The Story of The Man and the Flip Flops

Let's set the scene. A small rectangular room, with 2 old unstable bunk beds forming the shape of an 'r'. The room is hot. No air conditioning and the only movement of the stale humid air is provided by the rickety ceiling fan. I lay on the top bunk along the left side of the 'r', stripped down to boxers, not daring to move a muscle for the fear of a raise in temperature sending me over the edge. Stine lay on the bottom bunk of the bed adjacent, barely receiving any air from the fan and sealed off from the room by a hung towel. The man attempting to sleep on the bed above Stine groans as drunkereds do, each movement bringing the bunk bed ever closer to collapse. I close my eyes and reflect on what was a nightmare of a day:

That morning, Stine woke with the shits and stomach cramp. This was bound to happen at some point, but with a day of travelling by bus ahead, the timing could've been better. We decided to taxi straight to the central bus station rather than walk, metro, walk. When we arrived at the bus station, Stine went to use the bathroom (50p a go...worse than Kings Cross) while I went to buy the tickets, praying there would be availability on a bus leaving soon. I was told rather nonchalantly by the ticket man that all busses were full. I broke the news to Stine and we assessed our options: we could cancel our booking in Paraty, pay for a hotel nearby (low availability and extortionate prices during carnival) or we could use a black market taxi driver. Neither option seems appealing. I went outside to find an illegal cabby, and found one almost immediately. He only spoke Portuguese but managed to gain the following information: "I can take you as far as Angra dos Reis" and it will cost you 40 Reals each (about a tenner)." Cheap but risky. I went back to Stine, covered in sweat from the 5 minutes out in the heat, and we spoke I overheard an English accent. A couple in their late fifties were in the same predicament as us (minus the shits). I told them about the possible lift and they seemed interested but just as we were about to go out and haggle with guy, the ticket man said that he would try and put an extra bus on. In the mean time in-between time I went up to the Internet cafe and emailed our hostel in Paraty, explaining that we wouldn't be there til late and asking them not to give our beds away. I returned downstairs to find that the extra bus had been booked and the tickets paid for. Sorted. Well, we'd still need to get from Angra to Paraty, but we were assured that there are many local buses on that route and we'd be able to sort that out in Angra. We had an hour spare, so we went and ate with the other English couple (well, we ate while Stine looked longingly at our food, not daring to put anything in her system as it would probably shoot straight out of her anus). Ivan and Jill are both teachers from Manchester, who live and work in Lima, Peru. We shared stories and the time passed quickly.

We boarded our bus which thankfully was air conditioned and had a toilet. After 4 hours we arrived at the tropical Angra and went about getting our next ticket on to Paraty (about another 90 mins). We were told that a bus would be there at 7pm, an hour from then. Not bad, we thought. 2 hours later we started to get worried. Stine had visited the toilet so many times that the lady had stopped charging her. Kind of like those stamps you get at Costa. Shit 9 times and the next ones on us. So there we were, exhausted and hot, hungry and worried. We tried to get information on the busses but the agents of the company had gone home. Cheers. More time passed and Stine was really struggling. At this point we had no choice but to share a taxi with Ivan and Jill. This would cost us an entire day's budget but it had to be done.

For 90 minutes I was sat on the Middle seat, with Stine desperately trying to sleep on my left, and Jill on my right. At this point I was hoping that we could find the hostel and praying they still had beds for us.

We arrived in Paraty and spent 20 minutes trying to find the hostel - finally we stopped outside the door, said our goodbyes to I and J and rang the doorbell. Nothing. Tried again. Nothing. Banged the door. Nothing. Then two people who stayed there turned up and opened the door.

We found the owner and luckily she'd read my email and the beds were available. She showed us into the room and pointed to the free beds. I say free, my bed was covered with bags belonging the girl on the bed below. She moved her shit and we did a reccy of the hostel. To say it was a shithole would only be a little harsh. The two toilets, shared by everyone in the hostel were situated on the other side of the communal area which Stine was buzzing about.

I went and got us water from a shop nearby and we settled in for the night.

