Category Archives: Antarctica to Alaska

40. You must, you absolutely must

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Thursday, 31 January 2019

Uyuni, Bolivia

 

The only reason I’m here at the Uyuni salt flat is due to a chance conversation with my client’s CEO on my last day in their office. Whilst explaining my route, he asked if I was going to the Uyuni salt flat, as he had been a few years before. At that time it wasn’t on my radar but he was rather emphatic and said, “You must, you absolutely must.” So. Here I am.

I’d investigated a day trip on the salt flat a couple of weeks ago but it was US$425 for a trip that missed out more than half the tour and the interesting bits, Fish Island and the Volcano, as flooding prevented access. And if it was going to rain all day, it was hardly worth paying all that money if I wasn’t going to see anything. So nothing was booked. Play it by ear. Thought I.

Woke up to see blue sky and light clouds over the salt flat. OK. This might be a good day to visit. Ask at reception if they can organise a tour pronto whilst I have breakfast. Not possible, she says. All tours must be booked at least 24hrs in advance. You can book for tomorrow though, she says. Or you can do some internet research for another company (the hotel and tour company being part of same group).

Am in Colonial mode now.

No. Leave tomorrow. Want a trip today. Won’t be doing any internet research. Please can you ring tour company. She does. We speak. He’ll ring me back if he can arrange it. 5 mins later during breakfast, she comes with phone in hand.

Yes.

They can do it.

Well that wasn’t so difficult was it.

That’s how you do it.

Drive the half hour back to Uyuni to see the train cemetery. About 50 or 60 resting, rusting train engines sit on old track. Many have been daubed with graffiti. There’s an equal number of Toyota Land Cruisers. This is the tourist circuit.

Dating back to the 1860s, the trains came to serve the local tin and silver mines. Trains still serve the area and last night we had to wait in a nearby village whilst a 30 wagon freight train passed.

Plenty of tourists clambering on to the rusting hulks like being at an adult playground. A large black cloud approaches and only just make the Land Cruiser before it rains. Torrential rain. Uyuni is a basic town with plenty of backpacker hostels serving the salt flat. Roads are a bit manky and potholed and there’s nothing of note to make you want to stay.

So we drive to the nearby village of Colchani. An adobe village with a few new brick dwellings. A number of salt factories are here. Once inside the corrugated steel factory with salt rock walls, the rain lashes down. Real heavy, intense rain, the likes of which prevent us hear each other speak under the corrugated steel roof due to the immense noise. Don’t think I’ve experienced rain that intense before. It’s to become a feature of the day though.

Salt manufacturing process is as follows. Rake the salt into piles out on the salt flat. Leave to drain a few days. Load on to truck and bring to factory (small corrugated steel shed). It’s laid out on a metal tray and fires are lit underneath to properly dry it out. Once dried, it’s mixed with iodine and then ground in a milling machine until it’s a powder consistency. Packed into plastic bags which are then sealed over a gas flame. Generally produced for the domestic market, there are ten small scale factories like this doing it. Not wanting to pass through various borders with a white powder in a plastic bag, purchase the rock salt variety in a little glass bottle. One for the travel cupboard.

Picnic lunch planned for sitting out on the salt flat under a clear blue sky. However. Torrential rain continues. Driver, guide and myself agree that it makes sense to go back to my hotel and eat the picnic lunch there.

As soon as the rain came, it disappears and blue sky and patchy clouds return. Drive on to the salt flat. There’s about one to two inches of water lying on the flat. This is good and bad. The good is that the salt flat acts like a giant mirror. The bad is that we have to drive about 10km/hr to stop saltwater getting into the engine and electrics and on the chassis as it’s corrosive. Ordinarily they can drive at 80-90km/hr when it’s dry so the places we’re going to take 10mins rather than the 1hr it actually takes.

First stop is what look likes a bubbling rock pool. Assume it’s a thermal spring but am told it’s a chemical reaction between the minerals below. Plenty of locals are rubbing the water into their skin as it has health properties apparently.

The salt flat is the largest in the world and is approximately 80 miles long by 50 miles wide. It’s apparently a NASA emergency landing spot. Salt is 120m deep and there’s 50m of water beneath that. Formed over millions of years, it was, obviously, a sea at first which then evaporated.

Drive for an hour into a remote part of the flat away from the tourist trail. The water here is perhaps less than an inch deep and very calm with no ripples to disturb the mirror like surface. This is awesome. Never been anywhere like it. Certainly up there with Antarctica. That’s how impressive and awe inspiring this place is. My client’s CEO was right. Glad I came.

There’s no line on the horizon and, like Antarctica, absolutely no sense of scale. The water reflects the clouds and sky above. Mesmerising. Do look at the photos and video below to give you an idea.

My guide has been clutching a toy dinosaur in the Land Cruiser all day. Now I know what it’s for. As there’s no sense of perspective in the background, you can place small objects in the immediate foreground and then place people about 10m away to give a surreal photo (see the dinosaur photo below). I now have a giant orange and yellow Godzilla towering over me. Even though the toy is 4inches high. Quite a good effect.

A few kilometres away is a wayfinder point. Built of salt rock it was built for the Dakar rally which now, so I am told, runs in South America. As the salt flat is featureless they built this and a hut to act as a reference point. A young bride is standing on the wayfinder point in her bra and trousers trying to wriggle into her white wedding dress. She’s being assisted by elderly woman wearing bright coloured skirts, which my guide says suggests they’re from La Paz, as the locals wear dark coloured skirts.

