Living on road time

In the northwest corner of Argentina, budged up against Bolivia, is the province of Salta. At close to 4000 km from El Calafate, it would have been a long drive for us even if Vanna was in good shape. To ensure getting to see this remoter part of Argentina we decided to fly to the province’s capital city, also called Salta.

Things did not get off to a good start. The taped together taxi had surely been retrieved from the junk yard, the driver dropped us at the wrong place, and when one hour later we finally arrived at our accommodation the owner gave us a studio instead of the one bedroom we had paid for. It took all day to get that sorted.

We spent a few days exploring the city which seems much poorer and scrubbier than Mendoza. The central square though is pleasant. The buildings surrounding the plaza include two museums which offered us a bit of regional history.

Also at the square is the Catedral Basilica de Salta, a large pink and white neocolonial structure, with a clock tower and a bell tower on either side of a central dome.

The interior is extravagant with thick columns, many arches and mucho glitter. We were struck by the 3D floor, an unusual pattern of black and white tile, which automatically draws your eye past the rows of dark wood pews to the main alter.

On our first day tour, the van took us up into the Nevado de Cachi mountains, through a lush dark green cloud forest. Next we entered a completely different landscape, a semi desert with low sage green shrubs and lime green grasses covering the surrounding slopes. We stopped at the highest point of 3457 meters, where we could see the clouds below us.

We purchased cheese from a farmer who was selling homemade goat cheese and llama sausage out of the trunk of his car. He said he milked the goats himself. 

At Parque Nacional de Cardones, a large cacti forest, we stopped to walk a trail through the spiny Cardón cacti which can grow to a height of 15 meters. Comically they look like large hands with fingers stretched upwards. Inside the cactus is a soft wood, used in carvings, furniture, and in some parts of building construction. Later we stopped at a church which used the cacti wood to construct the roof.

An unexpected aspect of the day were the coca leaves and the UFO sightings. According to our guide Martin, coca leaves are helpful in combatting everything from high altitude sickness to prostate cancer. He chewed mouthfuls of the stuff, at the same time describing his personal encounter with a UFO. It appeared out of these same red cliffs, hovered, and then soared straight up. But the only thing we saw soaring in the sky were condors. Which for us, was almost as exciting as seeing a UFO. 

So no UFOs for us. But then we did see ET.

We had lunch in the tranquil pueblo of Cachi. Wanting to try as much local food as possible we ordered the goat stew and the llama casserole. Both dishes came with rice, baked carrots and fries. Tasty.

We had time to walk around town admiring the Spanish colonial architecture. Adobe buildings with arched entrances, grate iron windows, and planter boxes full of green cacti.

The grey stone sidewalks are built up a foot higher than the street which looks attractive but sometimes makes walking awkward. You can’t just step into the street when you have to go around someone.

We took a peek inside Iglesia San José, a Spanish colonial church. Unlike the cathedral in Salta, it was very plain both outside and in, but the arched wood beam ceilings were beautiful.

On the edge of town grape vines marched up the hillside. In town, rows of large red peppers were drying on racks or on the bare ground. They are ground into pepper and sold along side many other herbs and spices that are grown here.

We took two more day tours each lasting over 12 hours. One was to the wine growing region south of Salta. We  drove through a 75 kilometre long red rock canyon, stopping at many viewpoints to see different rock formations. One large formation looked just like the Titanic. Another looked like a giant lizard. We also walked a short distance into two different caves. One of the caves was a massively high amphitheater where we listened to a musician playing a ukulele and a pan flute at the same time. Inside that rock, the sound was just beautiful. And the deep red rock colour was incredible.

In the cute little town of Cafayate we toured a local winery where they grow two grape varieties, Malbec and a local grape called Torrontés, which makes a semi sweet white wine. The tour was okay but of course we all enjoyed the tastings. Later Bob and I bought wine flavoured ice cream. What a great idea!

Other common local crops are corn, peppers, quinoa, and a fruit they called el cayote, which is similar to a small watermelon and is used for sweet treats and jams.

Our day trip to see the colored mountain was definitely a highlight. Leaving Salta at 7 AM, the tour van took a smaller highway north for 200 km to the pueblo of Humahuaca. Then unexpectedly four of us, Bob and I and a young couple from France, were switched over to a Ford 4×4 truck that was waiting in a parking lot. Everyone else on the tour went off to a restaurant. We were not sure where we were going.

But the truck was new and the owner was friendly. He drove us up a gravel switchback mountain past grazing Vicuña, to an altitude of 4350 meters. There the mirador offered the most amazing view. Looking across a valley we could see the Hill of 14 Colours, also known as Serranía del Hornocal. The layered hues are a result of oxidation of the many minerals present in the soft rock. Iron produces the red colours and the greens are from copper. Variations of yellow and white come from sulphur and lime.

The view was simply spectacular. Almost unbelievable.

On our three tours we visited not only the province of Salta but also the smaller province of Jujuy. Both have a strong indigenous culture with many of the town names coming from the Quechuan language. Unlike other parts of Argentina, street food here includes tamales, tortillas rellenos, and humitas, a corn mash steamed inside the husk.

Many market items come from nearby Bolivia with textiles woven in traditional blue, red and yellow patterns. Prominent goods in the market were brown earthenware pots and bowls, sweaters, kitted hats, toys, onyx carvings, and jewelry.

We passed through a town having an Independence Day celebration. Groups of women wore long traditional dresses and white hats. Men, many on horseback, wore wide brimmed black hats.

Noticeably, there were many more old vehicles still on the road in and around Salta. Which we take to be a sign of the economy here.

Regarding vehicles, our 23 year old Vanna is still at the mechanic’s shop.  She needs a new transmission but unfortunately there are no GMC transmissions to be had in Argentina. The model we need is no longer in production so a new one is out of the question. We initially thought we could buy a reconditioned one at home and have it shipped here. Big problem though. Argentina does not allow used car parts into the country. No exceptions. So the mechanic’s suggestion is to replace the automatic transmission with a manual one.

He says it will work just as well.

 

We had always intended to drive to Mendoza. But since we were still waiting for updates on our van we decided to fly there instead. As the wine capital of Argentina, it was definitely a city we did not want to miss.

Opting for accommodation in the city center we found ourselves directly across from the Plaza Independencia, a busy park with fountains, artisan kiosks and wide walking paths. We soon discovered that Mendoza was full of greenery; walking a few blocks in any direction brought us to another well maintained park. Even the sidewalks were nice. Instead of the usual potholed concrete, they were wide and constructed of various colours and shapes of tile which made for a comfortable and interesting walk.

A great variety of trees line the streets, apparently imported from countries around the world. Their oversized presence gives the city a natural ambiance and makes for pleasant strolling.

Not having our own transportation we decided on two popular day tours. The first was into the Andes mountains, at least a two hour drive west through desert landscape. The mountains here are devoid of plants, just mounds of bare multicoloured rock that is prone to landslides.

We took a short chilly hike through desert shrubs to catch sight of the tip of Mount Aconcagua, the highest peak in the Americas. We could easily see its south face with a notably large glacier spread across the width.

With binoculars we could also see the cracks that have formed in it, warning signs that it has started to melt, for the first time in known history. Global warming in plain sight.

