The Coastal Caravan, Valencia

Recalling a raucous on rewind…?? Free train tickets, back flipping break dancers & minty fresh breath under the intimidating watch of an oddly crafted piece by Picasso. The bleak gates to Barcelona’s medieval city complex looked down and laughed as another pointless hangover ate away at my being - caught in a daze, still lingering from a trans-Atlantic crossing. I’m sure I’ll never acquire the photos from this afternoon (the phattest shame of them all from this soon to be downward spiralling friendship), but let’s just say it was an aesthetically disturbing yet amusing display at the same time. We hurried off in due course, bussing through the seemingly never ending ‘fields’ of semi-city & suburb, occasionally hugging the coastline to enjoy the vast vistas of Mediterranean lifestyle. Grün was out to it; mouth a gasp & snorting vicariously. Yummo. I had to giggle. Such a pair of misfits. We had become a tantalizing duo, with only a cling-man to boast. Strange days beckoned.


Brand-spankin' new kicks!!

“Las fallas!!” What the bloody hell was ‘las fires??’ Yeaaaa…I get my Spanish still isn’t quite the best but I can have a pretty decent conversation by now. “So what is with all these dudes in creepy yet colourful medieval getup??” The taxi driver looked bewildered by my own bewilderment. “Las Fallas!!” Ahh, no shit!! The entire city was swarming with mobs. I thought some political meltdown was taking place, and somehow we were caught up in a fix of history. To this day I am still oblivious to the meaning of the Valencian Las Fallas Festival. I feel most Valencians are indeed clueless to its actual origins. In hindsight we probably should have jumped cab & joined the party. Or better yet, wait till I’d been stuffed with Subway sandwich & reunited with KarateKid, to make life a whole lot happier. The labyrinth like streets confused me, and I was ice-bitingly cold. Short-shorts are not a happy European winter option as we have previously discussed.

To be completely honest, much of my memory from the time spent in that city has well & truly become diluted. I can’t recall much from my first night in the hostel. However, what I can remember of course was meeting a fine little Argentinean doctor, who I ended up dragging to the devils doorstep, only to have the gates barred and barricaded over the next two days in a relentless display of blue-balled affection. The woes of a wandering warrior. We also met an Australian girl from god-knows-where-in whoop-whoop land. She ended up wasted on the hostel steps, engulfed in the arms of our kung-fu’ing tag-along, who as it turned out indeed had a girlfriend back home he didn’t want these women to know about. Ohhh hail the lady slayer!! I really don’t think she’ll be coming back for more, and ol’ Grün here now sure won’t be wanting a bar of it. He’d been dealt the Turkish wrath. I blame his clean shaven arm pits.



Getting all 'cultured' at the flamenco

We gave him some leeway. By the morning he’d taken off and left us with some 7^th grade social-suicide letter, addressed in a way which was supposedly meant to let us dwell on our wrongdoings and his dismissal, yet in turn only really made us realise how much of a baby faced fool he actually was. Chinks in the square. Stuttgarts finest. Yes. Now, that’s enough of my rant. Despite this little row, Valencia dealt us up some crackin’ good times!! I got to juggle oranges with a giant concrete Pope; we won the hearts of more Latina goddesses; and jived the nights away to the sounds of flamenco wailers & stern faced twirlers.

 

Juggling oranges with the Pope

We even made it to the beach!! Now this time was fo real!! That water stung, but it had to be done. A radiant sky shone blue & inviting, yet surprisingly those sands were fair near vacant! Fast forward four or five months and most of northern Europe will be sprawled along these artificial stretches. I loved & lapped-up those chilly hours along with sidekick Grün & my Argentinean mistress; my bare feet breathing free once again…bliss. But like for most of my frantic get-about on this continent, time & money was running short. We were once more prodded & propelled forward, in that never ending venture south in search of fun & sun. I had to comply. I needed a job…and aqui en España there was at present little optimism. All I could do was live it while it lasted…combing down the coast in our cooped-up caravan.

 

Beach combing in Valencia

Where to now hombres?? Let's gooooooo!!! xx

Tick-Tock Hops the Clock, Barcelona

Time was supposed to have come to a stand still once I’d left South America, and in a sense it kind of did. The dream was over, and I’d fortified my chances of keeping on in good spirits when I boarded that fateful flight back in Buenos Aires. I had no intentions of smashing on with this blog, and for a fair ol’ stretch of two months, more or less, I ceased to do so. Yet backed surprisingly by a dedicated audience now stretching around the globe, and prospected with renewed hibernational isolation - having little else to do but gnaw down upon kilos of sticky dates late at night in a scungy Moroccan brothel, I settled upon this inevitable moment & rewound the clock. Ready to roll!! So now if you’d excuse me, lets swoop back through that time travelling haze we’re all so unfamiliar with, to recreate the foreword for how this epiphanatical mess of mine initially came about!!

'La Familia Cathedral'

Everyone had pre-warned me of my disregard to the obvious. “Why the heck are you travelling to Europe in the thick of winter?!!” I thought I knew better than everyone after all- a trail blazing, ‘world educated’ hero. “Dudes…I’m checking into Spain!! Beach bound buddy!!” Well fuck me…I sure wasn’t inRio no more!! I knew something was up the moment I crash landed on the tarmac. The skies were grim, the airstrip was soaked. Add that to a ‘first world’reverse serving hangover and I found myself pleading for forgiveness – or was it mercy?? The rail system beneath Madrid airport was the most advanced I had ever seen!! I could sip my agua straight from a sink, and flush my paper down a waste pipe without my chow rushing back up to meet me. And it was freeeeezing!! I’d spaced out. There I was, fresh in the February frosts, decked out in nothing spare a self-tattered beater, some sun-stained short-shorts, and a flashy red pair of Havaianas. Shoot me!! Now what?? I thought this was a land in crisis?? Goes to show two hundred years of Australian ingenuity doesn’t account for much. I found my hostel, flirted with the Portuguese receptionist, and passed out like a day raving coke addict. Europe could wait…and I’d have to go shopping.

Leggings were my main priority the following day. A strapping black pair of skinnys should fix me up well and true!! I still couldn’t believe I was succumbing to this, but these pins of mine hadn’t been this cold since my last week-long Tassie mountain escapee. Geared up, I was good to go - and consequently got dragged along on some free walking tour of the city by a thigh slapping jolly German. Despite lacking any real optimism, the tour was actually quite insightful & very useful for future orientation. Our kiwiguide appeared pretty drained; but with the help of some sensitive sarcasm, transformed a bunch of old bricks & stone into a labyrinth of interest and productivity. Barcelona was indeed pretty rad, and I began to wholly accept my muddled decision. Further more, when I rambled back into the hostel – there was Grün!! Dwarfed by her monstrous bloat jacket, and glistening with an illustrious un-travel worn flair! It was great to see a familiar face. But then again, I could sense the impeding chaos. It must have been close to five months since we’d worked together back in Cusco- so as one can imagine, we had a lot of catching up to do. And what better a way to do so than over a few too many pints of Spanish cerveza!! Grün hadn’t drunk at all since she’d left South America!!...a thought that troubled my own poor kidney. This was going to get messy!! We munched a big bowl of characterised nachos & debilitated our way through an enormous block of kinder surprise choco; at least before being joined by our German pal from earlier. Now, as it turned out – this karate kid had some sharp moves under his belt…errrr?? Yep!! You know when someone shows a keen interest in a singular activity, and at first it comes across as kinda cool??...until at least you realise that this freak has nothing else to offer what so ever in life, and won’t drop the bottle until it consumes him. This simply becomes blatantly depressing. KarateKid was soon flipping, rolling & punching the air like Lu Kang in no time; it’s little wonder no one else in the hostel seemed in any way inclined to hang out with us. At first I thought Grün wanted in on part of the action (and this misconception I must add, goes and gets us all into some trouble a bit later on) – but for now let’s just settle on the fact that ‘I had friends.’ No matter how strange they might be…we’re all a tad off in some way or another surely…??

