Have Itch, Will Travel

I had promised Joe that I wouldn't be away from Peru too long, and was determined to make it back to Lima by my birthday. I had six days left; the last three needed to be allocated to the full three day bus trip from Buenos Aires to Lima, so I was left with just three days to experience the Falls on both the Brazilian and Argentinean sides, as well as allow for overnight stays to get buses. It seemed like an impossible task, but I was to have a few lucky days. I finally arrived in the town of Foz do Iguaçu in Brazil at 2:30pm. I thought it was too late to see the Falls and had all but decided to find accommodation for the night. Before I left the bus station, I went to the tourist information desk for details on how to get to the Falls and they said I still had time today. What the hell! I thought. I jumped on the next shuttle and was pleased to see that the visitor's centre had lockers where I could stow away my pack and be free to wander. The Falls were just incredible.

People seem to be concerned about mosquito-borne illnesses while traveling in the tropics, and with good reason too. Rarely, they are concerned about catching the dreaded common cold . Sure, a cold is no big deal but it's uncomfortable and in this age of H1N1 panic, it is potentially inconvenient to be held up at border crossings. So how do you get a cold in hot climates? Let me tell you the three ways I caught a cold during my travels. The first time was in the middle of the Peruvian Amazon . It was a warm day, perfect for Joe and I to try our hand at fishing the river. Borrowing a canoe, we clumsily paddled out and it began to rain . Surprisingly the rain was bitter cold and soaked us, and we endured about two hours of shivering. This was sufficient to land me in bed for two days with a fever , and I didn't recover completely for weeks, thanks to Limeño smog. The second time it happened on the Costa Rican coast . It was stinking hot, so much so that it sapped your energy and

Shortly after Santa Theresa gave me that taste of a hillside view of Rio, I took a bus to Pao de Açucar ( Sugar Loaf ), a striking hill by the coast. It was as easy as walking a couple of blocks in Centro to where everyone was waiting for a bus and then hopping on the first one headed to the neighborhood of Urca . Bus fares seemed to be mostly the same, at R$2.35 ($1.45AU). I overshot the stop by two blocks when the bus turned into the smaller suburban streets, but it was a pleasant walk back to the plaza. If you want to live in Rio, Urca is the place to buy a house. Quiet, by the beach and full of neat little houses in cool leafy streets. To ride the cable cars up to Sugar Loaf was about R$22 and certainly worthwhile. An afternoon visit produced a lot of glare off the water as the sun sets behind Christ The Redeemer on Corcovado , so a morning visit would've probably been better. But the view was stunning. The ocean on both sides, fading into mistiness, yachts and sailboats

When I arrived in Rio de Janeiro , I was disappointed. Where was the amazing and beautiful city I had imagined? Not here. Instead, there was a conglomeration of ugly buildings that I pictured still housed furniture from the seventies, cluttered sidewalks and graffiti tagging every wall. Occasionally, there would be a surprise around the corner; an interesting monument, a park or a colonial style building wedged between plain concrete ones. The main square in Centro expectedly had some attractive buildings surrounding it, but there was not much more beyond that. This was what I saw initially. But on closer observation, it was a lively city bustling with people doing their daily things. With every other step I encountered a suco (juice) bar or restaurant, vendors selling delicious coconut water or snacks. For every wall that was a canvas for a vandal there was a bold graffiti art that was welcome on the otherwise grey street. The boulevards were shady and everything was convenient.

I finally managed to make a trip to the colonial part of Salvador, Pelourinho . I wished at the time that I could've visited outside of Carnaval since just about all buildings and monuments were boarded up. Av Sete de Setembro looked like it was a street full of character away from the ad hoc bars and food stalls. Having walked the five-odd kilometers from Barra, I was glad to have persisted, blisters and all. All I knew of Pelourinho was that it was a relatively safer area and touristy, so I was pleased to be around such pretty old buildings and cobblestone streets. In a way, the buildings were similar to the rest of Latin America's colonial cities', with ornate wrought iron window grills and balconies, and colorful facades, but the fact that most of the buildings were taller and built on hills, made it different somehow. As typically pretty and colonial it was, it typically couldn't escape tourism. Every building was dedicated to that industry, being an internet