Carrying on, the bus took a wickedly steep road up to the border between Chile and Argentina. The Continental Divide separates Argentina from Chile and true to the rivalry between these two countries, the exact line has never been decided. The road up probably had the most switchbacks that we have ever been on, and seemed like it would never end.

I was so glad that Bob wasn’t driving Vanna. Weirdly the only thing at the top is a statue of Christ that had been brought here years ago, before the road was built. On the backs of donkeys. We couldn’t quite figure out why.

Interestingly, the Inca road, the Royal Road of the Quechua, came through these mountains all the way from Ecuador to Mendoza.  And the irrigation system developed by the Incas is still in use today. Water from the glacier is channeled into waterways that nourish the surrounding vineyards. As well, water is diverted through the city via stone lined ditches along the streets. With less than 200 mm of precipitation per year., Mendoza is very much  a desert. Without this water system there would be no grape growing. Nada wine.

Our second tour allowed us a glimpse into the wine and olive oil production in this region.

Over 80% of Argentinian wine is produced here and surprisingly most is consumed within the country. One of the wineries we toured was a small family operation. Even though it is excellent, none of their wine is sold outside of Mendoza. So we purchased a few bottles with the hope that at least one might make it back to Canada. 🙂

The visit to the olive estate was a first for us. Although we commonly cook with olive oil, we had not understood the amount of difference there is between types of olives. After a walk and talk through the olive grove, a tasting was set out. We tasted each different oil by dipping into it with a piece of bread. The oils definitely had unique flavours.

On the tour we learned that the nearby village of Cachueta is famous for its hot springs. And it’s hard for me to pass up a day at the spa. To get there we walked to the main bus station and caught a local bus for a one hour drive to Parque de Agua, a public water park. It turned out to be a great way to spend a day.

Set inside a red rock canyon, there were a dozen rock lined pools of different sizes, on three levels. One of the pools had large slabs of rock set at an angle, so that you could lay down on your slab and properly lounge in the warm water. Everyone just stretched out and enjoyed.

Mendoza is a beautiful city with a laid back friendly vibe. We spent  much of our time walking in the parks or enjoying an outdoor restaurant. At the end of our week I found myself wishing we could stay longer. So glad we went. Hope we can visit again.

The Perito Moreno Glacier in southern Argentina is said to be one of the most impressive glaciers in the world. And luckily for us, after leaving southern Chile we were within a few hours drive of El Calafate, the town closest to the glacier.

Well, we saw this spectacular work of nature. But not quite in the way we expected.

For once there was no one lineup at the remote border crossing, when we entered back into Argentina. The officer stamped our passports, the only other requirement being to look at her puppy photos on her cellphone. It’s a pretty relaxed border. Ha ha. Three or four hours of driving through flat ranch land had us in El Calafate, population about 20,000. We found a campground and set up camp.

The following day we headed out to Los Glaciers National Park. The park has 48 glaciers, but Perito Moreno is the only one that is easily accessed. After a 45 minute drive we arrived at the park gate where we purchased a day pass. The foreigner price is steep at $40 US per person per day. From there it’s another 45 minute drive to the Visitor Center. We were enjoying the drive, going higher into the mountains. But suddenly Vanna lost power. Bob found a pullover spot and we stopped. Vanna refused to move. I guess she liked the view.

So this is why, hours later, Bob and I finally caught our first glimpses of this famous glacier through the windows of the Park Ranger’s Toyota truck. There was no cell service where Vanna balked and so Luis, the ranger, drove us the remaining way up to the Visitor Center. There he made several calls on our behalf, letting parks staff know what happened, arranging a tow truck, finding someone to drive us back to the van, and he even tried contacting his favourite mechanic. What a nice guy. Since the tow truck would not arrive until 5 PM, we had at least three hours to spend at the glacier.

In spite of the bad start, it was worth the effort.

You can’t help but gasp when you first see Perito Moreno. It’s one gigantic mass of slurpy blue. Thirty kilometres of ice spread as far as you can see. Deep ridges and crevasses cover the surface. And it’s massively thick.

Four kilometres of intertwining metal walkways, staircases and platforms take you down toward the water until you are almost face to face with the glacier’s icy wall.

Rising 240 feet above the water, the glacier’s face is marred with black fracture lines and deep scars. Fallen chucks bob freely in the glacial water below.

You can sense the glacier. Its presence is like some ancient creature, progressing, receding, waiting. 

There were loads of tourists. All just staring.

We spent as long as we could in the cold and mist but eventually we had to leave.  A ranger named Gabby cheerily drove us back to Vanna.

The tow truck driver Claudio arrived on time and after a long slow drive to town, found us a mechanic at a large shop. The transmission is damaged. No one here fixes transmissions, and Pablo the mechanic says he has to consult with experts in Buenos Aires. It will take weeks. Why so long? Because it’s Argentina.

So we had a lot of time to explore El Calafate. A range of sand brown cliffs straddle one side of town while the cold blue water of Lago Argentino lays on the other. At 160 kilometres long, it is Argentina’s largest freshwater lake. Snow capped peaks can be seen in the distance.

In the Centro, large old trees line the streets, some of the dark green now turning to yellows as fall approaches. Although the summer season is winding down, there were still plenty of tourists, families on vacation, and world trekking backpackers. The Centro is a pleasant strip about six blocks long with shops selling souvenirs, or tours or high priced clothing. There are plenty of restaurants offering outdoor seating. It’s quite pleasant.

It was about a 45 minute walk from our accommodation to the city center. So our daily routine was to get up, have coffee, walk to town, go for coffee, walk the strip, go for lunch, walk back to accommodation.

One morning we had coffee with Bernard and Ruth whom we met at the campground. German Swiss, they drive a Landrover and pull a small camper. We shared breakdown stories and we laughed over the time they had to take one trailer tire off. They drove for hours with only 3 wheels. “Slowly”, they said.

From time to time locals and travellers will offer up that they favor Canada in this unsettling political climate with the USA. Two conversations stand out. One occurred in the middle of our walk to the Centro. In El Calafate, some streets are paved, others are dirt and rock. On one of the dirt roads two women, of not a young age, were heaving on large hard sided suitcases, urging the wheels over the lumps in the road. They needed a rest. We stopped to chat. When they learned we were Canadian they launched into a long list of apologies, not just regarding Mr. T. but also apologies for having lack lustre education, a lack of good universal health care, a lack of concern for others, and more. Their anger and frustration was real.

The second was in a packed restaurant. Waiting for a table we chatted with a friendly retired couple from northern Spain.  Later, before leaving the restaurant Bob and I approached their table to wish them a good flight back home. The gentleman started yelling “Viva Canada! Viva Canada! Down with Trump!” Over and over. So loud that the entire restaurant could hear. We were astonished and kind of speechless. But also proud.

One of our other pastimes in town was to find money. It’s not easy. In Argentina, the only reasonable way for foreigners to get pesos is through Western Union. Fortunately, there are several offices in El Calafate. But unlike a bank, they only acquire pesos when someone comes in to pay a bill. More often than not, they have no cash. So everyday, from Monday to Friday, sometimes twice a day, we made the rounds of Western Unions, stopping to ask “-Tienes pesos? -No. -Gracias.” Finally on Friday at noon we were able to get 160,000 pesos. (160$US) Yay!