And that's when it happened...

The man above Stine was groaning and wriggling around, trying to sleep off his drunken state. I could just about make him out in the dark sweltering room as he spun one leg out. The other followed and he hung precariously over the bed. At this point I sat up to watch him more closely. Even that caused beads of sweat to form on my forehead. He slithered down and found his feet, staggered backwards then found his balance. Then, what can only be described as the worst sound you could ever hear after the day we'd had, filled the room. It was the sound of him pissing.

"Oi!" I shouted, hoping to wake him. No response. His piss still splattered onto the tiled floor. I knew Stine's head was within a metre from his penis and could well be in the firing line, especially now she was awake, had removed the towel and joined me in yelling at him. I leaped down from my bunk and grabbed the guys shoulder, desperately trying to avoid the spray. He woke and stopped urinating, popped his William back in his shorts and made noises similar to "uh? Whats goin on?"


"You're pissing!" We both exclaimed in unison.

"Uh?"

I turned the light on and pointed to the puddled floor.

"You're pissing"

"Noooo... No I not piss... Me?"

"Yes, you. You're pissing all over the place, look."

"It's no problem. No problem"

"Yes it is a fucking problem!"

We asked if he was going to clean it up.. He responded by just standing there, one eye looking at me, the other following a mosquito. I found his towel (orange, perfect) and handed it to him. He threw it on to the puddle, kicked it and turned back to me, still swaying.

"Oh for fuck sake, I'll do it" I placed my foot on the towel and pivoted like a timid netballer, soaking up his urine.

"Calm down" he said....

"It's hard to stay calm when someone's pissed on your flip flops. Just get out, go to the Banheiros (toilet)".

He gathered all his stuff, including the towel, and left. We never saw him again.


The next day, as it poured with rain, we decided we might just sack this place off and head back to sunny Rio.

Rio

Take a room and add 50 beds. Pop a person on each bed. Now swap each bed for a seat and arrange them so they form two rows of two, all facing the same direction. Allow each seat to recline just enough so that the backs sit nicely on the knees of the person behind. Now exchange the room for a bus. Sprinkle the sound of an engine, snoring and farting. Scent with cheesy crisps, breath, feet and aforementioned flatulence. Now set an alarm for 24 hours and settle in.

Our journey to Foz du Iguacu was not the best, however it did allow us to reflect on our experience in Rio de Janeiro:

Rio has it all: Sun, sand, ocean, mountains, jungle, poverty, wealth, gangs, favelas, BMW's and burnt-out Beetles, Samba, drums, drugs, crime, love and life.

Of course there are the mandatory tourist hives such as Christ the Redeemer and Sugar loaf mountain, but our best experiences came from elsewhere.

We did visit the Big Jesus, and it has to be said that the statue itself, and the views from where it stands are awesome in the literal sense. The drawback is the tourism. It's hard to complain about tourists when you are one yourself, but when you're penned in like sheep and being constantly whacked with selfie-sticks and pushed aside so that yet another gimp can pose like Big Jesus in front of Big Jesus so they can instantly update their profile picture, the 40 degree heat can get to you.

Originally, we'd planned on having 5 days in Rio then move down the coast stopping at various places. After leaving Rio and having a poor experience in Paraty (story to follow), we decided to return for another week and soak the place up.


So, in no particular order, here are the highlights.


The Maracana: Brazil's national football stadium which housed the World Cup Final last year. This 80,000 capacity ground holds the record for the highest attendance at a game: 199,000 back in 1950 for Brazil v Uruguay. Obviously things have changed since then. A few clubs share the ground for home games, and we got ourselves to the Flamengo v Boa Vista tie. Flamengo brought over 24,000 fans who made the noise of 80,000. Boa Vista brought about 6 who made the noise of a Hamster.


Flamengo won 2-0 and the atmosphere throughout the game was incredible, especially after the first goal.

