Slimer's Adventures in South America

At 5:30 am I'm up with the cock crowing (no, not mine) and the dogs barking (no, not mine either) to milk some cows. Mikly milky! I never knew you could get so much out of a single cow! (And no, I'm not talking about her either!) There's a definite knack to it and for best results you're not to be shy either! The cow doesn't mind how hard you squeeze!

All the Amerindians strongly believe in little people, some good, most bad; mean little f*ckers with an attitude - think Child's Play. Paula and Zeta (Colette's Mum and Dad) are convinced they're around the ranch at night, which is why the dogs have been acting strange. It's an interesting topic for breakfast.

There's a rumour that some of Charlos cattle have been spotted in the next mountain over so Alfredo, Francis and Henry (the real Vaqueros on the ranch) saddle up and head out. They could be gone a day or two. That leaves Charlo, Ian and I to round up the Calves. I hooked a big one and they made me ride him - he's wild, he's furious and I'm thrown to the ground real quick with a hefty thump. Mental note: Arse pads required! I then hook a real large bull by mistake and it becomes a behemoth effort for us to tie him up and ground him so we can take the lasso off. He's big, he's strong, he's a fighter, it took ½ hour but net result:

Cowboys - 1 :: Big Bad Bull - 0

I'm hot, thirsty and covered in cow shit so it's off to the creek for a swim and wash in the midday sun.

After a pepper pot lunch Ian and I make a horse hobbler each under Charlo's supervision. This is an open ranch, it has no fences (except for the corral) meaning at any one time (e.g. during dinner) you can be surrounded by chickens, dogs, calves, cattle and horses. Now, to stop the horses from running away you put a pair of leather handcuffs on their front legs - a hobbler! Charlo is an excellent craftsman and is very fussy about getting the various stress points just right.

We have lasso practice until the boys come home with the goods! The corral fills up with cattle, most of them a lot more feisty than yesterday. The boys tend to their steeds leaving Ian and I to do the calf thing with twice as many cattle as usual. We trap most of the big boys in one half of the corral giving us more room to lasso the calves. It took us a bit of time but I thought we did a damn good job.

Over dinner I chat with Bushmasters about details of a Cowboy holiday they want to run next year - right here at Charlo & Colette's Happy Days Ranch. I think it's an excellent idea.

The way my right bum cheek / lower back feels, I think I hobbled my self coming off that calf! But if I do it again I'm sure I know what to do. Sit over the haunches and lean back / sit upright. My arse pains so much I have to sleep on my other side! But once asleep, I'm asleep. I'm only disturbed by rats squeaking in the corner of the hut. I'm not too bothered. I figure the scorpions will get them.

I sleep in and rise to a swathe of glum faces and the sharpening of knives. One of the cows they brought in gave birth not so long ago and has a prolapsed womb. They could push it back in but they think it's been hanging out for too long and it's probably infected. It's just a matter of time before the cows dies so they figure it's best to slaughter it now and make the most of the meat while they can.

They lasso the cow, tie it to a tree outside the corral and pummel it in the head a few times with the blunt end of a Pole Axe (um, a big axe on a pole!). The cow looks stunned and a bit surprised but is very much alive, so it gets stabbed in the back of the neck. This cuts the spinal column, killing the brain. It's throat is then slit and as the blood pours out, its life literally drains away until it stops breathing. The only real grisly bit is when the manky ranch dog turns up and starts lapping up the fresh blood in full view of the cow before it had a chance to die. With no time to waste, the cow is skilfully skinned, axed and butchered. There is so much meat, it takes a cart to drag it back to the ranch. As we pass the corral the cattle are disturbingly quiet, as if they know. They just sit there, watching us walk by.

Whilst the ranch hands set about cutting up, salting and drying the tons of fresh meat, Ian and I saddle up some horses and ride out. I'm on Rambo again and am disappointed that no matter how hard I try, shout and kick I can't make the lazy horse canter, let alone gallop. Still it's a pleasant ride to a view point on the top of a small nearby hill. Then it's back to the ranch for a swim in the creek. Sarah joins Ian and I for the swim and I realise she's camera shy! Whilst they go off to do, um, their thing, I find an overhanging palm tree, climb up it and jump off into the creek.

On return to the ranch we decide to go for a ride - only this time I'm on Battle Axe! He's a fighter, has broken ears and he's a goer! Oh yes! He's very responsive and breaks into a gallop at the merest hint - fantastic! Full speed ahead captain! I try riding proper Vaquero style - in flip flops! It's a cool (temperature wise) afternoon in a wonderful setting - you feel isolated in a wild west time warp. Ian had a lesser afternoon. He had trouble with his horse Taliban, broke a stirrup and lost his shades. Oh well, at least there was fresh beef for dinner! (Spine needles stew and braised liver.)

I get up and shake the bat droppings off my mossie net. A couple of bats got trapped in the thatched roof and spend the night flapping about. I dunno why - it's not like my hut has walls or anything!

Charlo takes Ian, Sarah and I out for a ride before Brekkie. Holly, the Bushmasters dog also joins us for a walk. We ride to the top of a small mountain and look out at the spectacular view of Charlo's vast land. The best part was appreciating that you're no where near any civilisation (not even by Guyana standards) and that you and your mates just rode up there on horseback from a real cattle ranch. It's unreal and the feeling just simply amazing.

From there Charlo takes us to an idyllic creek crossing with clear, clear warm water where we tie up our houses, strip off, dive in and cool off. I'm still digging the horse transportation thing. Charlo mentions that horses are the original 4x4 vehicle! And come rainy season, they're the only mode of transportation that can cope. On the way back to the ranch we take out time to choreograph video footage of us galloping full pelt across the Savannah, reins in one hand, lasso swinging in the other, etc... Not bad for my 4th time on a horse! (And Ian's 6th!)

On return to the ranch Ian and I have an impromptu race around the corral, through the gates and into the ranch. It was so exciting (right angle turns at full gallop) that we decide to do it again for the benefit of the camera. Only the camera was on the wrong setting forcing us to do it again, twice! Ye hah! The only bad part about galloping is stopping because the horse then slows into a fast trot - an arse slapping, ball crushing trot! The stop trot is not funny. Both Ian and I felt it.

Unfortunately we have to drive back today so we pack up and load up the 4x4. We say our goodbyes and drive off, giving Charlo and Colette a lift back to Letham. We stop along the way for home made beef and cheese snacks and Charlo tries and spot giant Anteaters with his binoculars. I watch the temperature gauge on my watch clock up an outstanding 48.4°C in the sun. And this is at 3pm, the cool of the afternoon! It must have been well into the 50s at mid day. I always thought it rather warm over the past few days but never thought to actually check the temperature.

It's another 4 hours off road drive back to Lethem. I discover that any 2 parallel cattle tracks is a road and a dirt track is practically a modern motorway! Whilst driving, Ian feels something on his foot, looks down and sees a scorpion scuttling around! It disappears under the floor mat and Ian, being the hard man he is, can't be arsed to fish it out. If it stings, it stings. Ooo, and we see a little desert whirlwind too!

I check back into the Takatu hotel, shower (cold of course), shave, grab a cold beer and dream of racing across the hills on horseback. The pain in my arse making it all the more realistic!

I sleep in and get up for Breakfast at 9:00am. It's a version of egg on toast. I listen to Hardcore and read about Brazil in my Travel books until Ian and Sarah turn up at 13:00. Ian takes me to visit the Tu-shau in Lethem. He's the chief / mayor person of several villages in the area, including Camu - a village at the foot of the Kanaku Mountains. I've decided to head back into the Jungle for a few days before checking out the Bonfim Rodeo. Only this time I going in alone! To do this I need to ask the Tu-shau permission to visit the village and the mountains beyond. I also need him to reserve me Mike, the mountain guide. The Tu-shau lives in a ½ built brick house and answers the door in jeans, flip-flops and a T-Shirt - well this is 2007 you know! He approves of my visit and tells me to pop in on my way to the mountains to pay my village dues - I mention I'd like to go tomorrow.

