Ive travelled from Mexico to Argentina nearly exclusively by bus, and I have some observations to share.
As a general rule, the farther south you travel, the better buses become. As the miles from the United States border grow, buses slowly begin to acquire things - like air conditioning, lavatories, and televisions.
There are of course exceptions to this rule - the most blatant being the Chicken Buses of Guatemala. Though they definitely have all the buses of Central and South America on affordability and character, sitting three plus to a seat for four hours makes them begin to lose their charm and subsequently their superiority to the buses of Mexico.
The introduction of the fold down leg rest - an apparatus I had never seen before - places South American buses firmly ahead of all Central American buses. That and the advent of stopping for meals at buffets.
Thanksgiving day, however, Argentinian buses placed themselves soundly above all others in my opinion. First off, the buses have two stories and seat the majority of the clientele on the top floor, thereby eliminating the primary downside to the bus lavatory - the smell. Secondly, the seats are not regular seats. These seats are the difference in width between a coach seat and a business class seat on an airplane. And finally, the piece de resistance, on Argentinean buses they serve food. Actual, ham and cheese sandwiches food with the beverage of your choice.
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner.
Tonight, I'm taking the night bus from Mendoza to Bariloche and I'm rather looking forward to it.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
The Pantanal
Thursday afternoon, before I climbed off the truck I knew this was going to be good.
There are lots of things I didn't know. The Pantanal is the worlds largest wetland. It covers Brazil's southwestern corner along the borders of Bolivia and Paraguay and provides a habitat for the greatest concentration of animals in the Western Hemisphere. Didn't know that.
Before I left the States, I had read about the Pantanal in guidebooks, and whereas the guidebooks sections on the Brazilian Amazon spoke mostly of the insects on could see in the jungle, the sections on the Pantanal featured large photographs of mammals and birds. So, when deciding where to invest my time in the wilderness I found the choice remarkably easy - mammals and birds over insects any day.
When I arrived in Campo Grande, I signed up for a four day Pantanal trekking tour with a company called Ecological Expeditions. They promised, among other things, horseback riding and piranha fishing, three hot meals a day, and a discount for "roughing it" with their camping option - meaning agreeing to sleep in a hammock rather than a bed.
Thursday morning, they loaded us into a van. When it stopped - and I woke up - the landscape had changed. The land was flat, the sky bright blue, and the red soil radiated heat. That's when we got on the truck and started down a dirt road that was arrow straight for as far as I could see. One of our guides said the truck drive would take a couple of hours. We sat on a bench in the back, and pulled our feet in under the shade of the trucks canopy whenever a jolt bounced them out into the scorching sun.
As we drove, the guides would pull the truck over to point out wildlife. I didn't know there are deer in Brazil. Apparently there are several different varieties. We spotted a female whitetail ten minutes in. I also didn't know that the Jaibiru stork - a bird that looks like it could take me in a fight - is both the largest flying bird in Brazil and the symbol of the Pantanal. We saw one feeding after about an hour, when the landscape changed again and gave way to a series of small caiman-filled ponds the truck crossed via wood plank bridge.
My first night in camp seemed strangely reminiscent of my time in the Amazon. The dinner was the same - salad, rice & beans, spaghetti, and meat. The table was segregated into English-speaking and non. And the stars seemed brighter, closer, and dizzyingly out of place when compared to the stars I see at home. I did, however, make quite a lot of friends when I demonstrated what my research had proven to be the most comfortable way to lie in a hammock. Sideways - you have to lie sideways.
The morning of Friday we set off for a boat tour. Back on the truck to get to the river. Into a small motor boat with six others including Alex, our guide. Though rainy season is due to begin in late November, the rains had not yet come. Its good for you - Alex said - because all the animals must remain close to the little water that's left, which makes seeing them easy. Bad for Alex though as the water in the river was so low that he spent a good deal of the three hour tout in the chest-high water pulling out boat out of sand dunes.
What he said about the greater concentration of wildlife seemed to be true. Before we turned to head back to the truck, I had lost count of all the different bird species and the number of caiman we had seen. A capibara had also graced us with his presence. This fact did, however, make Alexs insistence that we swim in the river a little hard to take. Even more so that it was "perfectly safe" despite the presence of caiman, piranhas, and stringrays - another thing I didn't know. There are freshwater stingrays?
