Bench Days

This is a bench. Not my bench, but similar. I like to sit on said bench and enjoy the world passing through the tint in my girlfriends Raybans (that's right, I'm that cool).

Today I say three ladies. One middle aged (daughter I assume), one in her 70's (neighbour/friend?) and one in her late 80's (mother).
The daughter wore bright purple and red coloured flowers on her shirt, blue running trousers and white running trainers. She was tall and a little rotund.
The friend wore a green shirt, black running trousers and black slip-on shoes. She was equally tall, but slim and sprightly looking.
The mother, sporting a rather interesting shock of white hair, interspersed by a strip of bald down the middle, wore a brown coat, black running trousers and white running trainers. She was short, but in shape for a lady of her years.

All were smiling, laughing loudly and surprisingly, were all walking at a decent pace.

I'd been reading my new book, but could hear them approaching for some time. Such is life here. It's often loud, chattering and jovial.

In contrast, a fella in green jogging shorts, clean yellow shirt and white jogging trainers approached me shortly after. He started talking, offered his hand to shake (which being an English Gent, I duly did) and at an initial glance could be seen to be just being friendly. This was not the case. This fellow wanted my money. Not that I had much (around R$6 in notes= £3). I sussed the fella quick smart though. I smiled, I did the puppy dog eyes, I said "Sorry, English...I er, don't understand" . At which point friendly, turned to the international language of sign and frustration. The fellow thrust his fingers in my face and began rubbing them together (Money foreign man-I want ya money!).

Well, you can want!

He wandered off, unimpressed and I sat there, equally unimpressed.

I miss being able to give to charity. It doesn't really exist here. There aren't any charity shops. Barnados, Oxfam, St Luke's...nope. It's sad. It's a missed opportunity for a nation that could and would benefit from it greatly.

There's the people that try to put their talents to good use at the stop signs. You stop at the Red light and they juggle. The problem being that due to crime and the implied drug use your money would inevitably find itself employed in, you don't even open your window. I want to give, but I'm advised it's not safe.

There is the homeless though, they like the benches too-usually lying horizontally across them, but they all seem to be employed in recycling or drug use too. Where to turn?

On a happier and slightly odd note...seems in Porto Alegre there is a lack of full sized mannequins.

Boat Daze

Sunday afternoon was a glorious day, a day for taking the boat out on the river and joining the others in celebrating the 82nd anniversary of the club's founding.

Sail boats of numerous sizes took part in two classes of regatta race. We in the motor boat, took in a tour of the city from the water. There were approximately eight in our little group, with each of us taking it in turns to lead and direct our route. Clarissa and I had decided to take the camera with us as there's a photography competition closing on the 31st May and we wanted to see what we could capture.

Being a fan of architecture, my images invariably ended up being shots of sky-rise buildings and dilapidated shipping ports. There's a certain character to all the structures in down-town PA, but it's the grit, the rust and the broken windows of the shore front factories that delighted me the most.

Never having seen tankers in any condition up close, I was more than a little awed by the sheer size of them.

We dodged waves, or rather, Cezar drove us directly into their wake and we duly bounced over and a top of them. This was a far cry from our earlier outing (see beginning of blog) and as such we escaped our day with little more than wet feet and I, a little sun charred around the face- despite a healthy dollop of sun cream.

The plants are doing well.
Clarissa assembled our new Cactus Garden with her own two hands and despite using oven mitts, sadly became the recipient of a few errant spikes, but we think it was worth the effort.

Joca continues to be a pest and Pricilla continues to fart in subtle a manner...as do I.
I finally understand the Lenny Henry joke regarding buying a blame-hound from Harrods. They're great to have around to escape complicity.

I have perfected my panini sandwich.

For those of you interested;

One small, fresh bread roll
3 Sun dried tomatoes
Cheese (that melts quickly)
Pesto
Chilli Sauce

Not much to it.
Slice open bread, insert cheese and tomatoes, spread pesto on inside, a few dabs of sauce and place in grill machine. When green light lights, sandwich is ready for consumption. 

