TravelStream™ news feed for member walshy_88 on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/walshy_88 en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Tue, 25 Aug 2009 05:50:38 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/2/1250936079/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/2/1250936079/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/2/1250936079/tpod.html Tue, 25 Aug 2009 05:50:38 -0400 SE Asia Explained/Explored/Exfoliated

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Chiang Mai, Thailand

After a few hasty and hassle heavy days in Bangkok, I climbed aboard a comfortable (if a little slow) Friday overnight train to Chiang Mai.

From the moment I stepped through the platform threshold, I felt the strange yet comforting sensation as if I had been transported back 60 years into a Hitchcock film or Agatha Christie novel. Navigating my way through the buzzing throngs, stepping up into the rickety carriage, taking my seat along the narrow passageway...

Only the Thai words from the curt conductors could shatter this bizarrely nostalgic illusion. That and the disappointing lack of upper-class English types, murder, intrigue, and 90 minute running time.

Interesting toilets consisted of a hole in the floor of the train, with a handy window whence one could smile to passersby (or more probably animals in the increasingly dense forest festooning its way alongside the tracks).

Once aboard, I met a Dutch girl and Scottish girl, with whom I spent the next few days exploring Chiang Mai.

As I dropped my bags in my room at the guesthouse in a thankfully quite serene neighbourhood, I fortuitously happened across the single most important piece of Australian Government spending: the Australia Network Cable TV channel. Leaving aside the daily screenings of Home & Away and a few other questionable programs, the live coverage of the AFL (Hawthorn vs St Kilda) burst from the TV like a spring in a beautiful luscious oasis in the sparse unforgiving desert of 24 hour 'news'.

However, I thought I should see some of the city for which I had travelled to this continent, so I eventually left the room and ventured out into the streets (after the final siren of course!).

In some ways, Chiang Mai is a smaller version of Bangkok although it has its own idiosyncrasies such as the red taxi utes with benches along the back and naturally the complex pricing structure which seems to have higher volatility than the New York Stock Exchange.

Being in town over the weekend, there were two different local street markets on Saturday and Sunday and this meant we could largely avoid the huge Night Bazaar, which has its interesting stalls of handicrafts but is ultimately a bit too focused on tourists and thus has much less of the charm still present at the others.

Much like Bangkok, many of the charms are to be found outside the city or with a little more time to explore beneath the surface, but with limited time, I once again had to move on north towards the Golden Triangle...

In the next installment: borders, jungles, and Muay Thai (which didn't make the deadline for this entry)...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/2/1250745879/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/2/1250745879/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/2/1250745879/tpod.html Thu, 20 Aug 2009 02:21:45 -0400 SE Asia Explained/Explored/Exfoliated

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Bangkok, TH.40, Thailand

When my flight to Bangkok was surreptitiously delayed by Air Asia for a couple of hours, the idle time was spent organising the remainder of my largely unorganised holiday.
But before long, I was striding along the vast walkways of Bangkok's Suvarnabhumi airport and out once more into the hot sticky abyss of the modern Asian city.

Warnings of excessive touting at International Arrivals were greatly exaggerated as the Airport Express bus (when it eventually arrived) proved efficient and not overly expensive.
However the warnings were perhaps more appropriate for the Khao San Road area, where I made the uncertain decision to base myself for the few days I had there.

Driving across the city, large office buildings and high rises were spread throughout a huge area, such that distinguishing any one region of this sprawling, expansive metropolis proved difficult. Endless rows of air-conditioners lined the outside of apartment buildings, a signal of how far we are from slowing climate change.

The true experience was yet to come as we disembarked at the edge of the Khao San Rd (somehow I had remained blissfully ignorant of its delightful charms to this point).

Instantly, a swarm of tuk-tuk drivers descended on the hapless tourists navigating the footpath around street stalls, overflowing into the gutters, seemingly very interested in our destinations and their apparently superior ability to take us there, wherever that may have been.

I successfully negotiated this initial test and escaped into a narrow 'soi' down which my pre-booked (I was unnecessarily well organised..) guesthouse was presumably located. After re-acquainting myself with the world of hygiene and cleanliness, I re-emerged into Khao San Rd in the early evening, hundreds of stalls being set up along the footpaths and onto the road, hawking anything a tourist might want (and indeed anything they think a tourist might want, however bizarre it might be); This mini economy operating entirely on tourism.

Interspersed between these stalls were brief moments of free space where cafe/bars, set back behind the street stalls, were filled with Westerners surveying the crowd, sipping their cheap beer.

If I walked by myself along here, touts would subtly inch towards me, chanting under their breath: "Massage, you want massage?", having flipped open a fold-out business card with helpful pictures in case it was unclear from their sledgehammer-subtle innuendo what was being offered.

One quite respectable looking older gentleman sat comfortably, legs apart, on his chair in the centre of the road, a huge grin on his face, lingering like Lewis Carroll's famous feline.
He was a man of few words, just three in fact, which he would excitably blurt out to startled passersby: "Ping Pong ball?!"