Santa Marta favela tour: A guy who lives up in the favela organises small group tours. He met us at the bottom and took us up the recently installed cable car up the top. The views are spectacular, reaching from central past Copacabana and Botafogo bay to Ipanema and Leblon. Our walk through the favela revealed the contrast in wealth, even inside the poorest communities. Modern concrete structures over shadowed dilapidated, corrugated iron huts. Locals went about their daily business while kids played, all under the watchful eye of the UPP (Pacifying Police Unit). We felt safe and welcome; often greeted with smiles and "Oi's" (which means 'Hi'). Overall, an authentic experience of the 'real' Rio.

Claudio Coutinho Trail: starting right beside the expensive cable cars for Sugarloaf Mountain, this free walk takes you along a shady path, with a jungle on one side and the ocean on the other. Wild monkeys gather in the trees and exotic birds roam the skies. We really enjoyed this little roam in nature, getting away from the city. After the trail we enjoyed the sunset and a coconut on Praia Vermelha (Red beach).

On our return to Rio, we checked in to a little hostel that sits between Ipanema and a favela called Vidigal. After a little haggling about our room, we were moved to a double with ensuite with an amazing view of the ocean - we extended our stay straight away. Nearby was a quiet (except on Sundays) beach which was mainly visited by the residents of the favela. We spent most days relaxing here, soaking up the sun and munching on fresh pineapple and watermelon. In the evenings we wandered in to the favela. Only a few years ago, we would've been greeted by a gang holding machine guns who would decide whether we could enter or not. Since the police pacified the favela, the guys with machine guns now wear uniforms and allow you to enter without negotiation. At the foot of the favela lies a square surrounded by bars and food stalls (one was a BBQ serving skewered meats. Got in amongst that many a day). One afternoon we noticed they were setting up some kind of performance. We learned from a local that whatever it was, it was starting at 9pm. Being European, we arrived at 8:30 to make sure we had good seats. Being South American, the performance started at 10:30pm. Well worth the wait though: a live band followed by a 40-man drum performance. Hundreds of locals (and a handful of gringos) danced away and enjoyed cheap local beers and cocktails. Definitely a night to remember.

On our last evening, we took motorbike taxis up to the top of Vidigal to enjoy the sunset and some of the best views Rio has to offer. The motorbike drivers are mental. Mine swerved between moving vans and almost hit a woman and child. Stine's was more conservative but still nearly managed to crash. We relaxed in a bar the the very top before walking down. We got lost a couple of times, weaving our way down past people's modest gardens, came across a track made of tyres filled with sand, walked through a beautiful garden with tables made from bicycle wheels, through make-shift football pitches and local bars. All the while receiving smiles and kind words.

All in all Rio was a fantastic experience. Next stop, Iguazu falls.

Machu Picchu, days 1 + 2.

Well it’s been a long time since the last post.  Im now in Ålesund, a beautiful port-town on the west coast of Norway.  I´d planned on continuing the blog even though I´d left South America. Once I left I lost motivation to do it, but as the trip resumes in little over a month I thought Id bang them out now.  

This post is allllll about Machu Pichu…well, the first 2 days…Ill wack the other ones on soon.

Day 1

Pick up was at 7:30am, so I was up in time to smash a load of free breakfast at the hostel and sort out bags etc for the journey. Although it’s a four day ting, you only want to bring a few things in a little backpack as you have to carry it on the trekking part. Once done, I forced a poo and joined the rest of the group outside for the pickup…

The groups:

5 laaaaaaaaads who wouldnt look out of place in a youth team football academy, fresh out of uni and looking for a good time. They had just spent over a fiver on Pringles and other snacks and I couldn’t help thinking this might not be my crowd.

4 British, comprising of; a guy called Guy who was a guy from Northampton; John, a guy but not called Guy, from Scotland (friends with the other guy, Guy); James, a Brummy, and his missus Elly, from Surrey.

Sam -  another English solo traveller who was carrying the biggest backpack Id ever seen, with another bag just to be sure.

I made up the tenth on our bus. The other bus had 10 Spanish speaking people, so a divide had already been made.