Eat and enjoy.
Very easy and not at all boring after 5 lunchtimes in a row.

English Teaching in the Sun

Intermediate to Advanced Conversational English lessons 

available from one of the few Englishmen in Porto Alegre- Brazil.

If you're eager to enhance your knowledge and understanding of the English language, 

what better way is there than to speak it with a native?

Contact: anenglishmaninthesun@gmail.com

or 

call: 82891722

Goodbye to Berlin

Finally, finished.

The first book I started and finished since my arrival in Brazil and I'm so happy I did.

I've been so taken by travel, Clarissa, her family, life in Porto Alegre, dogs, new food and basically just overawed by everything that I've been averaging all of 10 pages a day, at best. This is a rather poor show.
It shall be amended.

Goodbye to Berlin by Christopher Isherwood

Fast, fluid, driven, exploratory and delightful.

Set in the late 1920's/early 1930's, Isherwood's character (himself) is living as a university graduate and author in the German capital of Berlin, bouncing from boarding house to doss house as he strives to make a living as an English Language teacher and endeavouring to both begin and finish his newest novel (the last being some time out of print, having sold a whopping 5 copies).

As the story progresses, Herr Isherwood meets a variety of people, ranging from the artistic jet set to mentally impaired young men, their families and the successful yet modest Jewish fraternity of the hateful capital.

Isherwood's conversations and descriptions of the city and it's people are both enticing and unbiased, allowing himself none of the retrospective angst that modern authors might allude to and fairly conversing with all manner of life, forgiving their ingrained racism and at the same time evaluating his own self admonished failures.

The story races along, ensuring the reader must keep pace and thrive in the bohemian wanderings of the main character. Our interests are peeked by an author that does at no time relinquish the responsibility of the narrator, constantly querying and investigating all elements of the story, including his own personality.


Read it, you won't be disappointed.

Bald Santa

A thinner, bald crowned, white haired Santa Claus, with a tan walked past me yesterday. He subsequently began his stretches and boarded one of the park's exercise machines and began, what I assume, was his pre-Christmas cardio routine.

It's good that Santa stays in shape, he's pressed rather thin these days, but he appears to be eating well.

I thought it rude to take a photo, but here are some of his work out buddies.

It's funny, I sit here or walk there and I realise that more than anywhere else I have been, this is a conversational city. Whether it's the abruptness of vehicles darting between each other with a 'vroom' or a 'squeal' and a yell or the extreme politeness of shop assistants addressing customers or even the relaxed nature of the policemen as they chat-up the teenage girls- there's interaction and it seems essential for Porto Alegre.

This morning I was privy to a scene that both amused and saddened in equal measure...it is called 'Bath Time for Dogs'.

Pricilla mid-shower;

Pricilla and Joca after shower;

Damp dogs, but sweet smelling.

Joca is talking to us again. Pricilla is grudgingly accepting strokes.

A slice of life

On the triple carriageway along from the apartment- two for cars, one for buses, it's easy to miss the street lamps, camouflaged between Goliath palm trees.
The constant throng of traffic rattles and jolts in a transit melody.

At night the bass from-what I can only assume is that of a boy-racer's car, causes our apartment to vibrate and judder. It does however dispose of the need for a watch at 6pm every evening.

Sitting in a coffee shop- reading, we look out at the pavement and see a rather helpful citizen directing a motorist into a spare parking space. What a lovely fella. Except he's not being helpful, he's capitalizing. He's an opportunist. Like so many 'self-employed' people in the city, he'll 'protect' your car while you're away (with you having to pay the governmental metres also), but if you fail to pay, you will become the proud owner of a Nike swoosh down your nice new paintwork, the result of a 'random act' of key swipage.