I still managed to indulge my travelling T-shirt fetish and hone my haggling skills, which is of course great fun..


Even outside Khao San Rd, Bangkok is a hectic, noisy city. The relative calm of the temples and palaces around the city never far away from the surrounding hustle and/or bustle.

A short detour along the river in a longboat packed like a Tokyo Subway train was intercepted by the heavy rain moving in, surprisingly absent to this point.

The rain lured me into what became a long procession of upmarket shopping malls, which seem ubiquitous in major Asian cities, although not as ubiquitous as the 7/11 stores on every block.

Although not without its charms, it seemed that much of interest was outside the city and would have to be sampled another time, as I had a date in the Northern Lao jungle in just three days...




]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/2/1249882880/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/2/1249882880/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/2/1249882880/tpod.html Mon, 10 Aug 2009 02:11:37 -0400 SE Asia Explained/Explored/Exfoliated

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Kuala Lumpur, Wilayah Persekutuan, Malaysia

After a cheap fishy buffet, the afternoon saw us embarking a local bus out of the city to Batu; As we approached along the bustling main road, a wide bushy monolith appeared, shooting up from the flat surrounds.

Herein were the Batu caves; The spectacularly ornate entrance gate forming a threshold to the 200+ steps up to the cave entrance: A minor struggle in the stifling heat.

The main cave was a large expansive pit, a small stream of smoggy sunlight struggling through a narrow leafy opening high above the cave floor. a disorganised troupe of monkeys climbing up the sharp, steep walls towards it.

With buddhist temples and altars built into the caves, the peaceful sound of irrythmic drums and local wind instruments joined with the screams of monkeys and seemingly lost and confused roosters into a dissonant symphony.

The caves themselves were not particularly exciting but the location and religious serenity provided a relaxing respite from the inevitably noisy city centre,

The early evening was spent ambling through the Chowkit markets, a delicious peanut and corn pancake providing the necessary sustenance to see me through to the next morning and the departure to Bangkok...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/2/1249629145/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/2/1249629145/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/2/1249629145/tpod.html Fri, 07 Aug 2009 05:29:59 -0400 SE Asia Explained/Explored/Exfoliated

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Kuala Lumpur, Wilayah Persekutuan, Malaysia

The surprisingly comfortable Air Asia flight to KL was all the more so in the knowledge that the return flight to KL was half the cost of the MCC membership I had just renewed in preparation for my timely return on the day before the first final.

Upon a smooth landing on Asian soil, I strode out onto the tarmac, immediately struck by the pleasantly warm and dense Malaysian air, a little self conscious about my inappropriate clothing for these hotter climes.

The tropical plants lining the road into the city reminded me of the developing world of Latin America, but any such comparisons were betrayed by the well paved highways, and English signage and speakers, no doubt an inheritance of British colonialism.

The outskirts of the city were occasionally interrupted by high rise hotels, randomly jutting out of the sparse, flat landscape into the low lying smog.

The multi-pronged transport system is enviably efficient, although I think the other key descriptor here is 'new'. I'm not sure that many pieces of large public transport infrastructure in Australia's major cities could be similarly described.

Even newer was my hostel (just five weeks old), and one of the best I've ever stayed in, located in the heart (or more probably the left hamstring) of Little India, a locale that really explains itself.My first evening was spent with a Northern Irish fellow traveller, ambling through the Chinatown markets, packed with vendors flogging their quality branded goods. I somehow resisted the temptation to follow an honest looking fellow into an alleyway to pick up a pristine copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Half-blood Prince's Goblet...

Escaping through to the more sparsely populated streets of a late evening, we broke into a purposeful stroll, ironically with little idea of where we were, where we were going, or indeed where we wanted to go. It became apparent after a while that we were not in Chinatown anymore, as more and more upmarket hotels began to surround us, towering above the moonlight, obscuring the bright lights from the high rise towers, intermittent glimpses of the shining Petronas Twin Towers guiding us like the star of Bethlehem to the miraculous upmarket shopping mall at the base.

After two hours of purposeful striding, the appearance of an Irish pub was considered more miraculous, and a relaxing pint was a nice conclusion to proceedings. Even nicer was the live cricket coverage from Edgbaston, where the Australians were successfully averting disaster.


Day 2

An early rise to queue for the free tickets to the Petronas Towers Skybridge was thwarted by hundreds of other tourists who rose even earlier and had been queuing since 6.30am.

Although we had the last laugh when we were offered some tickets by a guy who had booked a big group but had some spots left.

Nevertheless, the view, while quite nice, was not worth such an early rise, although the novelty was traversing the skybridge (just half way up the 88 floor towers). The 3D(!) infomercial for Petronas (a large oil and gas company) that we were subjected to was less inspiring although its similarity to Simpsons spoofs of such infomercials was quite amusing.
*See the film 'Entrapment' with Sean Connery and Catherine Zeta-Jones for good views of said towers (for those confused by the title of this entry).


The towers and the elaborate shopping malls below and in the surrounding areas of the Golden Triangle and Bukit Bintang seem to be a symbol of national pride, although I'm not sure how interesting endless Louis Vuitton and Ralph Lauren stores can be...