We go to buy me some food for my Jungle excursion; cheese triangles and crackers for lunch, chocolate bars, dried noodles, small tins of chicken sausages, dried soya lumps and some chicken & tomato stock cubes - a veritable feast by any one's standards! Ian also lends me a mosie net for my hammock, a basha sheet, a cooking pot and what looks like a 3 foot, 2 handed Machete from his 4x4! Woah - this thing is straight out of a Friday 13th film! It's awesome. I want it. No wait, I positively need it!

I go back to the Takatu hotel to pack. Ian comes round later for dinner (as previously planned) but sans Sarah as she's having an early night. He seems a little vexed at Sarah's unnatural ability to sleep. We head out to the airport (5 minutes walk down the road) for a couple of beers. But we end up back at the Takatu to watch the American Superbowl with a couple of other hotel residents. It's here we have our first sighting of the Phantom. The Phantom is a very large (read tall and broad), black American Hip Hop DJ. Trained by the Grand Master Flex he's chillin' (resting) here for a few weeks before working all out at various clubs and venues around the East Coast of Brazil for Carnival season. After the Superbowl Ian and Phantom talk politics. I keep quiet - I know nothing, hence don't have an opinion.

My 4x4 Taxi (as organised by Ian) turns up at 8:00 am. It's a large, well kept, white Toyota Land Cruiser driven by David, a black Guyanese guy. We go to visit the Tu-shau, who's not in. He's gone off to some village somewhere to help out. Useful. So we go visit the deputy Tu-shau but he doesn't have the official Tu-shau stamp. He reckons that as long as the Tu-shau knows I'm going it should be okay and I can pay my dues on the way back. Next we have to find my guide, Mike, only nobody seems to know who he is or where he lives!? We stop and ask various people on the way to the mountains until one guy, carrying a large log on his shoulder, says, "yeah, that's me!" But Mike is busy helping the village build a Benab (thatched building) that day and suggests we depart tomorrow instead. So I go back to the Takatu Hotel and check back in, only 2 hours after I checked out.

I grab breakfast, another variation of egg on toast. I sit outside and sharpen my oversize Machete and drink coffee until I slip and effortlessly draw blood on my right fore finger. I figure I'm a liability with sharp blades so I head to the Internet cafe. There I'm introduced to Pat, an old American Gal, who wants to copy an application from her old laptop to her new one. So I kill a few hours copying over files, registry settings, dlls, etc. Ian and Sarah are staying at Pat's place until their house is built. I show Ian and Sarah this blog for the first time. Sarah notices a couple of before and after survival photos and finds them real funny.

I plan on an early night but at the restaurant (well, an outdoor shack that sells meat on a stick with rice - morning, noon and night) I'm invited to join a table of people who are doing research for the University of Hawaii. I'm tired and find it difficult to join in their nerdy conversations. I say goodbye and head back to Takatu and am intercepted by the Phantom. I stay up chatting about Brazilian social politics and business ethics for a couple of hours longer than I really wanted.

I'm met by David again (4x4 taxi driver) at 7:00 am and we try the Tu-shau once more - success! The Tu-shau writes me note on a scrap of paper, much like what a parent would write when trusting their child to take a note to their teacher.

"To whom this may concern, I have given Steve Eynon permission to visit..."

It then gets sealed with the official stamp. I pay my village dues ($1000 GYD a day) and we leave to pick up Mike. Apparently he marked his road with a white bit of paper in between 2 posts. Here in the wilderness, surely we can't miss it, right!? Hmm, and we don't either! Bizarre. Then we see the Camu Village senior en route to the mountains and he checks my note. My documentation is infallible - it has the official Tu-shau stamp. No-one argues with that.

We drive on, do a bit of 4x4 off road and get out. I pay David $30,000 GYD ($12,000 there, $12,000 back and $6,000 for yesterdays prat around), it's a rip off but I don't have much choice. By comparison Mike only charges $5,000 a day for his services.

We leave David behind and Mike and I continue on foot. We walk for 2 minutes and wait at a waterfall for his trainee, Philip, to turn up. I notice they both have little day packs whereas I have an almighty (10 kg-ish) rucksack! Contents: Tevas for swimming, towel, basha sheet, mosie net, sleeping bag, lightweight change of clothes for night time, food, cooking pot, torches and 1st aid kit. Let the venture begin!

We follow the river up the mountain. We climb up massive boulders using either overhanging vines as ropes or build dodgy makeshift ladders. We pass caves and waterfalls, use fallen trees as natural crossings for rivers, streams and canyons. We constantly have to chop and hack our way through the undergrowth. Given that this is no organised trip, I'm lugging all my own gear, I'm deep in a South American jungle being led by my own personal local guide - this really is proper Indiana Jones stuff!

I sweat and swelter non-stop, the heavy rucksack makes everything hard work. I drink lots and refill and iodine my water bottle at every opportunity. We stop at Quagamera Falls for lunch. It has a clearing through the trees where you can see down to the bottom of the mountain. From there on, it's just the Savannahs of Guyana all the way to the horizon. Stunning. I also notice the display of my camera is broken, rendering it virtually obsolete. Bugger.

Later on we stop for a bathe and a wash in a scenic waterfall before continuing our upward climb. Every now and then you look down and see some living "thing" happily stuck to your hand. Apparently we've been following a trail - meaning Mike thinks he came through this way one, maybe two, years ago. Come 4 O'Clock Mike looks at some trees and proclaims it to be our camp site for the night. We sling our hammocks, start a fire and I cook some noodles and mini sausages. They eat dried farine - okay, so I share my noodle soup with them! And I'm in bed, asleep before dark, before 6:00 pm. It's been a hard day.

I wake at 6:30 am after sleeping rather soundly for at least 13 hours. I must have been shattered! Mike and Philip complain they didn't sleep much due to the cold. Eh, cold? Oh well, credit must go to my sleeping bag then (Snugpak Merlin Softie 3)! Mike boils some water so I grab some hot Chicken'n'Tomato soup and a choccy bar for breakie and pack up. After ½ hour we reach a clearing, sorry, a campsite where we ditch our main packs. We're about to attempt the final accent to the top of the mountain and as we'll be passing through here on the way back, why carry all the extra weight eh? I'm down with that, so I clip my Camelbak to my belt, grab my Sigg (water, always need more water!) and we set off.

The climb is steep, steep, steep and takes us 1 hour. Along the way we pass 14 stations, markers in the shape of a cross tied to a tree which are supposed to be symbolise the 14 stations of Christ in Catholicism on Good Friday or something or other. Religion is yet another topic I'm ignorant in.

From the undergrowth we emerge onto the peak, the rock on the top. The Guyana Savannah flats stretch out unbroken and undisturbed from the floor of the mountain below us. Our perch is some 3,700 feet high (1,200m). The height itself may not be that impressive but when everything else is at sea level the views are immense. The sudden sloping drop off as you approach the edge of the rock gives you a real sense of vertigo too! We chill there for an hour or so, lying down and taking in the views. It's great to close your eyes, doze, open them again and see nothing but the vast expanse of Guyana (and a bit of Brazil) in the sky.

We head back down, see Howler monkeys, grab our packs and set up camp - but not in the campsite for that has too many old and dry trees - the chance of dead fall is too great! Mike delights in making me a bush table by my hammock and a bush clothes horse while Philip goes off hunting.

Come 16:00 Philip returns empty handed and we head back to the top again, only this time to make a signal fire (read giant bonfire!). Mike says he always does this to let people know where he is, that everything is okay and that we're heading back tomorrow. After another hard slog to the top we sit and wait for dark. Guyana has no street lights and the only light pollution we see are orange bush fires and the small sprawl of Bonfim in Brazil. We get the fire going - it's awesome! We start pulsing our torches to Guyana below and get 4 individual locations signaling back! Cool! The wind on top is fierce at 30 mph (measured on my Windmaster watch!) meaning our fire burns hard, hot and fast. Once it goes out we leave for camp where Mike and Philip make themselves a large fire to see them through the cold night.