Dark storm clouds gather around the rim of the salt lake but incredibly lucky to have experienced the salt flat with blue sky and sun.

Return to the salt flat for sunset. The dark storm clouds are now closing in on the flat and not convinced we’re going to get the money shot of the orange glow of a radiant sunset reflecting off the natural mirror. Guide produces a bottle of Bolivian red wine and enjoy a glass and a good chat waiting for the sunset. Which never happens. The storm clouds are rolling in. Lightning illuminates the darkened mass of clouds to the south and the west. Wind picks up. We go.

The lightning intensifies after dinner and treated to yet another awesome display (see the hyperlapse video below).

Cracking end to a cracking day. Many memories made.

39. Don’t get off the aircraft

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Wednesday, 30 January 2019

Uyuni, Bolivia

 

Flights today were originally scheduled to fly Asuncion to Santa Cruz and then Santa Cruz direct to Uyuni. That changed a few days ago when Amaszonas changed the schedule and added a third flight such that routing is now Santa Crus to La Paz, with a 45min connection time in La Paz, then La Paz to Uyuni, landing at 2000hrs, rather than the planned 1830hrs, and in time for dinner. Assuming it’s going to be delayed and it’s another half hour to hotel so a nice relaxing dinner won’t be happening. Buy a cheese croissant at Asuncion airport. That’ll be tonight’s dinner. Except they heat it up thinking I want it now. That’ll be nice to eat in 8hrs time. Not.

Might as well be flying in a small Coke can, the aircraft is small. Very small. 2hr flight to Santa Cruz over the green fields of Paraguay. Plenty of rectangular, well ordered fields and squiggly rivers run through them.

Have a 6hr stopover in Santa Cruz. There’s a flight to La Paz at 1230hrs which would make more sense to get rather than having to race around La Paz airport at high altitude in 45mins. Ask if it’s possible to change. Am told not to worry. It’s the same aircraft that then flies to Uyuni. Don’t get off the aircraft, she says. Ah. That makes sense. But why give me two boarding passes? That doesn’t make sense. It would make sense to have one boarding pass just to Uyuni. Wouldn’t it.

Domestic departures is basic. And I mean basic. It’s one redeeming feature is a VIP lounge. For USD25, I can enter. It’s a no brainer. Free food and drink. Toilets. Wifi. Comfy seats and a view of the tarmac. Normally with these lounges you usually get about 2hrs occupancy. Keep quiet about my 6hrr wait.

After many hours of catching up on diary and blog, it’s time to go to gate. Boarding is at 1700hrs for a 1730hrs departure. Yeah right. Heavy rain front comes in which delays things. It’s 1750hrs by the time we start boarding. And then I have a horrible thought. What if woman at 1000hrs this morning was wrong and it’s not the same aircraft. That would explain the two boarding passes. Hells bells. I won’t make my connection.

Check with the girl on the gate. She looks at my boarding passes and refers to a sheet of paper. Don’t worry. It’s the same aircraft. Don’t get off the aircraft, she says. Phew.

Land at La Paz at 1905hrs. People disembark. Ask stewardess if I can use the toilet. There’s only one at the back of the flying Coke can. It’s locked. Assume she’s locked it for landing. I know where the secret latch is to open it so lift the flap and open the latch and push the door open. To see a man on the toilet. It was properly occupied. Oh the embarrassment.

No sooner have people disembarked then people start embarking. Total turnaround is 15mins from touchdown to push back. Impressive. Not even Ryanscare could do that.

Heavy rain and lightning as we land at Uyuni. Half hour drive to hotel Palacio de Sal (http://www.palaciodesal.com.bo/en/). Enroute, treated to the most impressive lightning display I think I’ve ever seen over the salt flats.

The hotel is built of salt rock. The rooms have salt rock domes (see photos) above you with little stalactites threating to fall on you as you sleep.

Up at 12,000ft and not feeling the effects of altitude so the drugs must be working. Last time I came to Bolivia in 2001, felt like I was constantly taking my last gasp of air.

38. At the police station

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Tuesday, 29 January 2019

Asuncion, Paraguay

 

Drive through some basic living to arrive in the old historical centre of Asuncion. It’s clear that Paraguay is perhaps not as advanced as Uruguay, Argentina and Brasil. Whilst researching this trip, there was nothing really to entice me out into the countryside. A Jesuit mission a few hundred miles north of here didn’t appeal. There’s seemingly not much tourism here.

Dropped off at Plaza Democracia. There are, in effect, four treelined squares separated by roads. It’s already 33C and only 1000hrs. It’s going to get hotter. One of the squares has more trees than the others. Therefore more shade. Which explains why it’s the busiest. Plenty of shoe shine stalls but only one has a customer. Around the perimeter there are lots of people with tables full of green herbs and various roots. The herbs and roots are smashed up using pestle and mortar and added to a wide necked thermos flask which has a large block of ice in it and some water. Left to infuse for a few minutes then added to a cup of mate. Whereas in Argentina and Uruguay they drink mate with hot water, here it’s ice cold. Dubious about the quality of the water and ice that’s added. Will pass on that. Everyone is drinking it though.

In the adjoining square is the Pantheon of Heroes. A large church like structure with a domed roof. Two guards stand to attention at the entrance with their rifles. Inside is a chapel and a large diameter hole in the floor. Below, in the basement, are caskets of various heroes of Paraguay.