More wandering about the city saw us eating at a few street stalls, sampling from a buffet of largely seafood related dishes, where the locals were eating their meat and rice dishes by hand (right hand of course..)
 Very tasty and naturally very cheap ($2 including a drink)


Stay tuned for the next installment: More in KL and two days in Bangkok...
I can hear everyone abating their breath while they wait...


]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/2/1249300717/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/2/1249300717/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/2/1249300717/tpod.html Mon, 03 Aug 2009 08:04:20 -0400 SE Asia Explained/Explored/Exfoliated

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Kuala Lumpur, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

Just arrived in KL. More to come when I've actually done something...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/sudamerica07-8/1199766420/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/sudamerica07-8/1199766420/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/sudamerica07-8/1199766420/tpod.html Wed, 30 Jan 2008 07:16:20 -0500 South America: ¨The highly anticipated journey is finally here¨ - SW

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Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Leaving the Pantanal was a 90 minute thrill ride of infinite potholes and dodgy bridges that made sure nobody was tempted to steal some extra sleep as the sun gradually rose beyond the horizon, lighting the way for the ute, rumbling through the wilderness awaking around us.

Finally we rejoined our own truck and began the 15 hour drive across Southern Brazil, finishing as we started, in darkness, setting camp behind a large servo on the side of a highway.

We had another early rise and a brief stop for lunch on the way through São Paulo, a city we weren't visiting despite being one of the largest in the world and one of the most culturally diverse! (The São Paulo region produces more orange juice than any entire country on earth!)

Nevertheless, our priority was clear and at 7pm on the 30th of December, we pulled up alongside the entrance to a packed campground on the beach in Paraty (pronounce 'parachee'), five hours south of Rio on the beautiful Atlantic coast of Southern Brazil, straddling the tropic of Capricorn.

As the cooks for the evening set about producing the second last meal of the trip, the remainder of the group fled to the beach and the incredibly warm waters flowing up to the shore towards the beach bars filled with relaxed Brazilians sipping from coconuts.

A shuttle bus had been booked for the next day to take us to Copacabana Beach.
And so, we escaped the stifling humidity, boarding the luxurious air-conditioned mini-bus, relaxing temporarily in a state of ecstatic bliss, soothing our travel-battered souls in preparation for a 24 hour odyssey in Rio.

Arriving at Copacabana Beach around 5pm, we found a spot to take over and settled in for the long night with a few cold beers under some umbrellas as the sun disappeared beyond the high rise hotels lining the beachfront and the huge spotlights turned on, gradually taking over like the dinner break at a day/night cricket match.

Dressed in white (as is the custom on New Year's Eve on Copacabana Beach), the crowds gradually moved in as we edged closer to one of the main stages and dancing areas.
By midnight, over two million people were packed onto the 4.5km long stretch of sand in a wild celebration as booming fireworks exploded into the air from an offshore barge.

The party continued for several hours but ended rather abruptly about 4am when informed locals headed off to their own parties and clubs, leaving us typically clueless visitors on the beach, napping briefly as the sun rose up again over the sea, a concerned local advising us to move into the shade of a conveniently placed huge screen as we chilled out on the beach once more until our return shuttle at 1pm.

Needless to say, basically being awake for 30 hours, after a nap on the return journey, an early night and nice sleep-in was appreciated by all.


Our last day of the tour was a very laid back boat cruise around the islands off the coast of Paraty, a chance to lie back, drink cold beer, swim, lie back, drink cold beer....

And finally it was back to Rio, arriving in the early afternoon, making our way to Mellow Yellow, our hostel in Copacabana.

We all agreed to meet that evening atop Sugarloaf Mountain (Pão de Açúcar), the distinctive famous peak rising above the city, with 360° views: along the Southern Beaches, up north, and across to Corcovado, the other major peak, the site of another of the seven modern wonders of the world, the Statue of Christ the Redeemer.

Thus, we spent our first proper night in Rio watching the sun go down on this imposing cityscape. The twilight quickly turned into darkness as the spectacle of the entire city alight came to the fore:

Jebus*, a lone bright light atop a mountain peering down upon the city sprawling along the coastline.

A delicious dinner at the Copa Grill concluded yet another long and exciting day as we neared the end of this South American exploration.

The first morning, we set off on a tour of Rocinha, the largest favela (a slum or shanty town, often rising up a large hill or mountain) in Latin America with a population of 250,000 and one of about 300 in Rio, but also one of the most developed, with a basic structure of local government, businesses and community associations and reasonable accessibility and basic water and electricity supply for many. Nevertheless, criminal factions involved in the violent drug trade still rule, and pitched battles between gangs and with police can make it a very dangerous place. Sanitation also remains at a basic level in many parts of the favela.

