Why do you keep stopping? the guide asked with an irritated expression on his face and agitation in his voice. Mmm...because I can't breathe!?! I replied in turn. The monster had flicked his switch. The previous morning Christophe and I were left waiting in vain for our departure. C's guide had called in sick and the agency was desperately (in Bolivian terms) trying to find a replacement. Low and behold, an hour later Mr. Sick shows up smelling of liquor. An exchange of words followed between him and the agency owner and things seemed to be settled. C was looking kind [View Full Entry]

---

---

I shuddered as I felt the movement on my skin. Instinctively, my hand reached out to kill the would be invader. But there was none. It had taken the boat three hours to bring me back to civilisation but it would take my mind much longer to readjust. The swarms of mosquitoes were replaced by waves of motorcycles. Rurre, a town of merely fifteen thousand seemed like a megalopolis compare to Torewa, a community of six families. A lomito broke my diet of fish, rice and plantains, a cerveza my almost three week abstinence from alcohol and water so thickly laced [View Full Entry]

---

---

The year was 1985. Michael Jackson was King of Pop, Sylvester Stallone was Rambo and NASA came to stand for Need Another Seven Astronauts. Swimming four hours a day and playing with Lego left little time for anything else. The A-Team took up another hour of my precious time so what else could I possibly do? Well, this curious little boys mind was preoccupied by one thing...animals. Capturing lizards and attempts at sizzling ants with the aid of a magnifying glass aside (it doesn't work, they're too quick), I was enamoured with the documentaries on TV. Don't believe me? Take a [View Full Entry]

---

---

¿Te gusta coca? No thanks, I don't like fizzy drinks. Nacho looked at me like I had just said the stupidest thing in the world and given the circumstances I just may have. I wasn't being offered America's top export (after weapons but that's another matter). As a sign that he understood, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little plastic bag to offer me Bolivia's (sole?) export - the coca leaf. It had been a strange and eventful week that had brought me half-way back down the continent. Bidding farewell to Santa Elena, I caught a taxi to [View Full Entry]

---

---

How many people are going? The accent sounded familiar. So far, I have three, replied Eric. When it was time to write down our passport details I wasn't surprised in the least. I turned to him and said: Majhen svet, a ne? / Small world, isn't it? I'm not sure if it was my Ljubljana dialect or the fact he hadn't heard Slovenian spoken in a while, but it took Bostjan a couple of moments to understand that I was addressing him in his native tongue. I always meet Slovenians in Venezuela. That night Tom, Bosti and I did our best [View Full Entry]

---

---

Six dark figures approached me on the jungle path. Five of them were carrying machetes. Hotel Rwanda? Long sleeves or short sleeves? Would this be my end? Music emanated from the approaching men. The sixth figure was carrying a boom box. I breathed a sigh of relief. The men were pork knockers on their way back from a long days work. Since the world diamond price had dropped, they were in need of a new source of income. There be gold in them there hills! The switch had left its consequences. Battery casings lay everywhere, mercury polluted the rivers. People were [View Full Entry]

---

---

My hammock was out, the mosquito net ready and I was about to look for my wind-up torch when the first rain drop hit me. It was then I was reminded: the little dry season was late in Guyane. Like every night it would rain a little here and there with a stronger deluge in the morning and another early afternoon. Sleeping in the car it would be then. For the third night in a row. I hadn't intended it to be this way. I had known that Guyane was expensive. The guidebooks warned me even more-so than Paris. But 43 [View Full Entry]

---

---

The five men were thrusting their arms out in fighting motions 'dancing' to the rhythm of the music when the police came from behind and clobbered them with their batons. The four men in front writhed with pain while the fifth eluded them, stepping back and closing my path. When the beating had stopped, the police motioned the men to move on. Man number five may have thought he had escaped a beating, but he was wrong. As he passed the military policemen, one of them delivered a blow to the back of the head as a reminder. Do not f*** [View Full Entry]

---

---

I had watched them pull in. The guy was trying his best to impress her and she was doing her best to stay aloof. I believed she was French but couldn't quite place him until he asked me Are you going to Sao Jorge? Do you want to travel with my friend? The guy was from Brasilia, she, as I had guessed, was French. He was showing his friend around his home town but was leaving her to do Chapada do Veadeiros national park on her own...well, not quite. Being the only gringos in Alto Paraiso de Goias, we instantly hooked [View Full Entry]

---

---

Are you going to the Chico Rei mine tomorrow? Are you going to hire a guide and want to split the costs? The words awoke me from my slumber. My body was awake but my mind was still fast asleep after being occupied by the cripple (sorry to my American readers, if there are any. Political correctness has still to hit the shores of Europe) and her kids on the overnight Sao Paulo-Ouro Preto bus. When the woman wasn't talking at full volume with her friend at the other end of the bus or her kids weren't playing 'elbow the gringo [View Full Entry]

---

---