Silver Mines of Potosi

Our 3 hour drive from Sucre up to the world´s´s highest city of Potosi was a journey full of some truly stunning views. The outlook from our bus window had a picture of desolate jagged mountains carving between rolling green hills dotted with sheep, cacti and the odd lonely farm worker. In comparison though, as we began to pass through the outskirts of the city, the beauty soon turned into a bombshell of ugly orange-bricked building sites with roads coated in graffiti and trash.

However, after catching a taxi from the space station like bus terminal we reached our accommodation which was nestled in the corner of a gorgeous narrow street about a minutes walk from the plaza in which we soon strolled up to. We were instantly greeted by the towering white cathedral surrounded by some magnificent colonial architecture. Huge, wonderfully decorated mansions with doors so thick and impressively tall that they must have been made for giants. There is a giant amongst the city, and it stands tall, looming above every street in Potosi- the gigantic multi-coloured mountain of Cerro Rico.

With us reaching an altitude of 4060m high we were feeling like we´d just been given a good couple of shots worth of vodka and were stumbling up the roads at a slow drunken pensioners pace. My breathing was a bit erratic too, so we decided not to make any plans for the next day so we could adjust ourselves to the climate.

Sitting in a chilled out cafe getting a late lunch for 5 pounds was a suitably delicious and easy start. Bellies full and having a quick lay down back at our hostel was a grand follow up until our double bed literally collapsed beneath us. My skinny frame and Laura´s petite rear surely couldn´t have done this and whoever thought they could repair a broken bed with cello-tape is seriously deluded. There was no option but to change rooms and to our disappointment we were moved from our warm lit and spacious pad into a cold, dim and depressing corner of the hotel. All was forgiven when we saw the bedsheets were designed with Harry Potter on though.

That night we explored some further streets in Potosi trying to find another good place to eat but eventually ended up returning to our previous cafe for another brilliantly priced slap up meal. For no real reason we were feeling exhausted after that and went to get under our 5 layers of blanket warmth for a great night´s sleep.

Well I got plenty of rest anyway, as Laura had been subjected to one of the snore monsters finest moments rattling the walls and shaking the bed to her immense dis-pleasure. No harsh words, punches or kicks could stop me and I wasn´t a popular boy in the morning. I blame Harry Potter.

We didn´t have much planned for the day and after one of our most hideous breakfasts consisting of stale white bread and grimy coffee we didn´t have much motivation either. The high altitude was still playing with our ability to move a couple of steps without running out of breath and throughout the day we seemed to get far worse ending up with our heads collapsed onto numerous cafe tables. What we did have organised was to spend time taking photos of the astonishing scenery around us, but just as we were ready to do so the afternoon took a turn for the worse with rumbling, rainy black skies. The darkened clouds did actually allow for some good shots as they crept over the orange washed city, but we soon retired to our room and with the strobe-like-lightning-flashes hitting over our walls we were almost hypnotised to a ridiculously early 8.30pm good night all.

Thankfully not from my bird meet walrus wailings this time but rather an early mornings run to spew up her digested bile down the toilet, Laura had had another rough night´s sleep and was looking even more delicate the next day. That morning we had planned to attempt one of our most fearful challenges of not only Bolivia but our whole trip. One way or the other, there was no way that we could leave Potosi without a visit to the deadly cooperative mines. This expedition has had more serious warnings of danger written about it then any other tour we have read about and we were certainly feeling a little jittery about it all (especially when we signed a disclaimer in the booking office saying that the company would take no responsibility for injury or death).

At 1.30pm 15 of us were driven up towards the Cerro Rico mountain where we would enter the mines for approximately 2 hours worth of shuffling around on our hands and knees in the dark with only our headlamps to see the way ahead. Halfway there we stopped off to get kitted up in all the right gear from well dented hard-hats, ancient dusty jackets, tasteful burgundy baggy trousers and thick black welly boots that were about 20 years old, worn by thousands and still in perfect wear. Now dressed up we were split into two groups and a decision had to be made on a team name- we became ´The Sexy Bombas´.

Next up our guide who I should now introduce as being named ´White Peter´ (or Pedro as his real name) took us to a shop where we could buy the workers in the mines a gift. This could be anything from 96% alcohol to which we were all given a throat piping slurp of, a choice of dynamite from Peru, Argentina or the obvious best being Bolivian, to simply buying a big bottle of fizzy juice. We all obviously chose the explosives complete with fuse, detonator and an extra tube which would make the blast even bigger (to me it just looked like it had been filled with the insides of a bean bag).

We were then driven to the factory where they mix the minerals from the mines with water and various solutions to extract the silver, tin, lead and most commonly being zinc. It was an interesting if quick look around fast spinning machinery that could easily splice you in half given the chance but it must have been here for donkeys of years judging by the rusty worn state of it all.

It was now time to enter inside the mines, and just before we took our first step into the shaft we were warned to to touch the piping or wires that ran alongside the tunnels otherwise we might get a nasty electric shock- with us all a bit on edge this really didn´t help much but it was nice he told us I guess. With head lamps now on we walked though. The beginning started off easy enough with us just having to notch our heads 90 degrees in order to dodge the sharp chunks of rock and broken pieces of wood that were meant to be supporting the ceiling.

However 15 minutes on, just having missed a cart speeding past us at an alarming rate, we reached a point where some workers were drilling a thunderous racket into the wall bringing an extra thick layer of dust making it almost impossible to see or breathe. Pedro took us right up close to the miners and after putting down their drills they then began to plant hand-fulls of dynamite right above our heads. For about 5 minutes we nervously watched on and then suddenly were shouted and pointed at by vigurously fast moving fingers to move back (to which we weren´t going to wait around a second for in fear the detonation would rip apart the walls and completely cover us). We gratefully didn´t hear a bang but did end up in a red smoked filled room that had a collection of freaky human sized statues staring at us- we swiftly moved on.

We took a small break outside the entrance to an eerie low hole that we would squeeze under once our hearbeats had returned to a half normal rhythm. Whilst the sweat poured off us with most people in the group already coughing and spluttering Pedro gave us a lesson in the harsh realities of working here. The miners operate in temperatures up to 45 degrees in the unventilated shafts for gruelling 24 hour shifts and with them constantly being in contact with silica dust and asbestos, their life expantancy is only around 10 years after starting work here- that is if they haven´t been crushed to death by a cave-in first! Although it made me have a massive respect for the miners at the same time they all have the option to work here or not. There are other jobs to go for in Potosi and even far safer mines to work in, but all of these come with a lower salary and having the benefits to pick and choose hours along with who you work with down here it seems that this comes across to them a far better option nevermind the risks involved.

It was time to move on and the next section where we had to descend further and further down a tiny, pitch-black, dirty tunnel on hands, knees and often on our rear ends (sliding with no control whatsoever) kicking up a smoke-screen of dust as we did so was a claustrophobic´s nightmare. One girl in our group had a sudden panic attack a few seconds in and asked to be taken back outside. Another one of our tour guides said he would get her out but first needed to tell Pedro who was already nearing the end of the pit. Saying he would only be one minute until he returned he pushed the group downwards and Laura decided to stay with the breathless girl. I wanted to wait aswell but I was already halfway down and our guide told me I had to continue and that everything would be fine. After climbing down some rotten ladders missing most of their steps I waited crouched at the bottom for what seemed like eternity for Laura to catch up. Eventually, to my great relief, I heard her shuffling feet come towards me.

