Beer and Moaning in Las Americas: May 2012

Rest and relaxation were definitely on the menu after the mayhem that was carnival. So whilst the streets of Rio were still full of crazy, happy, samba-ing locals we decided to make our escape and found ourselves on the beautiful island of Ilha Grande. The island is largely undeveloped and renowned for its scenic beauty, including tropical beaches, luxuriant vegetation and a rugged landscape.....PERFECT! We had heard good things about the island from locals and travelers alike and I have to say Ilha Grande did not fail to impress. After a three hour bus ride and then the extremely busy Catamaran across (I expect we were not the only ones who were feeling completely battered and bruised both physically and mentally by the biggest Carnival in the world) we approached the beautiful island. Ilha Grande was surrounded by the clearest, most stunning turquoise waters I have ever seen. Picture perfect doesn't even come close. After checking in to our hostel we explored the little town we were staying in and ended up (of course) at the beach because after all .... only mad dogs and Englishmen. The sun was boiling and the air felt so clear after over two months of breathings Rio's polluted city air and all four of us lay there happy..... and lobster red after a short while. That night we went for dinner and will now be forever referred to as 'Disaster Dinner' for poor old Katie especially. After about an hours wait 3 meals came out followed by a very crisp looking object which I believe was once a fish (not quite the spaghetti bolognese that Katie had ordered). Once the mistake was realised the staff said they will make the bolognese instead....45 minutes later and still no arrival of the infamous bolognese further questioning from another member of staff told us that they had no spaghetti or meat but oddly enough about 15 minutes after that a spaghetti bolognese arrived. Bizarre. The next day after some completely pointless room hopping we jumped aboard a boat with a load of people from our hostel and headed for the other side of the island. One of the aforementioned companions from the hostel appeared to be Bob Marley himself, whom Flo decided the best way to make a good impression to the infamous Rasta was to drop his newly rolled spliff straight into the sea when only moments earlier Bob had instructed her to hold his precious smoke when he climbed aboard. The moral of this story is....Drugs are bad. The rest of the day was perfect and the views and scenery in and around the island are something I will never forget, this may be partly due to the fact I got rather snap happy and took a few hundred photos. Lopez Mendes was the spectacular beach we visited on the other side of the island and was well worth the hideous 45 minute trek in boiling hot sun to get to. I only wish we could have stayed longer.

Back to reality as we arrived back in Rio and after a few more crazy nights with the girls and taking them to see the beautiful waterfalls in Horto it was time to bid a fond farewell to Flo and Katie. Back to a twosome again. They will be missed. Our last night in Rio was meant to be a quiet affair, however even the best laid plans...... After a phone call that night from our dear friend Fabricio telling us to come meet him at a boat party he was working at, we decided that we would 'pop' out and meet him for just a few. 'Pop' being the operative word. He managed to get us in free whilst the tickets were over £30 and ensured that we wouldn't have to buy a drink the whole night. Sounds dangerous already, however the prospect of having a 'quiet' and 'early' night started slipping away from us even more rapidly (at break neck speed in fact) when the boat left the port and started sailing out to sea? I have no idea why but I must have misinterpreted the invitation that evening as I naively thought that it was simply a party on a boat but one which stayed tied up. There was no escape so we did the only sensible thing and got drunk....ridiculously drunk at that which made the following days packing and travel arrangements almost unbearable. Suicide was on the horizon.

Suicide successfully averted we made it in to Paraty after a 7 hour bus ride and checked in to the nearest hostel available. After a good sleep, minus the distressed animal noises the German lady in our room decided to vocalise for a large majority of the night we were up early for a wonder around. Paraty is a very small, quaint town with cobbled streets and tiny shops but beautiful all the same. It is a preserved Portugese Colonial and Brazilian Imperial town located on the Costa Verde. The town was so quiet it would have been almost eerie if the sun had not been shining so brightly. We walked in a small local restaurant and ordered the 'menu el dia' or menu of the day to you and me. However the waitress did not seem to fully understand the concept of waitress and customer relationship or even in fact how a restaurant worked. So after probably the most awkward meal of my life which pretty much involved us serving ourselves, sitting in complete silence and then being watched for the entire duration of our lunch it was time to leave. By midday the 'quaintness' of the cobbled streets started to wear thin and actually they just became rather annoying so we did what we do best and headed for the beach. In complete contrast to the beaches in Rio, Paraty was so tranquil and beautiful I could have laid there for days. Not a dodgy swimsuit seller or 'prawn on a stick hollerer' in sight.

It's at this point I just want to express my annoyance at the bizarre bus routes in Brazil . For example our next stop on the map was further down the coast to Florianopolis. Located in the southern region of Brazil Florianopolis is made up of one main island named Santa Catarina. It is renowned for being at the center of surfing activity and Brazilian magazine Veja named the city as "the best place to live in Brazil" However in order to get there which is a relatively short distance south we had to bizarrely catch a bus back upwards to either Rio or Sao Paolo in order to get a bus back down. Where is the logic in that? So rather than completely back tracking and going back exactly the same way as we had just travelled (which would mean returning to Rio) we opted for a bus to Sao Paolo and then would sort out a bus to Florianopolis once we got there. (Total traveling = 15 hours, compared to necessary traveling time = 6 hours) Not a palava at all. Rant over.

When we finally arrived in Florianopolis the time spent wasted on hot sweaty buses was soon forgotten as the city looked vibrant - a happy medium between the craziness of Rio and the tranquility of Paraty. We stayed in a chain hostel called Che Legarto which was fine and pretty close to the beach but the rooms were tiny, not enough room to swing a cat I can tell you....or probably more apt to swing a jaguar seeing as we are in Brazil. The advertised 'continental breakfast' literally meant bread and jam with a side helping of the most annoying Dutch girl in history singing at the top of her lungs (and completely out of tune) blood curdling renditions of Adele's greatest hits. Not what you need at 8 o clock in the morning. Needless to say the beach was calling, so sarong packed and havvy's on we headed out. The beaches were perfect and we spent many of our days swimming, sunning and watching the surfers ride the massive waves. Although it was out of season for Florianopolis there was still lots going on and we headed out one night to a British pub called the Black Swan. After blagging happy hour/half price drinks all night on the premise that we were English and were confused by the time difference we happily danced the night away with the locals. This was however slightly interrupted by a hideous old Australian man that instructed Hannah to "call him Daddy" .Nah. At or hostel we made friends with a few Argentinean lads and after spending the day drinking mate and homemade caipirinhas with them on the beach we were ready for a night out. Unfortunately after polishing off a bottle of cachaca at the hostel with our new found friends it was pretty late and rather than sitting in a nice bar we found ourselves drinking on the street. Yes drinking on the street, not the white lightening out of a 2 litre bottle type drinking on the street but there was definitely a street and drinking was involved. We were by no means the only ones doing it though and with the local petrol garage happily supplying everyone with alcohol a very funny night was had indeed. It was this night we met a very friendly local Octavio. The aforementioned friendly local called us the next day and then picked us all up for a BBQ he had arranged in our honour. Fun times. After the Argy's left we had to try and organise our next plan of action. We were headed to Buenos Aires which we assumed would have to be done by what I imagined to be a very long, hot and distressing bus ride but to our surprise flights were going to be cheaper than buses.

The plane journey actually turned out to be two. Porto Allegre - Montevideo and then Montevideo - Buenos Aires. Both very quick and enjoyable. I am annoyed I didn't get the chance to go to Montevideo in Uruguay, however this means that I just have to return one day. Honestly this list is never ending.

Our arrival in to Buenos Aires could only mean one thing......HELLO STEAK COUNTRY!