We can use credit card for groceries and restaurants, but we needed pesos for the taxi to the airport. We purchased a flight to Buenos Aires, planning for a week there. Just to get out of here.

So Saturday morning our flight is at 8:20 and we get the taxi for 7 AM and it drops us at 7:25 and we think “Great”. Right? Wrong. Not great. The airport is small. As soon as we enter we see people laying on the floor, others sitting up propped against luggage. There are no empty chairs. The cafeteria is packed. Turns out a fire truck was damaged and another has to be brought in from Rio Gallegos. No flights are coming or going until the truck arrives.

When we finally got to the boarding gates, we were treated to a live reenactment of a comedy movie. Ushuaia passengers you are now leaving from gate 2. Ten minutes later Ushuaia passengers are leaving from gate 4. No wait that’s gate 3. Ten minutes later, Ushuaia passengers are leaving from gate 2. And with every announcement a wave of grim faced Ushuaia passengers moved this way, then that way.

We finally boarded at 430.

It’s a mind game when things go wrong. We will get through it. One step at a time. And the good news – it’s not snowing. 🙂

After leaving the island of Tierra del Fuego we were in Fin del Mundo, as Chile’s most southerly region in often called. This area is separated from the rest of Chile,  the only way to get here being by air, by ferry or by driving through Argentina. Now was our chance to explore this remote and fascinating landscape. Three places were on our minds. Punto Arenas, Puerto Natales and Torres del Paine National Park.

Wind is featured in excess in this southernmost region. As we drove towards Punta Arenas the wind was whipping at 70 km/hr, giving Bob a workout with Vanna swaying in the gusts. Ferocious wind plagued us when we left the van, forcing us to bend as we tried to walk against it. Later we learned that park areas are monitored for wind in the same manner as fire threats. Color coded signs indicate that trails are closed when the wind gets over 80km/hr.

We camped in a pretty picnic area overlooking the Strait of Magellan, the body of water that defines Chile’s mainland. Fortunately there were a lot of trees protecting us from the wind. Claiming to be the most southern city in Chile, Punto Arenas has a classified tax free zone which makes it a shopping destination for many.

In the morning, we found the anticipated shopping area and ogled our way through the high priced outdoor stores selling name brand clothing like Patagonia and Helly Hanson. Then went to the bargain stores with their messy racks and bins. We were in search of puffy coats, the most comfortable and versatile outerwear for this cold windy climate. After trying on many (the sizing was odd) we finally purchased one each for 20$ a piece. I would normally wear a medium but the only one that fit was sized 3XL. And I haven’t eaten THAT much since leaving home.

A three hour drive brought us to Puerto Natales, a charming port town with a relaxed vibe. As we drove in to town a weird dinosaur like statue caught our eye. It turned out to be a monument of a Mylodon, an extinct type of sloth that existed a million years ago. Well preserved remains were found in 1895, in a cave a few miles from town.

On a visit to the Cueva del Milodon, we learned about this strange beast that had never ever been on our bucket list. With a thick dinosaur tail, large claws and a bear like head it seemed to be composed of various parts of different animals. Another creature that left its mark here is the Macrauchenia. The size of a camel it had a long neck and a short trunk for nostrils. Very weird. Humans also occupied this cave, possibly as early as 6000 BC. Although small in area, the cave was full of such extraordinary history.

We first heard of Torres del Paine National Park from a women we met one day in a campground in Argentina. She told us she had booked on the W. “You know the W and the O?” No we did not. But we soon learned that these are unusual names for two different backpacking treks in this park, the letters representing the shape of the trail. Backpackers come to this amazing wilderness park from around the world to trek here. A check on the bucket list.

Our permit for Torres del Paine park allowed for a three day visit. First we drove from one side to the other on the main road, then rattled down graveled winding back roads for the next two days.

Craning our necks one way or the other, we passed turquoise blue lakes, gushing waterfalls, and purple rock spires emerging from yellow pampas plain.

We gaped at one of the most spectacular and iconic sights of this park, the three dramatic granite towers called Los Torres. You can’t admire them enough.

We stopped to see the gushing blue waterfall of the Salto Grande, and then later the spectacular Cascada Rio Paine swirling around a giant flat topped central rock before falling down two sides and joining the river again.

To our amazement we were able to view two of the five large glaciers in the Southern Patagonian Ice Field. The Dickson Glacier forms a thick white layer above a dark blue mountain ridge, while Glacier Grey carves its way down the slopes to the lake below. Giant ice blue chunks of it float peacefully in the lake. It was all just astonishing.

The campground had a small picnic shelter at each site. Even so we pulled Vanna into protection behind some trees just trying to stay out of the wind. The mountains were just across the lake and we watched the rock change colors with the constantly changing weather.

We met a young couple, Mark and Audrey from Montreal, fellow Canadians who had noticed our Manitoba plates. They had each taken a long sabbatical from work, and on this leg of their journey had rented a car and camping gear in Puerta Natales. We had a good chat with them about renting versus owning, self driving versus organized tours. In the end we agreed there is no best way. Everyone makes their own unique choice. Like the Swiss couple who were pulling a small camper behind a LandRover, the two retired Argentinians in a new Sprinter van, or the dreadlocked guy who left camp early, his bicycle loaded with panniers.

We managed to do two short hikes in the park. From our campsite we hiked up Mirador Condor. It was our second attempt since on the first day, a descending hiker had told us that the wind was blowing people’s glasses right off their heads. So we had turned back. This time though, it was a relatively calm day. But as we climbed the wind became stronger. Combined with the height, the wind made me uneasy, as if with one great gust I would suddenly blow away. So before the mirador, I hunkered down by a rock and Bob got the photos from the top.

On another hike to Mirador Cuernos, avalanches thundered off the mountain snow as we walked through the grasses and shrubs along the trail. The reward at trail’s end was a turquoise shimmering lake backed by an impressive set of peaks called The Horns.

Contrasting the blue of the mountains, the dark green and dill yellow of the pampas is equally eye catching. There is a shrub called Calafate which produces a dark blue berry used in jams and ice cream. Another common shrub Mata Barbosa looked like a pillowy soft puff ball that has been cross-stitched with green thread. But it was prickly and unfriendly to the touch. Puma cats roam here, feeding off the Guanaco which are plentiful. On the outer edges of the park we watched gauchos herding cattle. Always with dogs. And one afternoon we stopped on the roadside to marvel at Andean condors soaring and swooping over a nearby cliffs.

Back in Puerto Natales, we strolled along the waterfront in the warm sunshine. Two sculptures caught our eye. The giant fingers of La Mano emerge from the earth, meant as a reminder of man’s connection to nature.

Amor al Viento depicts two people gracefully swinging in the air, celebrating the strong winds of the region. Their combined presence was a reminder of the importance and strength of nature that reaches beyond the visual. Beyond just enjoying the view.