What I particularly like though, is the family bond that is so evident between mother and daughter in this city.
Everywhere I look, girls of all ages walk arm in arm with their mothers or grandmothers. They teeter and totter with vague yet curious smiles.

Just sitting and observing this life is enthralling.

There's a little and a lot of everything here.

Pricilla e Joca

This is Pricilla, she's around 8 years old, has three legs, is on the heavy-set side, snores like a Bashee and farts very quietly.

Luckily for me, my girlfriend's nose is more acute than my own and as such, I get forewarning as to the odourous event.

This is Joca (he's the blonde one), he's a younger chap, playful and frustrating in equal measure. He jumps around, nibbles and barks,  poops where he shouldn't and generally annoys the hell out of ya.

We love 'em both very much.

In the park today I saw...

I sat on a park bench the other day and stared through the tint of my girlfriends' borrowed sunglasses at the men and women that wandered aimlessly through my field of vision.

This is what I saw;

Ronaldo- the ugly, fat one.

Ronaldinho- the ugly, soon to be fat one with funny teeth.

A chap with an outstanding nose- bulbous and glowing, he seemed joyous.

A 60 year old woman in rather expensive pink running gear, walking with her friend and doing, what appeared to be her best, to avoid a sweat.

A rather laxidasical jogger in his 30's, his legs happy to run, but his arms steadfastly refusing.

A troup of junior army men and women, resplendent in their uniforms and red berrets.

A happy man selling chocolate popcorn from a glass trolley- I smelt his wares first- I smiled and breathed deeply.

A couple of tired fellas asleep under various palms.

A parade of miniature hounds- hairy, preened, fluffy and bald alike.

There was also a fella who came up to me and I assume, asked for directions.

My response came fluidly, though perhaps not authentically-

“Desculpe. Ingles. Nao Compreendo Muito Bem”.

He smiled, quite happily and (much more importantly to me) understandably and walked to the next bench, where he repeated his enquiry. I imagine he found his path, though it would have been quite funny had he in fact encountered another foreigner.

I have no photo's of these people, but I see them regularly (oddly, Ronaldo and Ronaldinho are fairly frequent to my eyes) and will endeavour to capture their visages in the future.

I like my fellow park people and look forward to our encounters. One day soon I aim to say something more interesting and hope that the things they ask of me are as fascinatng as their appearances.  

Museums & Buildin's

For a city all of 240 years old, Porto Alegre's got some sights!

Over the last couple of days we've taken in some of the attractions of the city and just looking at the photos (which sadly can never fully encompass the marvel-though I tried) you can see what I'm on about.

This is the sight from one of the wide angle windows of the Ibere Camargo Museum, looking out over the coastal area of Porto Alegre. Just Google the building and see why this modern experience of art is so popular a tourist destination.

The city is to host a few games during the 2014 World Cup and is trying (at Brasilian speed) to create a more attractive and accessible city. They're supposed to be re-installing the Trams (the tracks through the centre of the city merely need excavation), adding English signs for the language challenged (that would include me and most of my country-folk) and generally tarting up the city as a whole.

There is however, character everywhere you look. Classical Portuguese architecture dots the centre and is often either sandwiched between modern behemoths or gutted (sadly) from the inside and used as car parks.

The trick is finding a happy medium. Brasil is growing really rather fast, but at least this cultural entity, this life-form of a city is holding fast to it's past. It's easy to forget to look up in your town or city, but when you remember, it's certainly worth it.

When I first visited PA in 2000, Clarissa and I went to a pink/peach building that to my 12 year addled memory was an archway of history and fauna...I'm happy to say it's no less than it was before and really quite a lot more.

Now a library, gallery, artist mecca and roof-top cafe/garden, the Majestic Hotel is now named Casa de Cultura Mario Quintana, after the writer that lived in the hotel as was, until the end of his life.

This building stuck in my memory as a bit of a haze, a memory that had faded and is now enlivened again. It's actually the first time, that I can recall, a memory from so long ago not losing it's appeal so long after it's creation. 

