South on Brighton beach, would charge! The Americans left that day and we arranged to meet back in Salvador.

The following day, Arthur and I woke early, as it was our last day. We got some coffee and pastries then set off to find another beach. This time not one of the numbered ones from the map. We walked along the coast for a couple of miles in and out of coves, before passing three tourists each covered head to toe in a pink substance. A bit further along we came to a massive cliff of pink rock. There were gently trickles of water leaking from various holes and where the water fell, pools of pink gooey mud. A man was bathing in one of the pools, Arthur and I couldn't resist and got stuck in, caking ourselves in this exfoliating pink mud. After collaring some Israelis into taking some snaps, we launched ourselves into the sea to cleanse. It was a highly invigorating experience. The locals say the effects are salubrious for the skin, and sure enough I felt softer than usual. After this, we chilled at a nearby bar, listening to Alpha Blondie before making our way back just before the tide came in.

The catamaran journey home was rough. I felt quite bilious. The only way to deal with the ailing was to stand up outside at the port of the ship, while the warm wind and sea sprayed in one's face.

Bahia

Salvador

We stayed another night in The Brazil Hostel. The next day I sent my CV to a local school in the hope of finding work teaching English. Arthur and I just chilled that day and made a phat Spaghetti Bolognese for us and Yearime. Is this the last meal we will ever share as a three? Probably yes. It was delicious and we all cleared our plates with satisfaction.

Then next morning Arthur and I decided it was time to move on. I hand-wrote a letter to Yearime using my newly engraved 'Cross' pen - a present from a dear friend back home to mark my new journey and career as a teacher - it was short and heartfelt. I toyed with the idea of not actually giving it to her but eventually did. The goodbye was brief and unaffectionate.

Instead of getting the cheaper 32 hour coach to Salvador, we went to the travel agent and booked a flight which would take us only 2 hours. At the airport in Salvador, we went to wait for a bus; the plan was to go to Carmo - a small town in Salvador renowned for its laid-back afro infuenced culture. We waited over an hour and still there was no bus. A women came round and offered us to share a cab with her but before Arthur and I had time to look at each other, she informed it was full! We had spotted two western looking girls also waiting and Arthur suggested we ask them the same question. I got up and went over to introduce us. They were American and although from Washington DC seemed friendly enough. We all got in a cab and went to find a Pousada. We got the name of a recommended one out of the Lonely Planet and it turned out to be farily close; the cabby dropped us off at the bottom of a seedy looking road which wasn't acceptable so I insisted he took us to the door. It turned out to be a 2 second drive up the hill he was unimpressed and we were cracking up!

That night we went out with the Americans: Lily and Megan who turned out to be sisters. They surprised us again with their liberal and educated views of the world. They were well traveled. Megan, the eldest told us of her journey to Palestine with her ex, only last year during high-conflict times. I found this very admirable and incredible. It seems decent Yanks do exist after all.

We chose pretty much the first bar we came across which turned out to be a stupid mistake. The pestering was unbelievable, I kid you not, we were approached every 2 or 3 minutes. Children scruffy and emaciated continued to beg us for offerings all night. They would come round with ribbons and attempt to tie them to your wrist as a gift which they thought gave them the right to hound you to buy their merchandise of handcrafted earrings or beads. It was upsetting to experience. Once again we were surrounded by poverty. We befriended some locals who were only interested in our money and went to another bar, where we drank some more and chatted. The girls scored some gear and we went back to the Pousada for a private party. This went on for a few hours and we discussed politics before eventually going to bed. During the night, the Megan began to whisper to me; although can't remember what was said. Before I new it we were kissing! I need to curb my philandering I think.

The morning came. The place was and is a beautiful very old colonial town - originally the capital of imperial Brazil. The architecture is stunning although, like most colonial structures in Brazil, has been left to become dilapidated and unpainted. Some of the residential building have been re-vamped with pastel colours created a very mellow feel.

I checked out a local school and the Portuguese teacher informed me that he would need English teachers in about two weeks. He was starting a community school for the underprivileged; he said that this would pay up to 12 Reals per hour; I suspect no working visa would be needed for this.