On our last evening in Puerto Natales we ate dinner at a tiny Thai restaurant. The pad Thai was delicious but the luckier part for us was that the only free table was communal. We sat with Maria, a Chilean trekking guide and Marie, from France, who had just finished volunteering at a ranch where guests could experience the gaucho lifestyle. They both had great stories to share. We laughed a lot and learned so much from these two intrepid young women. Like that the pumas in this park are not aggressive, they look at you and walk away. And that one gaucho might herd 500 cows using 25 dogs.

Just him and the dogs. It’s hard to fathom.

But then that’s what makes this place so magical. The unimaginable is here. At the end of the world.

Overlanders who had been to a Ushuaia have often described it as cold, wet and windy. Some drive there, take a photo and leave, and we anticipated that we might do the same. What we had not expected was to be captivated by its beauty.

Getting to Ushuaia takes time. The city is located in Argentina, at the southern edge of the island of Tierra del Fuego, separated from the mainland by the Strait of Magellan. What makes it complicated is that  the island is owned by Chile on one half and by Argentina on the other. Just to get to the island there are two border crossings, first leaving Argentina and then entering Chile. Unfortunately for us it was a long weekend for Argentinians. Hordes of friends and families were all going to Chile for some duty free shopping. So the lines were long, and we stood for hours in a ferociously high wind. It was very cold.

Finally allowed into Chile, we drove a short distance to a ferry, crossed  the Strait of Magellan and arrived on Tierra del Fuego. Next was an hour and a half drive down the Chilean owned section of the island, then two more border stops, one to stamp out of Chile, and one to stamp into Argentina. From our first border crossing to the last one took us 8 hours. We were exhausted.

At first the island landscape was similar to what we had previously seen all along Route 3. Flat dry land with farm houses set way back from the road and large flocks of grazing sheep.

But then it changed to rolling hills and then a thick green forest appeared which looked like pine. We later learned though that when you get  up close you can see the trees have tiny green leaves and are actually deciduous, a type of beech tree. Here and there we caught glimpses of mountain peaks.

At one point we drove part way along the immense grey blue Lago Fagnano, which at almost 100 kilometres long is located partly in Chile and then climbing higher we admired the much smaller but beautiful Lago Escondido.  Stopping to admire the lakes we found ourselves standing on green grass mixed with clover, white yarrow and yellow dandelions. It was a welcome change of scenery and to top it off it felt just like Canada.

It was raining when we finally arrived in Ushuaia. Even with low lying clouds the beauty was apparent. Perched on the edge of the Beagle Channel the city is embraced by the Andes mountains, which somehow manages to maintain its magnificent pointed peaks almost to the ocean shore. A thick green forest surrounds the city, extending high up the slopes. Sharp peaks soar above the trees, naked grey brown rock with small pockets of snow. Glaciers crouch in rock. It’s simply gorgeous.

We camped for two nights at Tierra del Fuego National Park only a few kilometres west of the city, on a grassy spot beside a small river.

The first morning we woke up to fresh snow on the surrounding mountain tops, the second morning a thick frost on the windshield. But during the day we had sunshine.

Wild flightless Upland Geese strutted around the camp and feral horses roamed freely.  We did short hikes, one longer one along Lago Acigani which extends into Chile. The trail ended at a marker for the Chilean border.

There we met two Brazilian guys. They were excited and chatty and one of the them  took a long video of us with Portuguese commentary. We just stood there staring at the camera and wondering what he was saying.   We have no idea.

Although there were only a few campers, it turned out to be a busy park during the day. By 10 AM bus loads start arriving, slowly negotiated the rutted muddy road and narrow wooden bridges. An unbelievable number of backpackers, day trippers, and cruise shippers wanting to see the park but most importantly get their photo taken at the sign that marks the end of Argentina’s famous Route 3. The unofficial end of the Panamerican highway. For Bob and I, the furthest south that we can go with Vanna, and the realization of a dream that began seven years ago. So of course we got the photo too. Several in fact.

Since it was cold we booked four nights in a cabana on the edge of town. We walked along the port where a few cruise ships were docked, Ushuaia being the most popular starting point for an Antártica cruise. Tourists come here from around the world and many were walking along the waterfront, most with a shopping bag in one hand and cell phone in the other.

We met a couple who asked us to take their photo in front of the bay. They were from South Korea.

One afternoon we toured the Museo del Fin de Mundo trying to learn about this islands history. Most interesting to me was learning about the first inhabitants. Information was scant but there were a few good photos. The nomadic guanaco hunters Selk’nam had lived on this island for thousands of years but once the Europeans arrived they died either of disease or were intentionally slaughtered by the settlers. Mostly the latter. Not until 2010 were their descendants finally recognized as a people.

On the other hand the Yámana were seafaring, paddling well structured canoes on the Beagle Channel hunting seals and sea lions. Unbelievably they often went naked, sometimes sleeping without cover or clothing, as if this southernmost cold air was not a thing.

Ready for a hike, we decided to take a popular trail leading to a mountain lake called Lago Esmeralda. The first half of the trail went through the forest in an absolute mud bog, so wide that we constantly were forced from one side to the other, stepping on rocks or roots, hanging onto slim branches, trying to stay above the mud. It was disconcerting knowing that we were just one loose root away from a full frontal mud bath.

The trail eventually came out of the trees to a meadow where beavers had built a significantly high beaver dam. We continued up through a boulder field where a mountain stream magically appeared, water frothing over the rocks as it gushed its way down.

Next we had a short but steep gravelly pitch to climb and suddenly there was the lake. Emerald in color, it graciously reflected the backdrop of mountain peaks.

It was a nice day and so in spite of the mud there were at least a hundred other hikers, some carrying small children. I found the 5 hour round trip to be hard enough without a kid strapped on.

The wooden sign at the end of Route 3 indicated that it is 17, 848 kilometres from Alaska, but it’s wrong. The official length of the Panamerican highway is 19,000 miles from Prudhoe Bay, Alaska to Ushuaia., Argentina. Since we did not take a straight path, meandered off the Panamerican many times, our odometer says we have driven 30,649 miles since we left Manitoba in 2018. Hoping for 30,000 more.

 

On its eastern side, Argentina narrows just below the city of Bahia Blanca, and continues to narrow all the way to the tip. Route 3 follows that long stretch of wild coast. Sometimes we see the cobalt blue of the Atlantic on our left, other times just miles of sage and shrub all around. Fence lines run on for hours with no cattle in sight. At some point we enter the Patagonia region of Argentina but the landscape stays the same. Flat occasionally turns to canyon like valleys with too many curves to the bottom, and likewise back up to the flat again. Sometimes the yellow flowered sage bushes are replaced by dark green sage bushes. I guess there is beauty in its vastness but it’s often just boring. We eat lunch in the van at windy gas stations where there is a line up for gas and another for the baños.

The wildlife is enjoyable though. Sometimes we see armadillos scurrying across the road. Herds of cinnamon colored Guanaco, related to the llama, roam freely, a tiny head on a rather bulky body.

Half grown babies follow their moms around looking for a chance to suckle. Often, a group will stand along the pavement forcing us to slow down, but they aren’t so prone to dart in front of an oncoming vehicle as deer are in Canada.