We were now on the third level down and began to trapse through deep murky water avoiding the odd trolley hurtling past and moved into unbearable temperatures. To make this an even more real life hell was the fact that all the miners here worship the devil! We were taken to see the horned statue named Tio in which had been decorated with flowers, alcohol, food and a smouldered cigarette in mouth. Every weekend the workers come here to party with him offering gifts not just for their protection, but for any wish they need, he will grant and question in life, Satan will answer.

After two hours of one of the most demanding, heart-thumping, eye-opening, blood buzzing tours ever we reached the exit for a massive intake of air. We were told that only 3 members from the other group of nine had made it through without turning back so we felt quite pleased with ourselves. White Peter had one more unbelievable challenge up his dusty sleeve though- a game of pass the lit dynamite before it explodes. This was one task Laura and I opted out of and watched on in disbelief. Two minutes later and it went off with a brain shatteringly loud bang creating a sizeable crater, thankfully not in someone´s chest but in the ground instead. After our explosive end to the tour we sat back in the minibus both feeling shocked, shattered and speechless. Laura was particularly out of it and within 10 seconds of returning to our hostel she was curled in a ball under the sheets with her hand fiercely wrapped across her forehead feeling horrific. She told me that she would only need 5 minutes to recover and then we could look over the pics and video footage of the day as I was overly excited about doing so. One hour on and Laura woke up in fits of agony complaining of an intense migraine so strong we feared she might have a high-altitude cerebral edema. The lights went off quick and we both fell asleep.

The next morning we were pleased to see that her brains hadn´t seaped out through her nose onto the pillow. We still felt in a horrendous state though and after checking out of our hostel we had a very easy going day relaxing before getting on the 8.30pm nightbus to Tupeza- a bus that looked like it would bring a whole other story with it...

A Sweet Town

We arrived in Sucre on a bright and sunny morning. After a brief misunderstanding with a taxi driver (4 pounds each? That´s too expensive! Oh, 40p, yeah, that´s OK!) we were whisked through the cobbled streets lined with grand white plastered buildings giving everything a bright and airy feel. Everything felt spotlessly clean and we were instantly struck with the prettiness of this city. We were soon booked into a similarly airy and comfortable hotel with open courtyards full of roses and cacti- it had been worth the wait to get here.



A leisurely breakfast (slightly enforced by the less than keen waiting staff) saw our bellies full of good food and I managed to acquire a new book along with information about a local dance performance. The rest of the morning was idled away as we rested in our pretty room.



Fully recovered from the night bus we headed out into the afternoon sun to walk around the new city. We were only a couple of blocks from the greenery filled plaza and each cobbled side street led to views of a different mountain or valley at the end of the road. We soon found out about a large market taking place in a nearby town the next day so after booking bus tickets for that we booked tickets for the dance performance that evening and headed back for further reaxation and a dip into the new book- one of my favourite luxuries out here.



Come the evening and we headed for one of the many tempting restaurants surrounding the plaza where we soaked up the romantic atmosphere before heading through the lamplit streets up to a tiny theatre. Upon entering it was clear it was going to be a fairly intimate performance- a reasonably sized stage was surrounded with just 6 dining tables of various sizes- ours right near the front. Other audience members were rich enough to enjoy dinner at the performance (something we were worried might lead to Asian style chatty audiences- though thankfully not). We were happy to settle at our table with our cameras ready (no flash, of course!) and just enjoy the show.



From the beginning of the first number it was clear we were going to enjoy this. The stage suddenly burst into life after a group of traditionally dressed girls, swaying their skirts and fluttering their eyelashes, were joined by a group of stomping men with bells attached to the heels of their shoes. The energetic performance was like as elaborate tap dance- the rhythmic stomping and jingling creating a pounding accompaniment to the melodies playing.



The show continued with many elaborate costume changes and heartfelt dances. The dances were all depicting Bolivian folklore which seems to consist mainly of flirting and causing excessive pain to the Spanish. The dancers emotively depicted each character keeping us totally engaging in the colourful spectacle right to the end. The last dance- a traditional carnival piece- saw most of the couples flirting (again!) whilst acrobatic clowns tumbled around the stage and into the audience. This continued right through to the bows when the dancers came from the stage- one grabbing Blakey´s arm and encouraging him to dance with her. I wasn´t quick enough with the camera to capture the moment before I too was taken by the hand. By the end most of the audience members had been led to the stage for the energetic finale and once all assembled in a large circle my partner led me to take centre stage- it seems I can steal the show even when part of the audience!



We walked back to the hostal buzzing and after fending off a drunken local trying to offer his services as a tour guide were soon tucked up and asleep. The next morning we had an early start to catch the bus to Tarabujo.



It felt a bit of a struggle as we reluctantly flung the covers of and headed for a basic breakfast the next morning (ALWAYS slightly stale bread, slighty dodgy tasting butter and jam and a mediocre coffee- free, but you can´t imagine how exciting cereals with milk and Warburtons bread is right now!) Still, we managed a brief internet check before boarding the slow bus as it heaved its load of grigos up the nearby hills and though the beautiful Bolivian countryside to the small market town for a mid-morning bargain hunt.



The market had been described as one of the most colourful in South America and there certainly were a great number of interesting faces and characters wearing traditional costumes, large lumps of coca leaves stuffed into the sides of their cheeks. Many would have made an interesting cover for a National Geographic but I can´t help but struggle with the concept of taking pictures of people in this way- it seems a little patronising. Add to that the fear of some of the women that cameras can steal souls and we weren´t too trigger happy, though hopefully we captured the mood of this place sufficiently.



The town itself was fairly intersting- the central plaza contained one of the most grotesque statues I have ever seen. A life sized plaster model depicted a local Bolivian standing over a slain Spaniard with a gaping bloody hole in his chest. The victor was holding the dripping bloody heart, teeth bared and bloody with still more blood running from his mouth and down his chin. The artist had managed to capture his eyes full of fury with a hint of psychopathy- nice! Rarely have I seen towns so proud of the brutal and violent struggle for victory- many depict their heroes as upright and noble instead- this was truly frightening!



For us, the market itself was a little disappointing- after the live frogs, snakes and other strange things in the markets of China this was a little tame. Stalls were clearly either for locals,selling rather boring everyday items like clothes, shoes and the same kind of bric a brac you would see in Eastleigh on a Thursday or Saturday, or aimed at gringos selling "stereotypical" weavings and llama wool products. After ssing an American guy sporting a long llama patterned poncho and traditional hat we decided that he looked like too much like a "stereotypical" knob, and were somewhat put off. Still, when we came to leave we had acquired a couple of souvenirs and were pleased to have ventured further out into the countryside just to see the sweeping views across the hills and valleys that decorated the route there and back.