Grün & I tequilla slammin!!

So!! What was with all this!! Snow on the hills, surfers in the water?? I had to place the two together. My first ‘dip’ in the Mediterranean became nothing more than a salty hand rinse. But hang on…what was that?? Watch out women, here come the wide-wheeled warriors!! There is nothing more bad ass than a hipster on a low riding pushbike!! Bunny hopping madness. Truth. After the success of the previous days walking tour, we all felt obliged to expand upon our foot stomping horizons. And what does one get when you shake together architectural genius, acid tripping meltdowns and one whopper of a Catalonian hangover?? An injectiual overdose from Mr Gaudi himself!! What a marvel!! I can’t say I’ve ever been utterly gobsmacked by a sole piece of Christian invention before – that was at least until I first layed eyes upon the towering landmark of Barcelonaitself, ‘La Familia Cathedral.’ To the heavens it soars; draped in deep sombred decoration. What was even more impressive, was the fact that it was still supposedly decades away from final completion.

Wide-wheeled warriors!!

Poor old Gaudi himself got hit by a tram & transformed himself into some kind of spiritual, pitiless street bum; waking up dead in a public hospital. Was this somehow a gauge into my closing future?? A dollar don’t go so far – that is of course unless you limit yourself to two minute noodles & a cheap dosing of rum for pleasure. That night was a knockout!! I think I’d simply had enough of KarateKids trash-flashin’ bullshit & tried by all means possible to kill myself. Lesson learnt. Don’t pass out in the company of of others. If you do so, expect to be permanently pen plastered with all manner of spitting dicks & scribed patronisim. ‘Me gusta A$$!!’ Ciao chicos!!

Penis'ed in the streets of Barcelona

Let's see if we can keep this shit up 'ay??!!

Until next time...laterz...

The Final Countdown, São Paulo

So I'm gonna have to call it. The final horah...up, down; around & around - as it goes my sleep deprived mind. I believe I'm a doomed insomniac. For the past six nights I've hardly nodded off for a wink; and between the booze, buses & bed bugs...I've let myself become a nervous temperamental wreck. I'm ready to pass out well & truly. To stand still for at least a few weeks - but I'm afraid unfortunately it might still have to wait. Curse my fucked up intuition; keep those thoughts of yours off the bloody Internet - it's like a stagnant vacuum - you can only stab yourself in the back. I'm off this continent...ready to flee; reaching out for temporary calm & mundaniety. Yet after a couple of moments soul searching I'm sure it'll be back on the banks - running ahead full speed into the cross fire. Purpose?? Nil. Reason?? Clueless. Ultimate revelations?? Absolute transparency. Everything comes to an end; it simply filters down to how you bow out finishing. Fight or flop?? You be the judge...

Chillin in São Paulo with Prue, Mumma Fran & Anie

The boat back across from Ilha Grande was hot & sticky...I couldn't figure out if I'd shit myself all over again, or whether my bodies perspiration problems were working overdrive to counter my first night off the guzzle train in fifteen straight days. Heck, I must be healthy. Once off the sweat box, I caught a local bus with a bunch on English lads & some tattooed Aussie all the way around a beautiful stretch of coast to the small pretty colonial town of Paraty. I couldn't be bothered even looking at the town in truth to begin with...I sat on the Internet like a sad sod for a good four hours or so, catching up on all the goss & glamour of the real world. Was I missing it?? Maybe a tad. Prue had gotten into my head with all her family stuff - I really am a bad child. The worst travelling abroad son you could ask for. I'll get back to that. Once I was done Facebook stalking, I thought I'd better get to looking for a cheap place to crash. I didn't really have any great fuss on talking to anyone, so a quiet budget option might well as suffice for a night or two. I wandered the town in loops. It was useless. I wasn't very good at this obviously. Then I ran into an English couple searching for the bus terminal - that I knew quite well...and afterwards they pointed me in the direction of the main strip of hostels along a seemingly picturesque beach. Fark...they were all booked up. Camping time I guess...but who the hell charges 18 bucks a night to pitch a tent!! I love Brazil, but it's damb right expensive!! I tossed & turned & tormented my skin on the plastic floor all night. The next day my eyes were bulging.

The river running through Paraty

Since I had no energy, I sat on the Internet for the better part of another day. It was a good time to smash out some more blog, so I could use the remainder of my time to lap around on the beaches. I also thought it was time to book my bus ticket out of there, yet to my ghastly surprise, the holiday season had the seats all taken up until at least Saturday!! That was in two days time!! I was supposed to be on a plane in five!! With close to some 2,500 kilometres in between!! I was screwed...or so I was led to believe. Maybe I won't be on that flight after all. Was it best just to stay?? I thought a quick  dip would clear my mind...yet the 'beach' turned out to be a bitch infested cesspit, plagued by silty water which resembled floating turds. Goodie. I started drinking instead...

One of Paraty's cobbled streets

That cheered me right up!! It was my one year anniversary after all!! Before too long we had a band of merry men, sitting about on the 'beach' front, smashing back cans of water-like beer. I scored a Valentines Day peck from some boring 18 year old sprouter, and pondered over stories of some dude being arrested in Rio over the course of Carnival for bashing some poor nurse in the face when he'd awoken from his self-inflicted unconsciousness. I wasn't feeling this cerveza in the slightest, so we decided to make home made cocktails with some lemon, a little Sprite & a bottle of cachaça. Holy hell that knocked me a back!! Some dude wandered out of the sticks with a guitar slung over his shoulder, and I remember reciting some awful Creedence renditions, before making bets with some girl who's name I couldn't remember, that she couldn't punch me in the face even if I let her. Then the lights came on. The sun was up. Where had the time gone?? I still hadn't slept. A pack of dogs chased the beating man with his stick all the way along the street, and then the night was over. I stumbled back to my tent, and layed out on the grass. I can't recall if I actually slept or not, but I definitely spent the next hour up against the wall of an ice cold shower. Shit, it was so hot!! There was no where to hide. I guess I should try some more Internet?? How poor of me.

This was the day I decided (temporarily) to stay in Brazil. I could work the bar circuit from Florianopolis all the way back to Búzios. Hell yea!! That'd be the life. To cap it off; I could boat upstream the mighty Amazon, slung from a hammock, returning with the grandest of glories to my home away from home in Cusco. It was all so fantastical. It sounded good in theory. But it simply wasn't going to work. I had to understand this. And it took until I got struck with a bad batch of bed bugs/fleas/mites/mosquitoes (whatever the fuck they were) in the middle of the coming night to awaken from this surrealism. I was off to São Paulo, no further debate, and Prue had invited me around to hers to crash...that would be a great way to top off this belated South American odyssey!!