Walk towards the river and come across a building which is heavily protected by armed police. Ask policeman if I can take his photo to which he says yes. He then motions that I can go inside the building. The entrance a few metres away. Assume it’s a public building that is open to tourists to look at. Off I trot. Office left and office right. Office right’s door is open so go in there assuming this is the entrance. Can see there’s a courtyard and plants so probably worth a photo. Young girl policewoman walks up to from behind one of two desks. Assume this is security. There’s about half a dozen in the office. Another door leads to the courtyard. Because outside policeman has motioned that I can go in, I ask if it’s OK to look at the courtyard and take a photo. Well. They’re all a fluster. Young girl speaks no English so refers me to a slightly older policeman sitting at his desk. They speak in Spanish. She takes me across the entrance lobby to office left. She stands to attention as she speaks with another policeman. After a few minutes of conversation in Spanish with each other, cross back to office right. A plain clothes bod walks and is handed a gun from a drawer. Hmmm. Starting to realise this isn’t perhaps a public building where you can just walk in. This is a police station.

With that in mind I’ll play the stupid gringo tourist and see how far I can take this. Just for fun. Girl defers to policeman sitting at a desk. He speaks a little English. Explain that I would like to look at the courtyard and take a photo. He stands. Walks a few steps to an old bloke standing in the corner. Stands to attention and salutes. Ah. He’s the police chief. Looks like Jean Todt, former Ferrari F1 team manager and now FIA chairman. Policeman spouts off in Spanish. Returns to desk. I say. I only want a photo from the door. Nothing else. He asks for ID. Hand over passport. Details are entered in a register. As he’s doing this another policeman pours out some herbal water into a cup of mate and hands it to police chief, who takes a sip through the shared metal straw. Police chief has that bemused look. What on earth is this gringo doing?

Passport handed back. Policeman walks to police chief, stands to attention and salutes. Spanish spoken. Police chief nods agreement. Still looking bemused. Policeman motions for me to follow. Ask if older bloke is the chief. He is. Shake his hand. He’s smiling at the grateful gringo. Enter the rectangular courtyard. Plenty of green shrubs. A central walkway leads to a bust on a plinth at the other end. The Paraguayan flag and the Police flag fly either side. Take photo. Police chief appears. Policeman speaks a little English and asks why I’m here. Explain Antarctica to Alaska. He translates for police chief. Who nods. Policeman apologises profusely for his poor English, “Sorry my English is no good”. Well it’s miles better than my Spanish. Thank them both for their time and as I leave, police chief offers me a drink of his herbal tea. Thanks but no thanks. Make my excuses. What a friendly bunch.

The last time I was in a police station was in Amman, Jordan. That was rough. Having to walk past all the rapists, buggerers and murderers to get my passport stamped for immigration purposes. Oh yes. That’s another story to tell. Sometime.

Across the road are Plazas de Armas and Azacar. Ask yet another policeman why there are so many people living in tents and plywood shacks. Mentions the word indigenous but don’t know why they’re living in squalor here. Have a nosey about. One square is full of tents and tarpaulins, with fires burning to cook. The other side of the road is more structured and the accommodation is constructed of plywood sheets. Reminds me of the Soweto shanty towns in Jo’burg. People happy for me to take photos and a few even pose. A bloke with his family raises his cup of mate, in effect saying cheers, as I take photo. An elderly couple sit in an open fronted shack with a metal grille across watching TV. Ask if it’s OK to take photo and they both pose, smile and give the thumbs up. Feeling a bit more adventurous, I try and venture into the centre of the shack village, having been walking down a road. As I do so though, a couple of natives follow me and motion that I’m not allowed so have to step back.

Seek respite from the heat in the Cathedral next to the square. Because all churches are cold aren’t they? Not this one. It’s roasting hot. Have to find an air-conditioned café for a cold drink. It’s too hot to be walking about.

Search for the Casa de Independencia. Maps shows it on Palma Street between two streets. Can’t find it. Policeman standing at corner of one of those streets points me back to where I came, which fits with what the map shows. Still can’t find it. Enquire at tourist office. They say it’s back the way I came, to where policeman is standing then turn right. Do so and see it. It’s diagonally opposite from where policeman that gave directions is standing. Muppet. It’s right in front of him.

The house is a basic affair and is where Paraguay declared its independence from Argentina at the beginning of the 19th century. There’re a few artefacts but, quite frankly, with temperature hitting 37C I can do without the tourist thing today.

Return to nice air-conditioned café for lunch. I’m looked after by the old waitress who is like your dinner lady at school.

Walk to Plaza Uruguay and see more shelters housing people. Some teenage lads on swings meant for toddlers have worn down the ground below such that there are deep indentations beneath each swing so they can use it.

Too hot to be doing any more but see the railway station across the road so nip in for a look to discover that it’s now a museum. Quite a few artefacts on display are from England, Wolverhampton and Birmingham in particular. There are three staff members on parade but I’m the only visitor and get the impression it’s not exactly the busiest of museums. Very basic.