We're up, packed and leave by 8:00 am where it becomes a race to get to the bottom of the mountain by 10:00 am to make our rendezvous with the 4x4 ride back to Lethem. The route is straight down the mountain but progress is hampered by the uneven surfaces - you're either dancing down pointy stepping stones, clambering under and over fallen trees, slipping down steep muddy slopes or discovering that some logs and branches are rotten and no, they won't support your weight! We also come across a troop of large, black Spider Monkeys and we watch them watching us! As we race on, time becomes tight but as we emerge out of the jungle and into the flat Savannah, our white taxi is just pulling up. A perfect, military precision, jungle extraction! David (the driver) notes I'm looking hot, sweaty and jungle rough and says the only thing that'll get him to the top of the mountain is a "White Chick"!

We bump into Ian and Sarah in Lethem (it's not a big place!), they're waiting for the Georgetown (GT to locals) bus to arrive with a couple of Canadian girly mates of Sarah's. Back at Takatu, David the driver wants more money. I begrudgingly pay up another $12,000 GYD (25 GBP-ish) as he seems to be mates with Ian. Daylight robbery. Shower, change, brekkie (yet another variation on egg on toast) and to the bank to cash more Traveller Cheques as that David cleaned me out (Okay, I take back previous comments on Traveller Cheques being useless). I bump into Charlo (ranch owner, leatherman extraordinaire). He independently says David robbed me. I wince but claim it's not like Lethem has a taxi service or anything. Bummer.

Sarah has 2 fowls but they've been missing / roaming free for 6 months - until now! Paddy has just been picked up by a nearby farm so I join her, Ian and Monica (one of the new Canadians on the scene) to check Paddy out. Ian has procured me a 50 foot real raw hide lasso! (A steal at $25 US!) So while Ian and Sarah coo over their horse, Monica and I try out my humongous lasso! Not many people can claim to have one of those now!

We pick up the other Canadian (also a Sarah) and head to Moca Moca waterfalls for a splash around, but not before picking up beers and 2 American lads en-route; Shaun and Clay. They're tall, skinny and have their own air-con pick-up truck. The new girls can't stop talking about them. I've been out classed already!

At the falls we strip off and jump in - being selfish and body conscious I'm pleased to note that Shaun has a sticky out belly like a hungry Ethiopian - not that it seems to deter the girls at all. Humph! Clay jumps off a massive rock into the shallow pool below. Testosterone fuelled Ian and I *just* have to follow suit. The girls don't understand. It seems so high standing at the top (well, it is!) and the pool is so shallow that when you land, your feet touch the bottom - I love it! I go again! I'm about to go a 3rd time when Ian proposes I jump off even higher, and out through the over hanging bush. I climb back up and contemplate it. Hmm, it's dangerous, has difficult angles and requires a large forward jump for clearance. I dare myself, proclaim I'd like to see the inside of a Guyanese hospital (if they exist!) and jump. Awesome! I go again! Only this time Ian jumps off a lower ledge at the same time. We rule! The girls aren't impressed.

There's just enough time to shower and change before we all head to the Bonfim rodeo (well, all except the Canadian Sarah). Ian really wanted to drive his 4x4 over, through the border river but is deterred by broken headlights and the fact Bonfim, being in Brazil, is a real town with real Police! We grab a couple of Duck Curries each (a stubbie size bottle of Rum) and take a water taxi instead. The rodeo is a large metal corral and a couple of multi-tiered stands. There are no bulls or horses to start with, just pre-show hype and entertainment. So we drink instead. It's a fun evening with a mix of fairground rides and real rodeo bull action!

It's another blazing hot day in Lethem and Ian, being the charitable chap he is, decided to drive us and the young, bubbly Canadian girls to a cafe (T & Ms) on the other side of town for ice-cream! Although once there, procuring ice-cream is no mean feat. How Ian keeps calm and cool during the following conversation, I will never know!

"Hello, we'd all like some ice-cream please!"
"No ice-cream."
"You have on ice-cream?"
"We have no ice-cream."
"I was told you have ice-cream."
"No, no ice-cream."
"How about in there?" Ian points to a row of freezer cabinets behind the counter.
"We have no ice-cream."
"How about in that one, " Ian points to the first freezer cabinet, "You have ice-cream there?"
"No, no ice-cream in there."
"Do you have ice-cream in the other one? May I look?"
- silence - blank expression -
"Can we have some ice-cream?"
"There's nobody to serve ice-cream."
"Nobody to serve ice-cream?"
"No, nobody to serve ice-cream."
"How about you? Can you serve ice-cream?"
"No, I don't serve ice-cream."
"Well, can I serve myself? I can do it."
"No, you can't serve yourself."
"Well who can serve us ice-cream?"
"A lady serve ice-cream, she not here."
"The lady who serves ice-cream is not here?"
"No, not here."
"We have 5 people here who all want ice-cream. Can you find someone to serve us ice-cream?"
"Just a minute - she's here just now."

The ice-cream serving lady turns up; 2 chocolate scoops into a glass, a squirt of sauce and we're done! Shesh, talk about getting blood out of a stone! Why are some things soooooo difficult in this country!? I talk to Canadian Sarah over my ice-cream, which tasted very nice incidentally (the ice-cream, not Sarah). I only mention it because knowing I've just come off a ranch and out of the jungle she seems very proud of telling me how much of a home-stopping wimp she is!? Peculiar.

Chatting to Ian and other whities over a beer outside the CyberCafe, an old beat up pick up truck drives by. Someone comments that they once got a lift in it and it was a right scary ride 'cos it doesn't have any brakes! We just start to laugh about it when... *CRONK* the truck spins 180°, veers off into a ditch and crashes into a metal fence. Amongst the minor commotion that follows, the driver staggers out drunk and scratches his head. Ian and I drive over to survey the damage - he's wedged into a fence post and his front bumper is jammed into a wheel. We ask what happened and offer to tow him out. Apparently his clutch stopped working and wouldn't engage, somehow causing him to crash!? He's in a fluster because he has to get home before dark - his headlights don't work either. We ask about the brakes - "oh they've not worked proper in weeks!" We break out the tow rope and pull him out of the ditch and straighten out his bumper in one single movement! How good are we? He thanks us and happily drives off, oblivious that his front wing is completely mashed up! The episode is no big deal and by means an isolated one either. This is Lethem.

Plans to go back to the Rodeo fizzle out when the Canadian girls decide to visit Boa Vista in Brazil instead. Shame really because the Rodeo is the one of the main reasons I'm still here. I decide not to go over alone - it seems to be a social event.

Night time comes and I get a 1-on-1 Hip Hop history lesson from Phantom for a few hours. He talks about how the industry tricked Nas, a very nice rapper, into having a bad boy image which just isn't the real him at all. At the same time a playlist from Nas starts playing on the telly. Phantom thinks it's a sign from Hip Hop Heaven, or something.

A word about Guyanese inefficiency. It's not just that Guyana is a poor country, but it's the thoughtlessness that goes with it. Take the Takatu Hotel for example. Poor would explain the run down conditions like the pipe shower, the handles falling off, the cracked plastic surrounds and the general disrepair (which is cool, it all adds character). Thoughtlessness would explain why the room is laid out so the door opens smack into the bed, the brand new family size bar of soap they give you each day and why, day in day out, beer is rarely chilled but everything else is.

The Rodeo is cool but no different than Tursday: lights, fireworks and clowns. Only today there are 18 cowboys as oppose to the 20 on Thursday! All the Lethemites rubbish the Rodeo as being a tame, showbiz sell out event and that their Rodeo is the real McCoy. Proper hardcore shit with real wild bulls, not the tame, trained ones they have here. "Look!" they shout, "The bulls even walk back into the stalls of their own accord! We have to ground ours and man-handle them back. Pah, pathetic!"