However it wasn't until I arrived the city itself that I realised what a pickle I now found myself in. I had a few phone numbers, directions & nothing more...I was searching for one little girl in the midst of the biggest metropolitan in the entirety of this continent!! All I could do was pray...and I never do that. Off the final train I attempted to make the decisive phone call...but the boxes wouldn't take coins!! How long have I actually been away for?? Since when do phone boxes not accept bloody money!! Lucky for me, some street vendor who spoke some Spanish offered to lend me a hand. There was Prue on the other end of the line, praise the whatever Lord is mine!! She said she'd be five minutes, but 30 - 40 later I was still leaning against the same street pole looking like a bimbo posing for some James Dean rip off shoot. There wasn't much else I could do. Maybe call again?? Surely she wouldn't stand me up. She was too nice. What if she had some crazy ex-boyfriend who was out to expose me. Or more likely...you dick, there was another entrance to the terminal!! And there she was...bouncing out in front of me when I'd all but given up hope. Yiiewww!! Let the good times roll!!

A city sprawl

It was kind of strange cruising around in a private car with a friend from a foreign country. Yet I think it's pretty rad that by now, the locals from these once distant lands have become like valued comrades-in-arms. The world is not such a big place after all. Founding features transpose. We grabbed a snack of Brazilian açai with Anie & her funny mother, who apparently took a liking to me despite my complete uselessness in speaking Portuguese; then made for Prue's crib to meet her elder sister. Their parents were away for the weekend - hence the reason why I could stay there in the first place, but I got an odd feeling when I first entered the house. I hadn't done so in over a year. This was something else. I felt slightly intrusive, and utterly unaware in retrospect as to what was about to go down. When things are too good to be true, they usually are - I can not stress this enough. I felt like I got along with her sister fairly well, but it was obvious we couldn't chat on an equal playing field. That language barrier blocks all distinguishable characteristics, and I can only imagine the suspicions that must have arisen from a caring sister. Who the hell was this dude?? Why was he in our house?? He looks like he's just been pulled out from a meat mincer. I'm sorry sis, I actually understand. As much as it sucked, this was a kind of crazy situation. In reality, I'd only just met Prue & she'd jumped at having me over, probably without thinking too much as to what this might come across like. It soon became apparent her sister didn't want me around. I had no where else to go. With no idea where I was. I was happy to see the girl but I didn't want to cause any problems. Maybe she could drop me at some cheap dive somewhere close to here and we could hang out till then?? No way, you've gotta adore your friends in times like these. Anie's mum to the rescue!! She'd liked me so much I'd got the green light to waste away the night at hers!! BOOM!! It pays to style a smile. Yea yea!! It turned out to be a great night after all, despite the drama. I got to see Prue, took her out on a hot date, was afforded an insight into your 'average' Brazilian family life, and even got served up a bangin' free breakfast for all my effort!! Thanks mumma!! I owe you one!! Crash on my couch any time.

Kickin in Prue's car

...and then that's all she wrote folks; my flagging story is near at its end. The next day I had to say my goodbyes once again. Horrible & hasty. I tend to run when things are not so fun. I swore I'd be back, and hopefully I am - with a bit of Portuguese under my belt & and lot more dollar. Brazil has been the best. I've loved every minute of it...and for this to top off my tremendous tangible year; who could ask for more?? I'm out of here. The mad bus mish back to Buenos Aires has began. Let's hope this air ticket of mine actually works...other wise I'll come a knockin'. Europe bound!!

Thanks to everyone I've met in the past year for making my journey the epic it was...
I would never have lasted without ya'll!!

For everyone who took the time to read parts of this, ace...
For those of you who read it all...you really need to get out of that box a little more often!!

No more Internet cafes, no more typing...maybe just the odd update. 
I'm over it. 

It's been a blast. 
Gotta keep on livin' the dream!!
Ciao!! Love Nicko xxxx

A Call to Carnival, Ilha Grande

Who would have thought I'd make it this far...?? In a day or two I've officially been out on this Latin American escapee for an entire year; a whopping 365 days living out of an undersized backpack, resting my weary head upon scundgy pillows & talking nonsense with all breeds of travellers from every corner of the globe. It's been one hell of a wild ride, that's for sure...and what'ya know; I got to top it off with a samba swinging, cachaça induced Carnival after all!! There's been blood, beaches & terrible Brazilian 'hock-y-holl;' what more could this young gallivanting gringo ask for?? Well as you may well know by now, my mind likes to reek havoc upon my decision making practicalities...I'm simply having too much fun. Three weeks is hardly enough in a country so sensational as this!! If only I could stay a little longer. I can see myself setting up shop somewhere along 'The Emerald Coast;' diving by day, jiving by night...getting holiday makers drunk off complimentary cocktails & good times. A sun dance romance did little to make matters easier. Haha sorry, obviously the hard life of a wanderer. We'll have to see what is to come - until then, let's follow that trail...alllllll the way back to last week when shit got peachy...

The posse ready to street party!!

It was a bit of a melodramatic meltdown on our way back from Búzios. Not only was my body slowly beginning to break down after the past five heinous nights of bootie shaking boogie madness (during my supposed 'Rio detox'), but somehow the chauffeuristic communication with our new Argentine co-pilot seemed to follow suite and got well lost in translation. Every now and then you meet some well meaning freak that makes you feel better about your own slightly obscure banter. Well here we all were, trapped with his charismatic demeanor; zig-zagging along the highway back to Rio de Janeiro with beats blasting & hangovers building. JackiO had been hooking up with one of the bar tenders for the past few nights or so, and as it turned out, his mate happened to be heading back to the city for some assumed 'official secret men's business,' and he had kindly offered to take us along for the ride. Score!! It's not every scum dog day you get to cruise the Brazilian coastline in a private van with a bunch of mates. The journey culminated with another spectacular venture across the bridge, and it wasn't long before we were stuck in an intersection hopping honk fest, ploughing the boulevards of Copacabana. It all seemed to good to be true; and as often is the case - it proved to be so. I was under the impression these guys were up to something here in Rio to make sense of the long journey, so obviously I believed our madman was taking the piss when he quoted our trip to 400 reais. I laughed it off, and convinced everyone else that 20 reais a piece would more than suffice. We got our bags off top, said our goodbyes and toddled off. Done. It wasn't until later on that night that I got a buzz from JackiO with the draw dropping news. Turns out she got stooged with the extra 300 reais we never paid up!! What the fuck?? He was bloody serious!! So much for Mr. RadCoolWhateva Mo'focker...the bus was only 45!! Ahhh...in hindsight it was a lot of fun, and I'd like to imagine it was our misunderstanding. Stay steezy my beautiful faced friend - enjoy your riches.