In need of cooler temperatures, head off to a shopping mall in the newer part of town. There’s a big difference as we leave the old town behind. Large houses and country type clubs can be seen. This is where the money is now. Brand new shopping centre with brands you would find in the UK. In need of batteries for my electric toothbrush. Google translates as ‘baterias’. Makes sense. Have been asking all day for baterias in various shops but no one sells baterias. Supermarket girl says they don’t sell. They must do. Surely? Go and investigate. Ask another girl in the hardware section if they sell baterias. Nope. Don’t sell. Walk a few steps and see torches for sale. They must sell batteries. And then. See a pack of batteries. Ah ha! Tell girl they sell baterias. Ah. She says. No. They’re not baterias. They’re ‘pilas’. Ah. I see. Been asking for the wrong thing. Batteries bought. And some gaffer tape. On the advice of a friend. To repair rucksack which is torn some more. Have three flights tomorrow on a small aircraft. Not convinced rucksack will be let on. Running repairs required.

37. The drugs are working

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Monday, 28 January 2019

Asuncion, Paraguay

 

0500hrs alarm call. Shuttle bus to airport. Not as busy as a UK airport at this time. And no beer swilling tourists going to Benidorm. Quite refined by comparison.

Can see there’s a lot of bags being confiscated on the earlier flight to Sao Paulo and being checked in at the gate. That won’t do. Position myself in the queue behind a big bloke. Trying to hide my oversized and substantially overweight bag behind me. They’re going up and down the queue checking. Turning my body towards them so bag is constantly hidden from view. A family in front is fortunately stopped with their bags so slip through without further ado whilst they concentrate on others.

3hr layover in Sao Paulo Guarulhos so a lot more relaxing transiting the airport this time. Flight on time and 2hrs later land in Asuncion. Capital of Paraguay. It’s hot. Very hot. 37C hot. Had to fill in a customs declaration on flight to enter country. Pass through passport control but the lad on customs duty is too busy concentrating on his mobile phone rather than stopping people to put their bags through the X-ray and stamp the customs declaration. Sneak past quietly seeing how far I can get without being noticed. I know. I’m difficult not to be noticed. Keep walking and soon find myself outside without having had any customs checks.

Jump in taxi and tell him I want to go to the Bourbon Asuncion hotel (https://www.bourbon.com.br/hotel/upscale-en/convention-hotel-en/bourbon-conmebol-assuncao-convention-hotel-2/?lang=en). 5mins drive away. That’s far too short a journey for him so have to get out and get in a second taxi. A young lad. Assume there must be a pecking order. The older ones get the juicy journeys. The younger ones do the small trips.

Admin afternoon. People need to know things. Yes. Credit card received in Belo Horizonte. Both the home envelope and the DHL envelope had been opened, so assume a customs check. Credit card remains safely hidden inside the village newsletter.

Have been decarbonating my body for a few days. No carbonated drinks. Well. Apart from the odd small beer. Preparing for high altitude. Shall be up at about 13,000ft on Wednesday. Doctor prescribes acetazolamide. Its pharmaceutical use is to treat glaucoma. But also used to help mitigate the effects of high altitude. Side effects include headaches, urination, and a tingling in the fingers.

Yep. The drugs are working.

36. Don’t like goodbyes

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Sunday, 27 January 2019

Belo Horizonte, Brasil

 

Pleasant morning perusing the local market which sells anything and everything. You’ll recall from yesterday’s blog that Minas Gerais is known for its cheese. Plenty of cheese stalls here. Great atmosphere and lots of people milling about.

Stop off at Praca do Papa. A high point in the city of Belo Horizonte. The views are stunning. Makes you realise how mountainous the city centre actually is. A large steel cross is installed at the view point and a group of young people encircle it holding hands. Singing and praying.

Drive through the cobbled backstreets to an excellent restaurant for lunch, Coco Bamboo. Highly recommended if you ever find yourself in BH.

Leave BH just before 1500hrs. It’s a 1hr drive to the Lapinha Caves. Which shut at 1600hrs. Can they do it.

Yes. They can.

Arrive just as the final tour group is walking towards the cave entrance. After a bit of pleading, we’re let in. Cave system is very good. Such is the health and safety, have to wear hard hats. Both used to wearing hard hats working on construction projects. But not with hygienic hair nets.

The area is well known for its caves. Inside, a large pool of a black substance on the floor denotes bats. Big juicy bats. Which can be seen hanging from the roof above. Ornate swirls of blue hued rock and what look like cauliflowers formed over thousands of years.

Dropped off at the airport hotel. Very early flight tomorrow so makes sense to stay here rather than BH, an hour away.

And say goodbye to Miss Brasil.

Don’t like goodbyes.

35. A toast to Manoel

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Saturday, 26 January 2019

Belo Horizonte, Brasil

 

Miss Brasil and I were meant to be going to Inhotim today, one of South America’s largest outdoor contemporary arts centres and gardens but, and you may have seen this in the media at home, a large dam collapsed nearby yesterday, killing approximately 360 people, which has led to a massive landslide. And I mean massive. The area is best avoided to let the rescue mission crack on.

Having started this trip at the bottom of the world, I now find myself at the Top of the World. A viewpoint, which is surprisingly 5,000ft above sea level. Even though there is low cloud and rain on the horizon, the views are magnificent. Along the ridge is a paragliding school but as the wind is too strong, there’s no flying today.

Belo Horizonte (which means beautiful horizon – and it is) is in the state of Minas Gerais, which is well known for its cheese, cachaca and mines. Apparently, the locals are quite tall as there was an English influx in the 18/19th centuries to start up the mines. Gold, diamonds and iron are the key ones and Minas Gerais actually means General Mines. You see. You’ve learnt something today. The whole area is surprisingly mountainous.