Lesser Rheas are also plentiful, a large grey flightless bird often mistaken for an emu. With long knobby legs they run wildly away like the frantic giant chickens they are, their white bums bobbing through the sage. Apparently once they get going they can reach speeds of 60 km/ hr.

We take route 1, which hugs closer to the coast, when we can but it is often not paved, or comes to an abrupt ending in a place you don’t want to be. So the paved route 3 is of course quicker. But its no picnic either. At times the pavement has sunk in the tire tracks, leaving a high ridge in the middle of the lane which makes driving awkward. Add to that, big holes to dodge, clumsy lumbering trucks to pass.

We have driven this route once before although not so freely. This highway is exactly where we found ourselves at the beginning of the pandemic in 2020. As it turned out it’s a good thing that we came back. This time we could enjoy ourselves and focus on seeing the amazing things along this route.

This coast is a marine haven for sea animals. At Peninsular Valdés we camped in a dusty windy campground, then took a day drive across the peninsula on washboard gravel to overlook the wild coast.

There we saw a lazing colony of Elephants seals, in close proximity to a colony of Patagonian sea lions. The enormous male lion towers over the females, his huge head covered in a long mane, the lone protector of a harem of fifteen females and their young.

This is also the only place in the world where orca whales beach themselves to snack on pups.

Unfortunately or fortunately we were there just after the seal pup snack finished in mid February and before the sea lion pup snacking begins in March.

At a beach in El condor we saw the burrowing parrots, which nest in the face of cliffs creating a giant apartment block of holes and tunnels. They are distinct with a white eye ring and a yellow and red underbelly. But not distinct in their quirky squawky behaviour.

The sand on the beach along here is stony, and it’s often windy. We took our Chilean beach umbrella with us one day and confidently stuck it into the sand between our chairs. Except that the shade was only on the left. So we moved the chairs. Then the umbrella blew away. We chased it down the beach, brought it back. It let loose again rolling away just as we caught up to it. No one else had to chase their umbrella.

As for Vanna, the smoke under the hood was caused by a hole in the power steering hose. Whenever we turned a corner, the oil sprayed out the hole, then burned onto the motor, resulting in smoke. Not to mention depleting the reservoir. A small town mecánico gave us the Argentinian patch job, a hose over the hose with clamps, which seemed to hold. However it began leaking again a few days later. By then we were approaching the larger center of Comodoro Rivadavia and were also in need of a windshield repair. Our Overlander app gave us the WhatsApp number of a guy who could fix the fair sized stone chip. Bob was worried the glass would crack right across.

We found Javier’s workshop at about noon, a motorhome parked on a side street, no doubt without proper permits as he asked us not to reveal the location. Javier was a good natured guy though, bantering while he worked for about 40 minutes. He thinks the repair should last. Cost 55$US.

What made our day though, was Javier’s recommendation for a place to fix the leaking hose. He pinned the location for us so we easily found the large building. As we pulled up five young guys in blue coveralls gathered around marvelling at Vanna. GMCs are almost unknown here so it is common to have male folk give her an admiring walk around. Anyway they told Bob that they only do work for mechanics. We would have to find a shop and the mechanic would then arrange to have them do the work. Just as Bob was about to drive away they said “un momento”. And suddenly we were being guided into the large modern shop. Maybe because it was a slow Friday afternoon or maybe because they wanted to work on something different.

Anyway a man named Axel took the hose apparatus apart, cleaning the ends, fitting a new hose and reinstalling. Then a power wash under the hood. All the while the younger guys came by for chats and laughs with Bob.

Bob was using his best Spanish which includes arms moving wildly and apparently his points were understandable. We were there for two hours and the bill was 40 US$. Thanks guys!

Two places on this route are seared into our memory from 2020. One is a small town named Camarones and the other is further south, a place called Rio Gallegos. We spent two nights camping in Camarones, a tiny pueblo halfway between Bahia Blanca and Ushuaia.

It was the same small campground where we had been quarantined, but this time we were free to stroll around town, free to walk along the water, free to drive in any direction. Best of all we could comfortably chat with townspeople or tourists. We really wanted to see Jose the camp administrator but when we arrived they told us he was away until next week. Sad.

Although small, Camarones is well known for its close proximity to a penguin colony. Found only in Argentina and Chile, one of the Magellanic penguins colonies is about 30 km from town, down a dirt track.

The drive took us at least an hour. Along the way we saw Guanaco and Rhea but also the Mara. It looks exactly like a rabbit when sitting but both back legs are long and independent so that it kind of runs with a bit of a hop. Which is quite odd. Its backside is grey except for the bum which is black and so when it runs it looks like it is wearing a pair of black shorts. Very cute.

We finally reached the park gate. Other than the two park personnel we were the only ones there. We parked, then walked down a long metal walkway that runs right through the middle of the penguin colony to the ocean’s edge.

These pingüinos nest on land, digging underground tunnels where they lay their eggs and rear their young. There were loads of penguins. The young were almost full grown but they all still go down into the holes.

Beforehand, a couple would take turns looking down the hole, look at each other, then look down again as if discussing maintenance or suitability. They waddle two and fro in pairs or small groups. At times they puff up their chest and let out raspy honks much like a donkey. You can hear them do this even underground.

With their little school boy suits a group stands around as if having a meeting. Then one is off waddling and another decides to follow, waddling behind as if saying “hey wait for me”. The metal ramp was just high enough for them to walk under, so we were amazingly close. Kind of a once in a lifetime experience. And yes they stink.

Back at the campsite that evening we heard a voice call “hello hello”, just outside the van. It was Jose. The camp staff had let him know we were there. He had come to see us. He also had felt the need to reconnect with us. We hugged and hugged and hugged. He had been a saviour to us when military and townsfolk had wanted us to go away. Not only that but he understood that we were just human beings, not evil tourists who had brought the Covid. We talked for two hours in the little restaurant that has been added to the campground.

Rio Gallegos marks for us the junction point where in 2020 we had to give up our hope of reaching the most southernmost tip. It’s the place we finally realized that with Covid closures happening around us we would not make it to Ushuaia. And we assumed we might never be back. But this week we made it here again. Ushuaia is two more days drive, two border crossings and a ferry ride.

We are not sure if the hardest part is behind us or ahead of us. But it doesn’t matter. We’ll get there.

We arrived in Buenos Aires still unsure of the route we would take with Vanna. We could travel up the coast of Uruguay and back to Brazil. The beaches all along are really beautiful. Or through Paraguay to Brazil’s Pantanal, a vast tropical wetland and wildlife refuge. Mendoza? Salta? As we pondered we set about getting the insurance for Vanna, downloading eSIM plans to our phones and finding a seamstress to repair some clothing.

Getting vehicle insurance is a process. In Brazil I had emailed the agent and she had provided a quote. But in order to make a payment we needed to get cash. Argentina’s ever changing financial situation makes it difficult to get a good exchange rate no matter how you do it. Luckily our hotel desk was offering the blue dollar rate, which is a little better than the official rate. With a wad of bills in the daypack we set off to find a Pago Facil shop. Here you present your order number and make the payment, then send a photo of the receipt to the agent. Now wait for her to send back the documents. This could take hours or even days. By late afternoon we had received them though.