We returned that aftenoon and after our relativaly late night, early morning and bumpy ride we did little else than take advantage of Facebook chat and wander the streets before finding another satisfying, romantic and incredibly cheap meal. We returned to indulge in cable TV- though I soon fell asleep as Blakey excitedly relived his childhood whilst watching Sharon Stone and Arnie get it on in Total Recall.



Feeling fairly satisfied with all we had achieved in Sucre so far, on our last day we planned to visit the dinosaur tracks- a nearby collection of pre-historic footprints. Well, our pace is certainly starting to slow up as we had such a long lie in that I finished the newly acquired book and Blakey completed his last Sudoku puzzles and we both missed the bus! Not too dissapointed after hearing some rather mixed reviews of the place we were left with one final afternoon to make the most of the best cafes and prettiest streets we have seen so far in Bolivia. It certainly feels indulgent taking things so easy here- but apparently that´s what the Boivians are famous for!

Bloqueos

At 11am we were eagerly sat on our backpacks at the side of the dusty road waitingfor a bus that would take us to a town we could only remember began with the letter V, and from there we were to get a connection to Sucre. Samaipata is such a small town that there isn´t a bus stop and we were told the bus could come any time around 11.30am and that when we saw it we shhould stand in the middle of the road and awave our arms around as the driver wouldn´t be expecting to pick up gringos. We had been sat there since 11am and at about 12 noon a local man speaking fluent English approached our now sandblasted faces and told us that there hadn´t been any pubic transport along here in three days- something to do with the government and what he had heard on his radio. He seemed a bit of a loco so we weren´t quite sure what to believe. Laura headed up the road to ask others what they had heard, but unhelpfully she was sent to the building next door at each place she arrived until there were no more buildings to be sent for.



Our patience had melted under the blazing sunshine by 12.30pm. By the time it reached 1pm it was clear the 11.30 bus was not going to pick us up, so admitting defeat we picked up our belongings and headed back to the town centre to figure out how on Earth we were going to leave today. We had been told about 4 night buses that pass through, but frustratingly everywhere that we had found to be helpful was shut for a siesta- the only possible thing to do was find somewhere to eat. We sat in a cafe just off the plaza called ¨Mad Cow¨and enjoyed a large jug of lemonade that we drew out as long as we could whist writing up diaries and generally passing the time with fingers crossed we would soon find a solution.



A couple of hours later and we returned to the Roadrunners guys who had given us the information the day before. This time we were greeted by a lady we had not met before and who was exceedingly helpful- much more so than the guys had been, giving us the addresses of four companies that would sell us a ticket on a night bus for that evening which avoided the need to change at the other village and would see us arrive there by morning. The first place we were sent was right back to pne of the buildings that Laura had already visited in search of information in the morning- the one at the end of the road. Once again the monosyllabic guy grumbled a resoundingly unhelpful "No" and turned his back on us without any more information. Our patience was wearing thin.



We annoyingly huffed back to town again to find another agent who thankfully could help us- but by now it was too late in the day to book the damn ticket! The bus from Santa Cruz would have left the station just 15 minutes ago and so we were stuck here for another day. I was beginning to clench my fists under the table when the phone call she to the bus company to secure tickets for next day ended abruptly- we weren´t even able to go tomorrow. It seemed the crazy guy from earlier wasn´t so crazy after all- we had been stranded by a series of lorry strikes that had placed blockades around the highland towns- no-one was able to get in or out of any of them and we were to be stranded until Friday at least. She agreed to try again tomorrow for us and we just had to keep our fingers crossed.



We headed back to our hotel where to the owner´s delight we booked in for the next two nights at least- potentially the unforeseeable future. In our extra 2 and a half days we were free to arrange some lovely outings in the area- but our next pay check was not due in the bank for another four days- we had just enough money to sleep and eat so a pricey trek in the National Park was out of the question. We were stumped for ideas- we had eaten in every restaurant, gone online in the one internet cafe far too many times already and were getting to know all the locals by which shops they owned. We knew the little town like the back of our hands- maybe it was tme to get a job here?!



I don´t think that there has been a single moment in the last 6 months that we culd say we were bored, but for the next two days we certainly came close. The first day was not so bad- having the hotel available for the whole day we indulged in a long lie in, planned further engagement parties and wedding details and lazed in the pretty garden on the comfortable hammock. The greatest adventure came when Laura tried to use the incredibly dangerous gas stove. An appliance that would certainly be banned in the UK- the owner set the huge flame going when he connected a gas bottle to the rusty counter with a very dodgy hose pipe. The appliance hissed into life, and when he dropped the match from a nervous distance the flames rose high enough to take his eyebrows off. Apparently Laura struggled to stir her porridge continuously whilst keeping the skin on her arm intact as the violent heat burnt the oats to the bottom of the visciously bubbling pan. I was calmly relaxing in the garden when she came screaming out to get me to help her control the flames- she had tried to turn the appliance off and the flame burst from the switch she had used, turning the dial into a flame thrower with fire shooting out and almost touching the roof. I shouted for the owner who came running to our aid- threw water across the flames to dispell them for long enough to try and fiddle with the dial and control the seeping gas. When he finally turned the gas bottle of at the other end we collapsed into nervous hysterics as he mutter the understatement "poco peligroso".



The next day was not so easily spent. We had to be out of our room in the morning and could only think of the internet as a distraction- rains through the night had turned the streets to muddy paths and the grey skies and chilly breeze made spending time outside less inviting. Halfway through a long to-do list we had constructed in a hope to make the most of this dead time a girl next to Laura told her she had been on the internet too long and that her friend was waiting- half shocked I apologised and hurried to finish what I was doing, though Laura was a little more frustrated by the rudeness of the girl when we left the internet 5 minutes later- we had been on a productive roll and who was she to tell us we had been there too long?! After wandering around fairly aimlessly and buying another cup of coffee so we might be able to sit in a cafe we really felt time beginning to drag. The following 5 hours passed slowly before we returned to the side of the road and eventually boarded our long anticipated bus to Sucre- it had better be good!!

"I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride it well"

Glad to escape the devil child we disembarked onto the dusty streets of Samaipata. The first sight of this town gave the impression we had arrived in a tiny little backwater, but a walk around the corner of the cobbled street brought us ti a row of hotels and tour operators. We soon checked into the beautiful Residential Don Jorge where the rooms surrounded a plaza complete with a fruit-laden pomegranate tree (a few of which were picked, eaten and delicious).

A wonder down into the town revealed the pleasant plaza full of trees and monuments to various Bolivian historical figures. The red tiled roofs sat atop sand coloured plastered houses giving views through to the rolling green mountains in which this small town nestles. At 1,800 metres the temperature here has been steadily delightful and the days blessed with blue skies and golden sunshine. It has been easy to enjoy the relaxed and lovely vibe of this beautiful town.

Other than stroll around we did little more on our first day than get information from some helpful German guys that have settled here and run Roadrunners tour agency. Letting us know everything from the tours they run to the best places to eat we headed out to test their theories and took an early night. It had been quite a journey to get here- particularly for Blakey!