Rio de Janeiro's Carnaval celebrations are world renowned, with colorful samba dancers parading around the stadium and that sort of flash. I chose to spend Carnaval in Salvador because I heard that the party was superior there. The way I would describe it is more like a mobile music festival than the mardi gras that people usually think it is... though there was by no means a lack of cross-dressing men. It was pretty crazy! Salvador has three circuits: The Dodô or Barra-Ondina Circuit along the coast, the Batatinha or Pelourinho Circuit in the pretty colonial part of town, and the main one, the Campo-Grande Circuit , also called the Osmar or Avenidas Circuit. The Barra-Ondina and Campo-Grande Circuits host a parade of trio eletricos , which are basically mobile stages pulled by semi-trailer trucks. Pop singers from all over the world perform and fans can buy an abadá , which is a shirt that grants them access inside the ropes around each trio eletrico . Together, the mass

While I had grasped Spanish enough to get by, I was unprepared for Portuguese. Sure, it looked similar to Spanish words, and I had written down a few choice phrases from the internet to help me out, but pronounciation was an entirely different matter. I had only just managed to reconfigure my English pronounciation inclinations to Spanish, so I was completely taken aback at how Brazilian Portuguese sounded. I had never heard it before then. Take the city name, Recife , for example. Initially, I had pronounced it in the very gringo way "Reh- seef ". After learning a bit of Spanish, I thought "Rrre- see -feh" was better. No, of course not! In Portuguese, it is closer to "Heh- see -feh", though sometimes I heard it as "Heh- see -fee". Similarly, the word "internet" is a little different. While in Spanish pronounciation you would only slightly roll the R, in Brazil, if you say " inch -netch" or " in -che-netch", they wi

It was Carnaval time in Brazil and after stop overs in Cancún, Miami, and São Paolo, I finally landed in Recife. My final destination was actually to be Salvador de Bahia for the week, but I had the better part of the day to explore Recife before the bus south. I hadn't even left the airport and already I knew I was going to like Brazil. There was a colorful welcome committee waiting for us in baggage claim, where a small band played lively music for costumed dancers. It seemed no one wanted to leave the airport while awaiting relatives outside wondered what the delay was. Recife In 6 Hours There was an extremely helpful and friendly staff at the airport tourist information desk and thankfully, they spoke English perfectly. The ladies there rang around to find out approximate times for buses to Salvador and explained how and which local bus I was to catch to the estaçao. Meanwhile, they said, I could stop at a popular tourist area to check out the beach and restaurant strip

I landed in Miami from Mexico, knowing that I was stuck there until I got a Brazilian visa. I didn't know how long that would take, but my first priority was to get past customs without my Cuban souvenirs being found. For a few minutes I was a little nervous, as one of the custom officers questioned me about my travels, apparently suspicious that I had been traveling for so long and with just a 35L pack. The bag sat on the bench between us, ready for the evidence of a Cuban visit to be found, but fortunately, I was let away without an inspection. After rescheduling my flight and getting the necessary information on visa applications, I headed to Miami Beach for a cheap hostel. I really should've stayed in a cheap hotel within Miami proper since the cab ride to the cheap hostel easily made up the difference in price. I spent the evening hanging around a Dutch girl from the hostel. We had the most awesome pizza I had had since the beginning of the trip and wandered up and down

There is no real special preparation for visiting Cuba more than other countries in Latin America (you can buy a visa at the Cancún airport), but my tip is to be prepared with money . According to the guidebooks, you can't draw money from US bank accounts and apparently ATMs are notorious for taking your cards. I went with cash so I didn't have to worry about that, but if you can go with Canadian dollars or Euros , you will be better off. I was not prepared this way and had little time to do anything about it, so I had to suffer a shittier than shit exchange rate (Cuban Convertible Pesos theoretically equal a US Dollar but they exchange at 80c to the dollar) and on top of that, charge a 10% commission for dealing with USD! But my issues centered on planning after the Cuban leg of my trip. Here was my situation: I had my return flight to Cancún, no worries, but I had run out of time to organize my flight to Brazil before I landed in Cuba. So, I already had expensive accom

There is an argument that not all travelers are made equal. There is a distinction between travelers and tourists, self-proclaimed travelers assert, as they sneer upon innocent tourists who have no idea that they have been allotted a lowly class. You see, tourists are those who room up in hotels with their 20+kg of rolling luggage, get about in high-class coaches and pay at least $15 each for a meal. On the other hand, travelers carry their backpacks from town to town via chicken buses and eat where the locals do. There are different levels from extreme travelers to hard-core tourists, of course. Here are some I've come up with on the fly. What kind of traveler are you? The Super Traveler is someone who immerses himself in the culture by taking public transport, eating where and what the locals do, sleeping in cheap hostels or homestays, and befriending the locals. He usually packs minimally and hangs around the same area for long periods, including places off the gringo trail