We bump into Charlo and he tells us another amusing story about some character or other doing something foolish. I like Charlo's stories, they're entertaining, funny and invariably end with a laugh, a sigh and the words, "He's dead now..." (!)

I lay my eyes on the most gorgeous and stunningly beautiful girl. Woah! She has long wavy blonde hair and says she's from North Wales!? Bizarre. She's also snuggled up to the dude who runs Lethem's CyberCafe, who reminds me of the school bus driver in the Simpsons! Even more bizarre.

Alcohol is a jealous friend of mine. Meaning that to my detriment I probably don't give girls as much attention as I should and alcohol more than I probably should. Ian seems to think it's just a trait of being British, that I should drink up and get the next round in!

Lethem's electricity used to be generated from the Moca Moca Hydroelectric generator build by the Chinese, but a landslide destroyed it a few years ago. Now it all comes from a giant diesel generator just opposite the Takatu Hotel. I hear it's hum boring itself into my brain during the still of the night and at breakfast in the morning. But electricity is not guaranteed. Outages happen daily and frequently. One quickly learns to save their work on the computer often and always carry a torch. It's all part of the Lethem charm!

It's Sunday - everything's closed. Nay, everything's dead. I walk about in the midday dry heat. I'm walking in a silent ghost town. There is not a whisper of life, be it human or otherwise. I find it both un-nerving and relaxing. I try the CyberCafe a couple of times but it's either closed, has no power or has no Internet (lousy satellite connection).

I must leave Lethem and Guyana altogether or I'll never escape. Guyana is the last frontier and has endless possibilities for adventure. I've met so many friendly people and they all seem eager to keep me around. But I've been here too long already. Locals are beginning to take an interest in me. As I become a recognisable face I'm no longer just someone passing through but someone it may be advantageous to know. Tomorrow I need to make an escape plan.

Along my meanderings I pass the Canadian girls' Guest House. They're bored too and plan to go to a leather shop for a look around and to place an orders for handmade bags. Only en-route I find out it's Charlo's place (Happy Days Ranch owner)! I already know it's no shop, just his house, there are no pre-made products to browse and that he has a huge back log of orders to get through. I just hope he doesn't feel pressured to meet the girls demands because I'm there. But it's cool, it seems he's far too busy to even contemplate more work! Colette (his wife) is from the Wapishan Tribe and has published a Wapishan / English dictionary. She gives me a personal signed copy. Wow! I feel real honoured and tell her so. I chat and laugh for a bit with Charlo, Colette and Trophy (their son), turn around and notice the girls standing quiet and awkward by the door. Oops, I think I just hijacked their visit!

After dinner (meat stew and rice) at T & Ms (the ice-cream place) we chat on the girls' balcony at the Guest House and I learn, apparently, how easy it is for a whitey to get with a local in GT. They offer to take me out the next time I'm there.

That night I dream I die. I'm fishing and when I cast out my line gets hooked in the rotors of a passing helicopter. I'm then quickly winched up into whirring blades above! Post death I become a ghost and meet an old friend who died a few years ago (Matt Bloom, you're not forgotten!). It seems all my mates are being assassinated in suspicious accidents and we must avenge their deaths to gain eternal peace! I tell ya, some nights, bed time is the best part of the day!

I've been trying to put off going to Brazil for Carnival, especially Rio. Because I'm supposed to have so much fun there, in a kind of self fulfilling prophecy way, I'm sure I won't. Still that's where all my options seem to take me.

So, I'm now booked on a truck trip. It gives me a date and a place to aim for, it's not long (3 weeks), takes me down the East Coast of South America and ejects me from Portuguese speaking Brazil. (Spanish confuses me enough!) And it starts in Rio just after Carnival. I figure transportation into Rio may be difficult during Carnival and if I'm arriving so close to it, I really ought to make the extra effort and see what the fuss is all about! The truck trip people (Dragoman Overland) have a deal with a hotel who can put me up for 5 carnival nights before the main trip leaves.

The Escape Plan :: Rio de Janeiro for 16 Feb '07 - I leave tomorrow.

I see Ian at the meat-on-a-stick restaurant and oooo... gossip! A shop that's only a 5 min walk from my place got held up on Saturday night. 3 Brazilians, 2 with pump action shotguns walked in and robbed it. A shopper got gagged and tied up and the female owner started to give them gyp. Well, she did until they beat her some and thrust a shotgun in her mouth. Police think the bandits are still in Lethem being holed up by some collaborator and that one of them is wanted in Brazil for 3 separate murders! Ulp!

It turns out that Shaun and Clay are part of the Hawaii researchers and I'm invited over to their pad for a few beers in the evening. I drag Ian and Sarah over because I don't know where they live. En-route we buy beers (the Babe-tastic Polar Pilsen) from the meat on a stick place - special promotion for the week, ½ price at $100 GYD each, that's 25p! The conversation that evening quickly turns to gossip, local murders and connected people. This Lethem is an interesting place. Sarah leaves early, taking the car and leaving Ian stranded. He doesn't care, he's inebriated and having a whale of a time discussing if 15/20 foot Caiman and 30 foot Anacondas can physically exist (as the locals claim) given their sheer size. Other topics include undiscovered Wai-Wai tribes, little people and why we British hate the Americans and despise the French. I listen with awe, this man is cool! As per usual, I know nothing, I keep quiet. By the end of the evening it seems I've enamoured the researchers with my silent personality and should I return I have a place to sling my hammock (if Ian's house still hasn't been built by then!). When the beer runs out, Ian heads back to mine, grabs my hammock and sleeping bag and sleeps in the hotel garden! I have my usual drunken chat with Phantom - this time about Brazilian airlines.

I get up and cash some more travellers cheques at the bank as it seems I let my Bushmasters tab run up to double to what I thought it was - though I'm not that surprised. Did I mention that this is still the sort of country which has an onteray of armed guards outside each bank who open the door for you? And that each transaction takes ½ hour as it is double checked by 3 separate people? And that their biggest note is only worth £2.50, and their smallest 5p?

I pick up food supplies at the airport shop; water, bananas, Teddy biscuits and a couple of chicken curry wraps (complete with chicken bones obviously - you gotta love this country!). I bump into Ian and Sarah and say my sincere goodbyes. I plan to come back and see them again. Back at the Takatu hotel I have a quick chat with the owner, Mrs Johnson, she's been delighted to have me stay!? I pack my bags once again and leave. Its only a mile or two walk to the border but the 20Kg pack and the 38 deg midday sun makes it hard work. Trophy passes on his bike and stops to say goodbye while a couple of dogs chase a small herd of goats across the road. The only unusual thing about the scene was that I didn't find it unusual.

By the time I reach Guyana immigration (a tent by the un-built bridge) I am soaked with sweat - so much so I thought I may be detained for Quarantine! It's a water taxi to the other side and the Brazilian immigration (a purpose built complex). A check for Yellow Fever (all clear - I'm not yellow enough), another passport stamp, a quick taxi haggle and I've done it! I've escaped Guyana!

I muse I won't be too bothered if I have to return to the UK. I've had such an amazing time here. Surly nothing can compare to the adventures had in Guyana. Job done.

Bonfim Bus Station is an isolated hut with nothing else around. I stand at the empty ticket office.

"Psst, psst, psst."
I'm looking for someone to buy a ticket off.
"Psssst."
Where are these people?
"Psst, psst, psst."
And what is that noise?

I turn around and it's a woman trying to get my attention. "Psst" seems to be the Brazilian equivalent of "Hello, excuse me"! In broken English she tells me that the ticket man appears just before the bus leaves (in an hours time). She's right, he does, and it costs me R$14 to get to Boa Vista - I was previously told it'd be R$9. On boarding the man in front buys a ticket from the driver for R$9. Hmm... The coach is fairly empty, even so the "psst" woman invites me to sit next to her. I instinctively and apologetically decline. She ignores me for the rest of the trip. I feel bad.

Some pre-pubescent girls take control of the coach's DVD system and start playing some loud, very cheesy and utterly crass, black soul lurve music. I drowned it out with loud hardcore tunes on my headphones. Ahhhhh, peace at last!