I still cant believe I did it. But I did - dived in off the bank into the murky water. If it hadn't have been so nerve-racking I probably would have more enjoyed how cool the water was. It didn't help that as Alex pushed the boat clear of the bank a piranha bit him on the foot.
Horseback riding that afternoon. Why I got the smallest horse I don't know, but Carmelo seemed to have a bit of an inferiority complex. He made a habit out of nipping at the other horses and when given the opportunity to run would take off like a shot. On the home stretch, looked up and saw something pretty amazing. A tree full of Hyacinth macaws. Six of them, deep-dark blue, and gorgeous. The largest macaws there are - that I did know.
Spent Saturday on guided nature walks. I think it goes without saying that the medicinal uses of the Pantanals plants came as new information to me. Coconut water as an eye drop? Interesting. More surprising though was the presence of armadillos. Alex pointed out their burrows near the place he stopped to show us Puma tracks.
Fished for piranha my final morning and enjoyed it. I was rather dangerous to fish beside though, since for a long time I didn't pull hard enough to sink the hook, but hard enough to send yellow-bellied piranha flying onto the river bank. Nothing wakes you up more then having a flesh-eating fish come hurling at you first thing in the morning. I thought it was rather comical, but our guide disagreed and after my third pitch spent ten minutes teaching me how to properly sink the hook. I maintain though that it was my fish throwing that attracted the family of giant river otters to our section of the river. They were really cool to see.
Learned my last lesson in the Pantanal while cleaning our catch. Though you have caught, clubbed, and deprived the fish of water for over an hour, never put your fingers near a piranhas mouth. Luckily, our guide made us wise to this fact before any of our group suffered for our ignorance - but should you ever be in the Pantanal this could be one of the most useful bits of knowledge you gain from the things I didn't know.
There are lots of things I didn't know. The Pantanal is the worlds largest wetland. It covers Brazil's southwestern corner along the borders of Bolivia and Paraguay and provides a habitat for the greatest concentration of animals in the Western Hemisphere. Didn't know that.
Before I left the States, I had read about the Pantanal in guidebooks, and whereas the guidebooks sections on the Brazilian Amazon spoke mostly of the insects on could see in the jungle, the sections on the Pantanal featured large photographs of mammals and birds. So, when deciding where to invest my time in the wilderness I found the choice remarkably easy - mammals and birds over insects any day.
When I arrived in Campo Grande, I signed up for a four day Pantanal trekking tour with a company called Ecological Expeditions. They promised, among other things, horseback riding and piranha fishing, three hot meals a day, and a discount for "roughing it" with their camping option - meaning agreeing to sleep in a hammock rather than a bed.
Thursday morning, they loaded us into a van. When it stopped - and I woke up - the landscape had changed. The land was flat, the sky bright blue, and the red soil radiated heat. That's when we got on the truck and started down a dirt road that was arrow straight for as far as I could see. One of our guides said the truck drive would take a couple of hours. We sat on a bench in the back, and pulled our feet in under the shade of the trucks canopy whenever a jolt bounced them out into the scorching sun.
As we drove, the guides would pull the truck over to point out wildlife. I didn't know there are deer in Brazil. Apparently there are several different varieties. We spotted a female whitetail ten minutes in. I also didn't know that the Jaibiru stork - a bird that looks like it could take me in a fight - is both the largest flying bird in Brazil and the symbol of the Pantanal. We saw one feeding after about an hour, when the landscape changed again and gave way to a series of small caiman-filled ponds the truck crossed via wood plank bridge.
My first night in camp seemed strangely reminiscent of my time in the Amazon. The dinner was the same - salad, rice & beans, spaghetti, and meat. The table was segregated into English-speaking and non. And the stars seemed brighter, closer, and dizzyingly out of place when compared to the stars I see at home. I did, however, make quite a lot of friends when I demonstrated what my research had proven to be the most comfortable way to lie in a hammock. Sideways - you have to lie sideways.
The morning of Friday we set off for a boat tour. Back on the truck to get to the river. Into a small motor boat with six others including Alex, our guide. Though rainy season is due to begin in late November, the rains had not yet come. Its good for you - Alex said - because all the animals must remain close to the little water that's left, which makes seeing them easy. Bad for Alex though as the water in the river was so low that he spent a good deal of the three hour tout in the chest-high water pulling out boat out of sand dunes.