It was sad to see PeeTee leave on such crappy circumstances that night. We'd had plans for a whopper of a Carnival, and it would have been a great way to end his trip. We sunk a few beers on the veranda of my hostel until he took off into the night for his final shenanigans. After chatting the hours away with an all too peaceful English lass, I retreated to the 'soltitude' of my bunk bed...four meters high above the floor with little to stop me rolling out bar my travel books. It was a restless night; I couldn't even bend my legs. However, the next morning had me as sprouty as ever, all geared up for a tour of Rios notorious favelas. Rocinha is the largest of the lot in the city; jammed quite prominently between the wealthier areas of São Conrado and Gávea. At last 'count,' it was estimated that there were somewhere between 150,000 to 300,000 people living within the maze like confusion of the slum. Few people pay for electricity (which they 'borrow' from nearby outlets) & for the better part they only receive government funded water on a sporadic every three or four day basis.

Rocinha favela

I was a little pessimistic about the legitimacy of the tour. I assumed we'd be shuffled through the hectic streets like a waving pack of queens; pushed into buying cheap souvenirs & raping peoples daily lives. It's times like these that I really feel like a dick of a tommy tourist. However, on the contrary, no matter how genuine or not it turned out to be, I was pleasantly surprised with the outing. Our guide took us all the way to the top of the hill, from where we exited the van and began to meander our way down through the tangle of lively alleys. To my surprise, there were shops everywhere; kind of like home job businesses that provided all the same services you might find in a normal community. Kids followed us as we shuffled along, acting like shrunken adults. After ten minutes or so I felt completely at ease. The people here were much friendlier in my opinion than those back down on the beaches. And what about the views!! It's hard not to wonder why these aren't the hangouts of the rich & the famous. By the time we'd finished the walk, I was completely knackered from the heat, but absolutely enlightened on the real day to day life of these people. As a whole, they are by no means dangerous....of course there are the bad in any mob; that's a world wide affair. These are the people who clean your rooms, drive your buses & cook your food. They work hard & help each other. More so maybe than you or I.

Rad favela kids

That night I wandered down to Ipanema beach to watch the sunset, where I was supposed to meet up with JackiO for a Rio Reunion. JackiO forgot to wake up, so that never happened...instead I listened the football on TV, talked smack with a hot French air hostess & drank caipirinhas until I got bored. The party continued later as always back at the hostel. This was turning into such a bad anti-binge leading up to Carnival it was almost comical. We went out with a bunch of shit Aussies, who happened to know some of the other folk from my favela tour earlier. It was a bit of a senseless night, so Seema & I decided to bail on the revellers and call it a night. On the way back, while searching for crisps, it was fairly deserted along the streets - probably not the best idea in hindsight; but I'd come to get used to this kind of thing. However out of the corner of my eye I soon noticed some staggering mess, wallowing about on the curb. I tried not to draw attention to ourselves and got Seema to pick up the pace; much to her disgust I wouldn't tell her why. As I looked back I glimpsed this guy tapping a knife on the street pole, not really looking in any one direction. The confrontation was avoided but it was a tad unnerving. When I finally did spill my beans to the poor girl she practically laughed at me...so much for helping the ladies out!! Never again.

Surfers at Ipanema beach

I spent the next day summing up my options. I was running out of time on this continent, so I had to get a move on fairly soon. When would I likely be in Rio de Janeiro once again for Carnival?? Probably never...so I had to stay. I made the call to bail after one night, so in the mean time I journeyed out to the markets for a browse looking something to wear. I can't say I got much shopping done, but it was a lively all happening affair. The town was a buzz. Things were bound to get crazy.

Later that night I met back up with Pepi & her friend for some drinks at a near by bar. I've now come to realise email is a horrible way of rapid fire communication, as I spent the better half of a day trying to settle on a solid plan. Getting drunk often means getting hungry, so when we were all done with our buckets of beer; MaccyDees was called upon to help us friends in need. All was swell until we started chatting about personalities. Pepi's friend happens to be a psychiatrist, a god-forsaken profession in my opinion for social interactions, and before I knew what was happening my past was being picked to pieces for all but me to see. I've often wondered why I am the way I am, but I don't think it is so healthy to look too deep into it. I'm a show-pony I know...maybe I hide behind this mirage...but then again fuck no!! Who are you to tell me what you think you know about me. Hell, I don't even know!! Then to start ranting whether this is the reason why I travel, or asking what I want out of life since I can never seem content...I tried to listen, in truth I'd love to know; but as long as I'm not a bad person, or hurting anyone else for that matter, I don't think I really need to know. I love my life and people can love or hate me for it. I gave Pepi a smooch goodbye and waved my farewells. Way too much for a chilled Maccas mung.

Anyhow, the first day of Carnival had finally arrived!! Boy was I feeling revved up. I bought some cheap garments from a street stall vendor and made the mish into Lapa with a bunch of girls from the hostel to meet my Búzio posse back at Books. Pretty soon I lost the girls; they went off to grab some munch and never came back - apparently I was supposed to re-unite with them at some point...oh well. At the hostel I ran into a dude I hadn't seen since Cusco, and then DanThePirateMan who was also waiting on the same chums. We waited, and we waited...in the mean time we got drunker while we did all this waiting. When the stooges finally walked through the door the day was surely set in stone to be a success. I couldn't contain my excitement. We drank more beer, then began the arduous climb through the humid heat to a street party high up in the suburb of Santa Teresa. What a nut fest!! I've never seen so many revellers jammed into such a small space. People were being pulled out of the crowd seemingly unconscious, and then being thrown into the back of ambulances. It was way to hot to push through the mob; the only relief came when we retreated into the shade, or yet again when we found an available wall to piss on. Some woman thought it would be a great idea to drive up into the blockade...there was no where worse she could have ventured. She ended up having to perform the most exaggerated & drawn out three-point turn I've ever seen.

Santa Teresa street party

By the time we'd left the afternoon street party my clothes had been shredded, I'd began a drum beating brigade & I'd threw my flip-flops into the crowd. Barefoot in the barrios. Smart move. We made on back to Books, had ourselves way too many more caipirinhas, then hopped onto the metro for another round on the streets. This time we popped out in Ipanema; by this point I was close to wrecked. The beers were going down like water before, but the cachaça curse had come back out to play, and wasn't letting me win this one. I had to leave. I didn't want to leave these guys since I new I'd most likely never see them again, but this shit happens daily. I payed my ciao's for the night, and walked all the way back to my hostel in Copacabana; trying to take in the never ending strip of street party going on along Avenida Atlantica. I'd survived one night of Carnival in Rio, I doubt I could have survived another.

Groovin'

The following morning was as you can imagine...unexplainably awful!! Why do people do this to themselves?? It's an easy to answer question - we love to party, & no one parties like the Brazilians. When in Rome, yea?? I had a shuttle all organised to get me the hell out of there. I left some cash behind the desk for JackiO to make up for our staggering Búzio bill, and kicked back for the ride out to Ilha Grande. I felt like shit the entire way; I had to stop all this. A few days beach bumming was exactly what I needed. Despite my pained personal inner quirks, the drive itself was magnificent. What a coastline!! I can't exactly put it into words. Emerald islands dotted the bays of sleepy mountain fortified settlements. Over every hill opened a completely fresh panorama. Everything was lusciously green. The slopes teemed with life. Coming across on the boat was reminiscent to arriving on the island of Jurassic Park. My hangover disappeared. It took me a while to search for a hostel, but here I felt like I had all the time in the world. I ended up in the same hostel as one of my mates from back in Rio, and it didn't take long before we got chatting to the rest of the dwellers. Well, I'll call it chatting but in reality for the most part Matt & I were relying heavily on sign language or any of the Spanish I could muster. That was until a girl called Prue from near São Paulo finally built up the courage to open her mouth, blabbering away all night in near perfect English. What a babe. We hit it off immediately. For hours we sat there talking small talk, guzzling caipirinhas and watching the Carnival processions bustling noisily along the streets in the torrential rain. Rio was a hoot, but this was more my kind of thing.

