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Published: January 9th 2009
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We left Punta del Diablo having had a different but satisfying Christmas. Ahead of us lay our final month. Our last country, Brazil, the crazy one right at the end. We don't know anyone from Brazil, or even anyone who has been to Brazil, as far as we remember, so our knowledge of the country and its people comes from media and travel guides. Images of hotted headed South Americans, passion, danger, football, samba and so on filled our mind. After travelling for so long, we had developed a slight cockiness, we had managed to survive so far and have few problems, so despite its reputation, Brazil would be a breeze, or so we thought.
It didn't start too well, the debarcle at Chuy gave us a slightly negative vibe, and a sense of uselessness and even a little panic. What Stu forgot to mention was that the German girl who came to our rescue (who we pretty much followed around all day) also spoke fluent Portuguese, which was also needed to negotiate the haphazard arrangements regarding the Uruguay-Brazil border crossing. Between us we knew one Portuguese word, and it wasn't going to get us far. Have you heard much
Portuguese? It is much harder than Spanish, and these guys speak a lot less English.
After spending at least 4 hours sorting out the various stamps needed at stupid check points miles from the actual border, we were left with a few hours to kill before we boarded the night bus to Porto Alegre. This was already breaking our first rule of not taking cheap buses overnight in Brazil due to dubious security arrangements. But we had little choice, Chuy seemed kind of dangerous, and we didn't want to stay any longer than necessary. We have found that most border towns have a wild west atmosphere, anything goes. The streets are dirty and raucous, with cheap fags and booze and bootleg CDs and DVDs for sale on the corners. Men offering poor rates on exchanging currency shouting 'cambio, cambio, cambio.....' We had already had a night mare with currency, with none of the many ATMs accepting our international visa card!!! Typical. And had to resort to drawing money out on a credit card which is never good news. But anyway, we felt relieved it was over and happy to be on our way somewhere, nevermind that it was not
Floriopa, as we had hoped. We killed time by getting a cheap bite to eat in one of the numerous 'lanches' cafes, which really are just 'greasy spoons', and were joined by the usual assortment of insect life while eating, you know flies, mossies and the odd enormous cockcroach or two.
The bus itself was fairly uneventful, the customs afficers boarded the bus and gave us an uninterested glance before resuming their postion with mate and sky tv, and soon we were arriving in the early hours at the huge bus station in Porto Allegre. This time we thought we would try out our new language oursleves and we thanked the German ladies for all their help and wished them good onward travel. As we could not face another lengthy bus journey we opted for the halfway point of Torres instead of heading all the way to Floriopa. So with my sentence of ' dois Torres por favorr' I mimed my way to 2 tickets for the 8.30 bus, giving us just enough time for a spot of brekkie. True to form, I realised that the ticket man had ripped me off for 10 reis......as the LP suggested, i
should have checked my change. With a little shouting in any language however, the message was clear and he gave me the right change soon after. I vowed would be more careful in future.
At this point we would like to say that since that event we have experienced nothing but honesty, kindness and helpfulness from all the Brazilians we have met and had any contact with, and they have completely dispelled the image we had created before arriving in the country.
We arrived in Torres in the early afternoon, and soon found a helpful young man at the information desk in the bus, who immediately invited Stu for a surf and a game of football so that he could practice his English. He also directed us to the nearest cheap hotel and armed with 3 phrases from the back of the LP, relying on the phonetics, which I later learnt are pretty inaccurate, managed to get us a basic room for the next 2 nights at the Lagoa Touristica. It actually redeemed itself with its great breakfasts.
The sun was shining and we were safely in Brazil, it was time to go out and explore. The
LP has described Torres as a sleepy little village with a large beach. Well we found the beach, and also the 2000 or so people that were scantily clad and fighting for the best spots.(As usual the LP was no help at all and completely inaccurate.) Torres, and so we later learnt the rest of Brazil, is a very 'cheeky'ยด kind of place. It is not about boobs here, its all about displaying as much bum cheek as possible, not matter what your size or shape. Thong bikinis only for women, and speedos only for men (and some were more like thongs). Noboby gives it a second glance. Most do not have the kind of bodies that can carry it off either, but somehow it works here. The Brazilians are body proud, they walk around the shops and restaurants dressed in this manner, and they jog and play bat and ball bending over and displaying their lunch, without a care. At first we found it hard not to giggle at some of the shapes and sizes and the rather sunburnt and pink scorched efforts, but you soon get used to it, just like the nudist beaches in France, its a
way of life here. Unfortunately we did not take our camara to the beach with us as we had been terrified into thinking that Brazil is a dangerous place and things like camaras would get pinched if you take them to the beach. This is actually rubbish, the people are not the slightest bit interested in your stuff, they have much better camaras themselves. I would say that the risk in Torres is probably the same as it is back home. You just have to be sensible. So we missed many, many great photo opportunities, if not the bums, just the sheer number of people on the beach.
As entertaining as Torres beach was, it wasn't our favourite place. It was obviously a popular holiday spot for the locals, with lots of apartments and some highrises. The beach front was packed with restaurants and stalls. At night it was just as busy and lively with a market and fun fair and boyracers doing the circuit of the strip. It was a tad tacky. We had great fun people watching, but after 2 nights it was enough and time to move on.
There was one little oasis in the
city, a large lake that was home to literally hundreds of wild terrapins, that would chase after walkers on the bridge or bank looking for scraps, and people would go and feed them, the way we would feed the ducks in Roath Park. So I thought I would get a few photos for you mum, as there was one species I didn't recognise....the one with the black stripe on its head and flat shell??
The next part of our journey was a very managable 6 hours or so on a bus to Florianopolis, where we had decided to spend NYE.
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