We began the tour at the foot of the mountain riding up to the top on the back of motorcycle 'taxis', speedily driving along one of several 'main' winding roads providing access through the maze of alleyways. From the top, we began our tour on foot, passing through a wide gathering area, where it seemed mainly drug dealers gathered, one of whom offered me some marijuana (probably because of my Bob Marley T-shirt and not my unkempt appearance). From here we entered the narrow dirty alleyways, lined with basic shops and basic housing, not unlike the medinas of Moroccan Cities, with couriers lugging heavy loads always requiring the space to pass. We stopped briefly at the house of a local artist, with spectacular views of the favela spreading down the mountain, and here I purchased a painting to add to the collection I was already hauling around.

From here, we wound our way down past a bakery, open sewers, various collections of rubbish, an internet cafe filled with little kids playing online games (!), one family with a small wading pool for their toddlers, and a group of talented boys displaying their drumming skills on upturned paint cans.

It was a strange confluence of poverty and symbols of affluence, the influence of the gangs hidden to us (I saw more mobile phones than machine guns), but looming over the whole place, perhaps most apparent in the 'Linha da Morte' (Line of Death), a narrow alley that is the site of many shootouts (and deaths) with police.

In general, the north of the city is poorer and the south more wealthy, although Rocinha (very close to Ipanema) and many other favelas (including the infamous 'Cidade de Deus' (City of God), http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0317248/, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/City_of_God_(film)) are located in the south and west.

Walking around Copacabana, I delighted in the numerous corner juice bars selling a huge range of fresh smoothies and delicious pastries (the salgado, a hot fresh soft pastry of ham and cheese is a Brazilian specialty and a personal favourite for any time of the day). The Beach was lined with expensive tourist restaurants beside equally expensive high rise hotels, and although the strip was filled with a range of beach-going locals by day, it became a little seedier and more deserted by night.

Later that afternoon, we headed off to visit Jebus atop Corcovado. Thirty metres high, this statue towers above the city and yet does not look very imposing from down below on the beaches many kilometres away. However, up close it is massive and we predictably took plenty of cheesy Jesus poses from Wellesian camera angles. and enjoyed the amazing views feeling like an omniscient for a few moments.

The next morning, a few of the guys jumped onto the metro and headed out of the wealthier south through the central region and out to Maracana Stadium in the north, the famous futbol stadium that was constructed for the 1950 World Cup. It hosts matches between the three big local clubs, Flamengo, Botafogo, and Fluminense and will play host to the 2014 World Cup Final. Though not as big as the MCG, it seats almost as many people since the recent redevelopment, and hosted 199,500 people at that 1950 World Cup Final! Unfortunately, we had the misfortune (or possibly poor planning) to be in both BA and RIo in the very short off-season (only 6 weeks) and were only able to tour the stadium with no matches being played.

The afternoon was spent strolling Ipanema Beach, the wealthier (and equally famous) alternative to Copacabana, just around the bend from the end of Copacabana Beach and stretching a further 2 or 3 kilometres towards Leblon and the 'Dois Irmãos' (Two Brothers) mountains pointing up to the sky like Madonna's bra circa the 1980's. Numerous bars and beach volleyball courts line the length of the beautiful sand, separated by lifeguard 'Postos'. The beach has separate sections with the gay friendly area between Post 8 and 9 and the young, hot, trendy crowd to the right of Posto Nove (Post 9) among others. But the whole suburb is the epitome of the upper class Brazilian lifestyle with plenty of trendy bars, cafes, restaurants, and clubs and most importantly, no shortage of beautiful people.

The other end of the extreme disparity with the millions living in favelas.

On Sunday, the finality of this incredible South American Odyssey (minus the cyclops, but including the sirens and a lot of wind) started to become more obvious as people started to leave to return home or continue on with their world adventures.

We headed off to the Uruguaian markets in the late morning only to find them deserted (possibly the rain that had finally arrived put a dampener on things, probably we were too early), so we set off on a rather interesting stroll through the ghost town business district of damp, empty government buildings and banks, past lines of homeless people stretched out on the pavement under the narrow overhanging rooftops protecting them from the seasonal tropical downpour.

Returning via Botafogo, and an expensive but delicious and highly anticipated Japanese buffet lunch at Kotobuki, seven floors up, overlooking the beach and Sugarloaf Mountain, a welcome return to quality asian cuisine.

A quick return to Ipanema markets in the early evening to purchase a drum (as is tradition on my overseas jaunts) and I headed back to our hospitable hostel in Copacabana.
Unfortunately, I had come down with a cold for the last few days of the trip which meant I wasn't able to make it to any Samba clubs in the famous Lapa district or favela funk parties in Rocinha.
A further excuse to return at a later date...

But fortunately there was a demonstration of funk dancing in the hostel, followed by the Capoeira, a blend of martial arts and dance created by the African slaves in Brazil in the 16th century (Brazil obtained 37% of all the African slaves, more than 3 million people).
Accompanied by a specific style of drum beat, a group of dancers from Rocinha, both men, and young girls and boys, energetically demonstrated the kicks and twists of this fascinating and tiring dance, before forcing most of us to embarrass ourselves dancing with them.