By chance, we discover that a brand new restaurant has opened up at the Top of the World. As it’s time for lunch, what better place to stay. The view is magnificent. The company is superb. The food is delicious. Incredibly happy.

Waiter explains that you can actually see the Brumadinho dam collapse from where we’re sitting. On the horizon is a massive, muddy brown scar in the green tropical landscape. It’s the landslide caused by the dam (see photos below). The waiter’s two friends died in the landslide. It only happened yesterday. His uncle narrowly missed being swept away. It’s clear he’s understandably very emotional as he tells us about it.

Travel further along the escarpment to Mirante Morro dos Veados. Another view point. The rock is rich red colour. You can see the iron in the rock it’s that rich. Stunning views.

Back in BH, Miss Brasil produces some photos of the good old days when we were all working in Porto Alegre and Salvador between 1999 and 2001, on a new car factory for Ford. Such an enjoyable project and many happy memories.

Tonight is date night. Yes, dear reader. TT has got his jeans on and a shirt that’s been crumpled in his rucksack the past week. Miss Brasil, on the other hand, scrubs up exceptionally well and I feel exceedingly under dressed.

Excellent dinner. We’ve not seen each other for 18 years but it’s like it was only yesterday that we last saw each other. The sign of a good and long friendship.

Dinner followed by a visit to a local brew house to sample their beers. The reason we’re here at all doing this is because of one man.

Manoel.

We say a toast to Manoel.

You see, dear reader, it’s like this.

Back in July 1999, I flew to Porto Alegre with a British colleague (and I know he’s reading this and he’ll be smiling as I write about this episode in our careers) to start a project negotiating the contract sum for this new car plant we were working on. We, obviously, knew nothing about Brasilian construction costs. Our employer’s Brasilian JV partner promised that he would send the very best Brasilian engineer to assist in this complex matter. And that he would be able to speak fluent English.

So. I was to be met at Sao Paulo airport by my new Brasilian colleague, Manoel. I having flown in from the UK. He would then guide me through Sao Paulo airport to domestic departures for our flight south to Porto Alegre.

After a 12hr flight, Manoel is nowhere to be seen. Ho hum. Make my own way to domestic departure gate then. Arrive. This is in the days of having no mobile phones and instant messaging. This is 1999 old school.

Have no idea what Manoel looks like. Ask departure gate to tannoy Manoel. A bloke appears at the desk. Woman points to me and says I want to speak with him. He appears in front of me. The best description I can give is that he’s the spitting image of the Robertson’s Marmalade mascot.

Bearing in mind that he’s meant to be meeting a white Englishman at the airport this particular night, you would think his first words would be, “Oh hello Touring Taurean, nice to meet you. Welcome to Brasil.”

Err.

No.

His first words were. In stilted English. Quizzically.

“Who. Are. You?”

Oh. My. God.

We’ve got a right one here. Thought I.

We’re to get acquainted on the flight. It’s clear that his English is not good enough. It’s clear that he’s not done anything like this before. It’s clear he’s not really an engineer. It’s clear I’m now in the doo doo. We have a tight time schedule to do this exercise for our client.

We need the A-team.

Not Fraggle Rock.

Land in Porto Alegre. It’s 0400hrs my body clock time. Midnight in Porto Alegre. I’ve been travelling 17hrs. It’s minus 2C. Hang on. Brasil is meant to be hot. Taxi to hotel. It’s a fleapit. And I mean a fleapit. Our Brasilian JV’s secretary has booked it. She won’t be doing any more hotel bookings. I am shattered. We have to meet client at 0800hrs the following morning for a briefing meeting. It’s a big meeting. I’m 29. This is career defining stuff.

My British colleague is flying in to arrive first thing tomorrow morning. His flight is delayed due to the fog. I’ve not slept at all. We’re relying on Manoel. Manoel is from the tropics of Brasil in Salvador. Where the temperature is always steaming hot. He’s never experienced minus 2C. He’s suffering. It’s not the best start.

My British colleague and I know that we need an English speaking Brasilian. That knows what they’re doing. Is intelligent. And. Technically competent.

After a lot of argument with the Brasilian JV (which will have to feature in another blog dedicated to this Brasil project…oh, I could write a book…) it’s agreed that Manoel is not the man we need.

And this, dear reader, is how I met Miss Brasil.

She was put in touch with us. We spoke. She spoke perfect English. Knew what she was doing. And very competent. And reliable. And intelligent.

We were on a winner.

Miss Brasil arrived the following week. The A-team had arrived. We were saved.

Fraggle Rock is still working out what day it is.

You know how you meet someone and you have that instant connection…?

So. That is, very briefly, how we came to be having date night in Belo Horizonte tonight.

Definitely worth a toast to Manoel.

Thank you Manoel.

34. Love Actually

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Friday, 25 January 2019

Belo Horizonte, Brasil

Before you start reading today’s blog, just have a look on Google Maps and find the Uruguayan capital, Montevideo, and a city in Brasil called Belo Horizonte. Go on. Just have a look at the distance. A little spur off the route for two days.

To see Miss Brasil.

Having checked in at Montevideo airport using the automated machines, pass through security and am miffed that my nail scissors are confiscated. Not any old nail scissors. These are £18 nail scissors. Quite possibly the most expensive nail scissors ever. Bought in desperation a few days ago in Jose Ignacio. Even the shop assistant agreed they were bloody expensive. Security are not to be argued with. They have guns. This is proper security.