I leave the bus when I see my bag get ejected from the hold and the driver simply states, "Bus finished" - I don't actually know where I am. From what the others said Boa Vista should be another ½ / 1 hours drive away!? Obviously, being a forward thinking tourist town, there are no helpful signs like "Welcome to the Boa Vista Bus Station". After ½ hour of stress (I'd hate to miss a connecting bus) I was able to confirm I was in Boa Vista! Sweet. So I find a travel agent and buy an overnight ticket to Manaus for R$80 (~£20). It leaves at 20:00, I have 4 hours to kill. I grab a taxi to take me to a Visa cash point - the driver understood me straight off, wicked! He takes me to a HSBC bank. Bonus! My Visa card works straight off. Sorted! Then whilst I'm sitting and waiting I see this pretty girl in a skimpy outfit complete with stiletto high heels, riding a 500cc off road motorbike. Interesting!

20:00 - Coach leaves.
22:00 - Coach breaks down in the middle of nowhere. It sounds like a gearbox / clutch problem.
23:00 - I go outside and watch the drivers mess about with the electrics.
23:30 - We loose power. No lights. No air-con. I take a sweaty kip.
01:30 - A reserve coach pulls up and we transfer all our luggage to it.
02:00 - The driver from the new coach simply resets a fuse on the broken coach. It works again. We transfer all our luggage back onto the original coach.
02:30 - On the road again.

My 1st impression of Brazilians is that they like to litter - they all seem very enthusiastic in kicking empty plastic bottles off the coach and leaving rubbish behind.

I arrive in Manaus at 12:30pm, well, I arrive at the "Manaus New Hotel" next to an industrial estate - what no Bus Station? Everyone else seems confused too, but if you check your ticket, it doesn't actually say where in Manaus you get dropped off! I feel like I've just been had by the EasyJet of Brazilian coach services. Luckily a couple of taxis turn up after 10 minutes and I bum a ride to the airport with another woman.

I need to be in Rio in 2 days. From Manaus it's a 4 day boat trip down the Amazon to Belem, then a 52 hour bus ride to Rio. For the sake of Carnival I decide to cheat and fly to Rio - airplane stylie. Please don't hate me!

At the airport there are 2 airlines that fly to Rio. The first, Tam, are all booked up. The second, Gol, only has free flights tomorrow for R$1,200 (~�300) and they don't take Visa. Need cash. Of the 2 cash machines in the airport the HSBC one is visibly broken and the other chats to me in Portuguese and fails to deliver any goods. I talk to Tourist Information and the nearest cash points are in the Amazon Shopping Centre, a cheap bus ride away.

I decide to ditch my luggage in a locker. Now this is a mission in it's self! I lug my stuff to the lockers at one end of the airport - you need a token to operate it. I don't know where you get a token from. All the signs are in Portuguese and the people in the office next door are of no help. I lug my stuff to another set of lockers at the other end of the airport. English signs, I need to buy a token from the "Brazilian Gems" shop upstairs. I lug my gear back upstairs and find the shop in the middle of the airport. I buy a token and lug my stuff downstairs back to the English lockers at the end of the airport. Finally I ditch my bags and head outside to the bus stop. Phew!

40 minutes pass, no bus. I'm aware it's late afternoon and I don't know when the airline ticket office closes. Doh! I'm noticed by the same taxi driver that drove me here. Hallelujah! I use him and get dropped off at the Shopping Centre. I find several flavours of cash points, none of them are HSBC though and they all refuse to speak English and reject my lovely Visa card. Bugger. I ask around and there's no HSBC bank in the Shopping Centre. Double bugger. (Ooer missus!) I step outside and buy a bottle of water. The cap was physically welded to the bottle making it impossible to open. It's not my day. I grab another taxi to explicitly take me to a HSBC bank. He does, it works! But there's a daily limit of R$1000 (~�250). I max it.

On the way back to the airport we stop at some red lights and watch a beggar who comes out to do a juggling routine in the middle of the road with 4 bowling pins. I thought it was very impressive and an excellent way to beg in a non-intrusive manner plus it cheers people up at the same time. As he approaches the taxi for his reward the driver starts swearing, spits at him and speeds off with a dissatisfied grunt. Obviously not as impressed as what I was then!

Back at the airport I buy my ticket with cash - check-in is just after midnight tonight. Shesh! When they say first thing tomorrow, they mean it! And after paying for the 4 long taxi rides I don't have enough cash for a jolly in town by the Amazon river as planned. So I resign myself to killing 7 hours at Manaus airport - it isn't big. Sigh. So, my activities for Valentines Day (thanks for reminding me Jim!) can be summed up with, Internet, emails, beer, junk food burgers and a cold shower from a tap dripping green goo.

Midnight slowly rolled around and I watched a couple check-in a small dog in a pet carrying cage. As it rolled off down the conveyor belt I really didn't fancy its chances for surviving a trip in an airplane hold! It looked pretty distressed and kept trying to chew its way out. I think it knew! My plane was supposed to take off at 02:30, it was delayed by 1/2 hour. I waited, I boarded, I sat down. My seat was just in front of an emergency exit - it didn't recline at all. I closed my eyes and decided it was an imperfect end to an imperfect day. I fell asleep clutching the unopened bottle of water with the welded top that I'd managed to smuggle past airport security.

I wake with a bump as the plane lands in Rio. For some reason, despite not leaving the country, our bags and us go through International Arrivals which confuses everyone somewhat as we have to re-fill in official entry forms. I don't know if this will prove to be a good or a bad thing!?

Anyway I need cash badly so I try the airport cash machines. They have 3, I try 3, and 3 machines piss me off for 3 different reasons. I'm still cashless. The Portuguese only speaking Banco de Brazil doesn't cash Travellers Cheques for an unpronounceable (hence unrepeatable) reason so I reluctantly tuck in to and exchange some US dollars - $80 worth. I find Tourist Information. They speak English. Success! They book me into the "Dragoman" hotel for an extra night. Sweet success!

I find a taxi firm where I can pre-pay on Visa - only my Visa card gets rejected. Not wanting to use up 30 more precious US dollars I pay on my company Mastercard. My accountant is the best in the world, I'm sure she'll love the challenge of writing that one off! My taxi driver is a well dressed, straight laced, stern looking man and has all the personality and humour of a German Gestapo agent. He glares at me intently and speaks English slowly, "At Carnival, all us in Rio get a little... crazy." I don't think I want to see him get a little c-r-a-z-y. He scares me. We approach the hotel on the wrong side of a duel carriage way. He calmly looks around, states, "No Police" and bounces the car up and over the central reservation, through a red light, the wrong way down a one way street and abruptly stops. Staring dead straight ahead, not blinking nor looking at me, he announces our arrival at Hotel Paysandu. I gladly exit stage right.

In the hotel lobby there's a huge notice board for all the Dragoman Truck Trip guests. It looks like there are some 7 trucks of Dragoman people descending upon the hotel for the Rio Carnival. I check in to room 609 (dude!) on the top floor. It has air-con, a cold shower and a double bed. Bliss! I pass out for a few hours. On waking I hunt down the knife from my pack and slash open that damned bottle of water with the welded lid. It was very satisfying and the water tasted all the sweeter for it.

I wandered around the vicinity to get my bearings and find a HSBC bank - Visa card rejected. Arse. Food for the day was a bacon and cheese pizza with beer. And when they say cheese, they mean "a" cheese! In fact, too much cheese for I was all cheesed out. You could say I was even cheesed off, for I couldn't eat anymore cheese for days afterwards! I pay on my company Mastercard again, the Visa card is knackered.

I'm staying in Flamenco; sandwiched inbetween Copacabana beach and the town centre, it's more residential than touristy. Hence cheaper too, but it still has it's own beach. It is on this warm, floodlit moonscape in the early hours of the morning that I sat and polished off the rum in my hipflask, watching the waves roll in. I'm in Rio de Janeiro.