The best accompaniment to this is the similarly named and easily confused caipirinha, the national drink (made of sugar, crushed lime and ice with the spirit cachaça (pronounced cachasa) derived from sugar cane). Also not to be confused with the previously mentioned capybara, the largest rodent in the world.

Alas, Monday came all too quickly and on this final day, I scoured the shops, purchasing some last minute souvenirs and spent a good few hours attempting to fit my drum into already filling bags. Eventually, after discarding some excess unwanted baggage (and stocking up on some more Brazilian Havaianas), my bags were packed with just an annoyingly large plastic bag filled with my various artistic purchases to lug around by hand.

And so, just after 11pm, I was in a taxi speeding down the deserted highways of this huge city to the International Airport in the north, the lone lights atop Sugarloaf gliding by, disappearing from view, the last glimpse of the holiday I was leaving behind. (The airport is named after Antonio Carlos Jobim, who was the father of Bossa Nova and wrote the classic 'Girl from Ipanema')

A quick check-in meant a long wait for my 3am flight but before long I was reluctantly paying US$56 to exit Santiago airport for the day, and by 8am I was strolling once more along Paseo Huerfanos, sitting and eating breakfast next to businessmen who were no doubt bemused by this gangly man in a T-shirt and shorts with a big backpack and oversized bag of artwork reading the newspaper as if he could actually understand spanish.

After a few hours on the internet and a thorough investigation into which cinemas had english language movies playing, I walked a few kilometres back out past our hostel from two months earlier to visit a cineart centre I had regretted missing previously. I returned to the city centre sweating profusely, my choice of films unfortunately restricted to two crap Hollywood films and the one bloody film I had already seen in Buenos Aires. After an interesting session of 'The Heartbreak Kid' at Hoyts (!), I returned to the airport for the last stages of the (very) long trip home.


*http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=jebus
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/sudamerica07-8/1198855620/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/sudamerica07-8/1198855620/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/sudamerica07-8/1198855620/tpod.html Wed, 16 Jan 2008 23:26:06 -0500 South America: ¨The highly anticipated journey is finally here¨ - SW

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Pantanal, Brazil

Christmas Day:

After a sausage and egg breakfast, we all sat around while the Secret Santa presents were distributed. Our mission (which we had chosen to accept) had been to spend 30 argentinian pesos (US$10) in BA on our randomly picked target.

All the presents were surprisingly thoughtful and greatly appreciated, and we moved onto the second course in this day of excessive food consumption: dips, chips, sausages, salads, as we sat and watched and waited 'til the billy boiled. Although it was actually 3 huge slabs of meat (turkey, beef and pork) on a spit over an open fire and after a period of laid out reading, just after 4pm, the meat was ready and with potatoes (sweet and not so sweet) and gravy, we attacked the Chrissie dinner with carniverous fervour, the turkey disappearing suspiciously quickly.

Predictably full, our dessert was delayed until 6pm, when we feasted once more on hastily prepared and yet delicious Christmas pudding and tiramisu. Needless to say, there was no supper.

Instead, we prepared for the unseasonably early start the next morning, when we left at 6am for the Pantanal further north into the tropics.  


The Pantanal is the world´s biggest wetland area (150,000 square km), and the most dense flora and fauna ecosystem on earth. A savannah of flat open plains, swamps, rivers and small forests, teaming with huge numbers of bird species: macaws (a portuguese word), toucans, hawks, ibis, and monkeys, capybaras (the largest rodent in the world), jaguars, swamps filled with lurking caiman, piranha, frogs, anacondas, spiders, all sweltering under the steamy sun and lingering humidity, encouraging the most noticeable of all: MOSQUITOS!
There were undoubtedly the most mosquitos I have ever seen in one place. The moment we stopped the truck to disembark, scourges of them swarmed around inside and outside the truck, hovering, waiting to attack any unprotected human flesh.

We left the truck for a few days and piled onto the back of a much smaller one to drive up to a farm further into the Pantanal. Our base for three nights, we slept in hammocks, rising early for nature walks, and horse-riding, resting in the stifling heat of the afternoon, before piranha fishing in the early evening.

Our early nature walk saw us tramping through the long grass, swatting mozzies away with broken off branches like...

However, it was all worth it as we soon spotted a baby macaw, cowering in its nest inside a tree, as its parents soared high above the canopy in formation. Further along, we looked on as an entire ecosystem awoke with birds chirping away, rustling leaves and branches on which monkeys swung past on the way down to the forest floor. A family of capybara trudged through from the swamp where caiman hovered menacingly on the water´s surface, still for minutes as they considered the options for their morning feed.

The afternoon saw a group of us, freshly showered (2-3 a day were absolutely necessary), striding out to a nearby swamp, fishing rods in hand. The shore was teaming with mosquitos as we waded in, tossing the lines in and within seconds, sharp teeth were attacking the baited hooks and the first piranha were successfully captured (piranha, like macaw is a portuguese word).

Just as quickly however, our presence came to the attention of one of a congregation of caiman guarding the bank on the other side of the pond.