On arrival at Ilha Grande

Later that night we hit the streets for some samba'ing mayhem!! The rain had called it quits, and we could finally escape the walls of the hostel. The live band was in full force, busting out all the apparent Brazilian classics. Prue explained that Brazilian bands love to include a line of English in their songs for some reason, so at least I could sing along to something. 'Break it down' was obviously a popular anthem, 'Quebra Ae!!' rings riot in my head even now!! The other one that made me laugh was 'Ciao, I have to go now...', so bad yet SO GOOD!! Genius. I promised Prue we could become millionaires if only she could help me write some horribly cheesy Brazilian pop song. We danced the night away well until the music came to a stand still. Prue tried to teach me how to samba, and some other fast dance where you move your feet frantically and smile. I was loving this country way too much...the girls were even joking I was Brazilian now. Nice remark, however I think my Portuguese & samba have a long way to go yet!!

Waking up was a little hazy the next morning. I thought I'd missed breakfast when my room was completely vacant. That would have put a damper on things; Carnival out here is expensive!! As always it took me a while to open my eyes, find the ham & cheese, then make a move with Matt to walk to Lopes Mendes Beach on the other side of the island. My shoes were drenched within the first few minutes when I got too lazy to take them off and tried in vain to jump a river. After that, it was a pretty cruisy hike despite the humidity. It was good to be out doing some kind of exercise again. On the last little section there were old shapes of people slipping and sliding down the hill in all directions. It was kind of funny to watch. Then again, I axed it when I tried to sneak on past in an impatient pursuit. We met the girls at the beach, and spent the rest of the afternoon lounging around in the sun & knocking back waves. The whole situation with Prue was turning into some kind of weekend holiday romance...what was happening to me?? I actually really liked the girl. Once we were sun stroked out, and my sunga tan was well and truly peeling back like sheets of plastic, we made the call to boat back to town. It was a wise decision; I was passed out on the deck before the boat had even left the jetty.

A quiet beach on Ilha Grande

I was really beginning to see an alternative life out these parts by this point. I was so relaxed, more so than I think I had been anywhere on the entire trip. The only irritation was that I had to get back to Buenos Aires in 10 days or so to catch my flight. Was there a way out of it?? Who knows. I could always come back. 2014 in Brazil could be one hell of an extravaganza!! That night we practically did the same shit as the one before. There was a mad lightning storm like none I'd ever seen, and after wards the band chimed in again with the exact same repertoire. I was beginning to learn even the Brazilian hooks. Every song seemed to have its own bloody dance!! Prue did her best not to laugh I'm sure. I got mine back again when the Black Eyed Peas came on, as she sang along with 'tonights gunna be a good night,' I'm sure it was the cutest thing I've ever heard.

Drinkin caipirinhas with Prue

The weather was perfect the next morning. The skies had cleared from the constant down pours, and it seemed everyone was amped for one final horah. I stole the guitar from the hostel & thought I'd work some magic down at the beach. I wish I had one to travel with, but hell they'd also be such a pain in the ass to carry. We found a spot on the 'black beach' to loath away the hours. We played a few chilled out songs before the tides began to wash every ones things out to sea!! The girls managed to save the beers. Horay!! Later we cooled off in the fresh water pools just up the hill, where there were places to dive & slide off the rocks. Prue took a tumble at one point and slammed well hard into the floor. Poor thing...I was well smitten by this point. After a bit of a chill sesh, I washed my things and toddled off. It had been another perfect day in paradise.

More beach bummin' with the girls

That night was to be the last with Prue & the posse, so we had to make the most of it. I tried to take a quick siesta to liven me up, but it was difficult with all the banter going on outside. I felt some sugar fuelled caipirinhas might do the trick instead, but before too long I was proper pissed. Not the best start. Then the girls decided to pull out a bottle of vodka...this was looking like turning into a messy night. Let's just say thank god for my BrazilianGodess; possibly the first person ever in the entire world to be able to keep me from guzzling the night away to irreversibility. Instead of landing flat on my face with intoxication, we decided to meander along the beach, enjoying the calm of the night and each others company. I think in truth, that was likely the most (if not the only) romantic runaway moment of my life. I've gone all fucking soppy in the process. I couldn't have asked for a better few days on the beach with a cooler chick. It's just a shame everything has to come to an end...

The last night with everyone

The girls were off in the morning. I hate goodbyes so I decided to make an early start for the mountains to avoid it. I hoped to see Prue again, but I wasn't so sure it would happen. To change my Europe plans all over again would be quite the shamble, then again I guess it comes down to what ever makes me happy. Yet for the time being, I had a mountain to climb; and a tough sucker at that. It was ridiculously hot!! My clothes were off within the first few minutes. Parrots Peak, towers 3,000 ft over the islands main town of Abraão, providing a fairly tough stint for someone who's been on the cans for the past 15 nights. I was dripping by the time I reached the peak. I felt like I'd lost a whole gallon of sweat on the way up. Also my feet were killing me from the 2 sizes too small Connie's that I'd found on a bathroom floor in Bariloche. However, as always the views were well worth the effort. From out on a rocky outcrop, one could see practically half of the island. Beaches stretched around coastline of every adjustment, and in the distance it was possible to make out the complexity & beauty of the surrounding areas. It was something else. Everything fell into place at that exact moment. I had flash backs from an entire year...the highs, the lows, the places & all the faces. I was so grateful for everything I'd come to have done. I felt like the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet.

Abraão from Parrots Peak

And so I'll leave it at that. From road trippin' madness, Carnival carnage, and being pushed around by a grumpy Argentine hostel owner for sitting on the wrong side of his balcony. I climbed yet another mountain, bummed around on beautiful island beaches & fell in love with a bitchin' Brazilian babe. It's all happening. Ciao, I have to go now!!