So after a short wait we were on our way, cramped into a tiny bus designed specifically for Peruvians, up the mountain.  Now, I cant remember all the names of the places and mountains etc so apologies for that…this was a pretty big mountain made of rock and that….so it took a good couple of hours to reach to summit for our first activity. It shouldve taken less time, but the bus got a flat tyre on the way…”Will just take 10 minutes” they said.

45 minutes later, after asking passers-by for the correct tools, we set off again. Although it’s a bit of a pain in the arse, it gave us a good opportunity to get to know each other a little more…the usual backpacker chat had already ran its course and was followed swiftly by football banter. I was beginning to like the British group – they´d been travelling together for a little while so had already formed their own catchphrases and roles etc.

On the way up, I noticed Sam making strange faces while listening to his Ipod…a sort of strained expression, almost a wince…later, it turned out that he was learning bird sounds.

We reached the top of “The Mountain”, ready to start our first activity….mountain biking. A three hour, downhill journey on mountainside roads, winding from 4000m+ down to about 1000m altitude.

We got kitted up in shin/knee pads, SWAT style jacket, helmet and gloves…I noticed Sam pull out a Robocop suit from his huge bag. I helped him put it on and took the opportunity to ask what the feck it was. It turns out he constantly dislocates his shoulder after a skiing accident and the suit was a makeshift ligament. We gathered, all ready to go, and the guide asked us to come up with a team name. It was followed by a stony silence. I was thinking about suggesting ´Stephen Hawking´s Football Boots´ but I let it go. I cant remember what we decided on, but it was one of the stock names the guides had in case of a conserved British group.

It was freeeeeeeeezing and raining, seeing as we were practically in a cloud…so after 3 minutes of biking I was drenched through and had a numb face and hands. ´This is brilliant´ I thought as I avoided oncoming traffic, ´I should brake, buuuut my fingers wont move…cracking start ´.

Within minutes I was close to experiencing another persons death up close…in fact, if the guy hadn't swerved away from the oncoming car at the very last millisecond, I would've been covered with his insides…at least it would've been warm. I shouted “fucking prick”…I couldn’t help it. Years of driving in Cambridge has given me a slight hatred of cyclists, and even though I was on a bike myself, the words just came out. I don’t think he heard me.

After half an hour we reached a stopping point where we all got off our bikes to look out to the beautiful scenery below, and moan about the weather above. You can take Brits out of Britain…

So on we went, the weather improving every minute. Once my limbs had thawed I had an absolute blast…soaring down the mountain and racing the others, all the while taking in the breathtaking scenery…jungle trees, waterfalls, and majestic birds above. Ive never really been into mountain biking but this really was amazing.

We reconvened at the bottom and boarded the bus to take us up to our hostel in a little village and had some lunch…well, by that time it was an early dinner…As we were running late due to the flat tyre, the rafting had to be moved to the following morning…so we had a little free time.  One of the guides was big into football and suggested we go down to the little pitch for a kick about. I was buzzin, obviously, as I hadn't kicked a ball in while….in fact everyone was up for it. All 20 of us arrived at the little pavement pitch, split into 4 teams and had a tournament. My team consisted of one of the academy lads, Guy, John, James a Spanish girl and myself. I put myself in a centre midfield role…mainly as it didn’t require too much running. The combination of heat, humidity and lack of exercise gave me a sweat on within the first minute. I thought it would be a friendly tap about, and had already told myself to curb my competitive nature…noone wants to be the guy who breaks a girls nose with their elbow.  Apparently, I was one of the few who had this little conversation with themselves…tackles were flying in. One Argentinian woman was weeelllll up for it and had already floored a guy in the first game…game on.

After a few rounds (and a couple of wins) the teams started to change…the girls slowly dropped out, no doubt thinking ´OK, lets let the boys have their fun now´…we went on a little run so were still on the pitch when a team of locals turned up…fully kitted up…one of them even had shin pads. I believe ´Full kit wankers´ is the term. When a game finished, they moved onto the pitch, asserting their dominance of their home turf (concrete).  They seemed keen to get rid of us, but none of us wanted to finish. I challenged their main guy to a game…his reply was brillint…he just flicked his finger towards the side of the pitch with a scowl on his face….after a bit of cajoling and some quiet chicken noises they agreed to one game…first to two goals.