The next morning we took a leisurely approach to the day- it really felt like a lazy Sunday. The small collection of ex-pats that have settled here has led to some homely treats, including freshly baked croissants for breakfast. We then took some bread (also freshly baked) with us for a pretty stroll up a nearby hill to the ´Refugio Zoologico´. Nothing in comparison to the Santa Cruz zoo, this tiny refuge held a collection of animals bought injured from the wild whom had become too accustomed to their human carers to be re-released. The animals here have become so accustomed that many are not caged but simply roam free around the small grounds. This led to a little confusion when Blakey, carrying our picnic, was told to be careful as there was a cheetah wondering around that could become aggressive if we didn´t hand food over. We soon realised it was not quite as dangerous as it initially seemed, and that cheetah was actually the name of a monkey!

After a look around the small collection of cages with curious animals that seemed as pleased to see us as we were to see them, we encountered a number of cute little primates. A couple of squirrel monkeys were curled up in a hammock strung up outside the house and two larger monkeys with copious amounts of confidence sprang onto the shoulders of the keepers, curling their long arms and tail around their necks like an elaborate scarf.

We sat and ate our lunch in the pretty spot, looking out across the hills and watching a spider monkey jump around excitedly. We were almost ready to go when the best guide we had met since starting our travels arrived. Dennis was a young French boy, no more than 11 years old, who had moved with his family to a village about an hour away. He had been staying in Samaipata for the week to attend school and the roads were too dangerous after recent rains for him to return for the weekend, so the Swiss family that own the zoo were looking after him. It was clear this was a home for home for him as after politely addressing us in Spanish he switched to English in order to tell us more about the inhabitants of the zoo.

As he finished feeding a caged group of monkeys he put his head to the wire for them to groom him as they do for each other in the wild. As a couple pulled and tugged at his hair he explained that the large female in the cage had given him the deep scar on his cheek, so he was weary of her. Still, he knew it was in their nature and seemed utterly forgiving as the others enjoyed his attention.

After a while he wanted to show us the singing monkey- one of the larger monkeys that had been wondering around. Locating it in a nearby tree Dennis whipped out his mobile phone and started to play Avril Lavigne´s ´´I don´t like your boyfriend´´. To start with the monkey just looked bemused so he climbed the tree to sit with him, at which point the monkey started making the deepest, quite scary guttural sounds. This monkey was a skater boi!

Dennis was enjoying sharing this place with us and wanted to show us the female of the pair- the infamous Cheetah, as well as a coati, one of his favourite animals. Expecting to start searching around he took us straight to one of the cages where he opened the doors and invited us in. His relaxed confidence and enthusiasm for the creatures put us at ease and before we had even stepped through the second door Cheetah was draped around my neck, the coati was greeting Dennis like a puppy with it´s owner and Blakey had a wild pig rubbing his legs and licking his ankles. The animals all swapped their affections a few times with us and our day was made. Thanking Dennis wholeheartedly we started the rambling descent back to town to enjoy our pictures and video footage. This was fast becoming another town on our favourites list.

The next morning we were up early in a bid to phone home, but a long wait at the bank led to a leisurely breakfast and a short wait to ensure Blakey`s Granny would have returned from her birthday lunch for a call from her strapping grandson. After a nice catch up we headed back to town to see the sights surrounding this area. Hopping in a taxi we travelled up a bumpy and steep path to the pre Inca site of El Fuerte. Sat on top of a peak the area was beautifully positioned for views across the distance. Again we wondered peacefully around the large circuit taking in the strange carvings of this huge exposed rock. In hindsight maybe we should have splashed out for a guide as we did not know the significance of what looked like a life sized model village sculpted in the rocks here. Carved rectangles and oblongs represented doors and windows with faded carvings of jaguars and geometric patterns adorning the fake houses. It seemed the rock was solid so the place could not have been functional- we will have to google it when we get home! In addition the sight was surrounded by the remains of walls from an Inca settlement that found El Fuerte and decided it was cool enough to set up camp next to.

That evening, after an email from home about wedding invitations, we had a long discussion about when we would return home and when we would let people know. A few months ago we had to book a return flight and had decided to go for an earlier date then originally planned but did not want to say in case we changed our minds and stayed longer. Now we decided that we would be returning then, and as much as we liked the idea of turning up on our parents doorstep out of the blue to see their faces, we liked the idea of organising parties and ensuring people had the time off work to attend even more. We resolved to call home again the following day and let everyone know.

But when we woke up in the morning we had a day of activities planned first. Having hired bikes from the friendly Roadrunner guys we both took to the saddle to descend 500 metres over 20 kilometres to the nearby ´Cuevas´, a set of waterfalls. Leaving our hostel we both wobbled most ungracefully on the cobbled road in a way that did not bode well. The slightly rusty bikes needed chains oiling as the gears constantly cracked, often changing of their own free will. Blakey`s brakes seemed to cause his bike (with no tire tread left) to veer to the right significantly, where as my brakes just had little effect at all. It was with much trepidation that we took to the dodgy, pothole ridden main road with the infamous Bolivian drivers (thankfully not many, but more often driving huge, wide heavy trucks) that would blare their horns the moment they passed- often making Blakey jump in that special way he always does! The first half hour of the journey was not at all fun as we struggled to control our dodgy bikes as the road rapidly descended. We stopped to wipe the sweat from our brow- not from hard work but from pant-wetting worry that we were going to swerve beneath the wheel s of one of these huge trucks! Thankfully, after discussing how less than ideal the journey was turning out to be we rounded a corner and the road started to run far more flat. The next hour was much more leisurely, allowing us to appreciate the pretty views of the dark green hills and condors flying overhead.

The last part of the route was not well displayed on the map. It looked as though we needed to follow a gravel road for ´Bella Vista´ and turn off for ´Las Cuevas´. We found the road and started to walk up the steep gravel track though it did not seem right. It wasn´t, but we enjoyed the ´Bella Vista´ mountain range ahead, the large pretty butterflies we passed and whirled away the time imagining our own Grand Design inspired by houses we had just cycled by and it`s multitude of features (winning lottery tickets will be required!)

When we had walked far enough to confirm it was not the right way (well over an hour now) we headed back and found the actual entrance to the waterfalls. By comparison the walk along the manicured path was a little tame and the resulting view slightly underwhelming, but we sat with our well earned chocolate bars and enjoyed the view before turning back to start the long journey uphill.

As we peddled up hard we soon began to worry that this was not as achievable as first hoped. Our bikes creaked as we pushed against the pedals with the gears still changing on their own accord with a large clank and sudden alter in tension- OK when it became loose but difficult to control when it felt like we could not push through the cycle. My chain had fallen off 3 times when I started to loose all hope of getting back- especially as I was so keen to call home and let parents know how soon we´d be back with them. We cycled for about an hour and stopped to get refreshments, then a little further still when we sat and enjoyed some more of our drinks along with a stunning view of a church backed by the hills. The church must have been blessed as soon after we were sent a saviour- our taxi driver from the previous day. For just 3 pounds he put his seats down, loaded the bikes and their riders and ferried us up what seemed like a very long and steep distance back to town. Still, Blakey got him to drop us a little further down the road and peddled 50 metres or so to the tour office for a dramatic brake scrunch and impression that we ha d not cheated at all. The owner was utterly shocked- most people bring them back in taxis!