Put your hands up for Brazil

After a gruelling 13 hour flight, I finally touched down in my destination: Rio de Janeiro. The blast of heat hit me instantly, especially since the last weather I had experienced was the depressing British winter. I had arranged for the hostel to pick me up from the airport and sure enough, to my relief, he was punctually there waiting for me. We attempted petty and disjointed conversation along the way, which was amusing. As we meandered through the lively Rio traffic, I was shocked at my first real sight of the Carioka Favelas; they were vast, stretching over miles of terrain. While driving past them, one couldn´t help but notice the dark and pungent smell of sewage.

It seemed I was the first guest of the day at the hostel. The host Anna was there to greet me with her warm Brazilian smile. She showed me around and to my room. I was to share with up to 5 others. It was modest but would suit me fine.

Feeling a little jet-lagged and hot, I took a long refreshing shower. I then decided to head for the beach. As I was leaving, I bumped into two more residence: Jo and Helen, both British from Herts. We took the 464 bus to Ipanema. It was about a 20 minute journey and felt like being on a rollercoster with its erratic driving and bumpy, tried suspension.

When we got there, the town was similar in its appearance to how I´d imaged. However, the lack of Brazilians wasn´t; the streets were swarming with tourists and the area was very tacky and built up. The beach was unbelievable; a sea of umbrellas housing thousands of cotching bathers and drinks-traders. I must admit the actual sea was a disappointment, it was murky and not dissimilar in its colour to Brighton. After my lovely refreshing and cleansing shower I hesitating venturing in, although after 10 minutes of Rio sun, the temptation was too strong!

Later the girls and I took a lunch of Brazilian brochette and garlic-fried chicken. The portions were fair and although by Brazilian standards it was obviously expensive, I was satisfied.

Arthur and I were supposed to rendezvous at my hostel although I was yet to hear from him, so I decided to look for his hostel instead. I asked around but no one had heard of Wave Hostel (where he was staying) so I went to an Internet cafe to find the address. It happened to be just around the corner so I dropped round in the hope of finding him. He wasn´t there. I left a message with my hostel details and a contact number.

I then took a bus back to my hostel back in Lapa. Being unsure I was on the right tracks, I asked a man sitting next to me for directions. He introduced himself as Michael. Luckily he spoke good English (a rarity here in Rio), he was kind enough to offer me a tour of Lapa! We got off the bus and he took me to where he said was his favourite spot; feeling a little paranoid, I wondered if trusting him was wise; nevertheless, I decided to put faith in my new home and went with him anyway. I was astounded by the amount of beautiful architecture surrounding us. Lapa houses a large square which is home to a huge cathedral shaped like a mayan pyramid. We walked down a side street. Michael explained that all the buildings in this area were built during the Portuguese occupation. The classic style colonial houses were absolutely stunning although clearly ill-maintained and in need of refurbishment - or at least a lick of paint! At the end of the street lay a huge flight of stairs; each intricately decorated with a beautiful mosaic of coloured tiles. They depicting all types of great Latin American leaders and heroes as well as local designs and classic Brazilian art. We scaled the staircase. When we reached the top, Michael explained a convent lay ahead. As we walked past I noticed a changed in the architecture, it was modern and rather more ugly. I could see the favelas drawing nearer on the horizon and feared again he may be leading me astray. We walked through the backstreets and passed three you boys flying their kites; they flew so high you could barely see them, but each boy stood poised in concentration and controlled them with great accuracy. This reminded me of the kite flying in the series 'City of God' spin-off series: 'City of Men.' I then received a phone call. It was Arthur. He was excited and informed me that we would be going to a rave headlined by none other than Fatboy Slim! I told Michael and we made our way back down to the square. Michael kindly guided me back to my hostel and we said our goodbyes; I offered him a few Reals (thinking this made be the motivation for his kindness) to which he responded, 'Don't be stupid, man. I enjoyed it.' This really instilled great faith in the people of Rio and I went home thoroughly elated.


I freshened up again and made my way back to Ipanema to meet Arthur. The bus took 40 minutes to arrive and I was cutting a bit fine. Once I landed in Ipanema I flagged a taxi to deliver me directed to the hostel. The cabby had a weasel-like face and leathery skin. I naively failed to agree on a price up front and - surprise, surprise - we went on an involuntary and overpriced tour of the town. He only seemed to pay attention to shouting and eventually I managed to free myself, only to have to walk another mile or so. Fucking cunt. This had quite the opposite effect of Michael´s kindness.