The match started and within the first few seconds it was clear they meant business…slick passing, tricks and nutmegs. We had to up our game.  Guy tried a shot from way out which sailed waaaay over the bar and over a roof. We had to do the whole “Can we have our ball back please” job…luckily the ball was returned and we resumed the match.

Slowly we grew into the game, and after some great work down the left hand side, John (donning his Scotland shirt) broke free down the wing…he looked up and saw me approaching the area and picked out a perfect cross on to my trusty left peg…I finished with aplomb, through the keepers legs..ooooooosshhhhhh. We scored another soon after (I didn’t score so I wont bother going into detail) and that was it…game over. They were NOT happy…but we were sporting and all applauded and left the pitch for them to take over…great afternoon.

Returned to the hostel to shower and get dinner…a three course meal and decent conversation. The guides tried to inject some fun into the proceedings by playing a game. The look on their faces suggested it was the highlight of their trip…I have no idea what the game was about…something to do with picking a card…whatever it was, we lost….The other table, with all the Spanish speakers, won…but, in order for them to claim their grand prize (one bottle of beer between the ten of them) they had to select one person to do a challenge.  The guide had something on a tray, covered by a cloth, and said that the girl had to drink from whatever was underneath it. I whispered to Elly “I bet it’s a massive penis”. After building suspense…the guide took the cloth off to reveal…….a massive penis! baaaanteeeer. She took ages to do it, all bashful and embarrassed etc so another girl just jumped up, grabbed the big old member, whacked her lips around it and took a swig…this was met with a big round of applause  and a few raised eyebrows from the laaaaaaaaads…she obviously got their attention.

Got back to the hostel and played Sapo with an Argentinian guy…Sapo is a straaaange game. Theres a table, a bit like one of those old fashioned billiards table, but square shaped. It´s backed against the wall and has an open-mouthed metal frog in the centre surrounded by holes. The aim of the game is to throw metal discs into the frogs mouth (which is near impossible). You get nine throws, and you get points for any disc that falls down a hole. It didn’t take long before we got frustrated and gave up…neither of us got it in the frogs mouth. (Sapo means frog)

Decided to call it a night and joined Elly, James, Guy, John, Argentinian, and Sam in our dorm room. Once the light had gone out and we´d said our goodnights, I rolled over on to my front….this loaded up a giant fart in the chamber. It was silent in the room, and I was aware that this one wasn’t going to go unnoticed buuuut it just had to happen. I unleashed one of my finest farts and after a moment of tense silence someone started giggling…this allowed more people to join in laughing and asking who it was etc. I stayed silent for a few seconds just to see who got accused before owning up to it…”There´s a girl in the room Jamie!” John exclaimed before ripping his own fart…All the boys were giggling like little school girls…I think Elly was trying not to laugh…either that, or she was holding one in.

Day 2

Awoke at 6am to the sound of rain. By the time we got to the restaurant for breakfast it had cleared up and the jungle heat was closing in. After a decent little breakfast of omelet, pancakes and coffee we split into groups for rafting. The British group weren't partaking so I was put with the laaaads. The rafting was pretty good; a few challenging rapids but they didn’t reach past level 3. I was hoping for it to be a bit more extreme but you cant really complain when you´re sailing down a river between Peruvian mountains.

After, we joined the rest of the group for the trekking part of the journey…covered in sun-cream and mozzy repellent, we started the ascent through the jungle. It was quite a steep incline, and with the humidity and midday heat we were all sweating buckets by the time we reached our first pit stop. This was Monkey House 1, a small family house with refreshments for sail, a toilet and a PET MONKEY. I absolutely love monkeys and apes so I was a little upset to see it tied to a pole…The rope had enough slack for him to jump around and swing about, so I got to play with him for a while. He was a right cheeky fecker; play-biting and hair grabbing. If he had been let off the rope, he would've been a nightmare. The guide called “Vamos” so I reluctantly left the monkey and joined the group for another incline towards monkey house 2. This place was similar to the last, just better looking. A wooden building that houses a small family…the house opens up to a beautiful view of the jungle below and also has a pet monkey. This one was on a very short leash and had a white moustache.  Here we rested and were shown a load of local produce such as coca leaves, coffee, chocolate and fruits. All of it was made by hand up there by the family and was deliiiiicious.