So our last night in Samaipata involved phone calls home that were met with satisfying and touching excitement followed by what felt like a splash out meal in a lovely restaurant. We enjoyed delicious food at our candle lit table with a large jug of fresh lemonade and shared
an indulgent pudding all for 10 pounds. It felt great, to be so excited about going home and yet to have such a brilliant few days in this gorgeous town. We are so lucky to be having so much fun!

Cruz-ing on

Getting on board the Expresso Oriental, otherwise known as the Death Train, wasn´t the best sounding mode of transport to enter our next country, Bolivia. It´s not quite clear why it was named this, but from what we heard it´s from a time when passengers would prefer to sit on the roof to avoid links with the dodgy cargo they were smuggling. Back then the train would often be so full of "goods" that it would derail itself and a handful of the passengers would fly to their graves. Looking around at the amusing safety notices it seems that jumping from carriage to carriage via the windows as opposed to the doors isn´t allowed anymore.

If it wasn´t the train that was going to kill us (particularly as we sat obediently in our chairs, in a carriage) then perhaps it was the swarm of smiling mosquitoes trapped inside with us having a feeding frenzy going from one person to the next. After Laura had clapped with extreme precision over the majority of the buzzing bloodsuckers my next fear was that the Julio Iglesias DVD was going to stay on repeat for the entire journey like some form of horrific Chinese torture. After one hour´s worth of the most painfully cheesey budget music videos full of the middle aged crooner surrounded by swarms of attractive teenage girls bursting with emotion (obviously brought forth by the power of his music) it came to an abrupt end and we were subjected to what at first looked like a thrilling British movie. To our disappointment not only was it tragically dubbed but it was strangely drenched in reverb that gave the impression we were travelling through a never ending underground tunnel.

None of the problems mentioned so far were that bad really and we were actually finding it quite pleasurable to be part of such an experience- in fact we were more bemused than anything. The most irritating part of the journey was the rather obese (to put it politely) lady in front of me who reclined in her apparently broken chair to rest her weight nicely on my knee caps. She then took to swaying her hand behind her head which led to me getting touched up every so often inches away from my manhood! I´ll forgive her though, as she did have a very cute, cool baby boy who kept us entertained for a large part of the trip (which we disguised as keeping him amused!). He kept jumping over the seat and pretending to shoot us with his finger and everytime we fell back in our chairs with a look of pain he would laugh hysterically. He was quite the ladies man too as he bashfully looked up at Laura and blew her kisses.

For the rest of the journey the only other niggles were the jolts the train would make as it chugged over what felt like tracks made of rocks and every time we had to stop at a station a group of women would get on board and pace up and down the isle selling sticks of greasy meat that smelt like dog.

I certainly had one night´s sleep that I wouldn´t forget in a long while but the next morning as we pulled up in Santa Cruz station I was just pleased to have lived to tell the tale. Within a couple of minutes walk we had found a hotel charging a delghtful 3 pounds a person for a room that included ensuite and cable TV (including channels full if some very uncensored hardcore afternoon romping!)

Wandering around the streets the nearby neighbour came across a lot more run down and industrial than expected and at first we struggled to find a place to eat breakfast that looked even vaguely appealing. Most street vendors sold their precooked food along the road in plastic cabinets with the odd fly or two gracing the inside. With nothing else on offer we settled for a cafe with a lovely smiling lady stood behind a small collection of tasty looking cakes and fresh egg buns. Two of those egg buns with some chunky mugs of very satisfying cofee later and it had only cost us one pound for the lot! Bolivia might be the first country since Asia where we manage to save some money- or at least stick to our budget!

With not much else to see for now we returned to our hotel and checked our map to find out why there was a distinct lack of attractions around. It appeared we had booked in to accomodation a good taxi ride from the beauty of Santa Cruz´s central plaza. It really didn´t matter and we planned to head for the centre of town for dinner later in the afternoon but first we went for a rest. Laura indulged in a well over due luxurious wash (and, to tell the truth, shave- there are elements to travelling that neither of us find so glamorous!!) I chose to create an impressive lake of saliva on my pillow for the next few hours instead.

That evening we caught a taxi over to a very sophisticated looking part of Bolivia´s largest city. We were greeted with the sight of a pristine plaza overflowing with lush green trees that were shading the locals as they got their shoes shined. The dinner we ate in a cafe right in front of the beautiful cathedral was superb and the evening quickly crept in as we relaxed after our train wreck of a journey here. We decided to walk back and save the one pound taxi fare, having studied the route to get here. After a good hour of wandering round and getting completely lost we found our room and were asleep within minutes.

With everything so far being as cheap as chips we headed out to find out more about a tour to the Jesuit Missions. We waited for a lengthy half hour sat in an office as hot as a sauna to be quoted 160 each for a days trip to see a church. We weren´t sure when we thought it was in Bolivianos (the equivalent of 16 pounds) but had a very quick answer when we were told it was actually US dollars! Instead we left and headed for a park the Lonely Planet had described as being a nice place to relax and paddle boats around the lagoon. We arrived at what looked like a prison yard, filled with concrete, surrounded by a metal cage and swarming with police. It didn´t look like much fun.

Our last hope was to visit the local zoo- but our experience of "animal welfare" in some other underfunded countries meant we weren´t holding our breath. The chance of breathing in any oxygen at all would have been greatly appreciated as we took a micro to the zoo with a driver saving up for something special with the 10p he made from each passenger that boarded the little mini van- the amount of us squeezed in there may have been a world record attempt.

For one pound each we could enter what from outside looked like a little brickhouse that might have some parrots and a couple of snakes if we were lucky. Once we stepped through the gates though it was like entering a tardis- this was going to take us all day to get around. To our delight the zoo had been set up to showcase local South American wildlife and to educate about their welfare and endangered status. The animals looked in great condition wih a decent amount of space to jump, swing or slither around. One of our favourite parts was a truly massive cage that had so much vegetation inside that it disguised the fact we were actually in a zoo. Even better was the mixed collection of wildlife that were allowed to wander freely in our path, leading to some fantastic close encounters. Our first meeting was a fast paced tortoise who kept chasing us and snapping with his mouth when we got to close with our camera. We spotted all types of animals living amongst the greenery from colourful parrots, weird nosed ducks and twig legged flamingoes- though our greatest surprise came when we noticed the amount of wildlife outside the cage. Animals from the wild had chosen to come and live here too, so whilst we stood inside the cage a family of monkeys were swinging from the branches of a nearby tree outside and on to the the high roof of the cage, annoying the parrots. As if that wasn´t enough excitement our first sighting of a sloth crawling eerily above us had is in spasms of joy!

We tore ourselves away from this wonderous tropical area and the moment we stepped outside to walk to the next sight we came face to face with a sloth who was being taken away from a group of rheas it was bothering. Laura asked to take a photo and instead ended up holding this insanely weird creature that wouldn´t look out of place as a Star Wars extra. I too then had my hands under its hairy armpits whilst the sloth swayed its sharp claws around at a snail´s pace. It was a real highlight holding something that I only realised exsisted a few days ago (despite the number of times I have seen Ice Age!)