Near and Far

It's funny how far you can travel and still feel at home.

Brasil is large. Somewhat larger than the little Isle I left, granted, but it has much the same traits and idiosyncrasies that GB does.

I find myself, while a fish out of water, very much able to at least paddle to the deep end and back again without too much floundering.

Of course, my deep end at the moment extends to ordering uma agua com gas, por favor and giving the apologetic look when asked by the counter girl if I have any coins on me, rather than a R$50 note for a $10.06 purchase. This is a common look and as such, Internationally recognised. Sorry :-(

The sun is a nice change up from the dreary drizzle of the English moors and mid-lands. I find myself using sunscreen (not as often as I should, I am constantly reminded) and sweating- this is no real change, but it's through heat, rather than a surprising lack of physical exhaustion, that's nice.

I heard a touch of English a few days ago and while a younger me might have gone running for the familiar voice, the older me is content to stay afar from it now. Joyous in the knowledge that my confidence or at least my contented nature allows me to sit quietly and observe, rather than rush for the nation I left behind.

I like it here.

It helps that the football teams are blue/white and red/white striped, it helps that they drink tea- 'Chimarrao' (though I still don't), it helps that while the city numbers some 1.5 million inhabitants, you still feel able to walk a fair bit of it and not feel too monumentally lost and it helps having the love and support of a new family.

This is (cue over used line) 'a land of opportunity'. Really it is and it also helps that in less than two years time, I'll be at at least one World Cup match! Cue jealousy and raving mad football fanatical friends.

Sofa available, must buy own flights and tickets however.

Last Night

...I ate this.

A bread bowl, scalped and filled with soup and pepperoni and you know what?...after I got over the initial tongue burn, it was superb! I gutted it from the inside out. Just the crusty outer shell remained.
Quite an achievement for a fella whole rarely eats a full meal or at least, not a big one.

I've cut down on the chocolate too.
Down to a third my usual intake. This in a country that advocates all-you-can-eat buffets almost like a religion.
Not that I'm complaining.

I have also begun jogging.

I'll be honest, this was not solely my own idea, but my progress has surprised both of us. I even manage a sprint at the end of our 2 1/2 km round run of the park. I know 2 1/2 kn isn't a huge amount, but after only a month here and having only run to catch the bus in the last decade, I'm chuffed.

No photo, use your imagination or I could draw a picture of me in speedy motion.

The weather continues to be interchangeable.
One day it's shorts and t-shirts, the next it's jeans and jumpers. Go figure.

The mosquito's seem to have had their fill of the British flesh.
I still sport 'love' bites all over, though they don't itch and I'm reliably informed that means 'No Malaria'.
Good Stuff.  

Getting to know the city a little better. Buses (always a favoured mode of transport for this permanent pedestrian) are easy to traverse. Driver and ticket conductor. Driver drives. Conductor sits and you hand over money. Rarely a word exchanged short of Obrigado. R$2.85 a ticket. Approximately £1 for a single journey...a little less maybe.

Been a little bust acclimatizing the last few weeks, that and jumping borders to Uruguay (shucks) and writing my children's book. Second draft almost finished and awaiting prospective art work. I still really like it. Always a good sign.

This does however, mean that my average reading tally has suffered somewhat. I've been working my way through 'Goodbye to Berlin' by Christopher Isherwood for two weeks now and it ain't a big book.

Must press on.

Recipes

So very, very easy. 

The other week Clarissa expressed an interest in Vegetarian Burgers. Honestly, she'd liked 'em for a while, but I hadn't gotten my ass in gear to make 'em, so, here it is. The recipe is fairly basic and easy to do. The main bit is soaking the beans over night. The rest of the ingredients can be substituted. Clarissa hates onions, so the bulk of this meal was black beans, sweetcorn, egg and flour to bind. Then you fry for a few minutes, insert into a bread bun (chef's choice), tomato, lettuce and e voila, veggie burgers! Not bad at all, even for a lifelong fan on the meaty variety.