For the next two hours, he followed us onto the shore, then circled our little boat as we set out into the middle of the pond, searching for more piranha. It inevitably got caught on one of our lines and took a considerable effort to remove, amid mild consternation, though not enough to prevent a brave (or stupid?) few from a brief swim with the piranhas and caiman before we returned to camp with the afternoon´s catch.

After viewing the sunrise the next morning, we boarded our horses and walked and trotted through the open plains and swamps of thick reeds and grass, before an extended 500m gallop to finish, which the excitable horses handled with aplomb.

The afternoon was left free for a highly spirited game of futbol between the highly fancied Brazilian team and a motley crew of a Scotsman, a Welshman, and two Aussies. After a lengthy, sweaty, and heated battle, the score was 4-3 to Brazil, but only after a disallowed goal from the other end prevented an even result.

As the sweat dripped down our heaving chests onto the surface, recently dampened by a tropical wet season downpour, we returned to the hammock district, downing some cold beer, tapping away on some Brazilian percussion instruments to the beat of the famous Capoeira.

After a final evening of surprisingly delicious feijoada (the Brazilan national dish of meats and rice and beans), the stage was set for a new adventure:

December 29, 5am - Depart Pantanal for Rio de Janeiro for New Year's Eve.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/sudamerica07-8/1198504140/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/sudamerica07-8/1198504140/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/sudamerica07-8/1198504140/tpod.html Tue, 08 Jan 2008 10:24:19 -0500 South America: ¨The highly anticipated journey is finally here¨ - SW

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Bonito, Brazil

After another free camp (beside a servo this time), we moved through the ruined missionary settlement, San Ignacio Mini, a world heritage site and one of several Jesuit missions (reductions) from 400 years ago, when Jesuit Missionaries set up these villages, converting and protecting the native population from the Spanish and other tribes, while growing these villages into small cities of commerce, education and craft.

From here, it was noticeably more humid as we arrived in Puerto Iguazu in the far north-east of Argentina, the site of the Iguazu Falls and National Park, and three way border with Brazil and Paraguay.

To attempt to describe the falls in a few sentences would betray the majesty, the sheer breadth, the many unique elements of the 273 different falls plunging over the edge amid a deafening roar (For more dramatic recreations of Jesuit missions and the real Iguazu Falls, see Roland Joffe´s 1986 film, ´The Mission`(http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0091530/) starring Jeremy Irons and Robert De Niro).

Fortunately, the next day when we visited the Falls, the weather had cleared completely, leaving the powerful sun at its summer solstice singeing our pasty flesh, but also providing perfect views of the Falls from all angles.

Our first day, we walked around the Argentinian side above, below and across the falls, and sped into the Devil´s Throat on speed boat, getting completely soaked but refreshed and quickly drying in the sun.

Another long walk extended along a platform 800m across the river to the top of the Devil´s Throat, looking down at this natural phenomenon just metres from the drop.
We returned by slow boat, floating silently down the river, spotting toucans busying themselves in the upper reaches of the forest, their bright over sized beaks betraying their attempts to remain hidden, before hopping on the returning mini-train winding its way through the trees back to the entrance of the park.

We then crossed the nearby border into Brazil and the considerably larger border town, Foz Do Igaucu, a relaxing afternoon at the campsite pool, and a new language to confuse those just beginning to get the hang of Spanish.

The following day was once again spent at the falls, this time on the Brazilian side where some visited the bird park, some flew over the falls by helicopter, and others ventured once more into the falls, where from the Brazilian side, there was a close-up view of the Devil´s Throat from below and directly in front. The rest of the afternoon was spent resting at the top, overlooking the breathtaking drop of the Devil´s Throat, contemplating.........

Leaving behind the incessant border crossings for good and driving further north into Brazil towards the tropic of Capricorn, it became even more apparent that any proficiency with Spanish would be useless with Portuguese, and given my Portuguese isn´t what it used to be, I rapidly searched to the depths of my increasingly messy backpack for my untouched Brazilian Portuguese phrasebook and began reciting the absurd nasal sounds that make up this initially very confusing language.

We soon arrived in Bonito, a delightful little town just south of the Pantanal, where we would be spending Christmas Day. Our campsite, 6 km out of town, fortunately backed onto a cool river, a welcome respite from the stifling sun and humidity.

Bonito´s surrounding area is home to the cleanest rivers and most stunning caves in the world, and our first day was spent snorkelling through rivers with 35m visibility! Through some scientific miracle (possibly involving calcium carbonate) the rivers are crystal clear and we were not permitted to wear any sunscreen or insect repellent in the water, lest it damage the fragile ecosystem and ruin the major tourist attraction of the region.

Thus, resigned to our fate of singed calves and hamstrings, we put on our wetsuits and snorkels, and with underwater camera, dove under the surface. The clarity of the water lived up to its reputation and we spent the next two hours floating with the current downstream alongside schools of baby fish sucking from the river bed under the direction of their parents, all within arm´s reach as varieties of others nonchalantly swam past in front of our goggles.