After visiting the hostel owners apartment for drinks, Arthur and I joined 12 others and took a minibus to the rave. Arthur had already befriend the crowd and managed to arrange some marching powder. It was going to be a good night.


We drew close to the venue and to my surprise I could hear the sounds of Brazil's second most famous DNB DJ playing - Patif. I was shaking with excitment (as well as other reaons).

The queues were modest and we were in, in no time at all. Arthur and I went straight to the bar with our newly befriended Chiswick girls, Rosie and Emily - two 19 year old gap year students on a tour of the world before continuing with there typically unsure eduction. We lost them instantly, being too focused on the prospect of beer.

We managed to catch the tail-end of the DNB which was slightly annoying but still brocked out to some Brazilian, DJ Marky-style anthems. Soon after Fatboy Slim took to the decks. The whole place went mental; 30,000 people worshiped him like a messiah, with their prayers of dance. The visuals were astounding and to our delight a huge screen suddenly displayed an image of Brighton Pier.

It couldn't have been a more perfect night to kick off my adventure. He played a new remix - 'Put your hands up for Brazil... I love this countryyyyyy' We bumped into the Chiswick girls again and continued rocking till dawn. The bus was there to take us home and Arthur and I decided to join a couple of posh Oxford Brooks grads back at their apartment for a smoke. It was a nice way to come down off the yayo. Their apartment was located in Copacabana and after chatting shit about the Illuminati and other conspiracy theories for an hour or so, I decided to head home. I got the bus back to Ipanema only to realise I didn't actually know the name of my road. Two hours of wired searching passed. I was lost. It was now 7:30am and I hadn't slept, I wanted sleepy time real bad, but couldn't find my bed. It was getting ridiculous and I was too bloody paranoid to ask directions. I took a final deep breath and retraced my journey with Michael earlier. It worked and eventually I was home. Amusingly, my new German roommate was there to greet me. 'Vhere hast you been?' He cried. 'Partying.'I replied. 'But you dint even sleep heea.' The concept of partying all night seemed alien to this straight-laced German.
I explained where I´d been. And eventually he replied 'Kuuul.' I had leant him 50 Reals the night before in exchange for him obtaining me two tickets for the football, he ventured out while I slept and returned 6 hours later with meinen tickets, when I awoke. Not a bad deal ;)

Day 2

Flamengo Tigers

As mentioned before, we had arranged to go to the local football. I went to meet Arthur in town. It was raining and he was late. I watch patiently while the local homeless lines up to get there food vouchers. They would leave all types of strange objects to mark their place in the queue, eventually to nuns turned up sheltered from the rain by an umbrella wielding holy-man; the homeless all enthusiastically refiled in the queue and appreciatively took their meal tickets. After getting lost the night before I felt comfortable with my understanding of the local with area. I waited and waited in the rain but wasn't stressed or impatient. Arthur arrived and we made out way to the station. We met Mo, Helen and Jo in the station and took the train directly to the Estadio Mario Filho, the home ground of both Flamengo Vs. Botafogo.

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting" src="http://i63.photobucket.com/albums/h132/nikarian/DSC00445.jpg" width=694 border=0>

This was possibly the biggest derby match in Brazilian football. Fought out by ranks 1 and 2 in the league. It was out of this world. The passion of the fans was electric. We eventually got our place slap bang in the middle of the die-hard fans: The Dragons. Unlike British hooliganism, the Brazilians seem to have more the one firm per team. For example amongst the Flamengo fans I spotted at least two uniformed gangs: The Dragons and The Tanks. Now they would operate separately but when it came to the crunch would be allies when fighting the opposite team's firm(s). We were surrounded with passion the singing was constant and by all and one really got the sense that the energy in the crowd was transferring directly onto the pitch. The flags, the singing, the flares; it was amazing.

The Brazilian style of attacking football was most exciting to watch. I felt very lucky to be a part of it. Flamengo took the lead and the stadium shook with celebrations. Botafogo soon equalised and a depression swept our end of the stadium. There was a huge general like man in front of us. If we stopped singing (despite us not actually knowing the words), he would get upset. He'd run around our end drumming up enthusiasm. The sides were evenly matched and eventually the game drew to an end. 3-3.