Tonight I shall mostly be making Chickpea Curry, loosely based on what I tasted regularly while working at the Filmhouse Cafe/Bar-Edinburgh and recipes I perused on't 'tinter-web'! Fingers crossed.

Ingredients

• 1 (16 ounce) can black beans, drained and rinsed
• 1/2 green bell pepper, cut into 2 inch pieces
• 1/2 onion, cut into wedges
• 3 cloves garlic, peeled
• 1 egg
• 1 tablespoon chili powder
• 1 tablespoon cumin
• 1 teaspoon Thai chili sauce or hot sauce
• 1/2 cup bread crumbs

Directions

1. If grilling, preheat an outdoor grill for high heat, and lightly oil a sheet of aluminum foil. If baking, preheat oven to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C), and lightly oil a baking sheet.
2. In a medium bowl, mash black beans with a fork until thick and pasty.
3. In a food processor, finely chop bell pepper, onion, and garlic. Then stir into mashed beans.
4. In a small bowl, stir together egg, chili powder, cumin, and chili sauce.
5. Stir the egg mixture into the mashed beans. Mix in bread crumbs until the mixture is sticky and holds together. Divide mixture into four patties.
6. If grilling, place patties on foil, and grill about 8 minutes on each side. If baking, place patties on baking sheet, and bake about 10 minutes on each side.

Update-last few days

Been busy the last week.

Work stuff (fill you in later).

The other day I saw two things that made me laugh out loud.

1- a middle aged woman dragging her furry CAT by a leash.

and

2- on my bus to the office I looked over at the sign on the window. Symbols for the disabled, elderly and pregnant were evident for all to see...as was the one for FATTIES! In Porto Alegre, we are expected to give up our seats for people of the overweight variety.

Here is an 'artists' rendition.

Yesterday was Clarissa and my one month anniversary in Brasil. Granted, she's been here a while longer than me, but you get the idea.

We celebrated by shopping for work clothes for me (a joy as ever, but with few frustrations involved-I'm getting better), a turn around one of the Museums that we hadn't seen yet (A Modern Art one), it had a metal sculpture of a Don Quixote type with a tap/valve where his 'you-know-what' should have been. We later saw a film called 'Hysteria', a British story about the first sex aide (very funny and well worth a watch) and then toured the park, hand in hand, admiring the sunlight, the multitude dogs of all shapes and sizes and even saw a very tall transvestite 'lady'- impressive and magnificently attired in her red, spangly outfit (no photo-use your imagination, it's much more fun that way).

Got lots of new plants for the apartment and have made use of the bidet, which has been broken since before my arrival.

The first draft of my children's story is finished, with no less than five artists preparing proposals and test-art for submission and consideration by yours truly.

About to eat Fruit Loops (add joke here) and drink coffee...see ya.

  

Uruguay-Part 3

Day 3- 'Filter' coffee. Cereal. Chocolate thingy for me (a regional chocolate biscuit, sandwiched with dolce de leche filling-Alfajor).

Today's Fort day. Too tired on Saturday (after the drive), saw loads on Sunday, today's the day.
Or not.
Seems while the chappie (army fella) on the security gate believes the fort opens at midday on a Monday, it may be that he failed to take into account the May Day public holiday, as the turtle was shut.

Oh, I should probably explain, the fort is in designed in the shape of a pointy nosed turtle.
Why? Who cares?! It's a Turtle.
Sure, the UK's got Castles, but it ain't got amphibious creatures to defend it's borders (for a sea fairing nation, shouldn't we?) Uruguay does! (yes, I know, they're not amphibious...but then, where's the joke?).