Up at 09:00 for brekkie: jam on toast, melon and real coffee. I look around and decide that all the westerners in the hotel must be on a Dragoman Tour. It turns out I'm not wrong.

I turn my mobile phone on for the first time. I need to phone Visa to sort my card out. (Ironically the only way to make international phone calls from the hotel is with a Visa card. That wasn't going to work!) Anyway Visa have blocked my card due to fraud. But get this, there has been no fraudulent attempt on my card but "Visa Intelligence" thinks that there could be!? Better than that I now have to phone them up every time I want to use the card so they can unblock it and watch the transaction go through! I try it out at a HSBC cash point. It works, I get cash, I max out my daily limit. I fear for the future of my mobile phone bills.

I move out of my single room and into a Dragoman paid for empty triple room and pay for last night on Visa (via another phone call). I take the Metro underground to find an American Express shop and con the girl behind the counter into giving me US$ for R$ (as previously she told me she could only exchange R$ for Travellers Cheques - Amex doesn't take Visa!) Then it's over the road to the infamous Copacabana beach! It's a long stretch of beach with a main road and pavement running parallel to it. The beach is bleached white and is choc-a-bloc with people and shade umbrellas. I dip my feet into the sea and grab a beer in a bar. Gloating over my victory with Amex I phone my Mum.

At Rio Sau, a 5 story indoor shopping centre, I look for a replacement camera 'cos I figure I really should have a working one. Only I can't find any Casios, just Sony. Though I do pick up a pair of long beach shorts, but only because my existing 2 pairs are too big! By the time I walk back to the hotel I've missed the Dragoman Carnival meeting. Not that it was important, just the usual, "don't wander around the beaches at night" nonsense. (Too late!)

Now, coming fresh from the wilds of Guyana, which I consider to be a real country of adventure with no tourist facilities, I imagine the truck trip to be a sanitised guided tour to get from A to B with all the obvious highlights laid on. I am also aware that other people on it think a truck trip represents the ultimate hardship in foreign travelling - as indeed I did when I tried it some 6 years ago. And I wonder how I would react to that, now that my views are somewhat different. I later speak to John, a 36 year old (not on a my Dragoman trip) who's booked himself on a real extreme adventure of a life time having done nothing like it before. I say nothing but smile politely.

I have a glorious hot shower, the first in a long time and find a local bar. After observing one of the regular drinkers he introduces himself to me, Francisco. He's a professor of History, has lots of large colourful animal tattoos, has seen most parts of the world and even spent a couple of years in a Brazilian jail for political beliefs. He also loves London, the pockets of communities, the pub lock ins and the startling difference between new and old building architecture standing next to each other. He also describes the beauty of seeing Nelsons Column stood so close to the modern statue of the crippled woman. Whatever, I help myself to his food and order another beer.

More coffee for breakfast and I join a Dragoman Mini Bus Tour to see the 2 main sights of Rio - Corcovado, Christ the Redeemer and the Sugar Loaf Mountain. Our tour guide is a blonde, blue eyed German woman called Lisa who cares less for us as she does for taking personal phone calls on her mobile. Ring ring... Ring ring... "HELLO. I'M DOING A TOUR. WHAT...? MY FIRST TIME? NO, THEY DON'T KNOW!" Or when she is conveying information to the bus she stands at the front and stares vacantly straight at me. Scary.

We take the train to the top of the Corcovado Mountain and the statue of Christ. There's a chapel in the base of the statue but it was closed for renovation. The outstanding views from the top have always been there, the railways have been there for centuries but only in the 1920s did the Catholic Church decide to adorn the mountain with a giant statue of Christ because, err, they could! There's only one walkway by the Christ and that is where people stand to take photos of the Christ and where they stand to have photos taken of them with the Christ and where they stand to take photos of the view and where they battle through all the standing people to attain their own standing position. Not very well thought out.

I sit on the wall to keep out of the way - I deliberately chose a spot with a 3 foot drop on the other side as not to draw attention to myself. No such luck, a security guard blows his whistle at me. I close my eyes and fantasise about being back in the refreshing freedom of Guyana where they wouldn't even have a wall, let alone a paid bigoted Nazi with a whistle. I open my eyes and survey the scene before me - swathes of tubby tourists being herded through the sights amidst a flurry of incessant camera clicks. I am not impressed. Back on the train I overhear over privileged western girls prattle on about Australia and other tourist destinations they've seen on their around-the-world trip paid for by Daddy. I'm still not impressed. Okay I admit the views of Rio and its Copacabana and Ipenema beaches from the top were good but I would have enjoyed them even more had I struggled to the top under my own steam, rather than by train.

Next stop - Sugar Loaf Mountain. There is no history to this place, it is just famous for being a view point and being in the Moonraker Bond film (where Jaws bites through the cable). Still the views are cool and you take 2 groovy cable cars to the top. On the way down I start chatting to a couple of lads and a group of rather tasty girls. I convince myself I should join them to see a football match that evening between 2 local Rio teams, Vasco and Flumiense, at the Mararana Stadium for R$45. I figure it'd be character building to do something I don't want to do and besides it seemed like a good time and place to see my first ever football match - Rio de Janeiro at Carnival time.

The Metro ride to the football ground was rammed and the girls enjoyed the heated atmosphere. Though I just saw drunken yobs shouting and swearing! Girls, go figure!? We all had London Underground Tube type tickets to get into the stadium but there was still a plethora of staff to help us through the entry machines, because most machines were either jammed or just plain broken. Once I was in I followed the wrong crowd of Westerners and lost my group completely so I sat on my own and observed the match. It was unspectacular and through a complete lack of defence on both sides it resulted in a 4-4 draw.

A note on Brazil - it's a country that promises so much modernism but fails to deliver upon execution. Like a multitude of cash machines which don't work, aren't plugged in or only service their own bank; Spectator view points with no thought given to tourist through put; Modern ticket machines at the football match which still require ticket staff because they don't work. Sigh.

At the hotel, Rick and Uttam of the group I recently latched onto have been moved into my triple room. I join the group for dinner at a cafe called (roughly translated) "Planet Beer". Yeah! The average young and ignorant age of the group becomes transparent when one starts chatting about the intelligence of Brazilians and foreigners in general, "Because they're not really that stupid you know. I mean us British are always good at technology and that, but these guys are good at languages, init." Sigh. Later everyone heads back for an early night, except me and Mr International Relations who head out to a local bar. After a few beers he decides to get in a few local brews. "I'm well miffed off. I ask the guy for some local drinks and he understood the word 'local' and all I get is couple of bleedin' Mojitos. That's hardly different to back home init?" I have to politely explain. We then get chatting to a local lad and a couple of his female friends. In my inebriated state I quite fancy the girls and thought I was getting on rather well them too! That is until the local lad tells me, "We don't like your friend much." Arrr, possibly time to go home then. My new room mates tell me I rolled back in at 05:30. Good effort I thought.

I'm up and out of the room by 09:00 with Uttam to join the Colonial Tour - just a drive around Rio looking at famous buildings, churches and pretty back streets, ugly concrete cathedrals and the like. The best part was accidentally finding a Carnival street party full of happy bouncy people, beer and sound systems at 10:30 am. The tour guide crow barred us away with the promise that we'd come back in 10 minutes. She lied. The tour finished 2 hours later back at the hotel. I was quite disappointed at the missed opportunity. It seems my room mates have already noticed that I'm a drinker who's always up for a night out.

Dinner was with Kristina (with beautiful dark Yugoslavian looks, just don't cross her!) and her old friend and side kick (and my room mate) Uttam. I had a mixed salad with Heart of Palm - I'm still all cheesed out. I change into a Sarong skirt and a sleeveless T-Shirt (which soon comes off) and head out to Samba Drome! A purpose built 1 Km long stadium where we're to watch 6 processions dance down the length of it. Each procession encompasses several large floats, 1000s of trained participants in extravagant and very detailed costumes and it takes them 1 hour 20 minutes to dance their way through the drome. We were in stand 13, right at the end of the Drome where we had a great view of the participants passing out with heat exhaustion! Sorry, no - it was an amazing spectacle amidst a truly fantastic party atmosphere. The event itself is HUGE! Both in numbers of spectators and participants. I latch onto another group of friends and unlike most other westerners, we stay on to the end to see last years defending champions, "Viva Isabell", rock on through the finish line at 05:30. It's then back to the hotel for breakfast where they all pass out. I head to the beach for a bit on my own before calling it a night at 09:00.