The journey home was dark. As we shuffled out of the stands we kept getting pushed aside by lively singing skirmishes of about 10-15 men jumping through the crowds in train-like formation. The only option was to get out the way and let them pass on to whatever battle they were heading for. When we got outside we did a quick headcount: Arthur, Mo (ze German), Jo and Helen (the herts gals). Across the road there were stools of street kebabs. Arthur trotted over to grab one, although no one actually noticed him going. It was now pouring with rain. 'Where's Arthur?' I asked the group. 'Who knows?' Mo replied 'Let's go, he shouldn't walk off and I'm zery vet' He continued. 'We Can't leave him mate,' Jo cried 'He's not going to be far.' It was then that I knew these girls were decent and the German really didn't give a fuck about anyone but himself. 'Besides it's warm rain and your wearing a fucking raincoat!' I shouted. He didn't reply to this and at that, I led the group across the road to find Arthur. He was there oblivious to it all! We made our way back to the station and one of the birds stopped for a wee. Mo was unhappy at this and continued to walk on his own. Everyone else waited. We then turned a corner and came across a massive group of Botafogo fans crowding some onlooking police. Hurrying past them we walked up a slope to a safe distance and turned to watch the commotion. One of the fans attacked. The police quickly responded and the fans scattered. I was excited at the site of this but we knew it wasn't safe to stay any longer. As we walked into the station I typically realised I had mislaid my ticket. After a panic and a scrounge through my 400 pockets I found it. During the ride home, Arthur and I got chatting to a couple of Israeli girls. Israelis certainly aren´t my favourite nation of people but one of them was fit, so I made exception. Shiran was from Tel Aviv, she had deep starey eyes, pointy eyebrows and a cute smile. She explained that her and her fat friend were on a 6 month tour of South America and were going to Christo on the morrow. I was interested by this and we exchanged email addresses. She also revealed that she would be heading up to Salvador for the carnival. The second person to say that the Salvador carnvial was supposed to be less commercial and more Brazilian. Arthur and I discussed that this perhaps would have been the better option but at this stage booking accommodation was unlikely top be possible. Alas, DJ Marky would be pun flex as well. I arranged to email Shiran and we left.

I Arthur and I left the train headed back to his Hostel via bus. When we disembarked, the rain was stronger than ever. However, it was tropical weather and I didn't feel uncomfortable in the slightest. We spoke of career plans and education and had an interesting discussion on what we knew of South American politics. I was glad that Arthur despite being 3 years my junior, had good knowledge and felt sure he would be good companion throughout our journey.

Not a lot happened that evening. We met up with the Chiswick girls again for some dinner and drink. I checked the time and it was 2am; the day had flown by! We went back to the hostel briefly and I took a private bus back to Lapa.

Day 3

St. Teresa

I awoke early today and actually made use of the Hostel's inclusive breaky! Nothing fancy, just a couple of slices of toast, a banana and a coffee. I chatted with Mo and the girls, and also our new arrivals Richard and Sarah from Manchester. After breakfast, I left the hostel and went to meet Arthur at the arches. He was early this time. We decided to stay local and agreed to take a look around Lapa and see what she had to offer. In the centre of Lapa there is a wall of huge white arches, walked through them making our way back to the steps that Michael had shown me previously.

These are the steps Pharrel and Snoop were cotchin on in their ´beautiful´tune.

We climbed to the top, taking the same path. This time we actually took the tram or Bungy as they´re know. The price was 60cents (about 18p) although if you held on to the side - which we did - you paid nothing. The Bungy flew through the back streets and up higher. After disembarking Arthur complained of hunger pains, he'd yet to've eaten anything. Arthur is a full blooded Frenchman but was raised in England for most of his life. He also fluent in English, French and Spanish. This helps us no end when it comes to communicating with the locals. He speaks to them in Spanish but ads a touch of their accent, throwing in the few Poruguese terms he knows where possible. It works suprisingly well and does the trick. We discussed how little structural words are actually needed for basic communication. As long as you can understand function words, you can pretty much guess the rest.

The streets of St. Teresa were beautiful. I couldn't help but stop to admire the huge colonial mansion inherited by the Brazilians. Such grand structures with so much detail and sculptural efforts put into their design. We came to an stately home that had been transformed into an art gallery and botanical garden. I can't quite remember then name but it was stunningly beautiful. It boasted 3 floors full of Brazilan art and sculptures. The dining room remained intact and appeared untouched with its antique tables and chairs and personalised cutlery. I was in my element and got lost in some of the paintings.

