Driving iss crazy

Computers aren't as quick, nor internet access so freely available, hence why it's been over a week since this was last updated.

"In Brazil it is easier to fly than to drive...I fly better than I drive". So said Alex, one of our hang gliding pilots, as he drove us up to Pedra Bonita which overlooks Rio. And he was right. Some of the driving here is crazy. The other morning we drove past people helping a driver out of their overturned car. Flying - or hang gliding rather - certainly seems safer...once you get past the whole idea that you're running off the edge of a hill and hoping that you're going to float.




We left Rio and caught a coach (with more legroom than you'd find in the backseat of a Bentley) to a small port down the coast called Angra dos Reis. From there, after a seagull had left it's mark on Div, we took a ferry (more of a yacht really) to an almost secluded island called Ilha Grande. The weather was kind to us for the two days we were there (around 34 degrees) so we did very little other than walk fropm deserted beach to deserted beach, sunbathing in between.



Last Saturday we took a ferry (and it was more of a ferry this time) back to Angra. After the most unsatisfying burger ever, with Nicole and I heading on to Paraty, Div and Greg left us to go back to Rio, as they were flying home (those trains won't drive themselves). With them went our only hopes of capturing any brilliant images of the landscape and scenery (Div) or of being able to take anymore reflection-in-the-aviator-shades photos (Greg), so apologies for the dip in quality from here on in. Less than an hour after they'd left, and just after the comedy sketch that was Nicole attempting to get through the turnstile barrier on the bus with her rucksack on, I was fortunate (if you can call it that) to see that burger again, as she also threw up on the bus. I'm not sure who was most surprised - Nicole, or the little lady lucky enough to be sitting in the seat next to her. But we got to Paraty eventually, and it was well worth the journey (though maybe not for the little lady). It's an old colonial town, with sections of all the buildings painted in different colours and cobblerd streets that flood when the tide comes in.



Simon, the owner of the pousada we were staying at, was English, and looked kind of like Ben Kingsley's character in Sexy Beast. In fact though, he was about as far removed from that persona as you can get, and seemed to really enjoy having English speaking guests staying there, as they usually hosted Brazilians. It gave him a chance to chat to us in his native tongue about all kinds of stuff, such as all Brazilians acting like big kids (they love to just randomly shout at each other), times when he had or hadn't got mugged (once at gunpoint, another when a group kids found no money on him, and in return had to buy him a beer), and what he missed or didn't miss about Britain (jazz music / rap music).

It's currently election time in Brazil, so the TV is full of party political broadcasts, and the streets are full of processions of cars and motorbikes, with waving flags and beeping horns. If a party tried tactics like that back home, the opposition would have a carbon footprint field day.


We chose what was probably the wettest day up until then to take a schooner boat trip around the bay. When the rain stopped and they dropped the anchor, the islands and water were beautiful, but as soon as we were on the move again and the heavens opened, it suddenly got very damp and cold. The fact that Paraty receives just one and a half tv channels, neither of which have a weather report, didn't particularly help.




Our coach to São Paulo was evenb better than the last. In-coach radio, encompassing MPB (Música Popular Brasileira) and smooth 80's UK pop, plus Weekend at Bernie's on in-coach DVD, which surprisingly I'd never seen. Although for some reason they decided to dub it into Portugese, and then add English subtitles. I didn't really understand that one. São Paulo itself was very big, busy, and a bit of a hole (at least in the bits we went through), so we only stayed there a night.


For our final leg across Brazil we took another coach (I see a pattern emerging) for 15 hours to Foz do Iguaçu and the Argentinian border. On our last coach the average age of passengers was about 25. On this one it was about twice that, and they were twice as rowdy. Simon was right, they are just big kids.


Rio de Janeiro to Foz do Iguaçu via Angra dos Reis, Paraty and São Paulo - 1089 miles