Before the bus trip would end at the terminal in the suburb of Vedado, it passed through the old town of Havana, and I was so impressed by the attractive colonial buildings and fortress by the sea that I grabbed my bag and jumped off to explore it. I walked about, taking in the architecture and rock n roll traffic, the excitement of being in Cuba still fresh. I paused to chat to some locals and had a drink with one. He invited me to see his salsa band perform that night at the Casa de la Música . I was keen to go and was lucky to have chosen a casa particular called Casa De Ania that was more like an apartment for backpackers to share. There was even a cheap and delicious palador (small private restaurant) downstairs, though the food took ages to get to the table. I made friends with the girls there and together with some guys from England, staying at another casa , we all went to the club. It was a fight to get a few extra chairs so we could all sit at the same table, but the nig

It was between lizards and beaches and I went with the reptilian creatures since they lived on a Caribbean beach anyway. So I boarded a white catamaran on the Ancon Peninsula with a party of crazy French Canadians and some Europeans. The first two hours we spent chilling out on the deck, enjoying the sun and sea, and getting to know each other. Then we arrived at the reef to snorkel, and it was more beautiful than I expected it would be. We were the only yacht out there, and we had all the freedom and time to explore the reef on our own. When we arrived at Cayo La Iguana , we were greeted on the beach by dozens of large, scaly iguanas. The place was crawling with them and hermit crabs too. We had a decent lunch of paella , some dry flat bread that got tastier the more you ate of it, and potatoes. Then, we had a few hours of time on the island we had all to ourselves. I spent some it enjoying the sun, and the rest snorkeling off the beach where a school of thousands of tiny silver

The tour to the Valley of Viñales was a lovely, relaxed one. We stopped over at a cigar factory in a small town where some of the famous exports were made and subject to rigorous quality control. This was explained to us in the small building where the skilled workers waved bundles of stolen or rejected cigars at us from under the desks when the officials weren't looking. Outside too, were locals trying to attract our attention like drug dealers on a main street, to sell us fakes or rejects. We passed a lot of beautiful scenery like tobacco farms, rolling hills and palm tree groves on our way. After a glass of fresh cane juice , we went for a walk through a dark limestone cave that ended with a short boat ride out on the little river. Then, headed towards the love-it or hate-it Prehistory Mural , we passed between two cliffs where stalactites were visible on the faces. Apparently, the whole area was once an enormous cave that had since collapsed, and the stalactites are eviden

Besides Che's monument, I had no idea what there was to see in Santa Clara or where to find them. I hailed a bicitaxi to take me to the main plaza, a good starting point, I figured. I started a conversation with the driver and he offered me a private tour of the town for a small price. I agreed and started the tour at Che's monument . Entrance to the mausoleum and museum took a long time waiting in the sun, especially for independent visitors, as tour groups were allowed to skip ahead again and again. But it was worthwhile, especially seeing displays of some of Che's belongs, like childhood photos, drawings, letters, his lab coat and medical instruments, and military uniforms and weapons. The train monument was next, and it wasn't particularly interesting in itself. Only its history made it worth the visit. But the highlight was some 100m up the road across the train tracks. It was a life-sized statue of Che and a baby boy. Its likeness was striking, and nearly

I had a plan, something I should have learned a long time ago doesn't really work out when backpacking. But I couldn't help formulating something since I also had little time and places I wanted to see yet, like Santa Clara, the town of Che's monument and resting place. I thought to take a morning bus there, spend the day exploring, then catch an afternoon bus out and onwards. But this was Cuba, not any other Latin American country that has an effective bus system with regular services. I had run out of options but ran into a private cab driver and asked if I could get a ride. Unfortunately, Santa Clara was not one of the usual runs and too expensive to go solo, so I had breakfast while I thought out alternatives. I was in luck. The cab driver found me, told me to wait, and he returned with a young man who could take me to Santa Clara for almost half the price of a day tour. The guy picked me up in his hot imported Peugeot and we drove through the hills and the beautiful

As impressed as I was with Antigua, with its picturesque streets and an impressive volcano looming in the near distance, there was something missing from an otherwise perfect colonial town. Authenticity. Not that Antigua wasn't a real colonial town, but it was restored for tourism and as such, was super clean, tidy and each house was a hostel, travel agent, artisan shop or some kind of eatery. So in a way, Granada had a more real vibe, being a town where locals actually still lived. The buildings were not as impeccable as Antigua, having peeling paint and faded wooden doors, but these details as well as the sight of locals sitting on their doorsteps or ambling along in horse-drawn carts gave it more character. Cuba's Trinidad had an even more authentic vibe than Granada and was just as pretty as Antigua. There were a few touristy streets, for sure, but mostly, Trinidad fascinated me with its picture perfect streets, architecture and ever-present cars from the 1950s. Everyw