After we has had out fill of art voyeurism we left to find a nice restaurant. The mission was to find some good local cuisine to gorge on and it was long before we did. There were a group of Ozzies next to us who recommend we didn't order too much as the portions were huge. We did. They were. A huge plate of Brazilian steak with beans, pumpkin, potatoes, swede, some kind of powdery meat seasoner and a nice bowl of chilli sauce. After feasting and stretching our bellies, the waiter cordially packed the remains up for us and we walked away with a nice doggy-bag for our tea.

We made our way back down and sat with a fat Scottish bird and a blonde, slightly masculin looking Estonian woman. They informed that there were monkeys playing in the trees opposite. Arthur and I went investigate. It was amazing. I had never seen a real monkey in the wild and was very excited over-zealously snapping with my Olympus! When the Bungy arrived, we hopped on and traveled on top of the arches this time crossing the town. I pointed out the cathedral to Arthur. Once we had come to a stop, we made out way to the great religious pyrimid. Along the way Arthur pointed out an army of Leaf-Cutter Ants. They were fantastic carrying objects 4 times their size for relatively miles. Again I got the Olympus out and began attempting to capture them. It was difficult, they were fast.

Entering the cathedral was awe-inspiring; it was absolutely huge - about 100' tall. The stained glass windows were beautiful and Arthur and I sat to contemplate. I was at peace, which was strange being so against the Catholic ideal. There was something very wrong about a Mayan pyrimid housing a huge statue of Christ on the cross. Nevertheless, the temple certainly had a powerful energy about it.

We walked back through the business sector of Lapa stopping off breifly to view some retro furnature in a trendy little store. The prices were very low and I began toying with business ideas of exporting some of these items back to England. They would only ever be ideas.

Once we were back in my hood, we stopped off for a drink under the arches. We spoke of love and women, and our expericences with both. Arthur noticed a girl from my hostel walking by and we called her over. Jarin is a very attractive Mexican girl of about 5' she sports a cute smile and pretty hazal eyes, she speaks good American-English (if there is such a thing!) and is well educated. She told us of her plans to move to Rio permanently and we chatted away long into the evening, drinking countless Caiporenios and laughing about past stories of home.

Day 4

Christo

I awoke on the beanbags in the front room at about 4am. Arthur and I had returned back for drinks the night before and I had, in typical Nik style, fallen asleep. I went back to my dorm and attempted some bed sleep but was soon awoken by Sarah´s thunder-snooring. 'AAAAARRHH' I thought to myself, 'shut the fuck up!' I prayed to myself that this wasn't what hostel surfing would be like. Evetually I began trying to breath in unison to her snooring and drifted off. Poor Richard informed me in the morning that I had in fact began snooring in perfect time with her so he was lucky enough to get a stereo snooring experience!

I had breakfast which was the same as the precious day's and went to the internet cafe. Arthur turned up about 1 hour after myself. He'd correctly assumed this was where to find me.

We made our way back down through town and bumped into Helen and Jo in a cafe round the corner. We told her that we´d decided to visit the Christ statue and invited them along; they accepted and we soon set off on our way.

We took the metro and to Lapa square alighted to catch the bus. The square was fantastic; again we were surrounded by colonial granduer. There was the national theatre on one side and some governmental building on the other. MCMIV was printed on the front wall. Arthur and I attempted to decipher the date MC must be 1900 so MCMVI would logically be 1916; although neither of us were certain!

We caught our bus and eventually reached the foot of the mountain. There were touts everywhere; '36 Reas per person' they shouted. I insisted that we wanted to check other prices and they discounted it to 25. Still we would shop around. Slighly further up, we were approached by a private driver and eventually agreed on 20 Reals per head. It was only a 3km walk although there was a Favela on the hill and apparently it wouldn't be safe to pass through.

We drove round and round winding roads and passed the favelas. They didn't seem too uninviting, perhaps because I am still yet to venture in and am very curious. Despite their organisation and order insued by the drug lords, it would be pretty stupid for a gringo like me to go anywhere near them, with my expensive sunglasses and camera.

We finally screached to a halt. There was a staircase leading to the statue on our way up we noticed some racoon like creatures rumaging through some bins. I climbed down the side to investigate. After a few snaps I joined the others and we scaled the stairs.