Sitting peacefully awaiting flight airside. Alarmed to hear my name being broadcast on the tannoy. Oh flip. Now what. Investigate. Ah. Relief. It’s only a passport check as I’d checked in remotely. Phew.

Have two flights today. Montevideo to Sao Paulo. Short connection. Then Sao Paulo to Belo Horizonte. 2hr flight + 1hr connection + 1hr flight + 1hr drive.

A travel day.

What could possibly go wrong.

Starts great. Bag allowed on. Business class seat. Fed and watered. Lovely jubbly.

Approach Sao Paulo and descend. Turbulent. Thunderstorms. Cabin lights have been dimmed for descent and landing. All of a sudden, the entire cabin is lit up like a strobe light has just gone off.

Lightning. Quickly followed by loud thunder. Turbulent. Aircraft is being properly tossed about. Jolly good.

Land on time Sao Paulo Guarulhos. It’s chucking it down with rain. Really, really chucking it down. Have 1hr to get to boarding gate for domestic departure to Belo Horizonte. An air bridge would be what is required right now to speed things up.

But.

No.

It’s a bus. It’s the slowest bus driver ever. Guarulhos airport is big. Very big. We pretty much drive from one end to the other. Decant bus in International Arrivals.

Come on hurry up. I have a tight connection. Don’t dawdle. Move that child out of the way. And as for that person on crutches.

Don’t do dawdling.

Need to get to Domestic Departures. But first. Of course. Passport control. Sod it. There’s a queue. Load of Ethiopians. Yeah. It surprises me too. Ethiopian Airways is in town. Join queue. Static for 5mins. Sod it. Only two passport control kiosks open. Of all the sodding times. Not now. Assess that it’s going to take at least an hour to process all these Ethiopians, given the passport queue at Montevideo which had four kiosks open.

Executive decision. Queue jump. The easiest queue to jump in front of is the flight crew queue. Full of Ethiopian Airways crew. Ask if it’s OK to jump to the front. Of course it is, you go ahead, no problem. Always liked Ethiopians.

Greeted by a Goth. She’s an immigration officer. Blimey. Long black hair. Black nail varnish. Black lipstick. Black clothes. Skull rings. And a necklace which says ‘The Cure’ (a 1980s pop group for those over 50). The only thing to suggest she’s an immigration officer is the badge around her neck. Little Miss Charismatic and Charming she is not. But she stamps my passport pronto and off I scoot.

Too old for this scooting about. Got to get to domestic departures. Guess what. It’s at the other end of the airport. It would. Wouldn’t it. Tonight. Of all nights. And of course. On a different level to Arrivals.

First flew in to Guarulhos 20 years ago on business. It’s a grotty airport. Dark austere concrete structure and poorly lit. Grim. It’s not changed much since I last came. Think really old concrete framed underground car park.

Very busy. It’s like a scene from a disaster relief appeal. People and luggage everywhere. Long queues everywhere. Sod it. It is Friday night I suppose and it is their summer holiday season so I shouldn’t be too surprised. Arrive in the domestic check in area. I say area. What I mean is the first of four domestic check in areas. Sod it. Don’t need to actually check in as have boarding pass already. What I need to know is where to find the security to go airside.

Look at the screens.

Realise why it’s a disaster relief zone. The torrential rain and electrical storms have caused all flights to be delayed or cancelled.

Sod it. Then realise why there are so many buckets are lying about with cleaners mopping up. The building is leaking. There’s a lot of leaks. I’m in area D of Domestic Terminal 2.  No display boards are showing which terminal my flight is going from imminently as they’re all showing the delayed and cancelled flights still. My boarding is due to start in about 15mins. And still have security to contend with. See a sign that suggests my airline is area B. Scurry off. It’s a big airport. It’s a few hundred metres between areas. Off we go. Minding the masses of people trying to get information on their delayed flight. Arrive area B thinking there might be information on my flight. There isn’t. Find an airline rep. Told I should be in area C. Where I’ve just come from.

Off I scurry.

Did I mention the heat and humidity? There’s a hot and sweaty TT tootling about, I can tell you.

Return to area C. Losing weight by the minute. Can feel the kilos dropping off. Who needs a gym. Just go travelling. Area C has no information either. Find another airline rep.

She tells me I need to be in area B.

You. Are. Having. A Laugh.

Show her my boarding pass and explain I just need to know which gate and terminal I need to be in.

Because.

My flight is boarding imminently.

Ho.

Ho.

Ho.

Ah. She says. You need Terminal 2. Thank you. That’s what I needed to know.

Scurry off. Security is not far away thankfully. And only a handful of people in the queue. It’s looking good. I should make boarding which is minutes away. Stressy.

Zoom through security.

Now. Which gate. Check screens. Flight not showing still as screens are full of delayed and cancelled flights. Sod it. Check various websites which might help. Nope. They all say flight is on time and gate TBA.

Hmmm.

What to do.

Sit tight. And wait.

And wait.

The 1740hrs flight to Belo Horizonte is delayed to 2000hrs. Hmmm. See if I can get transferred on to that as I’m fearful my flight will be cancelled. There’s no one about to deal with though.

Sit. And wait.

Scoff two cheese cobs I’d made up at breakfast. Touring Taurean’s rule of travel: always have snacks on you for such eventualities.

So. There I am. Hot and sweaty. Scoffing dry bread and curled cheese for my dinner. I know how to live.