Sam discovered that he´d been bitten on the arm…we´d all been bitten quite a few times by mozzies and sand flies, but Sam´s one had swollen up so it looked like he had a golf ball tucked under the skin of his elbow-pit. Even though he´d packed enough to last him and a small family for a few years, he didn’t have anything for the bite so had to make-do with squeezing some lime juice on it…

Suitably refreshed and full of knowledge (I´ve forgotten most of it now) we headed towards the beginning of an original Inka trail that had been discovered in the last few years. We were told a lot about it, but the jist was that 500 years ago, people would walk all the way along this trail carrying goods (potatoes, coca leaves etc) all the way to Machu Picchu from Cusco, taking various routes. This part of the trek was my favourite…the treacherous path lay halfway up the mountain, with a 500m almost-vertical drop to the left. The view was sensaaational. A river flowed between the mountains, meandering away into the distance. The only sounds were the gentle breeze carrying the calls of exotic green birds and insects, with the distant hum of the river below.

We made our descent towards the river, looking forward to a lunch stop halfway down.  We finally arrived at the restaurant which doubled up as a chicken farm. There were loads of cockerels as well, so after lunch when we all found hammocks for a cheeky siesta, the incessant noise prevented us from snoozing. Annoying little shits. We started walking again, with the energy in the group a little low…I thought Id try lighten the mood with a joke…and here it is in allllll its glory:

A black piece of tarmac goes in to a pub and says “Oi! You lot! If anyone in here wants a fight, Ill batter them”…no one responds so he take a seat at the bar and orders a pint…A few minutes later, a red piece of tarmac walks in and says “Does anyone in here wana fight? Cos Ill smash anyone” … Again, no one responds, including the black piece of tarmac…after a short moment, the barman goes up to the black tarmac and whispers “I thought you said you were hard, why didn’t you fight that red piece of tarmac?”…

“I aint fighting him…hes a Cyclepath”

BOOOOOM.

This gem of a joke brought out a few tickled laughs and led to everyone telling their own crap jokes. With the mood ever-improving, the rest of the trek was quite pleasant: Once we´d reached the bottom of the mountain, we walked alongside the river until reaching a big rickety bridge, swaying somewhat over the water below. A few slats were missing but we all made it across without incident…even Sam. An hour or so later, A hand-pulled cable car took us back across the river and we arrived at some hot springs to finish our day´s walk.  While waiting to board the little cable-car, we sat on rocks and removed our bags. Apart from Sam: he sat on a rock with his massive backpack still on, and when he got up he just toppled sideways like a felled tree…that guy.

The springs were half natural, half man-made with three pools ranging in temperature. We got ourselves into the hottest one for a good soak…perfect way to unwind after a grueling trek in the jungle.

While we were floating away, chatting about our favourite flavour crisps and how we have our steak, the guides came over for a quick chat:

“Well, we are pretty much done for the day – there are options on how to get to our hostel for the night…as its dark, we can all take the bus which gets us there in about 20 minutes with no walking…oooor you can walk…if you want.” Everything about his tone implied that no one ever chooses to walk, but as its on our itinerary they kind of have to give us the option…he even followed up with: “If you choose to walk, then one of us will have to come with you and walk in the dark to the hostel…it should take about 2 hours…sooooo if anyone wants to walk we would have to leave now while the others chill here in the nice hot pools…”

We all replied “bus”

Except Sam…Sam wanted to run back. Which meant one of the guides had to run with him…in the dark…for about an hour…mostly uphill…aaaah Sam.

The rest of us got the bus back later and arrived at the hostel at just about the same time as Sam and his guide who I bet was loving his job. Another 3 course meal and an early night, ready for day 3…