We spent hours continuing around one of the best zoos we have ever been too getting hyper over seeing anteaters, jaguars and all sorts of animals we hadn´t got to spot during our time in the Pantanal. Eventually we left and after another thoroughly enjoyable dinner bed called. It had been a great day in the end.

We were starting to feel that our adventures in Rio and on safari were catching up with us the next day and Laura had a bit of a cold, so we decided to have a day of doing nothing much other than calling home to wish Bryony a Happy Birthday, catch up on blogs and watch some crappy TV (cable offer English language channels!!)

After a well deserved rest we attempted to get on a bus to Samaipata. It took around two hours of being pointed in different directions to finally find our transport but soon we were on our way. We had the pleasure of sitting next to a gorgeous looking girl with sweety stained teeth and a "I love flowers" Tshirt. This young princess wanted attention and started a nice game of slapping our thighs and kicking our ankles which she found very funny indeed. As the journey progressed she moved from scratching, to pinching and finally to to biting whilst her mum paid not the slightest bit of attention. The naughty girl finally behaved herself after a teenage kid pointed towards his belt and whispered something threatening. Towards the end of the journey we realised that the lady sat near us wasn´t the girl´s mum- she was actually travelling with her grandmother who was sat at the front of the bus making her behaviour far more understandable though no more desirable. I was very grateful to escape her when we finally arrived in Samaipata.

Into the Wilderness

We left Rio on a hot day, exhausted but satisified, and took our place on what promised to be one of our last long over land journeys to Campo Grande. 20 hours later we arrived at the brand new bus terminal and started to search for a company to guide our adventure into the wilderness of the Pantanal. The guidebook promised hundreds of options but the relocation to a new out of town station left us just one company running a four day trip to their lodge. Scraping our pennies together we took the all inclusive package and the deal was sweetened with free accommodation for the night and a transfer across town- lovely. The remainder of the afternoon was spent stocking up on memory cards in the rather drab town.

The following morning we got up early for our 10am pick up and after a quick breakfast I headed for a nearby ATM to withdraw the extra cash we owed, having hit our maximum withdrawal the previous day. For so early in the morning the sun was really strong and as soon as I arrived at the nearby machine it was clear I had further to go in the heat- it was out of order. Asking a local for directions- both of us speaking broken Spanish- I obviously misunderstood as I did not find another bank but walked in a large circle before realising how late it was getting and that Blakey would be worried. I returned empty handed and reassured him that I had not been mugged, thankfully to find another girl waiting for the same tour in our lobby who had been equally unsuccessful in her serach for cash. We resolved to ask our guide to drive us to an ATM en route.

By the time anyone came to pick us up we could have walked into the centre of town and back again, but even with the large group waiting myself and Ashling, the Irish girl that was also penniless, were sent into town on foot. We trekked from bank to bank, each one refusing our cards becoming increasingly worried that we were not going to get any money in this town and be stuck here for ever. The sixth place we visited allowed us to take money, over 45 minutes later. We hurried back to the waiting group, anticipating anxious boyfriends, only to find them chatting amicably and enjoying a free coffee whilst we wiped the sweat from our brows and boarded the mini bus with embarrassment. It was almost an hour and a half since the schedule leaving time.

But we were off. It was a long ride into the hot and humid wilderness along bumpy dusty roads that soon became bumpy muddy roads as we hit the flood plains. After hours of driving we were all turfed out into the blazing sun to wait for an opensided truck. That then took us on to a ferry across the high waters of the river- the old bridge being in a state of utter disrepair- and then bumped and threw us around as far as the road could go, to all be turfed out again. This time we waited in the mosquito infested heat of the late afternoon for a tracker to tow us in a big trailer through the deep flooded plains to the Pousada Santa Clara.

When we arrived the small farm was like an island in the middle of a huge swamp- dark, dank, still waters all around. As we entered we instantly knew it was worth the drive as hundreds of birds filled the lawns and trees and we were shown to our nice rooms in the small resort. The farm setting is a great excuse for this company to remain eco-friendly whislt encouraging local wildlife- there seemed to be plenty of bird feed for the chickens to share with masses of falcons, small bright green parrots and impressive red and blue macaws. There were also four domesticated wild pigs, a very tame wild deer (I think adopted by the lodge as there was no sign of its mother) and armadillos burrowing in the flower beds. Not only that, but we had spotted hundreds of caiman already- the little but mean looking alligators dotting the paths and waterways on the approach to the lodge.

After the long sweaty journey I soon headed back to the room for a shower and for some reason was really keen that Blakey should stay with me and wait- slightly unneccesary and clingy perhaps- but I wanted him to be there. He grabbed the camera and went straight back outside, leaving me to get on with it! I set the shower off to find a pathetic dribble due to the large crack in the shower head that was sending most of the water straight up the wall to a couple of exposed electrical wires. I tried to fix the head when something fell off the side and electrically charged water pored down the side giving me a nasty shock straight through my hand. I turned it of quickly and used the safer sink to refresh- informing a helpful and symapthetic member of staff when she came to tell me dinner was ready. Balkey returned to the room feeling a little guilty when he bumped into her and a handyman who explained his girlfriend had been shocked in the shower!

That evening we tucked into a satisfying Brazilian buffet and chatted to the Irish couple we had already met- Ashling and Owen- and a couple from London- Anna and Ashley. It seemed we had a really nice group to spend the next few days with in a really nice place, and tomorrow the fun would start.

We were up nice and early for our first adventure into the surrounding lands. This place really is cut off by water- still flood waters- and I could not help but remember my Dad´s advice: "Don´t go too close to the edge of the waters as that´s where the anacondas wait to strike." Well, this was advice we were going to have to ignore this morning. Our danger was lessened as we were to sit high on the backs of horses and trek through the plains- although for Blakey this could spell more disaster. Having never ridden a horse- his greatest contact coming from a viscious bite on the ear as a young boy, he wasn´t exactly confident. Add to this an allergy that has seen his eyes swell up and gallons of gunk form and you have someone that might not be suited to this! But he mounted that horse with a belly full of antihistamines and a chest full of courage and was actually quite good!

The beating hooves of the horses as we splashed our way through meant we didn´t see much wildlife but we all enjoyed the ride- even when the rain started to pour and we got rather wet- as it was warm in the air and our toes were trailing in the bath like heat of the flood waters the rain was a relief. The horses didn´t seem to mind it- they all seemed more concerned with pushing to the front of the pack. Blakey´s and mine had a definate attraction to one another- which was just as well as mine sent a few of the oher horses and their riders off on a sudden trot as he bit the competetion to get them out of the way! By the end the whole group seemed more relaxed and confident in the saddle with a few of the boys disappointed they didn´t get a good gallop out of them when the gate of the farm came in to view. However, we were all quite relieved to peel our wet clothes off and I walked like John Wayne back to our lodge- my legs were stuck in a bow position for a little while after!