Ah ha.

Screens display my flight. Gate identified which is downstairs. Which means a bus. Screens show go to the boarding area as boarding very soon.

Scurry off. Through the throng of people. Flight departure scheduled for 2050hrs. Now 2015hrs. There are signs of activity at boarding gate. Signs and queueing system being dealt with. It’s a hive of activity. This is looking promising. At least flight isn’t cancelled. Buses arrive. Doors are opened. Very promising indeed.

Ho.

Ho.

Ho.

Ask some locals what’s happening. Told the aircraft is here and they’ll be boarding soon.

Great.

Buses leave. Empty.

Doors are shut.

Hmmm.

Now 2055hrs.

Well, OK. Positives. We have an aircraft. Negatives. We’ll be delayed half an hour or so.

Ho.

Ho.

Ho.

2100hrs. Buses return. Doors open. Another false start?

No.

Actually start boarding. On the bus. Drive to aircraft. Sitting on aircraft at 2115hrs. Text Miss Brasil. She has a one hour drive to airport to pick me up so decides to leave now in case of traffic. Second bus will only be another 10-15mins.

Won’t it.

Then we’ll have 10-15mins taxi.

Therefore.

About 30mins delay.

Some of that will be built into schedule.

So. Possibly landing 20mins late?

Ho.

Ho.

Ho.

Sit and wait for second bus.

And.

Sit and wait.

And.

Sit and wait.

For. One. More. Hour.

Even the flight crew are getting fed up. One of our buses is missing. Now 2215hrs.

Second bus eventually arrives. Just over an hour since first bus boarded aircraft. No idea why it took so long.

Great. All on board.

Let’s boogie.

Except.

Some passengers have failed to board.

But their bags are in the hold.

Oh FFS.

Another twenty sodding minutes.

Tired. Grumpy. Hot. Sweaty. Thirsty. Hungry.

Oh yes, dear reader, I’m a model of calm and relaxed.

Bags found.

Paperwork signed. Off we go. Push back 2235hrs. 1hr 45mins delay.

Under 1hr flight to Belo Horizonte. Land 2325hrs. But nearer 2340hrs by the time we’ve faffed and disembarked.

Miss Brasil has been patiently waiting. Another 1hr drive home.

We’ve not seen each other for 18 years.

33. To buy cannabis

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Thursday, 24 January 2019

Montevideo, Uruguay

 

There’s a reason why you don’t hear people say, “Ooh, we had a lovely weekend in Montevideo.” It’s not a major tourist destination for a reason. Won’t be rushing back.

In the older part of town, the main square, Plaza Independicia, has a lone statue of Jose Artigas, the father of the Uruguayan nation. His mausoleum lies beneath the palm fringed statue. Government House stands overlooking the Plaza but it’s a basic affair compared to Casa Rosada in Buenos Aires. Contains artefacts of past Presidents but only necessitates a quick 15min look.

One of the most impressive buildings is the Palacio Salvo overlooking the plaza. It is architecturally beautiful and reminds me of the large tall buildings you might find on the Upper West Side in New York.

Sweltering hot today, not a cloud in the sky, so it’s walking along the edges of buildings to stay in the shade. The main pedestrianised street has a mix of old and new buildings. Some quite ramshackle. There’s nothing really to stop you walking on. Plaza Zabala has a load of green parrot like birds flying about and squawking in the trees. A bloke is looking up at them and narrowly avoids getting pooped on. It’s only later that I realise that I have been pooped on. A lone bloke with his little wheeled cart is selling freshly squeezed orange juice but he’s looking bored as there’s not much market for warm orange juice at the moment. A few blocks further, see a long queue outside a pharmacy. Wonder if they’re waiting for it to open. But then see people going in and out. Most young men in the queue so wonder if it’s some sexual health clinic. Intrigued. Ask if anyone speaks English and why they’re queuing.

To buy cannabis. Is the reply.

I laugh. Really? Seems so odd. They’re a chilled out bunch.

Down at the port is the old market now full of BBQ restaurants. Massive logs blazing with huge racks of meat grilling on the heat. The already hot day becomes hotter. Opposite is the Customs House, a white edifice. It’s a huge imposing building that hides a large cruise ship behind.

Theatre Solis has a tour at 1600hrs but as it’s only 1330hrs, young girl gives me a very quick tour of the auditorium. It’s modelled on La Scala in Milan, apparently, though a lot smaller.

Attempt to get in the back of a taxi to the Football Museum. They’re like New York cabs in that they have a fixed bulkhead between front and back, to stop you attacking the driver. Incredibly tight. It’s like trying to get in a hamster cage. Can’t physically fit so he allows me to sit in the front passenger seat. That’s no better as can’t push the seat back because of the bulkhead. Knees up to my ears again.

However. Really good chat with taxi driver. His English is quite good. Never had lessons. Just picked it up watching English language films with Spanish subtitles and read a Spanish-English dictionary. Forwards. And backwards. Asks why I’m in Uruguay. Explain.

He replies, “The best thing to do with money, is travel.”

Couldn’t agree more. Doing it now, whilst I can.

Museum of Football is a basic affair full of Uruguayan football events. Trip up the 100m tower in a lift for stunning views. City is so flat and the football pitch beneath looks tiny.

The Centenary Stadium was built for the very first football World Cup in 1930. Uruguay won. I assume a copy of the original Jules Rimet trophy is on display. Quite different to today’s trophy.