Much luvin everybody, thanks a ton for reading!!
Toots from a Hoot...
Nicko xxx 

Straddling a Leaky Boat, Búzios

Well this is sure to be fun...the girls have well and truly passed out under the food court tables in the bus terminal, while the remainder of us are struggling to utter even a single intelligible word. Our brains are mashed. What were we thinking?? This is the worst escapee of my life. During a spontaneous spat of fresh faced friendship, I made the call to follow these lads out to the beach bummin' hangout of Búzios for a few 'relaxing' days. I needed a detox - a space to chill; however in hindsight I was clueless (or maybe careless) that the worst was yet to come. Now here we were, wishing & waiting for our pickup. I was seeing yet still not believing...HeartBreaker had pulled out this set of speakers the size of my backpack!! How was this plausible. Heck, I wasn't complaining. A few beats couldn't make matters any worse, that's for sure. PeeTee had had a little malfunction while making his way to the terminal; somehow he'd managed to lose his small throw-over, which happened to contain his most valuable assets. Passport, Ipod, bank cards...shit mate, that's not exactly the best situation to find yourself stuck in. We'd tried our best to chase down the taxi who'd delivered us to the front step, but this was a losing battle. Convinced it was still sitting on the cab floor, we'd all but lost hope. 'Hey, maybe I left it in the hostel...', we had left in quite the rush after all - I'd packed my shit within the minute with no realisation that it would take another heat-sweat induced three hours to finally make a move. This possibility brightened our day...it hadn't been sounding good. All of a sudden there he was, striding bright smiled through the terminal with everything in place and everything a go. The wild weekend awaited. Let's go fucking mental!!

Off to the beach!!

Leaving Rio was stunning. Holy shit, what a remarkable city. Driving over the vast bridge provided us with a new perspective on the immensity of the urban sprawl - small ports were dotted everywhere & shanty towns lofted their way up the outskirt hillsides. Glad for that...my hangover had well and truly kicked in from our last night out on the town, and if it wasn't for the freezing air-con, I think I would have shrivelled up & died. I didn't even have an idea of where we were going. The only reference I had was the idea that 'Búzios' sounded like the Spanish word for 'diving'; and bar that I was running blind & letting TheBoss run the pack. It's nice every now and again not having to think. Once off the bus we toddled down the coppled streets, asking around for a hostel in a town which was apparently booked out. I couldn't believe out luck when we managed to snag six spots in one of the coolest hostels I've been in over the entire course of my journey. Nomads Hostel, smack on the waterfront. You couldn't have asked for a more picturesque spot. An illuminated cruise ship lit up the bay, and provided us a stoned spectacle for a large chunk of the night. On top of the geographical perfection of the place; us guys found ourselves littered & literally outnumbered by smoking hot Brazilian & Argentine holiday makers. It was like something wasn't right in an ideal world. What was the catch?? Paradise.

View from our hostel

Our first grab at gold was a cruisy day on the most popular beach in the area. I'd rendezvoused with a mate of mine from Brasilia, and with his help we colectivo'ed our way down the peninsulas coastline to find our hot spot. Man, what a life. How could I ever go home after this?? Sun, fun & football...that's all that mattered. Kicking one around makes you king. Within a few minutes a bunch of kids were crowding around eager to join in and play. We got a little cheeky with the Argentine ladies on a self diagnosed mission induced by the girls. The contest was on - who could pull the most poontang?? We kind of all flopped on that level, at least until that night. Another rager of a party. My body was set to explode!! At some point in the night we decided to go for a dip in the sea without any clothes on; however as always, the only naked twat turned out to be me. Between the mayhem we'd all tried to climb aboard a tiny wooden boat, but somehow managed to lap the thing with a bit much saline water. Bail, bail, bail!! It was like a miniature Titanic, slowly melting into the shallow depths of the ocean. I felt kind of bad later on, when we sat there watching the locals rescue the poor dear on the shore. What ever the significance of this instance was - it got me a drunken mang from some English bird I couldn't remember, PeeTee (the no Portuguese, or no Spanish speaking Perth champ) managed to pick up with a Brazilian who herself couldn't speak a word of English, and I plucked to pieces a tray of fire, flavoured with alcoholic sugar. It was one of the best nights I'd had in a long time. Plenty of broken guitar strings & an almost broken PeeTee body, from a death defying gangplank thong rescue. So much for the detox.

Beaches near Búzios

Of course it was off to the beach yet again the following day. That was all we could do...and I wasn't about to complain. I'd been dreaming of a place like this for way too long. So much time spent in the shadows of Patagonia that I'd almost sent myself insane with an impossibly upturned imagination. Our two Brazilian girls tagged along for the compliments...they'd fixed us up earlier with a bunch of bitchin' sungas, so we weren't about to not return the favour. By the end of the day I was roasted. Completely red from top to bottom - and the white blocks of my legs which had never seen sun were due to peel like plastic. That night one of our Argentine pals hooked us all up with a typical mouth watering asado. I swear these cats are cooler when on holiday!! He wouldn't even let us begin to help. It was like an insult to even ask. Around in a circle of new friends, we feasted like kings upon BBQ'ed meat and freshly prepared salads. It was good to eat something proper...the deep fried chicken balls were killing me.

An Argentine asado

I couldn't exactly hang about in the sun the following day. I hadn't been this burnt for as long as I could remember!! We lazed around in the shallows for the better part of the afternoon, occasionally having a kick of the football, in between wall beating 'clothes washing' sessions in the beach side shower. We thought we were due for a pretty chilled out night, so with that we decided to smoke a spliff and take it a' rockingly easy...of course once we were super stoned the party got well & truly happeningly started. Heck, I couldn't keep up. I was soooo baked. I couldn't take my eyes off our Argentinian chicas butt clash dancing...the sexiest thing I think I've ever seen. Haha, and even MummaMilf came out to play...what a washed up once-woman. Things were pretty bangin' until she decided to join JackiO & Gabrial up on the bar for a table top dance off. It was at this point I ran smack back into Pepi...well hey girl!! Lookin' choice under this haze cloud. She'd found it hilariously normal to go for a midnight swim with all her clothes on, and now she was near passed out on the receptions couch. 'I want McDonalds!!', shit...it was like dealing with a six year old halfling...'Pepi, Maccas is shut...you're gunna have to settle for Bobs.' Ahhh, Bobs! Quality munch. We made for a stairwell make-out while HeartBreaker sat in the shadows like Aragorn, confused and weary from his night with the semi-pyscho Uruguayan.

Fiesta Loca

I was running out of stamina. How could I maintain this for the upcoming Carnival?? The CuscoCough was back. I wasn't sounding healthy. Still, it was a ton of fun. We searched the rain soaked streets for bud, & spent a majority of the afternoon deciphering up new tattoos. By night we wandered, aimlessly jumbled with our purpose. Pepi finally confessed that my Spanish was bad, yet I felt slightly chuffed when she told me she still understood. She'd always came to me for answers. Most of the time I can't say I had any. Let's just say dorm rooms suck, and there is nothing we can do about it. No. That's a lie. Bust it on the beach. JackiO has all the stylin'. I'm out. Dead & beaten. With love for Brazil. Kiss, kiss...

Football on the beach

Brazilian Babes

Argentine mung

Lads

Losing a winning battle...
Keep it ace chums!!
Nicko xx

City of God, Rio de Janeiro

Now there are cities, and then there are the big phat whoppers - super suburban sprawls that are sure to have everything your mind could possibly hope to conjure, & a little more. I've bounced around quite a bit in my tall taled sprouting years, and still no place is yet to hold me. It's only now I feel I've hit the jackpot. The coolest city on the fucking planet, in possibly the most hippest country in the western hemisphere!! There are not many places that spark up an emotional imaginative presence more than Rio de Janeiro; its reputation is almost mythical. How wrong I was thinking an entire year in Latin America was enough...I still have a whole monster sized continent left to explore!! A true beauty - hardly the beast. Of what little I've seen thus far, Brazil is coming on as my most unexpected revelation to date; and I've began to fret about what I might now miss out on. There's not much left to do but make the most of it.