Christmas Eve for most was spent lazing about the campsite preparing for the next day, though Tony and Adrian went on the cave diving tour, abseiling 72m down into the cave and then scuba diving below the surface.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/sudamerica07-8/1198009860/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/sudamerica07-8/1198009860/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/sudamerica07-8/1198009860/tpod.html Mon, 24 Dec 2007 09:25:46 -0500 South America: ¨The highly anticipated journey is finally here¨ - SW

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Puerto Iguazu, Argentina

Leaving Ushuaia behind as the sun rose to thaw out the town, in darkness for just 5 1/2 hours overnight, we excitedly searched for warmer climes.

After a long drive and free camp beside a lonely bar, we raced into the seaside town of Puerto Madryn, it´s Welsh influence only really apparent in the numerous rugby apparel stores.

The prime reason for visiting Puerto Madryn is the wildlife of the Valdez Peninsula, and on the second day, we set off early, stopping first at a very small tourist village on the ocean, the site of ´guaranteed´ whale-watching.

But as we set out on a speedboat into the bay, skeptics were quickly silenced, when just 100m or so from the shore, a mid-sized southern right whale effortlessly glided past our vessel, slowly circling and investigating, diving just under the boat, as we rushed from side to side to get a glimpse of this magnificent creature.

Content with its investigation, the huge mammal moved off into the Atlantic Ocean, guiding its nose through the parting waters beneath the surface.

Equally content with our close-up view, we sallied forth out of the bay around the coastline and not long after, our guide spotted several more, a mother and calf, and a third whale en route to the south pole.

The smaller calf approached the boat, creating a smooth path through the waves around and under the frantically clicking cameras, the flash of paparazzi to which they were surely accustomed, but which seemed an unusual and fascinating discovery.

Although lasting just 90 minutes, seeing such massive animals swim beside us was as humbling an experience as the Grand Canyon or Machu Picchu.

From here, we continued along the Valdez Peninsula, stopping off to see hundreds of Elephant Seals lazing on the beach shedding their skin, struggling onto the sand like giant slugs, but laughing loudly at their ability to dive to depths no other mammal can (1.5km below the surface!).

Further along, populations of Magellan penguins scattered themselves amongst the rising cliffs, military lines standing to attention, contemplating the serene view as the spouses protected the eggs nestled under small shrubs very close to our curious cameras.

And so, we were to move up the coast as we returned to the civilisation and latitude to which we were accustomed: Buenos Aires.


We drove up the attractive tree-lined boulevard (8 lanes each way), Avenida 9 Julio, passing innumerable futbol pitches on the way through the famous La Boca region in the south of the city.

Our first night was spent enjoying a fabulous tango dinner show, a theatrical demonstration of the famous sensual dance, a major influence on the culture of BA, particularly the working class southern suburbs of La Boca and San Telmo.

Equally important is Futbol, particularly in La Boca once again (Argentinians´ passion for the game is noticeably more deep than Chile, Peru, or Bolivia), where the Boca Juniors (for whom Maradona played) Stadium rises up from the dirty streets, surrounded by many souvenir stores peddling every type of Boca or Argentinan merchandise you could ever think of.

A few blocks from the stadium is the equally famous and colourful Caminito area whence the tango originated. Two storey flats of bright primary colours line the cobbled streets filled with artists vending their similarly colourful paintings, couples demonstrating the tango (usually for some profit) and yet more souvenir stores. Although very touristy, this whole area has so much life, vibrancy, and colour that it is hard not to love.

The surrounding area is not so touristy however, and evidently quite poor, and it was reinforced to us several times not to venture too far off the tourist trail. Nonetheless, early on Sunday morning, a few of the guys headed down to La Boca in search of a bar to watch the World Club Championship final with Boca versus AC Milan, played in Japan, and we found a nice cafe with a big ´screen´ (9 small TV´s put together creating black lines crossing the screen like a noughts and crosses board). The atmosphere was great for the first half until AC Milan took control in the second half.

Another of many sides to BA is the more upper class, European cafe and dining scene, and the wealthier northern suburbs of Recoleta and Palermo: Quiet leafy streets, beautiful parks and gardens and numerous panaderias and outdoor cafes lining the footpaths. One amazing upmarket cafe, surprisingly sheltered from the twelve lane avenue it fronted, served up the most delicious chocolate desserts and chocolate bomboms and truffles for just $2.50 and $0.60 respectively, a sixth of the price in Australia. Another ice-cream shop, Persicco (www.persicco.com), hidden amongst the small parks and towering trees had some of the best ever ice-cream.

Parts of the centre also pulsate until early morning, with the main shopping strip, Avenida Florida, and theatre, tango shows, bars and clubs only filling by 3am.

One cheap but delicious pizza place I frequented near our hotel had huge crowds bursting in late at night for dinner: one elderly lady was climbing the stairs to find a spare table amongst the bustle with her family at 11:30pm!

I also managed to finally see a film at the cinema, although not a Village one, paying just $5 to see the Assasination of Jesse James By the Coward Robert Ford, one of my highly anticipated films*, a very satisfying end to my Buenos Aires experience.