Having arrived at 11:45, we'd already driven around the remaining areas of the National park that we'd not seen the day before. These new sites included; a rather windy beach (complete with surfers, one of whom wore pink and had a matching board-very dapper), a startlingly large spider crossing our path (we could see the nippy little bleeder from the car)- Clarissa took a photo as I'd chosen to remain in the car and 'keep-an-eye-on-it' and once again, the zoo...'hola'.

Did you know that trees in Uruguay have beards?
No? Neither did I, but I took a few photos to prove it.

We gave up on the fort, given that we were leaving the next day and being British, I'd seen more defensive structures by the age of eight than most other nationalities do in a lifetime. The only other tourist attraction nearby...Laguna Negra (The Black Lagoon!). Eerily sounding, though not looking. We drove a pot-holed road for a few kilometres before arriving at the watery expanse. A broken jetty, a sinking boat, an abandoned cafe and a blindingly marvellous panorama greeted us.

Having decided the night before to build a fire (though not having any wood, this would prove troublesome), we collected a few logs from the side of the road (I kicked 'em a few times to encourage any arachnid dwellers to dwell elsewhere- there weren't any home) and made for Punta del Diablo and our spacious hut.

Kindling is essential in building a fire (just thought I'd let you know) and given that the straw/stick roof of the young boys playhouse had begun to shed (shed/playhouse- ha ha) we saw no harm in burning the already fallen elements...though we were stealthy in our gathering techniques- choosing to wait until the owners of said property were not in sight.

Clarissa lit our lunchtime fire, we enjoyed the blaze and later headed off to the beach, walking length of it.
Still a breezy day, but somehow calm. There was a rather feisty crab, pincers at the ready...again, Clarissa took the photo.

Beers for lunch. Beers again for dinner (holiday!).
We popped into the supermercado again, 'beer'd up', got food and also bought more wood.
Dirt cheap!
Dirt. Dirty. Wood...I give up.

An evening by the fire. Nice.

Day 4- The Road Home


Packed, Tidied, Coffee'd, said good by to 'Pest' and away we went.

Barely on the road ten minutes, we were stopped by the fuzz. Nothing nefarious though.
Seems there's a horse race on and we're to go slowly until the competitors are passed. A fella on horseback (convenient), dressed as a jockey duly passed by...slowly. I guess it must have be an endurance race.

Not far past the police cordoned area, we stopped again. This time to pick up a dread-locked traveller and his backpack. Turns out he's called Mark (possibly Marc), he's from Barcelona, an Architecture student, studying for a year in Porto Alegre, likes football and long story short, joined us on our return leg home.

More time in 'Duty-freeland' followed.

The Brasilian immigration extended my visa (sweet!-this had been a worry, but sorted at least temporarily now).

More Capybara and even a few, very large Caiman (such a thrill to see them in the wild) sunbathing.
We stopped again. This time to wrench tall, hairy grasses from the undergrowth on the side of the road- a surprise present for Clarissa's mum.

6 hours of travelling and eventually, home.

A superb Birthday present!

Muito Obrigado, Clarissa xxx.

Uruguay- Part 2

The previous evening we realised we'd forgotten a thing or two- matches or a lighter for the cooker would certainly come in handy. So, we popped down to the local supermercado and stocked up. We'd brought coffee (Clarissa being a self confessed addict...I like it too) but we didn't bring filter paper. Sadly, the market didn't stock it either, so, using a pasta strainer, non-treated toilet roll and a steady pouring hand, boiling water slowly trickled over our makeshift cafetiere, dribbling into the saucepan below and later being transferred into a glass container. E voila, coffee!
Who needs filters?!

The wind was quite breezy at the beach and despite the warmish weather, we had to make use of our jumpers and jackets. Punta del Diablo get's its name from the formation of the outcroppings- a Devil's Trident, though there was none of the supernatural there. We climbed the rocky boulders, tentatively, given the slippery/damp nature of the granite. The sun rising in the morning over the sea and shining it's light on the fishing village was spectacular (taking all our photos with Clarissa's iPhone, we were pleasantly surprised by the quality). Everything glistens.