What he said about the greater concentration of wildlife seemed to be true. Before we turned to head back to the truck, I had lost count of all the different bird species and the number of caiman we had seen. A capibara had also graced us with his presence. This fact did, however, make Alexs insistence that we swim in the river a little hard to take. Even more so that it was "perfectly safe" despite the presence of caiman, piranhas, and stringrays - another thing I didn't know. There are freshwater stingrays?
I still cant believe I did it. But I did - dived in off the bank into the murky water. If it hadn't have been so nerve-racking I probably would have more enjoyed how cool the water was. It didn't help that as Alex pushed the boat clear of the bank a piranha bit him on the foot.
Horseback riding that afternoon. Why I got the smallest horse I don't know, but Carmelo seemed to have a bit of an inferiority complex. He made a habit out of nipping at the other horses and when given the opportunity to run would take off like a shot. On the home stretch, looked up and saw something pretty amazing. A tree full of Hyacinth macaws. Six of them, deep-dark blue, and gorgeous. The largest macaws there are - that I did know.
Spent Saturday on guided nature walks. I think it goes without saying that the medicinal uses of the Pantanals plants came as new information to me. Coconut water as an eye drop? Interesting. More surprising though was the presence of armadillos. Alex pointed out their burrows near the place he stopped to show us Puma tracks.
Fished for piranha my final morning and enjoyed it. I was rather dangerous to fish beside though, since for a long time I didn't pull hard enough to sink the hook, but hard enough to send yellow-bellied piranha flying onto the river bank. Nothing wakes you up more then having a flesh-eating fish come hurling at you first thing in the morning. I thought it was rather comical, but our guide disagreed and after my third pitch spent ten minutes teaching me how to properly sink the hook. I maintain though that it was my fish throwing that attracted the family of giant river otters to our section of the river. They were really cool to see.
Learned my last lesson in the Pantanal while cleaning our catch. Though you have caught, clubbed, and deprived the fish of water for over an hour, never put your fingers near a piranhas mouth. Luckily, our guide made us wise to this fact before any of our group suffered for our ignorance - but should you ever be in the Pantanal this could be one of the most useful bits of knowledge you gain from the things I didn't know.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Rio
The beach. My memories of Rio revolve around the beach.
Copacabana my first night. Walked the waves of black and white tile that mirror the curve of sand and spray until I couldn't walk anymore. After 30 hours on the bus, it felt good. It was on this beach that I finally lost my composure to Brazilian fashion. I had done well for weeks - smiled in the face of neon onesies and trained my eyes not to stare at the holes women seemed to cut in their skin-tight clothes. But Friday night on Copacabana I lost it.
I turned to head back toward the hostel and saw a man in what I'd describe as a pair of white "boyshort" underwear jogging - yes, jogging - down the beach. The combination of shock and horror was too much. A grown man out jogging in what I thought to be a pair of very feminine underwear. The laughter spilled out and wouldn't stop. Thank God he was jogging away from me.
My second afternoon, Maramar beach - over an hour by bus from the city proper. I had met my host family under the statue of liberty at Barra Shopping's New York City Center Saturday. Luiz and Leticia Berthold. Barra is said Baha and accurately represents my continued confusion over the Portuguese language. What does รง sound like? I still don't really know.
Sunday, I drove with Luiz to the bike shop where, after the tires were inflated and a new bike chain attached, I was given a bike to pedal to the beach of my choice. Luiz recommend Maramar - an undeveloped stretch over the hill from the gated community that holds his family's home. I spent a lovely Sunday afternoon reading The Kite Runner in between dips in the Atlantic.
On this beach, I also had another memorable encounter with Brazilian fashion. I thought the topless beaches of Spain and France would have prepared me for the thong bikini, but it was still rather weird to be able to truthfully say, "Dude, I can see your butt." There are some places I'd just rather not have sand - though I do now understand why a Brazilian wax is, well, a Brazilian wax.
It rained hard Monday and the sea swelled angry. I was a top Pao de Azucar when it started. Watched the gray haze roll in, then headed for the cable car. By the time I reached the Berthold's, I was soaked from head to toe. Tuesday, frontpages showed pictures of the flooding and workers in orange suites where still sweeping the seaside streets when I pedaled home from Corcovado, where Jesus stood allusive behind the remaining clouds.
Left early Wednesday morning for Campo Grande. Waved goodbye to Leticia after she dropped me at the bus stop and, while the bus into the city hugged the shore, to Rio and its beach.