Rio de Janeiro from Christ the Redeemer

Brazilians say: that God created the world in six days, and the seventh he devoted to Rio. On first inspection, it can't be far off the truth. After an agonisingly long 24 hour bus ride all the way from Foz do Iguaçu, we finally pulled into the mega city itself. I was well over the crammed 'comfort' by that point, having spent a majority of the journey with a chunkers bulging feet near my face, on top of a constant odour drifting down the aisle from the increasingly toxic tasting baño. I'd met a couple of cool guys along the way, and once off the bus we all hopped into a taxi to split the costs till our individual accommodations. This was more like it; I felt I was back in the real South America - the one I'd been missing. Frantic traffic raced down the narrow streets like an inner city race track; homeless bums hauled their mattresses from one retreat to another; and the heat outside cut through the taxis air conditioner so much as to deem it senseless. I was lost within a few minutes. What a tangled mess. Then between the high walls of another cluster of apartment blocks I noticed the undisputed symbol of the city; Christ the Redeemer, standing tall on the tippy top of Corcovado Mountain. I still couldn't believe I was actually here. We dropped two of the lads off at their lodgings in Botafogo, and continued to the second stop some five minutes further on in Copacabana. As I was stuck with the translating (of which I was completely incompetent), once the second deal was all settled I hopped back in the cab and pointed out my way...errr, much to the unexpected surprise of the driver. I'd told him we had to make three stops in total, but this obviously got lost somewhere down the line. It was only another two or three minutes down the road but of course he managed to stooge me. I got hit for another 10 reais, and then he tried to conjure up a bit more for tips. Shit mate, give it a rest. No wonder so many people come home from this continent cluelessly robbed or bankrupt.

The hostel I'd fixed up for myself was a bit of a last minute grab, but as it turned out was quite the score. This was the first time I'd had to book accommodation for the entire trip, much to my disgust - but I wasn't too keen on lugging my gear from suburb to suburb searching for a place to crash in this city. The hostel was new, so everything was sparkly; and there was a cool outside deck area to chill the night away. My first port of call was to visit the beach. Oh, how I missed the beach!! Welcome to Copacabana boulevard!! Woohooo!! I couldn't help hum the cheesy musical theme song to myself as I wandered along the bike track, watching the locals play fresco ball & work out on the free beach side gym equipment. Every one was black & jacked. The white boy here finally built up the courage to take his top off, and instantly felt like I stood out like a set of headlights on a dark night. Heck, I didn't care...THE OCEAN!!! Ahhh, how a quick dip can make all the difference. After an hour or so I toddled back to the hostel; still with quite the paranoid qualities of a new kid on the block. You hear so much about the dangers of Rio that you come to settle on them as the undisputed truth. In the next few days I'd come to discover that this city packed so full of wonders, holds no greater threat than any other large metropolitan of the greater world.

Sand Castles on Copacabana

I think I'd forgot to mention...it was AUSTRALIA DAY!!! What a place to have spent it. I didn't get a chance to listen to the countdown (the first time I've missed it in about 8 years), but we did get to party it up well & proper with a few other Australians at the hostel, as well as a holiday maker from São Paulo and a couple of Poms. The caipirinhas really do go down a treat in this climate. Such a good way to start the night. So after many drinks & an expensive pay by weight buffet, we all piled into a collectevo and made for the crazy clubs in Lapa. The streets were alive. Drums rang through the night; food vendors sold beers and all kinds of BBQ'ed meat. The first time I layed eyes on the monumental Arcos da Lapa I was well pissed; barefoot and mesmerised. I simply followed the crowd. We ended up in some quite plush looking bar, which appeared to be only playing endless swing for revellers simply wanting a few quiet drinks with friends - yet as it turned out this place was a multi-level, something for all mega-club!! Holy shit, I thought Buenos Aires held the key to chaos. This place was incredible!! Everyone seemed to know all the dances; I just followed along as best I could and then added in my own stupid hand commotions. While this Dutch guy we met was greatly succeeding working his magic on the local girls, our English mates were having a bit more of a struggle. One of them just wouldn't take no for an answer. It got a little funny, then just got ridiculous.  Then the other told me he was planning on catapulting himself onto the stage. I kind of wanted to see what would happen, yet then again I didn't want this show to have to come to a stand still. Some old swinger dressed in a white suite & hat was killing it up there!! The live band was phenomenal!! Dancers, bell shakers & percussionists ruled the minds of us all - they had us in the palm of their hand. We danced until I could dance no more, or at least until EricBanas bowels were due to give way. We cabbed it back to Copacabana and called it a night.

The Arcos da Lapa by day

I had to change hostels the following day. I was kind of spewing about that. For one I was as hungover as a bitch, and secondly my new hostel kind of sucked. You could only really fit two people within the floor space of the dorms at any one time. No room to move. And downstairs the communal area was hardly inviting. Still there were some alright people with whom I managed to mingle with. That day was filled out in practically the same way as the one before; more time spent lapping around on Copacabana beach, and sorting out my life for the next few weeks (well trying to). One thing I knew I had to do however, was to jump on board for the football game later that night. It was to be a cracker apparently - Fluminense vs Botafogo, two of the most popular clubs in Rio, and for me I can't recall ever having been to a live soccer match in my entire life. Good place to start. Once collected from the hostel we were all chauffeured through the city to some giant stadium on the outskirts of town. It was a tad unsettling at first as we were immediately engulfed by a mob of passionately boozing fans. Apparently you can't drink once inside, so they tend to make the most of it pre-game.

A street full of Fluminense fans

To our advantage, it was a good thing our group had picked the right colours for the occasion; the green, white & maroon statement of Fluminense draped from every building, and over every body. After some beers, and a bite to eat we grabbed our tickets and headed in for the kick off. It was quite the sight on entering the stadium itself. Although not so packed out as I would have liked, the cheer squad were already in full force, belting drums & waving enormous flags with an indisputable charisma. When the game got started, they only further picked up the pace. So as it goes, when you come to these sorts of events there is only really one thing you have to hope for - and that's goals. What an uproar!! 'GOOOOLLLLLLL!!!!' The call excitedly rang over the top of a frenzied pack!! Fluminense had scored first and the celebration was deafening. Even when Botafogo replied with an equaliser, the Fluminense cheer squad only seemed to provoke an ever greater racket as to counter the opposition. What an atmosphere!! It was a great experience to say the least. The forever chanting chorus of voices rattled through my brain for the remainder of that evening. I have an inclining that I'll be back for the 2014 World Cup next year!! Anyone keen to tag along??...Hell yeaaa!!