It is physically impossible to walk more than a few yards without seeing either a dog or cat.
As it stood, each dog was polite and playful (much like my girlfriend, who couldn't help but give them her full attention) and each cat ignorant or skittish. At the hut there was a Labrador puppy (much like the 'Andrex' dog), belonging to the son of the people that rented us the accommodation. Had it not been for the boy, it is highly likely that 'his' dog would have become 'our' dog. We named him 'Pest', for self explanatory reasons I think.

Around lunchtime we decided to drive out to Fortaleza de Santa Teresa. Not opening until latyer in the afternoon (it being sunday) we parked up and began to explore the surroundings.
Botanical Garden first.
The hot house, built at the same time as the fort, was surprisingly modern, making use of small, square water reservoirs to provide constant hydration for plants ranging from Cactus to, I don't know what. Loads of 'em anyway. There were even Parrots and Snakes...all in cages, though not together.

The woods that covered the landscape were reminiscent of the ones found in Sheffield and the outlying Derbyshire countryside. Acorn trees, etc. We even went for a look through the bird 'hide', though we saw no birds (just Clarissa).

Toilets.

A subject dear to all our hearts. That being said, the Uruguayans have a slightly obscure was of tackling the issue. The sign suggests that you must be rather well dressed to use these public lavatories (see image below)...but that's not the peculiar part. Upon entering the 'ladies', Clarissa can straight back out, looked at the sign for women (to confirm she was indeed in the right area), shrugged and re-entered.

I looked on perplexed, but not well versed in ladies toilet habits, shrugged it off also. Upon her second exit, Clarissa still had a querying look, as well as a wry smile.

It seems, rather than sitting on a seat and enjoying your endeavours, Uruguayans prefer (at least at the fort) to place their feet in specifically shaped formations and then 'squat' over a hole (see facebook pics...if you like). Curious as to the Gentleman's toilet, I duly investigated and was happy to see that the situation was equally bizzare.

Laugh? I almost urinated.

We nipped into the Information Centre and grabbed a map. Clarissa is rather fond of maps and despite it's vagaries, we managed to find our way around. There's camping too, but we saw only a few tents, this being the 'off' season after all.

Zoo! There's a Zoo!

Small, yes, but varied to say the least. Emu/Ostrich (after 'Googling', seems they were Ostrich's- though I couldn't tell you the difference-swift little bleeders though), Capybara (my new favourite animals), Goats, Chickens, Wild cats (not strays), Caiman (shouldn't it be Caim'e'n?), Hawks, Parrots, etc... One pen/cage housed four or five brilliant, green parrots. Brilliant for their colour, sure, but mainly for their polite and repeated greetings, 'Hola, hola, hola'.
To which we replied, 'Hola, hola, hola'. This went on for sometime as we saw little reason to stop.

Deciding that we'd seen enough for the day, we headed back to our hut, with the express intention of seeing the fort on the monday.

Pizza for lunch. Nice. Square. Tasty.

After lunch, we played beach tennis. This being intended as a dual sport, quickly developed in to a group activity...with our furry, four legged friends 'borrowing' our ball, repeatedly. Fun though, at least we didn't have to chase the ball into the sea whenever I hit an errant shot.

Pizza for dinner. Nice. Round. Tasty.
Lots of beer, again and some Havana Club Rum and Coke for me (my purchase, in lieu of Whisky from 'Duty-freeland', thank's Chris).

End of day 2.

  
That's me on the left.

Uruguay-Part 1

3 am. Ok, 3.30. It was supposed to be 3am, but a lie-in is to be expected on holiday, even when beginning a trip.
Everything packed, we hit the road.
It's so quiet in Porto Alegre in the small hours. I like it like that.
When the city lulls, it's languid, slow to wake. I almost expect grey rather than techni-colour. Even the homeless sleeping in the doorways look peaceful at 4am.