The next morning we walked the streets, looking for a shop that was open and one that printed color copies as many shops only print in black and white. In time we found one and got our printed documents. All good.

One thing we had not yet done in Buenos Aires was to tour the Teatro Colon. An historic opera house, this theatre is known to have among the best acoustics in the world. The inside was the usual opulence with several types of marble brought over from different countries in Europe, gold leaf ceilings, grand pillars and staircases and many sculptured busts of famous people.

But the highlight for me was sitting in a small balcony section overlooking the grand theatre imagining I was listening to amazing sound being produced by an invisible orchestra. Someday.

On Friday, we took the morning ferry to Uruguay crossing the waters of the Rio de la Plata. Enrique picked us up, and after some errands, he  drove us to the farm where Vanna is stored in a large dusty shed. Sandra met us there and confirmed that we had an appointment with the mecánico for Monday, and this being Friday we opted to spend the weekend at a campground nearby.

The Brisas del Plata campground is spacious and well treed. We have camped here before and usually it is fairly unkept. Saturday we noticed an unusual flurry of cleaning and raking. Sunday morning a fiesta unfolded around us. Hundreds of locals arrived with lawn chairs and coolers and matte mugs in hand. By noon a lively beach volleyball tournament was underway.

A stage hosted live entertainment all day, the highlight being a group of eight male singers accompanied by an accordion and a guitar.  Mid day we watched some serious games of bocce, played with heavy blue and white balls rolled, or tossed, on bare ground. The game was played inside a rectangle field bordered by chicken wire.

Two other interesting games were ring toss where you won a pop or alcohol if you landed your ring on the neck of the bottle, and Tejo which uses flat colored discs that are tossed at a marker.

At a long table, a group of women made torta fritas all day. Starting early they mixed the dough, rolled it into balls, set them to rise, rolled them flat, and then fried the thin rounds in hot lard.  “Vacca (cow) lard” they told Bob.

This seemed important, maybe for the flavour. Anyway, I got in the line, paid about 80 cents, and was handed one fresh out of the oil. It was large enough for the two of us.

Monday morning we were at the mechanic’s yard by 8 AM. After an oil change and a few minor checks we headed for the border at Frey Bentos. It is an Uruguay- Argentina combined border that we have crossed several times now. Even so, I am always anxious, as nothing ever goes as expected.

At the border, there are at least 16 small kiosks lining the lanes of traffic. As we drove up to one, our passports were stamped out and in as we sat in our vehicle. And we were handed a date stamped white slip of paper, that does who know what, but is very important. Easy peasy. The next order of business is to sort Vanna’s permits, first at kiosk number 1. As we approached it Bob suddenly remembered that they were just going to tell him to park, so he blew through the stop sign and headed for the parking area. The agent ran after us yelling “señor, señor”.  I felt obliged to apologize for my husband’s bad behaviour.

This time there were only two problems. At kiosk 16 I was told I needed to take a photo of my cancelled permit. This would be the only proof I would have that Vanna had left Uruguay. News to me. So I ran through kiosk alley, jumping through lanes of vehicles to Vanna, got my phone, ran back, got the photo. All the while clutching to my chest both passports, insurance documents, registration, and the “white slip”. Next was a hike back to kiosk 1 to request an Argentinian permit for Vanna. The agent looked sceptically at the Canadian vehicle registration. “It’s insurance”, he said, “No, it’s vehicle registration”, I said. We argued back and forth. He decided to “go check” and disappeared across the lanes into kiosk number whatever. Suddenly he was back saying it had checked out. What could he have possibly checked? Anyway I got the permit. We drove to the gate, handed in the “white slip”. The gate opened. We entered Argentina.

Once the stress of getting back into Argentina was over, the decision of a route to take became clear. At almost the same moment we both realized that we needed to finish what the pandemic had rudely interrupted. Drive to the highway’s southern tip. Ushuaia. From our border crossing to Ushuaia the distance is 3,348 km. Can Vanna make it? If all goes well Bob thinks it will take about a week. We shall see.

Normally we would have taken the major highway 3 all the way to the coast but at Azul, Vanna developed a problem. The steering fluid seemed to be leaking, and we veered off course in search of a mechanic who was recommended by our overland app. Unfortunately his business was no longer there. By this time, we were on route 51 and being a decent highway with fewer trucks, we stayed on it for the next few days.

This area of Argentina is the Pampas, a very flat fertile lowland with an endless expanse of golden grass, grazing herds of Aberdeen Angus cows, long fence lines, and occasional clumps of tall heat weary trees, offering shade from the beating sun. Besides pasture, fields of corn and sunflower were common, as were many large estancias with long driveways and names like La Juanita or Los Robles posted over the gate.

One night we camped along the Parana River watching the large barges going in and out of a smaller channel.

Two more nights at municipal campgrounds, one where we were visited by the resident cat herd, and another at a town named Coronel Pringle where we attracted the local stray dogs.

At one point Bob had five dogs eagerly watching him cook dinner. One afternoon we pulled into a makeshift truck stop, a trailer sitting under a clump of trees. The handwritten menu listed 8 items. We asked for choripán but the only thing they were offering was a steak sandwich. Ok we’ll have that then. Which was tasty enough.

After five days, we finally reached Bahia Blanca on the coast, joining again with number 3 highway which then took us south. At Viedma, we turned down highway 1, a small coastal road, in hopes of encountering fewer trucks. As the beach came into view at El Condor, we saw that it was lined with vehicles and lawn chairs. Families with umbrellas and kids with surf boards. Here the beach stretches on for miles, so even though there were lots of people it was not at all crowded. 

We pulled into a small campground across the road from the ocean. But just as we backed into in our camp spot Vanna started fuming. Literally. Clouds of smoke burst from the hood and enveloped the van. Not good.

Our campground host says there is a good mechanic up the street.  We shall see.

Florianópolis turned out to be a beach lover’s paradise. A city with a laid back friendly vibe, everyone told us “don’t worry it is safe here”. What a nice place to end our trip to Brazil. The city encompasses part of the mainland and a few small islands as well as the 54 km long island of Santa Catarina, where we had our apartment accommodation. Connected to the mainland by bridge, this island  has no less than 42 beaches. We felt duty bound to visit as many as possible.

On the first day, we headed to the south end of the island for an afternoon at Pântano do Sul, a small cove where we swam and were kept entertained by many fishing boats coming and going.

Another beach day we headed to the more popular surf beach, Praia da Joaquina, a long stretch of sandy beach with big waves and a giant rock at one end. Life guards were constantly whistling for people to come closer to shore.

The week was a hot one and you could not sit on the beach without shade. Local families arrived pulling small carts stacked with chairs and umbrellas. We were lucky though that beach restaurants offered umbrella tables and chairs as long as we purchased drinks.

We headed down to the city center twice. First for an historic walking tour and later to catch some pre Carnaval entertainment.

The tour included viewing prominent colonial buildings, the mercado with food vendors and local handicrafts,

and a stop in the main square to gape at the giant 159 year old fig tree. It’s massive limbs had to be propped up with steel posts.

The Carnaval entertainment was not as exciting as we anticipated. The costumes were extravagant, but the meaning of everything was lost on us as the MC droned on, of course in Portuguese.