As we waited for lunch the sun soon came out and burnt through all the clouds, leaving a beautiful clear blue sky. This afternoon we were going on a boat trip to spot wildlife along the shores of the river. Previous to coming here we had been told that the wet season was the best time to come as the water forces the wildlife into small pockets of land and it is easier to see when it is all condensed. Now we were being told that the dry season was better as the wildlife would congregate around the few waterholes which made predicting their movements easier and getting around to spot them more practical. Still, as we sailed along we saw many birds- particularly kingfishers, caiman and even a few monkeys hiding in the trees. The wildlife was not as abundant as I had initially expected but soon we sat back and just enjoyed the pretty scenery as the tall palm trees and beautiful exotic flowers were reflected in the mirror like surface of the water. My day was made when after weeks of hoping we spotted some toucans in the wild.

That evening we returned for another meal with the other couples and got chatting about weddings. Ashling and Owen had become engaged during their travels about the same time as us, but they had decided to get married in New Zealand just two months later. However, they had also been facing the stresses of wedding planning as they were returning to the UK in just a few days and were planning a reception/ welcome home party. That evening we swapped stories and tips and chatted about the perils of free bars (which inspired some brilliant anecdotes) Although Blakey snuck off with a headache early the rest of us headed to bed only when the lights were turned out and the guides had all turned in.

The next morning I was glad i hadn´t joined the others in polishing off all the wine the lodge possessed as we were out early with our guide again- this time fishing for pirhanas. First we had to get to the fishing spot which meant wading across the flooded plain. Shoes off and shorts on we pressed our feet into the squidgey slimey river bed and progressed quickly from ankle to knee to thigh high water- the same water we were about to fish for flesh eating pirhanas in! Once there we were each handed a bamboo rod with hooks primed with raw meat and dipped them into the river. Then we realised we had been fairly safe as we waited... and waited. A short time later and Ashley, a keen fisherman at home, had caught a cat fish and two fish related to pirhanas (though instead of pointed fangs their sharp teeth had flat edges). We waited a little longer when a sudden tug on my line let me know I´d caught one too! After that everyone managed to reel at least one in, with a few actual pirhanas amongst the catch. Blakey was amongst the last, but then caught three in a row. It had been quite a relaxing and rewarding morning by the time we headed back for lunch.

After our break we were to head out for the last of our activities. In some quite clever marketing we had been offered a jeep safari, jungle trekking and a night safari which were all to happen this afternoon (drive there, walk around, drive back in the dark!) Having crossed my toucan off the list I was looking for a closer view of the monkeys. Owen had his heart set on seeing a capybara- something we had been given the impression were more than abundant out here, we all liked the idea of seeing a jaguar and only wanted to see an anaconda if it had just eaten.

In the end we saw many more birds: kingfishers, toucans, macaws, falcons and others, another couple of armadillos, a herd of wild pigs, wild deer and hundreds of caiman. When we went for the walk we did get to see the monkeys up close as the sat lazily in the trees above us. It felt really special seeing them here- in Asia we had seen so many but they were so used to humans it was almost like going to a zoo, here they were definately wild animals and it was a privilege to see them so close. We also saw coatis and though no jaguar, the remains of something it hads polished off earlier. After that our walk saw us become far more involved in looking down. Our guide had given us the impression there might be more wading to do when in the afternoon he said it would be OK to wear shorts and flips flops. Instead we were stood in the middle of the jungle at dusk getting eaten alive by mosquitos. Worse than that were the vicious little red ants who repeatedly inflicted their painful burning stings. We were quite glad to get back in the van and out of harms way at the end of the walk!

Driving back it soon turned very dark and in the spot light from the jeep we became even more aware of how many hundreds of caiman swarm this area. Taking to the water to feed at night the light picked up dozens of bright orange eyes reflected in the beam quite eerily. However, still no capybara!

Our final morning at camp arrived and before we were due to head our separate ways there was one more activity planned. To let us relax and lean back they had organised tubing down the river- again the pirhana and caiman filled one! We each grabbed an inner tube and hopped on the boat to journey up stream before laying back in the tube and gently floating back to our starting point. Most of us managed this quite gracefully, though Owen managed to fall out of his tube leading to a rather chaotic scramble to redeem his place. We were soon back at camp to shower, pack and leave. We had enjoyed a great three days here and would have loved to have spent longer exploring his place but it was time to head on to our next country- Bolivia. Still, we had one final treat- as we drove out of the park there was a capybara at the side of the road- tick!

Carnival!

After almost 6 months of travelling we reached one of the most highly anticipated pin points of our entire journey. This one landmark has had quite a build up to it not only full of giddy excitement but also a great deal of stress and worry particularly on my parents behalf who have had their stomach`s tied in knots with fear that we will be raped, shot at or kidnapped for a large ransom of money. With that placed in my mind along with a couple of stories from other travellers I was certainly feeling mixed with emotions as we stepped out onto the trashed grafiitied streets of Santa Teresa.

Things certainly got off to a fantastic start in Rio though as we checked into our hotel where we would spend the next 5 days. We had expected our pre booked packaged accomodation to be basic at best but we ended up in a luxurious twin room with en-suite, cable TV, fridge, air-con and free breakfast and Internet. The latter being our next brilliant news of the day as Miss Brainiac received an email confirming her place of the Masters course! After a week of nail biting we really wanted to celebrate but our 22 hour ride here had left us wanting to snuggle in bed and save the drinking for the next 3 nights.

Well that had been the plan anyway as halfway through the evening there was a knock at the door. I was greeted by a lively New Zealand lass with her face painted like a cat telling me to join her for some punch and party games. She was called Vicky and her enthusiastic nature led me to say yes before I had time to think about it or ask Laura who had just finished in the shower and was nowhere near ready to go out. Vicky thern pounced off and knocked on everyone elses door on our floor. Trying to decide if I wanted to drink some free alcohol or finish watching the end of ´Marley and Me´ was an easy decision so leaving Laura to make herself look even more pretty than she already is I wondered down the corridor to see if the people at this party had any potential for a cracking night.

There was only 3 others in Vicky´s room, one being her twin brother Tom and 2 other New Zealand girls. Literally a minute later and I had a cup of vodka fuelled punch in one hand, a mini acoustic guitar in the other, a checkered trilby hat on my head and I was complete with drunkeredly drawn whiskers. One drink in and Tom and I were nominated to recruite more cats for the evening from the rest of the unknocked doors. You can imagine the quick responce we got from the other guests in the hotel. Most peolple looked utterly terrified while others thought by asking them to a party meant we wanted to sleep with them with one woman pointing to the room next to hers saying that it was full of young girls that would be up for it. Although we thought we had miserably failed our challenge, over the next hour flocks of curious people started to flood into the room with each person getting suitably painted up as soon as they sat down.