We were making for Punta del Diablo (for a birthday treat), what can best be described as a travellers/hippie commune in it's personality.
Clarissa had been there in the summer, some years ago-we were heading there in the early parts of Autumn for the long May day holiday.


After numerous toll roads and four full hours, the sun begins to rise.
Remarkable how much the countryside looks like the U.K...even down to the cows and sheep....except in Britain, we don't have Capybara, Caimen and Eagles feeding on carcasses. The Capybara are huge. Really, like fat sheep mated with fat beavers and created fat brown creatures. They and their families littered the sides of the water reservoirs which constituted a nature reserve, for a few kilometres this side of the Brasil-Uruguay border (I shall be referring to Brazil as Brasil from no on-in an effort to acclimatise). En-route, we found ourselves staring at horse bums for a wee while. I'll let you assume how that came to happen (comments to be kept clean thank-you).

Before we were to arrive in Punta del Diablo, we needed to pass the border.
Clarissa had her ID, I had my passport. No problems...
Although, when you fly into a country, the airline do tend to give you an entry visa...it's entirely possible that this Englishman might have forgotten his. Oops.

Thankfully, the Brasilian border fuzz seem as uninterested as the Brasilian airport fuzz. That being the case, I was 'stamped-out' of the country and we entered the no-man's land between the two nations (Twilight Zone, and Neutral Zone were both names suggested during our stay). We shall, for sake of amusement now refer to Chuy (the mini-town we were entering) as 'Duty-Freeland'. Guess what they sell there.

Being the ideal boyfriend that I so clearly am, we spent the next 3 hours (after 6 hours driving through the south of Brasil) shopping. I love shopping, as all good boyfriends do and never muttered a negative word, smiling throughout. Really. I'm that good. That being said, it wasn't really torture. I spent most of the time 'eying up' the booze (which is unbelievably cheap) and marvelling at the inflated price that Olive Oil fetches in Uruguay.

So, 3 hours later we pass the road that leads to Fortaleza de Santa Teresa, a military outpost first built by the Portuguese army, then continued and finished by the Spanish after they invaded (more on this later). All of 10 Km away was Punta del Diablo.

We drove around for about 45 minutes trying to find our hut. Not our fault, seems Punta del Diablo is not so interested in street signs. Looking on our downloaded map, every road is numbered, but impossible to find. Our accommodation, much like the rest, is only accessible if you call the numbers posted outside the buildings (literally on wooden posts). As this was not something we'd foreseen (and not wanting to incur 'roaming' charges), we knocked, found no one at home and drove around asking the locals and tourists (the few we saw) where we could rent.

Despite this being the 'off season', the Uruguayan holiday home owners seem unwilling to change their rates. As such, everywhere seemed deluded enough to assume we (being the "gullible" tourists) would happily pay $50 US (not Peso) a night in a hostel/hotel. Pah, pah I say! Although one hostel did have six cute, newly born puppies wandering around outside...almost convinced me (friends see facebook photos).

We eventually settled on what can only be described as a hut/teepee. I liked it! Clarissa bartered the lady down from $240 (Pesos) to $200, with me advised to look 'upset' when the subject of money was raised. I did my part well and we took the six bunk hut (two bunk beds, one double bed) for the price of a one bed hut. Sweet!

Tired, thirsty and ravenous, Clarissa and I took to the streets and found the centre of the fishing village (389 full time residents that rises to 25,000 in the summer) to find cute desolation and a bar/restaurant with a blazing fire, gourmet pasta and large bottles of Miller Genuine Draft beer. We were, to put it mildly- happy.

Full of belly and far too tired to bother attempting to light our fireplace, we retired for the evening, comfortable in the knowledge that we had traversed 6 hours of Brasil, crossed an International border (without total ID-Me), shopped 'til I almost dropped, found accomodation (bartered very well), eaten, drunk and crashed.

Day 1 done, on with Day 2....