I sleep in (no, really I do!) until 12:00 and join my room mates Uttam and Rich along with Tony and the usual gaggle of girls (Kristina, Emily, Amanda and Fran) for a trip to the beach. Kristina and Uttam found a quiet one further up the coast from Ipanema where only the locals seem to go. The beach is splendid and the bikini clad bodies that our girls exhibit are simply magnificent. Though it must be said that Emily takes the biscuit, decked out in a simple black number her body is model material if I ever saw it. (Though unfortunately, like 'our' Helen, also has a hunch thing going on.)

Rich, un-reluctantly, agrees to be buried in the sand by the girls. Once buried they fashion him some breasts and male genitalia. Hmm... very Freudian! Amanda takes a phone call on her mobile. She answers it in a lovey dovey voice and walks away shuffling her feet through the sand. It's the most obvious and blatant boyfriend call I've ever seen anyone take!

Come dark we stroll down Ipanema beach and come across a set of exercise "dip" bars. Uttam has a go and manages 3. We all pressure Rich to try it as he's the one with a slim, muscular athletic body. With bulging veins and his head looking like it's about to explode, he pushes out 10. A good effort. After dicking about with a couple of pathetic cartwheels I dare myself to have a go at the dips. I surprise myself (and others!) by pumping out 11!!! I guess all that time in the gym paid off! Better than that, the girls noted that I made it look considerably easy by comparison! Yeah, yeah! I rule! I rule!

Dinner was at a very fine and cool looking restaurant in Ipanema. It was the grandest meal I'd had in a long time; Steak burger and salad followed by a very rich chocolate dessert thing. We hail a couple of taxis to take us back to the hotel - they race each other. It's one of the best car rides I've ever had! Speeding down the street lit back roads, taking short cuts and whipping round corners. These guys didn't even stop for red lights! Seriously, not even a slow down - they just beeped their horns and powered through! I had a front row seat, it was awesome!

I drag everyone out for a Caprihnia at the local bar where I met Francisco, then they have an early night (again!). I head out to Lapa. An awesome place - I just wished I wasn't on my own. There was one stage with live music surrounded with masses and masses of tent stalls, all selling beer and food and pumping out their own Western music of choice. (I found myself hanging around the Psychedelic Trance tent!) Wondering around I even found a really sleazy looking establishment called, "Hotel Love's Nest"! Cool! A few beers more and I'm back for 04:00.

Girl in lift episode: Steve, immersed in his own world as usual, enters a lift with an attractive young woman. She attempts to start a conversation, "Didn't we meet last night?" Steve looks at her and responds with a, "No sorry. You must be thinking of someone else," and continues to stare at the wall. Steve exits the lift, wakes up and promptly kicks himself in the head wondering why he lives in such a perpetual anti-social day dream.

Anyway, I sleep in again but rise for the Favela (shanty town / slum) tour at 13:00. Little did I know I'd be piling into an open topped jeep in the midday sun. It must be said that I've been able to notch up quite a tan for the fist time in my life. (So much so, people have even commented on it! Ooooo eou!) So I relied on it to shield me from the deadly radiation beaming out from the great fire ball in the sky. It worked!

We went to a very sanitised, safe and may I even say it, "posh", slum. Everywhere had water, drainage and electricity (although the wiring left a lot to be desired). Our Favela, Rovhina, was on a hill. We were dropped off at the top and herded at pace, like cattle, down to the bottom. Not impressed. The Favela itself was an interesting place, an intricate labyrinth of dark passageways and staircases littered with colourful miniature shops and bars. I would have loved to have spent a lot longer there with some mates, just ambling along and sampling the delights of a few of the bars. Oh well.

Back on the jeep we head to the harbour to join the other Dragoman kids for a sunset cruise. Only we get lost and it takes forever to get there as all the main roads were closed for Carnival. In the end our driver ignores the barricades and drives the wrong way down the empty deserted carriageways.

It's a big boat. It has cheap beers. I was feeling anti-social and under the weather. I remedy it by forcing myself to down a few bevies, strip to my underwear and swim round the boat a few times. It worked, I felt much better. So I ordered 5 FREE strong Caprihinias but only managed to give 2 away. Obviously I drink the rest. By the time the boat gets back to the harbour it's turned into a bit of a party boat with boozing and dancing. It's rather a shame it had to end.

Note: I've discovered that breaking up beer drinking with Caprihinia interludes is a sure way to get me hammered. Tonight was no exception. The only recollection I have of the evening dinner at Planet Beer is from a couple of fuzzy photos on my camera! Afterwards I follow the others to the entrance of the Gay Ball where they wanted to view the spectacle of exhibitionist transvestites going in. Only we're too late and it's all over. I'm up for going in for a night out but they're not keen, so instead we pile into a taxi and head... home. Doh! I look in my Rio guide books for a Blocko (street party) but they're all finished. Disappointed and gutted I resign myself to an early night. Sigh.

I wake up late and head downstairs only to be hi-jacked for an unexpected Truck Trip meeting. Rich is on my truck which I really happy about, he's a cool laid back guy. Other than that, my truck seems to be populated with, um, "older" people. A party truck not this will be. Due to the high numbers of people heading South, 2 trucks of 12 will be shadowing each other all the way to Ushuaia. Uttam and the girlies are on the other truck - they chat to the drivers to try and get Rich moved onto their truck. I'm not wanted. But it seems Rich would have to switch places with another rather than just join the other truck. He can't be arsed and is happy to stick with me, cool.

I go to Planet Beer for my favourite steak sandwich. Only I'm confused as to why it's not on the menu and order something untranslatable instead. I nonchalantly look out of the window and view Planet Beer on the other side of the road. I'm in the wrong place. Doh! Good job nobody's going to find out or I would feel really stupid!

I grab some local cash from a hole in the wall and taxi it to a jewellers in Copacabana to change it into USD. He's really happy with the deal (read big commission) and I'm really happy with the deal (I have USD). Everyone's a winner! Again, I order a beer on Copacabana beach and phone Mum.

Back in the shopping centre I buy the only Casio digital camera in all the 450 shops! It's an EX-Z60. It's a newer model than my old one (better software with more options), is smaller and lighter but is cheaper to make (fewer buttons), is only 6 mega pixels and has a smaller, less effective battery. Still, it takes photos and I can edit them for this blog.

I spend the evening packing and head out to join the others at Shenanigans Irish Bar for 12:30 but alas they'd already moved on. Shenanigans is exactly what you'd expect; full of lecherous antipodean males preying on young females who are there to find the archetypal bad boy, not knowing they're just going to find losers. Still, they serve Guinness so I stay for a couple until they close at 02:00. I head back for a couple of Caprihinias at a bar near the hotel until they close too. So I sit on the beach for a bit, chase some crabs and crash out back at the hotel for 04:30. I'm the last one home.

Up at 08:30 I shower and race out to the HSBC cash point. Visa decide they can't send a replacement card to Argentina as the country is too risky. I'm stuck to making phone calls every time I want to use it. Grrr...

I board my truck and we leave Rio de Janeiro. I'm not sad, it has no special place in my heart. We stop at a supermarket for supplies. I buy a crate of beers, 1 litre of Gin and some tonic water. Quite reserved I thought. But it seemed to only harden my drinking reputation. From a stall on the side of the road I grab a freshly squeezed sugar cane juice. They sieve it before serving to filter out the multitude of wasps that are constantly buzzing around it!