Laura was with me now and the hardcore drinking games began, none of which we had heard of before like the ridiculous ´vegetable, vegetable´ game which I did hilariously bad at leading to me downing a considerable amount more than the other players. A few dribbling hours later we hit the town feeling more than safe in our extensive crowd and the locals seemed to welcome our over jolly carnival spirit. We ended up in a street party at a place called the Arches where a mass amount of people were dancing Samba moves and celebrating in a simular fashion. It didn´t take long to notice how confident and self assured the Brazilian men are here as whether the woman in question did or didn´t have a partner they were going to try it on whatever! This normally involved introducing themselves with a grope, whistle or strange animal call. That didn´t go down so well with most people in our group but we all knew how offended the men can get if a woman rejects them, especially in public so the only option was to ignore them. Within a minute most got the message although it took a hard punch in the arm from one girl to get a sleazy man away who had decided to touch her rear cheeks. At 3am our energy had been drowned in vodka and after a disapointing mission trying to find a kebab and ending up with a healthy corn-on-the-cob instead, we retired to bed. It had been a brilliantly spontaneous and overly enjoyable first day in Rio.

The morning after wasn´t quite as enjoyable and our beastly heads wouldn´t move an inch not even for the free buffet breakfast downstairs. It appeared our time here would be spent hibernating during the day and going obsurdly wild at night. The only thing we manageduntil about 5pm was one Audrey Hepburn film and a poor 5 minute attempt outside to get some food before returning to bed again.

However, the evening was far more successful as despite a slightly intimidating bus ride with some drunk locals singing and shouting questions at us we were driven to the stunning Ipanema beach. We arrived just as the sun was setting beautifully across the surf perfect waves and shortbread like sand. There was a huge crowd streched along the coastline all going nuts around open top buses full of people dancing to PA`s pumping Samba beats as loud as possible.

We still felt somewhat delicate so we went for some food to revive our senses. Every restaurant was packed out with tables tightly squeezed together for the massive amount of people dining inside and the night club like queues of eager mouths waiting outside. The meal was well worth it but didn´t give us enough power to stop falling asleep the moment we got back to our hotel.

With hangovers now slept off we woke up on Valentines Day early enought to catch breakfast and felt motivated to have a romantic stroll around the spectacular sites in Rio. We took a minibus up to the summit of Corcovado to see the iconic statue of Christ the Redeemer and it`s incredible outlook over the city. Rio really does look magnificent from a distance with it`s postcard blue skies, lush green mountains and white sandy beaches. It has so much potential to be completely amazing but at street level it´s hanging on the edge of poverty. The homeless are dotted around each and every street corner lying across pavements and sleeping in awful conditions amongst the piles of garbage scattered infront of the once beautiful coloniual buildings that now have been plastered in ugly graffiti and stained black from traffic pollution. If the people here put as much effort into cleaning up and recreating Rio as they do for the carnival each year then this place would truly shine.

We spent the afternoon hunting through the local stalls in Santa Teresa for a vaguely impressive fancy dress costume ready for tomorrow night´s main event in the Sambadrome. We had more luck picking up the different parts of last night´s parade left in the trash along the road. Back at the hotel we assembled the pieces together hoping that a bit of cellotape here and there would make the ideal attire. But having a golden elephant headpiece, a shiny mermaid like dress and a white sheet nabbed off of the hotel bed wrapped around me like a roman´s robe didn´t quite have the overall look we were hoping for. We went out for dinner to think about it some more. One extra large pizza and a street party later and we had found some cheap but effective face masks along with a black curly superwoman esk wig for Laura and a vibrant mohawk for myself.

All dressed up we were oversome with the need to hook up with our hotel floor mates and rag the night away. Soon enough we were back in Tom and Vicky`s room with a whole host of new characters and ludicrous new drinking games. After we had all finished the last drop of alcohol from the ever present big green bucket in the middle of the room we decided to stumble up to the exit of the Sambadrome where we´d heard that the performers involved were simply dropping entire costumes as soon as they had finished their part in the parade.

The next 5 hours were some of the most enjoyable moments of not only this trip but the last 30 years of my life. There were gloriously decorated outfits absolutely everywhere ranging from silver tenticled space suits, 10 feet wide angel wings to human sized spider legs. I found an Egyptian Warrior looking attire complete with twisting green snakes and golden spikes that extended from my shoulders like another set of arms. Soon all of us had something mindblowingly flash on but it was Laura who completely stole the show. She had found a stunning white wedding dress that was as wide as she is tall. We all looked so good that the security thought we were part of the actual parade despite our white gringo faces and we were let into the main walkway of the Sambadrome infront of an audience of around 30,000 people. Then suddenly we were face to face with a camera crew who were filming us on live TV and on the big arena screens. The energy here was electrifying and we were all feeding off of it. The rest of the night was quite a haze of total brilliance and around 4.30am we were back in the hotel lobby being greeted by a room full of staff and guests looking somewhat amused and bewildered.

The following day was going to be all about the evening again which was lucky considering the jittery state I was cocoon`d in. The time to celebrate came around quickly but by then we were raring to go out if tonight was going to be even half as corking as the previous night. Laura and I headed out by ourselves as everyone else was taking ages getting ready and we didn´t want to miss a second of this.

When we got to the main entrance we were clapped upon and everyone standing there jumped next to us for a photo, it looked as if no one else had made much of an effort. Our costumes were so large that we had to temporarily take them off to actually fit through the gates and when we reached our sector that we would view the parade from it became clear why other members of the crowd hadn´t dressed up. The stands were so rammed that trying to slip past anyone with more than a bottle of beer was going to be a problem and Laura`s dress took up the size of about 6 people. Just as we were about to ditch our outfits not only did we find a prime view point but we were rampaged again by a endless supply of the audience wanting their picture taken with us. I mean literally hundreds upon hundreds excitedly hugged up to us like we were their favourite celebrity. Laura obviously got crowd fulls more attention especially from the men who chatted her up with some horrific one liners and it was all too much listening to the tourists who attempted to try it on speaking Spanish not having a clue that she was a fellow brit to which she totally played along with to get rid of them.

The carnival parade was the biggest, most over-the-top and colourful sight we`ve ever witnessed. The floats were unbelievable in size and creative design, each full of hundreds of dancers twirling and performing wild acrobatics. Behind each one was a thunderous percussion of drummers making the arena shake and bounce to the rhythms. Tonight there were around 6 schools each performing for an hour trying to whirl the crowd with amazement and all very easily doing so. I think we watched about 4 proccessions before leaving at 4.30am rather shattered. We walked back to our hotel, the air still buzzing, and after taking our costumes off snuggled down in bed to watch the last parade live on TV. what a night!

Aftre so much excitement we couldn´t bring overselves to check out after two hours sleep so we extended our stay by one more night. After a day of taking it easy we headed to the final part of Rio we planned to explore and headed for Copacabana. Once again Latin America demonstrated its immense stamina for parties as the bus we took was full of revellers. In particular there was a group of girls dressed as brides and "wedding" couples on board. This started with many locals- most of whom seemed to be strangers to one another before the girls placed the plastic rngs on there fingers- and then turned to my actual future wife and me. So we had our first wedding ceremony conducted in Portugese on a bus!

When we got off it was to enjoy a relaxing meal on the shores of the beach listening to the waves gently hit the shore. We had thoroughly enjoyed our time in Rio and were so pleased to have such a wonderful tale to tell of this city that came with so many forewarnings. If it wasn´t so expensive maybe we would have stayed longer!