We scaled the stairs in no time. Wow. The view knocked me for six. Old Jesus had a lot to keep him amused. The view was panoramic and one could see the whole of rio. It was truly magnificent. Arthur commented on it living up to his dreams and I agreed. Huge clusters of buildings and skyscrapers surrounded by thick lush rainforest. Above there were birds of prey swooping and hovering in the currents of wind. A hang-glider gently circled us, he must jumped from a hill nearby and allowed the wind to carry him up way above us. We were at the top of the world. Jesus was probably the most boring part of the experience; but as the largest art-deco style statue he too was impressive. Flocks of tourists mimicked his cross shape and took pictures. Arthur asked if I would like a cheesy one taken of me in front of him; I declined.

It was certainly an experience I would never forget. After taking some pictures and hanging out for a while we went back down to meet our patient driver. We got back in and noticed he had a massive stereo. We requested he entertain us with some tunes and he obliged by cranking the Samba and we made our way back down the hill; I think the dude must thought himself a bit of an Ayrton Senna as he was flooring it all the way down. He dropped us off where he´d picked us up and we took a stroll through town. I decided to steam ahead in the hope of finding the English school we´d spotted on the way in. It must´ve disappeared as it was nowhere to be seen. I did however come across a Yamaha dealership and darted over for a closer look. A 660 dirtbike instantly captured my attention, I enquired into how much she was, they wanted 21000 Reals for her which is the equivalent of about 5k English; a little over my budget. I left and carried on walking. Eventually I found a different college and went in to enquire about teaching jobs. The course leader was absent so I left my details and went out to meet the others.

We jumped on a cod and traveled back to the square. We were all hungry by now so decided to sit in a nearby restaraunt for some scran. I had a medioca spaghetti dish which was no match for my own recipe. Sitting parallel to us was a man in his 60's. He was fat and rude. He kept demanding the waiter's attention even while we were being served. Eventually an attractive girl of about 21 turned up. She sat next to him and instantly he began pawing his sausauge fingers all over her. We watched in disgust. I'm pretty sure he noticed us watching which seemed to make him happy. They distastefully kissed and left. The banter exchanged on our table was priceless. Jo and Helen have the same warped sense of humour as myself and it reminded me of home.

Not a lot happened that evening. Arthur and I decided to stay at the hostel and have a night of Caipirinha so we went to the supermarket to stock up on ingredients. Limes were cheap as chips, we bought about 30 for 3 reals (less than a pound), in addition to this we purchaised 1.5 litres of Cachaça (local spirit made of fermented sugar cain, about 40% vol) for about 2 reals; and a bag of sugar. The hostel host George helped us cook it up and we shared it with the group. Later on, Arthur and I went out to get some more food. Lapa really comes alive in the evening, it was very laid back and sexy vibe and unlike Ipanema actually feels like Rio should do. You can´t escape the samba rhythms are inescapable as the local samba schools prepare to compete in the carnival. We walked down our road and crossed over to the buffet joint, we served ourselves and paid by the kilo; both meals acrued to about 1kg and we paid 14 Reals including a couple of beers. As we walked back we noticed a group of prostitues hanging out on the corner, we past subtley glansing and it became apparant by their voices that they were transexuals, although to look from a distance one could never tell. I said goodbye to Arthur and saw him to his bustop before going home to bed.

Day 5

The Blocca

In the morning I awoke to Yarin stroking my head; nothing sauded, I had asked her to wake me up at 9:30 am. She is a cutie. I sensed she was slightly shy. We wished each other good morning and arranged to go for drink that evening. Today I had a slightly tastier breakfast of two plums, a banana and a dry nectarine, with coffee and buttered toast.

After a visit to the tintarnet cafe I ventured into town. Yarin had told me of a market not too far so I set off to check it out. Eventually I found it. It was full of hustle and bustle traders everwhere shouting you in offering you there merchandise. I stopped at a clothes stall and haggled down a fake rip curl t-shirt from 30 Reals to 15. The Lonely Planet guide advises not to take too many items of clothing as they were cheaper to buy out here. It is right. I continued through the market and eventually found myself in the city. It was not dissimilar to any other with it´s massive buildings and workers in dressed in suits. I bought a SIM from a local TIM store. The prices for call are steep; 1.4 Reals per minute for a national call.