Well that was Montevideo. Return to Hotel Cottage Puerto Buceo (https://www.hotelcottage.com.uy/cottage-puerto-buceo.html). A very nice place in a quiet residential area where trees line the street and restaurants are close by. Probably the best thing about Montevideo.

 

 

32. Wonky bridge

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Wednesday, 23 January 2019

Montevideo, Uruguay

 

Debate at breakfast whether to change my plans and stay another couple of days in Jose Ignacio. It’s that nice. This time last year I stayed at the Chedi Hotel in Muscat, Oman, (https://www.ghmhotels.com/en/muscat/) which is one of my favourite hotels. Posada del Faro is now another.

Too much faff to change plans so off to Montevideo we go. Drive the coast road. Enroute to Punta del Este, at La Barra, drive across the most bizarre bridge. The Leonel Viera Bridge. It’s a rollercoaster and I’m not sure if it was designed like that or if it has physically deformed over time. Subsequent research says that it was designed like that (see photo below).

Was originally going to stay in Punta del Este for a few days until I discovered Jose Ignacio in the New York Times. So glad I did! Punta del Este is how I imagine Benidorm to be. Somewhere to be avoided. If it was closer to the UK, it’d be selling Full English Breakfasts with two pints of lager.

Drop car off at airport. They’re not bothered about checking it over. Just want confirmation it’s full of fuel. It is. Taxi to hotel. He taps in UYU1,450 on his phone. Nope. We’ll have the meter. He huffs and puffs. By the time we reach hotel, meter says 155. 155 what I hear you say. It looks like 15.5 so could be in US Dollars. Certainly not UYU15.5, as that’s about 40pence. Nope. It’s a counter. He has a laminated printed card. 155 equals UYU1,360, about GBP32. GBP2 difference. He looks at me in that ‘I told you so’ sort of look. He’s really not winning me over.

Hotel recommends La Vaca restaurant the other side of the block and gives me a free drink token. Whisky, beer or champagne. Glass of Mumm it is then. Order the rib-eye. Not had a bad meal on this trip yet.

Until now.

It’s the second worst steak I’ve ever had in a restaurant. The worst steak was a sirloin in a restaurant in Derbyshire, UK, about 25 years ago. It’s ingrained in my memory. That’s how bad it was.

As it’s served, ask for black pepper and a glass of red. Neither appear. Have to leave half of the rib-eye it’s that tough.

Montevideo you have just lost Uruguay a point in the happy stakes (no pun intended).

Satisfy my thirst with a glass of red Garzon. Garzon is a Uruguayan wine. You probably won’t find it in the UK pre-Brexit but I hope it’s imported post-Brexit.

It’s not bad. Not bad at all.

Hic.

31. Do you like head?

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Tuesday, 22 January 2019

Jose Ignacio, Uruguay

 

Breakfast can be served anywhere on the Posade del Faro’s property. You just ring and tell them where you are. Starts at the very civilised hour of 0900hrs. Breakfast on my terrace overlooking the sun drenched bay. Not a bad start to the day.

Today is a chill out and relax day. The first real day off since I started on Christmas Eve.

It’s hot. Very hot. Everyone knows the melting temperature of an Englishman is 20C. May have to wear shorts. May even have to show my little white legs in public. Is Uruguay ready?

Not a beach person. Don’t do beach holidays. A bit of a faff getting ready for the beach. Am far from beach ready. Dad bod ready, yes. But not beach ready. Lather up with Factor 50. Hate getting greasy and oily. Yuk. Sun lotion goes everywhere. Will get burnt otherwise. With my fair skinned features. What a bloody faff. Give me a cold Antarctic climate any day.

Off to the beach I go. Touring Taurean melts into the background. Not.

Tilley Hat. Tick.

Sunglasses. Tick.

Little white legs. Tick.

6’5” frame. Tick.

I. Stick. Out. Like. A. Sore. Thumb.

Am being stared at. And I’m partially clothed. Just imagine being in budgie smugglers. Uruguay is not ready for that. Nor am I.

Lunch on the beach at La Choza beach bar. Calamari is the freshest and most melt in the mouth delicious I’ve had.

As I’m here, may as well dip my toes in the Atlantic.

Staggered by how hot the sand is. Scorching and burning my feet. Glad for the cold Atlantic water washing over my feet.

Right. That’s that. I’m beach done.

Really don’t know what all the fuss is about beach holidays.

Back to hotel for more chilling.

Late afternoon foray into the village. Hotel has free use of a golf buggy. Too hot to walk so use that.

Like Toad of Toad Hall scurrying about it is.

Today’s exercise is climbing 127 steps up to the top of the lighthouse. Should know better. It’s 32C. Far too hot for exercise. But cracking views.

Dinner at Popei restaurant. Ask for a beer. Patricia is served (the name of the beer not a woman). The waiter speaks very little English and asks me something in Spanish. Don’t understand. Calls his very attractive female colleague over. She asks if I like head. Excuse me. Ah. I see what you mean. Do I like a head on my beer. For the southerners reading this, head is the creamy top of froth on a pint of beer. Southerners won’t know about this because they don’t know how to pour a pint.

I’d been wondering all day what the title of today’s blog could be. The things I have to think about.

Excellent fresh fish of the day is brotola. And very local. Can see where it was caught from my table.

Could happily spend a few more days in Jose Ignacio.