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Stalk in flight
Unfortunately this one dropped the baby in the river just before the photo was taken. The baby had been due to be adopted my Madonna.Tally ho and orf we go! We´ve had our fun in the sun and now it´s onwards with a proper slog through the middle of South America. It´s intrepid travel time again after all that fun & nonsense in Rio. As we all know, the middle of South America is a dark jungle where few men (or women) have feared to tread and those that have have quickly had their heads boiled in pots and eaten by terribly unsporting indigenous types, naked but for the feathers on the end of their spears.
Ok, so maybe we´re 500 years too late for all that. The Incas have gone thanks to the generous gifts of disease and slavery brought over from Portugal and Spain, and all that´s left for us to contend with is a pair of increasingly heavy rucksacks, chock full of cold weather gear which in Rio, hadn´t been necessary. In total contrast to the urban glitz of the past couple of weeks, we headed first to the Pantanal, where a veritable orgy of wildlife was sloshing about in the flooded plains, no doubt waiting for us with poisonous bits and sharp teeth and stuff. One long slog across Brazil
Piranhaman
Every time Ant catches a piranha...he becomes Piranhaman! took us to Campo Grande, and then on to the Pantanal itself. Pantanal means wetlands or something like that, which is a bit different to our interpretation. We thought Pantanal was a sort of creosote, which people put on their pants to make them withstand heavy downpours. You really do learn something new every day. As we neared our destination, we started to spot a lot of caimans (Brazilian alligators) lying next to ponds next to the road, mouths open, soaking up the sun. We didn´t know at this stage that we would see millions of them over the next couple of days, and that they are highly unlikely to attack humans, so we were suitably impressed. We could pretend at this stage that they were in fact crocodiles and we were very brave indeed to be so close to them. In fact, we did hear one person phoning home a few days later, excitedly explaining how they´d seen ´fookin millions of crocodiles all over the place´, but we didn´t, and nor did they.
So we´d opted for the light and fun Pantanal option whereby you don´t go very deeply into the area, but instead partake in lots of
'activities'...I know, I know, it sounds a little bit like Butlins. But at Butlins you can´t go Piranha fishing! Also on the agenda were safaris on foot, jeep and boat and the gentlest of ambles on the back of a mule. What japes! We had so many fun things lined up that we could almost have overlooked the fact that our accommodation was about as welcoming as an eye infection. We knew to expect basic rooms, and were happy enough that there was no hot water, but we were a little taken aback when we found that the reason there was no hot water wasn't that we truly were in the wilds, but that the stingy bastards who ran the place had been round all the rooms and snipped the electric cables to the showers, leaving the wiring dangling tantalisingly close to the water. No problem, the weather was hot enough and cold showers were fine. We'd overlook the fact that the owners didn't think we'd notice their cost cutting. We also noticed more cost cutting at meal times, where the food would have made Oliver Twist think twice about asking for more. But it's ok, we're British, we don't
like to make a fuss. Besides, the wildlife was excellent; brimming with caimans, stalks, giant otters, parrots, monkeys and even the odd pug mark from elusive jaguars. As long as it didn't get cold we'd be fine...just as long as it stayed a nice, warm 30 degrees, we wouldn't need garnish such as hot showers or food...
Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear. We certainly didn't expect a cold front of quite such Baltic conditions in Brazil. Overnight the temperature dropped by about 20 degrees, aided by a wet wind which ran riot through the walls of our rooms and down the gaps in our sleeping bags, chilling us to the bone. On day three everything changed. The wildlife checked into somewhere warmer, leaving us to fend for ourselves in scenes which felt like the Gulag. The temperature dropped so much that there was steam coming off the river for the rest of the time we were there! Seriously - steam for god's sake! We tried in vein to find more wildlife but they'd all wisely buggered off into the warmer depths of the river. Fortunately, the river did provide us with the exciting opportunity to do some piranha
Giant Guinnea Pig
Can't remember the proper name for these fellas, but they're known as giant guinnea pigs, they're anout the size of a fat labrador and yes...we did eat one. fishing. Usually piranha fishing is followed by swimming in the very same water, a pursuit which doesn't seem wholly wise. In a twisted version of luck, the bad weather saved us from the swimming, leaving us to take on the piranhas from the safety of the river bank. Although with Jen's back swing of a steak skewer hook, even the riverbank held its fair share of dangers. And blow me were there a lot of piranhas! About three seconds after casting your line you'd feel this frenzy of nibbling, yank the rod expecting to pull one of the little buggers out of the water, only to find that everything but the metal has been devoured. Again and again and again this happened, as it became clear that all we were actually doing was feeding the fish rather than catching them. Ant did manage to catch three, but they were all too small and went back in the water complete with brand new lip piercings. Jen also caught one, foolishly picking it up to throw it back in, much to the bewilderment of our guide who, by the look on his face, fully expected to see Jenny's complement of fingers reduced
Pug Marks
The closest we got to seeing a Jaguar. Bugger. by at least one. In the end, between seven of us, we caught two fish. In the mean time, the piranhas had eaten about two cow's worth of steak. In spite of our utter failure as fisherpersons, this flagrant wasting of good meat was a mildly satisfying 'up yours' to the tight bastards who wouldn't feed us so generously.