Copacabana my first night. Walked the waves of black and white tile that mirror the curve of sand and spray until I couldn't walk anymore. After 30 hours on the bus, it felt good. It was on this beach that I finally lost my composure to Brazilian fashion. I had done well for weeks - smiled in the face of neon onesies and trained my eyes not to stare at the holes women seemed to cut in their skin-tight clothes. But Friday night on Copacabana I lost it.
I turned to head back toward the hostel and saw a man in what I'd describe as a pair of white "boyshort" underwear jogging - yes, jogging - down the beach. The combination of shock and horror was too much. A grown man out jogging in what I thought to be a pair of very feminine underwear. The laughter spilled out and wouldn't stop. Thank God he was jogging away from me.
My second afternoon, Maramar beach - over an hour by bus from the city proper. I had met my host family under the statue of liberty at Barra Shopping's New York City Center Saturday. Luiz and Leticia Berthold. Barra is said Baha and accurately represents my continued confusion over the Portuguese language. What does รง sound like? I still don't really know.
Sunday, I drove with Luiz to the bike shop where, after the tires were inflated and a new bike chain attached, I was given a bike to pedal to the beach of my choice. Luiz recommend Maramar - an undeveloped stretch over the hill from the gated community that holds his family's home. I spent a lovely Sunday afternoon reading The Kite Runner in between dips in the Atlantic.
On this beach, I also had another memorable encounter with Brazilian fashion. I thought the topless beaches of Spain and France would have prepared me for the thong bikini, but it was still rather weird to be able to truthfully say, "Dude, I can see your butt." There are some places I'd just rather not have sand - though I do now understand why a Brazilian wax is, well, a Brazilian wax.
It rained hard Monday and the sea swelled angry. I was a top Pao de Azucar when it started. Watched the gray haze roll in, then headed for the cable car. By the time I reached the Berthold's, I was soaked from head to toe. Tuesday, frontpages showed pictures of the flooding and workers in orange suites where still sweeping the seaside streets when I pedaled home from Corcovado, where Jesus stood allusive behind the remaining clouds.
Left early Wednesday morning for Campo Grande. Waved goodbye to Leticia after she dropped me at the bus stop and, while the bus into the city hugged the shore, to Rio and its beach.
Friday, November 21, 2008
A Night in Salvador
To be honest, I was sick in Salvador. I arrived - or rather, Warren and I arrived - on Monday, November 10th via 36 hour bus from Belem. Tuesday was a really good day, but Wednesday until my arrival in Rio Friday is kind of touchy. I slept a lot, spent some quality time with the porcelain piece of furniture, then slept some more. I can, however, tell you of Tuesday.
Warren and I decided to go to the beach - and not just any beach. People in our hostel recommended taking the bus to Arembepe. We did. Stepped off at the last stop made by the bus to Arembepe and turned left at the basketball court. The town has two rows of buildings, and past the one left of the basketball court is the beach.
The Atlantic.
The sand felt like butter - I've never felt sand so soft. We walked past groups of fishermen and a sea turtle conservation project. Throughout the day, families came and went - their kids digging holes to sit in past the tide line and waiting excitedly for the waves to come and flood them out, seeing who could stay seated longest in the neck-high water as it tried to pull them back to sea.
We ate ice cream as we waited for the bus back. After a shower, dinner, and dark, we went out for a walk. Tuesday night in Pelourinho - Salvador's historic district - was supposed to be good. It was. There are a lot of black people in Salvador. Pelourinho means whipping post in Portuguese. The air beat with the sound of drums.
We sat on the steps of a church, watched a man with a green feather in his hat raise a glass of wine to the crowd before blowing his trombone. His band took up the rhythm, the crowd cheered, and women began to dance and sing - braids swaying.
Further down the street a drum troop unlike any I have ever seen. All women and girls. I don't think I could ever move like that. We stood against a building of the narrow street, memorized. Mallets flew, hips swerved, heads snapped. I don't think I could ever move like that. We walked on through hip-hop dancers and street performers, the air still beating.
Warren and I decided to go to the beach - and not just any beach. People in our hostel recommended taking the bus to Arembepe. We did. Stepped off at the last stop made by the bus to Arembepe and turned left at the basketball court. The town has two rows of buildings, and past the one left of the basketball court is the beach.
The Atlantic.