After walking for hours and getting slighlty lost, I navigated my way back to the hostel. By this time it was fairly late in the evening and I made contact with Arthur. He was to come over to Lapa again as we both agreed that this is where it´s at.

That evening we went to the supermarket to stock up on more Caipirinha ingredients and repeated the process from the night before. By this time more guests had arrived in the hostel and after drinking and getting to know each other, we vertured down to the arches. There were about 10-12 of us and we decided to go into a club style samba joint that had blaring drumsounds coming from it. These venues are know as Bloccas. Basical a local samba school practicing and entertaining. The entrance was free and the place was rammed with people. In the front was the band and the back was a bar selling cheap beer. We were all pretty merry by this time and got straight into it. Everyone danced and celebrated life. Looking around was a feast to the senses; gorgeous Latina women wildly shook their hips to the tribal like rythyms. I was loving it. We danced the night away. Arthur was off his nut and loving it also. That night he adopted the pseudonym of Mr. Bendy with his amazing ability to contort and shake his body. It was most impressive. Everyone was drunk and happy. Jo and Helens friend Orran had a arrived to meet them; he is 6'5" and built like a brick shit-house. They had been singing his prasies and assured me he had as warped a sense of humour as myself. We would get on fine. I shared a salsa style dance with a Chilian girl named Carolena she was keen and I was drunk; Although when we shared a kiss, I was unimpressed; she was clearly inexperiened and almost bit my face off! We left together and went back to the hostel. Not a lot else occured and I colapsed in bed.

The next morning Jo told me of an incident which had occured with Orran. Apparently Arthur had jumped on his back and was riding like a horse at some point in the evening. A local Karioca was very unhappy at this sight and assumed that they were batty-boys. Orran being the hulk of man he is, seems to attract this type of negative attention, perhaps people are keen to prove themselves by starting on him. Anyhow, the Karioca eventually made a gun shaped hand and charaded merking him. Orran retaliated by shouting 'you aint gonna shoot me with your fucking finger are ya?' 'Why don't you fuck off and get a real gun.' This is not the approach I would have taked. However, being a London doorman, Orran has probably developed a kind of bullet-proof aura.

My new mobile number is: 00552182206286

Stolen and out of use!

The Carnival

Last night was the beginning of the carnival we went up to St. Teresa for the first Blocca. There were about 15 of us from the Hostel. My new friends Helen and Jo didn't make it; they must be the funniest pair I have ever met. I haven't laughed so much in ages. You wouldn' think they were both in their late thirties from the way we carry on together. We spend much time together just completely ripping everyone else in the hostel - including ourselves. It is unfortunate that they are only on holiday for two weeks and leave in a few days. Sorry gotta go now.

Oops

After getting completely immersed in the festive season, I have had no time to post any updates. It seems my detailed web logs are unrealistic to maintain!

Carnival was absolutely amazing! 4 days of complete debauchery. I wouldn't know where to begin so I will have to leave most of it to your imagination. The bottom line is: 1 million tourist from all over the world swamp the River of January for about a week; it turns into a giant party arena full of deviants and party animals.

One of my fondest (and only) memories of the carnival was passing under the Archos da Lapa and coming across a black dude with a shirt saying Jesus forever on it. He was sat infront of a 15 piece drumkit playing casual beats. After a couple of minutes warming up he started proper brockin! The guy was absolutely legendary and was literally like a fast-forward machine.

Ilya Grande

After carnival Arthur and I were really feeling the strain of our 14 day stint of mayem. There was talk among our fellow hostel residents of a detox migration to a tropical island south of Rio Called Ilya Grande (big island - creative eh?), we both agreed this sounded perfect for our physical conditions so planned our trip.

I have grown particularly fond of the mexican girl [Yearime] who works in our hostel. We have had some amazing chats often cotching on selaron's stairs (pictured above). She writes short stories of a very personal nature and one night I was privilaged to hear one of them. It was beautiful and suprised me with its creative stature. We kissed passionately. She then proceeded to tell me she was in a relationship (suprise suprise). However, her partner is a she! Yes, she has a galdem. Anyway, we continued to chat every day, while she worked at the hostel and in the evenings over drinks, until after carnival. We had a date the night before I was due to leave which was most pleasant, this time the night ended in a less passionate kiss and a brief discussion about her feeling guilt. I then invited her to Ilya Grande. She was keen and negotiated some time off with the boss.