Fluminense vs Botafogo

I came up with bit of a random idea the following morning. I checked out the map, and found it feasible to walk from my hostel here in Copacabana to the top of Pão de Açucar, another one of Riosmost iconic symbols. When I mentioned it to the guys at the front desk they though I was nuts, but I was sure I'd read somewhere that it was more than possible. The walk itself didn't prove such a problem; through one of the tunnels and along some sleepy residential streets - I'd reached the base of the mountains within 45 minutes or so. Then I had to make a decision. Do I give the Pão itself a crack in its entirety, or do I climb the smaller hill and then catch the cable car the rest of the way to the top?? Not a hard decision when you're a tight ass adrenaline junkie like myself. Up we go. To begin with the walk was rather pleasant & cruisy; there were lovely views back along the coast, and many runners were using the wide track for some Monday morning recreation. I had no real clue as to where I was going, but eventually the big track faded out - round the back of some cement cylinder and all of a sudden I was on my own. This was rad. A scrubby jungle hiking trail in the heart of one of the most populated cities in the world!! Who could ask for more. I'll tell you what though, it was hot!! From here on in it was practically straight up the entire way. I had to pass over a number of large granite slabs which sloped gracefully down the verticals of the mountain. At times these were a tad wet, and proved a little sketchy in my worn out Connie's. But for the most part, I was flying. It was great to be out exercising in such a beautiful setting. Cargo ships could be spotted all around the bay, and the complexity of the city began to take shape from high above. Such tranquillity...

Climbing Pão de Açucar

That was until I hit the main objective...a ten to fifteen meter section of steep crack ridden rock, laughing back in my face. A sign explained the situation : 'WARNING!! This section requires climbing gear, do not attempt to climb it if you are not PREPARED and PROPERLY EQUIPPED!!' Errr...well now what?? It didn't look all so bad; how hard could it be?? I've done a ton of free climbing in the past before, and felt pretty confident I could still knock it off. So I gave it a shot. The first section was easy; just up a couple of ledges with plenty of things to grip on to, but it wasn't until I got to a tricky section with a bulging boulder that I started to seriously doubt if I could finish the climb. There was a metal bolt drilled into the wall at this point, and I felt I could use that to some advantage. As it turned out I think it only made matters worse. My fingers got stuck when trying to reach for other holds, and committing to anything at this point was becoming a real life or death gamble. Some of the parts were a little glazed with moister also, which didn't make securing my feet any easier, so I thought I'd give it a shot bare foot. That was idiotic. It only cut my toes to shreds. I was near on turning back by now - I was tired, thirsty & shaken up from the seriousness of the would be tumble; but something in me said to give it one final shot. Something different?? Alright fuck it!!...Eiiikkk, alright so now I really was stuck in the deep end!! There was no turning back from here. I remember someone telling me once that you have to be careful what you get yourself into when free climbing cause you can reach a certain point where you can neither go up nor down. I felt like this was now. It was a long drop below. Never do this at home kids. The only thing I had left to do was put my faith in a tree root...please don't be flimsy...heck it was pretty flimsy!! Quick, quick, quick!! Got it!!! With the remainder of my arm born energy I pulled myself up onto the ledge and prayed with a deep cry it was to be the last. I was spent. I couldn't believe how stupid that was and how close I'd come to fucking it up!! If anyone reads this with plans to do the same...don't blame me when you fall and crack you skull open. It's not the best idea after all. But hey...you save yourself 25 bucks.

Rio de Janeiro from Pão de Açucar

By the time I'd reached the top of the mountain I was dripping like a summer storm. God knows what people were thinking...I was covered in mud and looked like I'd just ran a marathon. It's hard work catching a cable car hey!! I jumped a fence that said not to, and took a seat with a fantastic view back to the way I'd just came from. After I'd caught my breathe I slinked over to some of the 'official' miradors to cap off a remarkable day. There was the city before me; the most beautiful I am ever yet (and ever likely) to see. In my opinion, the reward was well worth the madness. Sorry Sal, I'll be much more sensible next time I promise...maybe!!

Pão de Açucar from below

The best thing about climbing Pão de Açucar yourself, is that you get to ride the cable car back down for free!! I'd spent nothing that day, so I decided to get drunk & celebrate. I woke up the next day with a hint of a hangover with nothing to show for it. Noice. The worst kind. I felt I should wander down to Ipanema to walk it off. Down at the beach I watched the surfers bob beside the rocks, drank myself a caipirinha for breakfast, then ran into a model photography shoot jammed packed with draw dropping stunners!! This was the life. I think I'll end up sticking around for a little longer than I had planned. Either way, I had to change hostels that day yet again; the build up to Carnival was making finding good accommodation hectic. This time I was moving out to the suburb of Lapa, a world apart from the glitz & glamour of Copacabana or Ipanema, and it took me a while to readjust to the mayhem. Well that was OK anyway, because I got stuck inside for most of the day due to the driving rain. I sat about in the huge lounge room watching movies & pretending to be busy. It wasn't until later that night that I made a move to be in any way socially active. I sat at the bar & drank caipirinhas until my mouth felt as if it was full off fluff. An Aussie girl called JackiO, who I quickly took a liking to explained that this was a common occurrence, and that she had read somewhere that people were putting nail clippers in their mouths because of it and trying to chop off their taste buds!! What the fuck is wrong with the world!!?? This munted trend of conversation continued throughout the remainder of the night, as somehow we managed to skip between such exotic hot topics; from 'sitting down in the shower,' to the self diagnosis of 'neck clad lymph nodes.' I thought she was a smart girl until she dragged me into the deserted unlit streets in search of the famous Santa Teresa steps at 4 o'clock in the morning...ahhh, blow your balls up you sucker. I'm so gonna get shot one of these days.

Models posing on Ipanema beach

I think we woke the whole dorm up the following morning. Quickly put in my place by some brave buccaneer, I was told to 'shut the fuck up!' or 'get out!!' Aight mate, I get the jist. I hadn't got too much sleep at all that night, and I was up mighty early; I didn't miss breakfast however...so that was one bonus!! I had to knock off that other 'must-do' before I could chill the hell out around these parts, and today was looking as promising as it was likely to ever be. Off to see the big Jesus - the Redeemer himself. We ended up climbing the road with a hot chica from Bahia who was trying desperately to practise her English, and her fat mother who reminded me of the black hooker off the movie 'Borat.' Please don't turn out like your mumma girlo...it would be such a waste. Once up top, it was a wondrous occasion...the only shame about it all was the crowds. You could barely move. This spot obviously wasn't designed with the 21st Century tourist boom in mind. I squeezed through the pack and grabbed a couple of quick snaps; however, then I refused to move. I wasn't coming up all this way not to take it all in. It was much like being at a rock concert - once you were at the rail you were set; let that safety net go and you find yourself in a whirlwind. He does look a bit like a giant rock-god made of rock now doesn't he??

Christ the Redeemer

We had a mad crew that night for another hair-raiser. We'd decided to buy some rum & stir up our own drinks...well one bottle turned into two...and add to that all those pre-drinking tasty cocktails from the bar & you've all of a sudden set yourself up for one messy night!! Soon we were doing our best to samba downstairs in some nearby club, and from there on in I can't remember much else...there was bum dancing, circle stand-offs and missing people. Somehow JackiO & I ended up on a concrete seat yet again talking our way through the bullshit on the empty streets of Lapa. Strange days. I needed a detox. Better make for Búzios. Shit son, watch out...BEACH BOUND!!!

Catchya later hombres...
Somehow surviving this CachaÇaFest!!
Wish you were here...

Much Overdue Luvin'
Nicko xxx