Alas, our time in BA was never going to be long enough and early Monday morning, we were off again, entering the subtropical North-East of Argentina on the way to Puerto Iguazu, the Argentinian town on the three-way border that divides the Iguazu Falls between Paraguay, Brazil, and Argentina.


*Trademark 2007 SW
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/sudamerica07-8/1197048420/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/sudamerica07-8/1197048420/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/walshy_88/sudamerica07-8/1197048420/tpod.html Fri, 07 Dec 2007 15:38:32 -0500 South America: ¨The highly anticipated journey is finally here¨ - SW

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Ushuaia, Argentina

Entering the final stage of our descent of the continent, we left El Calafate at 5am, crossing the long Argentina-Chile border once again, returning to Chile and Parque Nacional Torres del Paine.

Due to Chile´s restrictions on fresh food brought across the border, once over, we had to drive a couple of hours past the National Park to Puerto Natales to stock up on supplies for the next 5 days we were spending in Torres del Paine.

With the truck full of food, we then drove back up into the Park, the centrepiece of which is the Cordillera del Paine, a group of sharply rising granite peaks dipped in snow.

After the debacle in El Chalten, we spent time carefully pitching tents in sheltered pockets of the campsite, on the banks of a lake, the foreground of our spectacular view of the Towers.

With four full days to explore the park, we decided to complete the famous ´W´ hiking circuit in separate parts, beginning with a long and physically challenging but popular hike up Valle Ascensio to the lookout with the money shot of the towers. Unfortunately, although we spent 2 hours resting at the top, the weather was overcast and our potentially perfect view remained slightly obscured.

Backing up a little sore on the second day, we caught a vastly overpriced 30 minute ferry ($35 return) across Lake Pehoe to the start of a long hike along the lake and then up into Valle Frances. Unfortunately, this 11 hour long (suggested) hike needed to be completed in 8 hours to catch the return ferry and avoid a pricey stay in the hosteria at the lakeside and coughing up for another bargain priced ferry ride the next day.

We made up little time along the flat but muddy lakeside section, so we powered on up the steep and unstable Valle Frances ´path´, as the rain pattered on the leaves high above, collecting and occasionally breaking through in a brief but forceful splatter on our heads as we scrambled for our rain jackets to no avail.

After Tony, Rob, and Chris (some with injuries, some navigation problems) fell behind, I continued up to Campamento Britanico, an example of the name creating too high expectations. The deserted ´camp´ consisted of a ripped tarp across some logs with some stones for seats. After crouching under the tarp, dodging the rain falling through the rips for 10 minutes eating some lunch, I continued on up to the lookout, wary of the time, particularly if I had to descend the treacherous valley after the weather had set in.

After just 10 minutes, the trees disappeared and the towers suddenly appeared in the distance beyond the clearing. Continuing on past what was supposed to be the mirador (discovered on my ultimate return), the path then followed a fast flowing river directly up the mountain towards the towers. This path then gradually disappeared as the ascent turned into something of a rock-climbing exercise, with little obvious direction aside from the river and the chunks of granite ahead, the literal point of this increasingly tiring exercise.

The feeling after climbing to the top of the rocks, looking out over the lakes in the distance, snow-capped mountains on all sides, standing at the foot of the huge towers piercing the thick clouds surrounding their sharp peaks, with snow flying into my numbing face from the sky, could only be described as exhilirating, exultant and extremely fucking cold....

This chilled feeling transformed into a one of immense muscle fatigue, moving back down the mountain, as I considered the 8 km remaining along the lake, bringing to about 60km the total hiking distance covered in the last two days.

A morning of horse-riding to hurt the remaining parts of my body that were not hurt the previous two days seemed a delightful idea when I agreed to and paid for it five days ago.
That my feelings on the subject had changed since then is a substantial understatement.

Our final day in the Park began with a short walk to a waterfall, which we were almost blown into with ridiculously powerful winds allowing us to lean back on 45 degree angles.
The rest of the day involved very little physical exertion, as we prepared to make the final journey south before finally turning around and heading back towards some hint of warmth.

A night of free camping split up the long drive back into Argentina and towards the end of the world, and an abandoned slaughterhouse fit the bill nicely as we swept away broken glass and old bones from the concrete floors, boarded up broken windows and lay down our sleeping mats for an interesting night across from the ocean.

Finally, after a descent of about 8000km, we drove into Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world (except for the one just below it in Chile which is a small naval base that nobody goes to), a little perturbed by the snow falling on the trees of the forest hugging the road into the town.

Fortunately, the wind is not quite as bad further into Patagonia, but the summer weather here is worse than any Australian winter.

Our first day was spent in a boat along the Beagle Channel, spotting flights of cormarents and pods of sea lions.

On the second day, we hiked on dangerously muddy paths along the lakes and oceans of Tierra del Fuego National Park, and walked along the last 4km of the Pan-American Hiaghway to its anti-climactic end, 17848km from its humble and no doubt equally cold beginning in Alaska.

Tomorrow, we leave early on the way to Buenos Aires, about 3000km north into the relative warmth and hopefully relatively windless Central Argentinan Coast.
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