But what we enjoyed the most was sitting at a restaurant listening to a live band. And watching people spontaneously dance. By themselves. At their own table. I tried it but ….ya you got to ask the others how that went.

Lago da Conceiçao is a long saltwater lagoon in the middle of Santa Catarina island, famous for its water activities. We thought a two hour hike to a waterfall sounded good. The trail followed along the length of the lake through the Atlantic Forest.

I had never heard of this forest before and apparently, although smaller in size, it is similar to the Amazon in its range of biodiversity. Extending along Brazil’s coast, the Atlantic Forest reaches as far inland as Paraguay. With 2200 species of birds, mammals, and reptiles you would expect to see an animal or two on the trail. We only saw butterflies and ants. Not even a snake.

But the walk was fun, going up and down through the jungle on a rocky trail, often with good views of the lake. 

About the middle of the hike we stopped at at a kiosk where we purchased home made ice cream shaped into logs and wrapped in paper. It was delicious. We stayed to chat with the proprietor family who were lounging in front of the kiosk. Everyone who lives here comes by boat as there are no roads.

After the ice cream we trudged on, but for us the hike was taking quite a bit longer than two hours. When we stumbled upon a lakeside restaurant, with live music, we ditched seeing the waterfalls in favor of a plastic chair and a cold drink. The waitress told us if we bought food we got a free boat ride back. Worth it!

One of the week’s highlights was snorkelling with the turtles. Our meeting spot was at Barra da Lagoa, a small fishing village on a channel that runs between the ocean and Lago da Conceiçao. We waited on a platform beside the channel hoping we were at the right spot.

Even though it was only 8 AM the channel was already busy with a great variety of boats moving up and down the narrow waterway, from double canoes, to poled barcos, to boats full of excited tourists.

Funny, our expectations for the snorkel trip were not high. Surprisingly though, we were provided with excellent gear. Masks that fit well, snorkel, flippers and a neoprene wet suit. The young guides were chatty and fun.

We set off in a zodiac, bouncing along the waves for about half an hour, to get to Xavier island. The water wasn’t deep but it was cold and we were pleased to have the wet suits. The island has a rocky reef so there were plenty of fish amongst the rocks, some colorful blues and yellow. But the main draw were the large green sea turtles. They calmly passed beneath us or swam close by as if we weren’t there. Two came up for air just beside me. It was amazing to be so close.

Leona and Brad’s friend Steve, a Canadian, happens to live in Florianopolis part time. He picked us up one day and took us to his home. It’s a very old interesting small house with a magnificent view of the water.

We spent the rest of the afternoon at Steve’s favourite beach. The water was so shallow we had to dip down to get wet. It’s surprising how the water and waves can be completely different from beach to beach, even though they are in close proximity to each other.

On our last day Bob and I explored an old fort on the north end of the island.  Constructed in 1709, the Fortaleza de Sâo José was built by the Portuguese to stop foreign ships from using the naturally protected harbour of the island.

The insides are nicely restored with good signage and explanations in English which made it more enjoyable.

As well, from its height above the ocean we had spectacular views of the water and watched many types of boats going back and forth to the mainland. To round out the day there were two beaches nearby. Of course we had to sit on both.

Our dinners out were always an adventure. We tackled the Portuguese menus with determination but it was a slog to understand each dish. We got used to eating shrimp, fried shrimp and grilled shrimp and shrimp stuffed pastries. One night we had amazing pizza, and another evening we ate at a Thai restaurant where Brad experienced the wrath of the scorpion pepper, one of the hottest there is.

A refreshing juice we tried was called Caldo de Cana. The sugar cane was squeezed as you ordered, using a mechanical press. The juice produced was refreshing and not too sweet.

Açai is also a popular fruit here. The berry comes from a palm tree that is found mainly in Brazil’s Amazon. Since it becomes inedible soon after picking it is available only as a pulp or a powder. We tried it as a frozen treat and Bob enjoyed it in a smoothie. It is dark purple delicious and is said to improve cognitive function and lower cholesterol. And who doesn’t need that?

A special thing about Brazil is that after 60 years of age you get the same line up and parking privileges as pregnant women and disabled persons. We took full advantage. We were offered first in line to get on the plane and we jumped at that every time. Because we know at home we will end up at the back of the line more often than not.

And suddenly it was time to leave Florianópolis. Brad and Leona were off to a wedding in Colombia, Bob and I to Buenos Aires to meet up with Vanna. But hopefully one day we will all return.

We were intrigued to visit Salvador, the capital  city of the state of Bahia,  due to its large influence of African culture.

Having claimed this land for Portugal, the Portuguese began bringing African slaves to Brazil in the 1500’s, to work in the sugar cane industry.  It is reported that over 5 million slaves were brought to this country over several centuries. Since Brazil was the last country in the americas to give up slavery in 1888 it is no wonder that the African influences of art, food and music are strong here.

Our first day was spent at the historic center, a UNESCO world heritage site known as Pelourinho. Before letting us out at the square,  our cab driver warned us that a few blocks to the left were safe. But “don’t go to the right” and he pointed an imaginary gun in the air.  Not a comforting start to the day. However it was perhaps fitting that we were uncomfortable since this was the sight of the whipping post where slaves were once publicly whipped. And that would not have been comfortable.

Close to the square, the very modern Caso do Carnaval museum depicts the costumes and music from the famous Brazilian festival known in Portuguese as Carnaval. Unusual musical instruments and elaborate colorful costumes worn by famous people are on display.

Leona and I tried out dancing to a video that taught some of the dance moves used at Carnival. The steps seemed to me to be a lot like aerobics.  We had fun but a group of young students chimed out a chorus of “thank you, thank you, thank you” when we left.  Maybe they wanted to practice their English. Or maybe they wanted to try the  dance video too, but not with us – haha.

On the edge of the square, the Church and Convent of São Francisco, is a sprawling structure with a rambling set of rooms and hallways, many of which are lined with Portuguese blue and white tiles. Known as one of the most spectacular churches in the world, the sanctuary is adorned with gold and silver, and is such an amazing sight that it was hard to take it all in. It was unbelievable. Other worldly maybe.

Also practiced here in Salvador is a lesser known religion called Candomblé, a blend of traditional west African religions and catholicism. The faith revolves around 100 different spirits called Olixas, each representing an element of nature like wind, ocean, and forest or representing a human characteristic.

One afternoon we took a stroll around Lake Dique do Tororo. In the middle of the lake are eight statues, each representing a different Olixa. At 23 feet tall, the colourful statues tower over the water and can be seen from a long distance, providing a gentle reminder of this city’s mixed heritage.

The great variety of trees surrounding the lake made the walk even more enjoyable as most trees had name labels and we tried, unsuccessfully, to learn them all. 

The football stadium happens to sit at one end of the lake. Luckily for us it was game day and at a nearby restaurant the pre game party was well under way. We joined in the throng of team shirted fans for some pre game fun. As the energy cranked up, a large squad of riot police began assembling. All helmeted. Some on horseback. Not wanting to find out why this level of enforcement was required, we opted for a pre game cab ride home.