So, the next day we 3 set off. We took a coach for about 3 hours south. Yearime and I shared music and snoozed. We then boarded an unofficial boat for about 5 Reals each, it was a fantastic journey. Yearime complained of feminine cramps and looked very distressed. I felt it was my duty to try to cheer her up so got out my Portuguese phrase book and did my best to resite some rediculous sweet nothings to her. Together with the spray from the ocean this worked perfectly; we were both rolling around laughing. She is so cute when she laughs.

Eventually we arrived and took a stroll to find accomodation, this wasn't too difficult and we managed to get a three bed place for 90 Reals per night. We took a walk along the coast and came to an old defunct prison. This was where political prisoners were kept during the dictatorship. It was eerie and the idea of people inhabiting these dark and damp cells seemed unimaginable. The sun was down in no time at all and we found a local bar to eat and drink.

The next day we set off early to find a beach. We walked straight through the rainforest for about 3 hours. It was amazing, the chorus of the forest was sublime. At one point we stopped to listen to some Howler Monkeys in the distance, they were loud and sounded like they were getting closer. When we arrived at the beach we were completely bowled over. A massive deserted beach surrounded by hugging palm trees and lush rainforest. I ran straight for the waves and Yearime soon followed. We chatted about stuff, about us, about her girlfriend and about my only true experience of love. It was tough and her emotional monthly condition didn't help matters, but we decided that our relationship could not develop unless I was to move to Rio, and even then there was no promises, as we agreed we have only known each other a fortnight! Arthur then joined us and we splashed about a bit before going back to shore. We took a lunch of freshly cooked calamari, fish and chips - mmmmmmmmm.

The next day was much the same except we took to a different beach passing through the North of the island and over a 400 year old aquaduct, situated over an eerie waterfall where slaves were bathed while being tied to the rocks to prevent their escape.

The beach was not as spectacular and rather small but was very chilled out all the same.

When we got back to the village where we were staying, Yearime and I sat on a beach and swapped music; a favourite past time of mine; you take one earphone each and play a song to the other listener, in turn from your own music supply and then swap. It was really nice and I picked out some of my faves for her, including the Libertines track 'music when the lights go down' she appeared to enjoy all of them.

That night we went eating and drinking and bumped into a couple from our hostel in Rio, interestingly they had split up before they embarked on their travels and it was clear that their situation was uncomfortable. She was rude and blatently the dominent of the duo! Yearime and I left Arthur chatting to the Chris [the guy] and walked along the beach together chatting; we came across some action and drunkedly danced samba style while being encircled by a huge crowd! We then got another beer and argued about stuff while laughing on the beach. We were soon asleep lying in the sand. Then we woke at precisely the same time about 3 hours later! No sign of Arthur. We got home and went to bed, kissed passionately for ages and fell asleep once more.

It was awkward in the morning. She felt bad. We really just chilled that day; as well as her guilt, Yearime was experiencing a good old British binge-drinking hangover, something her small 5' frame is not accustomed to. I placed a small note in her bag that read: 'Regrets?' She laughed when she found it and gently mumoured to me 'They say that they're a waste of time,' I wasn't quite sure what to make of this so replied 'I think they're probably right.' Not a lot else was discussed about this all day, she layed on a nearby beach comatosed; I left her laying and went to fetch some fresh fruit for us.

No more was mentioned until we embarked on our journey home. The boat back was slow and the weather had become close and overcast. I tried to discuss last night with her but she was ratty and didn't really want to talk. She snapped at me at one point saying it had meant nothing and was purely the alcohol - which wasn't pleasant - and I walked of for some self-reflection. After about 40 minutes of staring at the departing island I returned to sit next to her; she was upset and broke down crying. I held her and suggested we went for a walk. We did, eventually sitting on the hull of the ship. She apologised and I replied by saying 'Don' worry, anyway it's your turn,' meaning she had to play us one of her tunes. She played me some 'Mexican bohemia' which I enjoyed greatly; especially watching her smile while singing along. She translated. I played her Goldfrapp's 'Hairy Trees' which was most apt for the situation and she quietly listened, smiling. This continued for an hour or so. I wanted to kiss her again but forbayed myself through fear that she would not reciprocate. Once we got to the port, we slept all the way back in the coach. What an island of emotion.