The sand felt like butter - I've never felt sand so soft. We walked past groups of fishermen and a sea turtle conservation project. Throughout the day, families came and went - their kids digging holes to sit in past the tide line and waiting excitedly for the waves to come and flood them out, seeing who could stay seated longest in the neck-high water as it tried to pull them back to sea.
We ate ice cream as we waited for the bus back. After a shower, dinner, and dark, we went out for a walk. Tuesday night in Pelourinho - Salvador's historic district - was supposed to be good. It was. There are a lot of black people in Salvador. Pelourinho means whipping post in Portuguese. The air beat with the sound of drums.
We sat on the steps of a church, watched a man with a green feather in his hat raise a glass of wine to the crowd before blowing his trombone. His band took up the rhythm, the crowd cheered, and women began to dance and sing - braids swaying.
Further down the street a drum troop unlike any I have ever seen. All women and girls. I don't think I could ever move like that. We stood against a building of the narrow street, memorized. Mallets flew, hips swerved, heads snapped. I don't think I could ever move like that. We walked on through hip-hop dancers and street performers, the air still beating.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Time is Money
I'm an American. I come from the land where time is money. At home, I tap my foot in front of the microwave, quadruple-task, and feel guilty when on the rare occasion that I do sit down in front of the television I'm not at least holding something that I could use in the pursuit of productivity - a book, my laptop, etc...
I have traveled the entire length of the Brazilian Amazon by boat. From Manaus, I got on a boat to Belem - where the river meets the Atlantic. The trip was supposed to take five days and four nights. I ended up taking five days and six nights.
From Leticia to Manaus, I had revealed in inaction. Stared for hours at the forest - completely content. By the third hour aboard this boat, my Americanism resurfaced. Before we parted,Conn gave me a book on WWI. I've read it. I've also sang through every Disney movie I've ever seen, written out emails to everyone of my acquaintance, and exhausted the battery of myMP3 player. It's day three.
Last night, while discussing our boredom Warren, a fellow English-speaker from South Africa, and I made an interesting discovery. Of all the people on board, we could identify the tourists not by their appearance or speech, but because the only people reading were Westerners. Warren is reading Don Quixote, the Canadian Wuthering Heights, Me The Western Front 1914-1918, and the Italian his guidebook. We all come from places where - not to America's extreme Warren tells me. He was quite impressed when he boarded the train from Miami to North Carolina two months ago, that everyone without exception held either a laptop or a newspaper - time is money.
The Brazilians seem to have quite a different attitude. The Italian calls them simple people. I can't imagine boarding a boat without something to occupy my time. Even on he first boat I read everyday - not nearly as much as this trip, but everyday. Two weeks into my travels I stopped saying things were better than others in regards to the way the world works or how people in other places see it. I'll leave judgement up to the One able to do it justly. However, if one can make deductions about a country's citizens by observing the behaviors of one boat load of people, I will dare to say that they were never told as children that time is money.
I have traveled the entire length of the Brazilian Amazon by boat. From Manaus, I got on a boat to Belem - where the river meets the Atlantic. The trip was supposed to take five days and four nights. I ended up taking five days and six nights.
From Leticia to Manaus, I had revealed in inaction. Stared for hours at the forest - completely content. By the third hour aboard this boat, my Americanism resurfaced. Before we parted,Conn gave me a book on WWI. I've read it. I've also sang through every Disney movie I've ever seen, written out emails to everyone of my acquaintance, and exhausted the battery of myMP3 player. It's day three.
Last night, while discussing our boredom Warren, a fellow English-speaker from South Africa, and I made an interesting discovery. Of all the people on board, we could identify the tourists not by their appearance or speech, but because the only people reading were Westerners. Warren is reading Don Quixote, the Canadian Wuthering Heights, Me The Western Front 1914-1918, and the Italian his guidebook. We all come from places where - not to America's extreme Warren tells me. He was quite impressed when he boarded the train from Miami to North Carolina two months ago, that everyone without exception held either a laptop or a newspaper - time is money.
The Brazilians seem to have quite a different attitude. The Italian calls them simple people. I can't imagine boarding a boat without something to occupy my time. Even on he first boat I read everyday - not nearly as much as this trip, but everyday. Two weeks into my travels I stopped saying things were better than others in regards to the way the world works or how people in other places see it. I'll leave judgement up to the One able to do it justly. However, if one can make deductions about a country's citizens by observing the behaviors of one boat load of people, I will dare to say that they were never told as children that time is money.
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