Over the week we sampled a lot of different Brazilian food. Our favourite restaurant was only a short walk from our accommodation. We sat at plastic tables set on bare ground under a canopy of giant trees. A small speaker nailed to a tree supplied the music. It felt friendly, relaxing and fun. Bob and I tried a popular dish called Carne de Sol. It sounds exotic but turned out to be slices of beef that have been cured in the sun. Which tastes like slightly tough steak. Ok – but underwhelming.

The beaches in this part of Brazil are not as sandy as the ones at Rio. We did not swim but walking down the beach we found a couple who were deep frying a tasty looking snack. An African dish, Acarajé are deep fried black eyed pea fritters. So we stood in the super hot sand under the scorching sun waiting for the frying to finish and trying to hand signal “how many balls” for “how much money”. Was it 3 balls for 10 Reals or 10 balls for 3 Reals? It’s never clear….until you pay. We finally got our dish served with a side of salsa, a peanut paste and a topping of shrimp.  It all sounded wonderful and looked amazing but it was an actually gummy and tasteless and we did not like it at all.

On the other hand, at the stadium party we had noticed a couple walking around with a large basket full of Coxinha. These deep fried delights have a generous filling of chopped chicken or beef with cheese. They are covered in dough, then battered and fried. We each chose one and they were delicious.

Safety in Salvador seemed to be an issue. Although we had a condo in a residential area, we had to be buzzed through two gates to get in or out. A doorman buzzed us through the first gate. Once everyone was in, we were buzzed through a second gate. In the evening the doorman wouldn’t let us stand on the sidewalk to wait for our Uber; he insisted we stand inside the gate until the cab arrived. All the more unusual to us because it was a quiet side street.

The same thing occurred at one of the restaurants. They would not let us out the locked gate until after the cab had arrived.

So over the six days we struggled with the heat, the relentless traffic and the safety concerns. All in all, we were happy to be moving on to Florianapolis.

We flew into the city of Manaus a day ahead of our river boat cruise. Named after the indigenous Manóus people, the city is situated in the middle of the Amazon rainforest, on the edge of the Negro River.  The travel guide Lonely Planet says about Manaus “Don’t be surprised if you feel a little out of whack”.  Fortunately we didn’t end up feeling that way.

With a population of over 2 million Manaus has obviously seen better days. The rubber trade in the late 1800’s made this city one of the wealthiest in South America. But today the crumbling sidewalks,  potholed roads and lack of maintenance belie the city’s former opulence. We spent a lot of time at a black and white wave tiled square near our hotel where we could find shade and get our bearings.

Around the square, patio restaurants with live entertainment competed for our business while a vigilant police presence kept us mindful of the precarious nature of safety.

One of the first things we did was to tour the opera house, the Teatro Amazonas, a short walk from our hotel.  Opened in the rubber heyday of 1896, the theatre still contains its original material imported from Europe. In its prime, the theatre was only attended by the wealthy but now the musical performances are for everyone. Unfortunately for us, January is maintenance month and concerts start up again in February. The interior is amazingly grand with its tiered seating, ornate chandeliers, painted ceilings, and large columns.  The ballroom has a gorgeous gleaming floor laid with rainforest wood that we were not allowed to walk on.

We were excited to start the cruise. In a torrential downpour, we ordered an Uber to go to the port. The kind staff at the hotel came outside with umbrellas and held them up so we didn’t get wet while getting into the cab. Very nice of them but it felt a bit much. At the port there was no let up in rain. We decided to pay the hefty port fee so that the driver could take us a very short distance right to the ship’s entrance. The price was worth it to keep the luggage dry.

Our accommodation on the cruise turned out to be a very modern air conditioned room, queen bed, bathroom, large tv, and a 2-person deck. Having wanted to see the Amazon for a long time, it was wonderful to just sit there and watch the muddy river go by.

As well, the upper deck of the cruise boat was open, giving us generous views from all sides. It was an excellent place to relax with drinks and snacks  and visit with the 50 or so other cruisers who had come to the Amazon from around the world. Besides Brazilians, we met people from Scotland, USA, England, New Zealand and Poland. 

Two species, Grey dolphins and the larger pink Amazon river dolphins are native to these waters. We often saw the Grey swimming in small groups. Luckily, one afternoon Bob and I spotted two pink dolphins from the deck off our room. Pretty cool.

Friday evening our ship set off down the Negro River and turned up the Salimões River which is the name used here for the upper stretches of the Amazon River. Saturday and Sunday we spent as much time as possible on outings, loading into smaller boats for guided journeys on the river or in the jungle. Stuffed into bright orange life jackets we looked quite touristy in contrast to the locals who use the river as a highway, speeding to and fro with nary a life jacket in sight.

January is the start of the rainy season and by June the river water will have risen over 30 feet. It then begins to recede again through to December. To accommodate this extraordinary change in water level, houses are constructed on top of a floating platform tethered to the land by a rope. The building literally floats on the water. Not only homes but we saw a church, gas station, store and a bar that were built this way.

An amusing thing we learned from the guide is that the kids come to school by school bus boat. And you guessed it – the school boat is yellow and black.

We really enjoyed our visit to a local bee farm. The stingless bee is native to this region and is a good pollinator for all native plants unlike other bees that have been imported. The bees hives are simple waist high rustic boxes lined up in rows under a jungle canopy. Honey from the stingless bee  is purported to have a higher level of antioxidants and therapeutic properties than other honey. And as we soon experienced, also has a much higher price tag. We paid $50 Cdn for 200 ml of honey.

All of our boat outings were interesting but most thrilling was just skimming across the wide river or winding down narrow tributaries, waving to the locals, watching for water birds, hawks or caiman, or enjoying the dolphins that periodically showed up.

One afternoon we signed up for piranha fishing. There were 10 of us in the boat all using a long bamboo rod with a fixed length of line and a piece of beef for bait.  You had almost no control of your line and had to be careful not to swing your hook into someone’s face.  Bob caught quite a few fish but unfortunately they were all catfish. White in color with long whiskers, they made an unpleasant catlike growl when brought into the boat. On top of that  with little room to move, he  swung each one past my face as it came into the boat. Ya, I didn’t enjoy that close of an encounter. Haha.

Our boat was pretty unlucky as only two of us caught a piranha but we all got a look at their sharp little teeth. The real gem of the outing was that as dusk descended, the sounds around us intensified. Birds, frogs and crickets combined in a satisfying jungle symphony.

The weather changed hourly from hot and humid to overcast and rainy. We had a cloudy morning sunrise cruise where we saw nothing but water and cloud, and a night crawl to see caimen, snakes and owls. We came within inches of an 8 foot caiman and hovered the boat there. One guy in our boat reached out with his arm and snapped his fingers to try and attract the caiman. The guide was saying “don’t do that”. And this guy paid no attention. Seriously, who offers up their bare arm to a Caiman?

On the last morning we got up early to watch the sunrise at a point called the Meeting of the Waters. The dark blue Negro river joins with the muddy khaki coloured Salimóes to form the Amazon River and as the sun rose we could see a distinct line in the water where the two rivers meet.

Our time in the Amazon region was special and magnificent and left us wanting more.