It was time to leave. We'd gone two days without showering which is more than enough, even for us two grubbers. We had to go in search of a hot shower and a room with walls that could keep the cold weather out. We were heading to Bonito, which to anyone with even the slightest grasp of Spanish or Portuguese means beautiful. Or does it mean pretty? Shows how much Spanish we know. Now Bonito´s alright...it´s no dump, but Bonito´s a bit of an oversell. It's like Noel Edmonds calling himself 'Eros.' Sure he's presentable, neatly trimmed on the outside with good prospects, but know your limitations. What is bonito in Bonito is the selection of sights within a 70km radius of the town. For some reason which we never cared to look into, there's a few very warm, crystal
Unsuspecting Armadillo
At this stage the poor little critter was unaware that he was about to be stretched from arsehole t'beak clear rivers, some of which are full of mica (the mineral, not the singer), making the water a dazzling blue. For some other reason which again we didn't stop to find out, the prices for visiting all these places are sky high, so we allowed ourselves just the one trip to Rio de Prata where you get to float about 3km down a river chock full of so many amazing fish it´s like swimming in an aquarium. Alas, the cold snap hadn't snapped so we were in for a bit of a chilly jaunt downstream, and even the usually warm water temperature had dropped. We knew to expect the inevitable and sure enough, the combination of running water and tight, cold muscles meant that within moments our bladders were collectively threatening to raise the water level in the river. So instead of floating down river admiring the view, it became more an endurance test with the commentary of 'nice fish, need a piss, nice fish, need a piss, nice fish, need to get out soon etc etc´. But we were all in the same boat and if everyone in our group was telling the truth, we all managed to avoid
polluting the beautifully clear waters. All except the person who lied about the crocodiles on the phone. Apparently it was too much for them. Still, it probably raised the water temperature by a degree or two.
But the best was yet to come. On our way home, our cab driver who had obviously got bored out of his mind waiting for us, decided to take on the role of nature guide. We were barely 30 seconds away from Rio De Prata when he spotted an armadillo digging in a field. Quietly, quietly, we tip toed over to the armadillo, being very careful not to disturb this beautiful and rare creature. What a treat, what a rare experience....what the fuck's the taxi driver doing??!! Totally out of the blue the taxi driver had sneaked up and grabbed the poor armadillo’s tail as it stuck out of the ground, and became embroiled in the most bizarre tug-a-war you're ever likely to witness. Tough and stocky though the taxi driver was, the armadillo was more than a match for him, digging its claws in and holding on for grim death. For a moment it looked like the taxi driver might fly backwards
with the armadillo's tail still in his grip, but it held out and began to cover its back end with soil in the hope that it would make itself invisible. Eventually the taxi driver relented, seemingly undone by a fit of giggles that made him lose his grip. The armadillo lived to fight another day and we returned to our car. Still gobsmacked by what we'd just seen, we were even more alarmed when we spotted a giant ant eater. Our glee at finding the elusive creature was overshadowed by our dread at what the taxi driver might have in mind for it as he scarpered through a fence and across a field with a speed and guile that betrayed his portly frame, but fortunately for the anteater, it ran for the hills just in time. Then AGAIN we saw ANOTHER anteater, this time much closer, close enough for us to get some piccies this time. And close enough for us to see what an incredible freak of evolution the creature is. The nose makes sense, but quite why it has fur which resembles Penelope Keith's dresses in Ever Decreasing Circles is nothing short of baffling.
And so, confused
and colder than expected, our adventures in Brasil had come to an exciting end. The following day we would make for the border and hopefully cross into Bolivia where everything would be just a little bit different. Exciting as the prospect of Bolivia is, we knew that we would be saying goodbye to the food, music and beaches for a while. Come to think of it, paved roads and inoffensive odours would probably have to take a back seat too. It's all about to become a little less predictable.
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