The camp site at Parati is heaving with loads of overland trucks. Everyone had just left Rio from the Carnival. Rich and I share a tent, most of the others grab their own. There's a beach nearby and we all sprint over for a swim - boy, the sea is as hot as a bath! Really bizarre! We walk into the quiet, preserved and cobble stoned town centre for dinner at a posh restaurant with live music. It's all very pleasant. Everyone leaves and heads back to the campsite while I stay for a few beers and soak up the atmosphere. On my return a lot of the trucks are up drinking and blaring out music, but rather than go out and party I grab an early night to be kind to Rich. It seemed cruel / wrong to upset my tent partner on the first night by crawling in pissed in the early hours. As it was, neither of us could sleep for it was sweltering hot. It stayed that way for many an hour.

I slept really well once it cooled down. Seems I was the only one who did, as the truck parties kept everyone else awake all night. I've realised I've developed a talent for sleeping through everything from snoring to earth moving apocalypses. I think it could prove useful.

All 4 Dragoman trucks are down for a boat cruise so we head down to the harbour, sign a roster and pile onto a boat. We then all pile off the boat because it's the wrong boat! We cross our names off the roster, sign another roster and pile onto a different boat. Wahey! We motor over to some beautiful idyllic bays where we dived off for a swim in the clear blue sea. Man, I f*cking love jumping off boats. Well I just love jumping full stop! It all culminated in some impromptu competitive dive bombing. There was diving, jumping, horses, belly flops, somersaults, back flips and of course, dive bombing! All the while we were being cheered on by bikini clad babes on and off our party boat. Awesome!

One of my truck associates, a Canadian girl called Isabella thinks I'm a comic genius. Or is that a Colonic Penis? Anyway I get my own entry on Isabella's Blog. Fame at last!

Rich and I help the other truck carry their Eski of ice & beers back to camp and help them drink the contents. (It's the reward see, we're not stupid!) Then it's back out to town after dinner for Caprihinias off the street stalls. Fruity ones, creamy ones, vodka ones and local ones - I try them all! All whilst watching public displays of Capoeira - Brazilian Martial Arts. As it's all poncy dancing I figure it'd be much better if they actually made contact!

I note that all girls have a rude and double entendre side once they've drunk enough. No, really! Bed for 02:00.

A free day equals an Internet day! Only Rich fills up one cafe, Isi's preferred choice is closed, the next one is full up with the other truck members but then Isi and I strike gold - cheap Internet in an air-con office! Phew! We dry out from our 38°C sweat. It's hot out there man!

I meet up with Tony and John to try'n'find a bar showing the Six Nations. Mission failed, the best we could muster was a crumby Internet feed in a alcohol-less cyber cafe.

It's an early start tomorrow, up at 04:30 to leave the campsite by 05:00 so Richard and I head out drinking at beach bars until 02:00. Everyone else (and I mean everyone else) at the campsite grabbed an early night. Losers.

It's a long drive day so I sleep, we drive, I sleep some more, we drive some more. The wheels on the bus go round and round. I wake up, everyone else is ether sleeping or reading. I chat to Isi to prevent her from getting bored. (I swear that girl has an attention deficit disorder!)

It gets dark. It gets cold. Lightning and thunder ensues and we get, um, lost! So we stop at some random house to ask for directions and if we could camp on the large front lawn for the night. We can and we do. After dinner we are joined by the owner of the house, a Ukrainian Dog Breeder. (That said, I've not seen his children!) He was drunk, as Ukrainians often are and no-one understood his Portuguese, he didn't understand my Russian either! I offered him a drink from the International Hip Flask of Peace. He was too wasted to work out where the whiskey poured out of and ended up with it dribbling down his top!

An early night as we're up again at 05:00 for more driving.

Another drive, more sleep, more driving, more sleeping. We get to Paudimar Hostel in Foz de Iguazu for 18:00 ish. One of the trucks arrived an hour earlier, the other one arrived yesterday after they drove all through the night. The camp site is a smart looking place with a pool, bar, free Internet, video lounge, cafeteria, free brekkie, pool table and ping pong - all very plush! Nobody can be arsed to cook so we grab a camp site buffet dinner instead.

I realise my drinking reputation now precedes me. Various pods of people now always have a cold beer waiting for me - wicked!

Today we invade Argentina to peer down it's Devil's Throat (a big ass waterfall to all those don't know). Our bus driver over the border was a class funny character. Everytime he walked up and down the bus handing out forms, passports and maps he would chant "Be dum de dum" and called everyone "Chica" or "Chico". Someone figured he was humming the start of "Yellow Submarine" which quickly became our anthem. Manoeuvring out of a view point overlooking Brazil, Paraguay and Argentina he screams, "Polica!" slams the bus in reverse and all these sirens start belting out from behind. It's his "Warning, Vehicle Reversing" sound. Quality!

On entering the national park I loose everyone and hitch up with a fellow truckite, Nick (a trainee lawyer for Slaughter and May in London City near the Barbican, yah!) to do some exploring. The falls themselves are a majestic landscape of a sequential series of falls serenely plummeting over a plateau. Most excellent! We hitch up with Isi, Lloyd and Lynn and catch the train to the Devil's Throat - the main attraction - Niagara on Viagra! It's quite an awesome sight which constantly throws up volumes of spray.

As well as the infestation of butterflies we also saw Coaties and Caiman (my first sighting of a wild one in South America!!) The Coaties are like large raccoons and whilst Isi was half way through reciting a story of how a friend of hers lost a thumb to a hungry monkey, I bend down and start stroking the wild Coaties. She wasn't impressed.

In the evening we shower, spruce up and scuttle off to a cheesy Cabaret in a Meat Buffet Restaurant called Rafian. The stage performers were real bad; half baked cheesy tourist bad (except for the guy twirling fireballs on chains!) I missed some naked carnival chicks whilst queuing up for more meat. Still Lloyd (a fellow trucker and a 60 year old Aussie OAP) was sat at the front and copped an eye full, much to our amusement!

Tonight was the night the crew from all our trucks decided to get jolly. Whilst we sat at the hostel bar they sat in the pool. Then, one by one, they began throwing in their passengers - who then joined in the "pool assassination". The numbers of wet people grew exponentially until everyone was in. Loud music from the bar accompanied the drunken merriness. I guess you could call it a "Pool Party" complete with cocktails, belly flops and pool inflatables. I took a volley of the deadly Caprihinias. Later, to get dry, I play Ping Pong, first with Michelle then with Isi. My time is up when I realise I'm too drunk to return any of the shots! I passed out a happy man on a hammock at 04:30. A few others lasted until 05:30 - I wasn't last! Gee, I guess there's a first time for everything!

Up and out for 10:00 to see the Brazilian side of the falls. First up is a little train ride through a jungle - it quickly transpires that I know more than the guide with it comes to water vines and useful palm trees. I acquire my first audience and recite jungle stories, facts and episodes to swoons and disbelieving faces. From here on in, I'm known as "Jungle Steve"!

We hop into a powerful speed boat and are told to prepare for a soaking. It then blasts off up the river to the waterfalls, stops and bobs around for a bit enabling us to take photos. Then powers up some rapids and into the falls itself! The spray was so hard it hurt as it ripped into your face. A soaking we do get. Isabella, being a non-swimmer, gripped the grab rail with impunity the whole time. Brave girl.

Off the boat, back through the jungle and onto... a HELICOPTER! I've never been on a helicopter before. I was really excited about it. It lived up to every heightened expectation - it was awesome! Even better, I was led into the best seat in the house, the co-pilots seat in the bubble cockpit. The helipad is on the road side, so as soon as you take off you see cars and tree tops whizzing past just meters under your feet! Over the falls themselves we pull a few stomach churning tight turns as not to invade Argentinean airspace and pull a few Gs to boot! It's way cool! On landing I bounce out of the helicopter with an ecstatic smile on my face and skip down to meet the other passengers. Yeah!

Come evening we all opt for the Italian buffet dinner at the hostel to save cooking. When everyone complained the food was really bad I realised I'll happily eat anything!