C O N T E N T S

 Mennonites and Luggage Fights [Fri 23rd Jul 1999]

Having spent some time yesterday patching up the holes in my over-used backpack, this morning I discover, whilst stuffing it full ready for our train journey, that the zipper has come partially unstitched. One side of my bag now boasts an unsightly gaping seam from which no doubt the contents will gradually escape. It’s not so bad that the bag’s unusable but it will have to be fixed pretty soon – along with the holes that need stitching in my trousers, the seams that have come apart on my T-shirts and various other tired looking items of clothing.

We began the day with six cups of Turkish coffee between us in the small Turkish café next-door to our residencial. Alistair, the architect from Manchester, walked past and popped in apologising for not meeting us a couple of days ago – apparently he was having hassles with immigration trying to get his visa extended. The authorities wanted money to extend his stay when he knew it was free.

Before we made our way to the train station we walked around some of the areas of Santa Cruz that we hadn’t yet explored. We came across a crowded, sprawling market where all the stores were tightly packed together on the pavements outside shops. With very little room on the footpath we had to squeeze and dodge between people as we weaved our way among the carts, tarpaulins and shutters crammed full of small electrical goods, watches, calculators, hairspray, shampoo and soaps. Cans, bottles and packages of various stuff were squeezed as tightly together on each stall as the stalls were to one another. I couldn’t help wondering how long it must take to set up and then dismantle each individual store day in and day out – there were small packaged goods everywhere you looked.

Back at the residencial I had exhausted their supply of English magazines so opted for a twenty minute doze in one of the courtyard hammocks. I swung lazily in the company of the owners Toucan while a sweltering sun caused my face to gently perspire.

We packed up again ready for the trip then left the residencial and waited for a bus up the road. After waiting for ten minutes or so we decided we may not be in the right street so moved up a block only to have a number 12 bus, the one we wanted, pass us by as we changed position. We waited another ten minutes and flagged down the next one then did the familiar backpacker squeeze to get on the vehicle – I took up two seats while Jayne stood, crouched down and bent over under all the weight she was carrying.

The station platform was bustling with people finding their carriages, loading luggage through the windows while vendors sold crisps, peanuts and soft drinks. As warned by our guidebook, the train was crammed with luggage – in fact, someone had already helped themselves to the space on the racks above our seats so we placed one of our bags above the seat in front. Of course this led to the person in front vehemently complaining to us in Spanish and getting pretty narky. A compromise was made when we squeezed our bags up as far as we could but still taking up a bit of space in the rack in front. The locals always seem to give in after a while if you pull the dumb foreigner “I don’t understand” routine. Jayne had bought a bottle of fizzy orange drink which promptly exploded all over her when she opened it – all this and we hadn’t even pulled out of the train station.

The carriage we were in was reasonably clean with grey plastic seats arranged in rows, a dull reflective metal ceiling with a strip light running its length and wide windows for a good view out of the carriage. Spot on 3pm we pulled away with a sharp jolt. We travelled for a few hundred yards then stopped for seemingly no reason what so ever. We waited for a bit then were on our way again after which a passenger at the far end of the carriage in a short sleeved shirt and dark hair stood up and began to sing at the top of his voice. His song carried the length of the carriage and on completion; he walked up the aisle with his hand outstretched.

The journey was a bumpy, stop-start affair and well into the evening there was a constant stream of people walking up and down the aisle selling food, drinks, coffee and cigarettes. Whole meals of roast chicken or milanesas were carried on half a dozen plates on a tray, small children walked up and down with cups of drink, packets of crisps and nuts as we jolted along the tracks. Looking through the door at the end of the carriage you could see the next car and from the way it was being thrown left, right, up and down you wouldn’t have thought it was joined to the same train. Every now and then there would be a sort of loud deflating hissing noise after which the train would come to a halt with the carriages banging and jolting into each other. We would sit on the tracks for five minutes then be on our way again.

The passengers across the aisle from us were busy making a dark blue rug or poncho and had the window wide open until late into the evening. This meant that we were all getting covered in a fine layer of dust. I rubbed my head while poring over my Spanish book to see tiny rolls of greasy dirt fall onto the page.

There are a group of Mennonites at the front of the carriage – all the men in their blue denim overall and hats while the women all have scarves on their heads. Alistair had told us they’re mainly here because of agriculture, taking advantage of the natural resources Bolivia has to offer.

The toilet in the carriage is a pretty basic affair; a large upright can or small oil drum with the top and bottom cut off placed over a hole in the floor through which you can see the sleepers blurring by.

8:10pm and the insects are already hoarding the two lights in the carriage that have been switched on – time for some mossie repellent.

At ten to ten the train stops and we help the woman next to us unload endless bags across our laps and out through the window to her friends and family waiting outside. There appears to be no real platform, just dust and dirt and a series of wooden awnings under which people are sat around eating. There are small fires lit inside, an arrangement of half a dozen bricks on top of which is a tray used for barbequing.

There are Mennonites all over the place, all dressed the same – the only thing that distinguishes them from one another in the half light is their stature and posture. The aisles have once again been invaded, this time by kids with chants of “Limonada”, “Limonada fría”, “Café”, “Melanesia completa”. We stop here for ten minutes then shunt forward again to come to a halt and discover there is a platform after all. “San Hose” it says on the station building – then we’re on our way again, into the night with a couple of dogs chasing the train from the station.
 

 Into the Pantanal [Sat 24th Jul 1999]

I awoke with a start and a halt at some ungodly hour. The train had stopped again in a town resembling a rubbish tip. There is litter covering the ground everywhere and chickens pecking their way through it all. The carriage appears to have turned into one big snore, where one persons snore stops, another starts so it sounds like one big continuous grunt. People are asleep on the floor, even in the aisles and then, once again, the place is invaded by kids selling stuff whilst treading carefully between the passengers on the floor. As much as they do a good job of not trampling on people, they still manage to wake everyone with their shouts of “Café café!”. Jayne points out a small girl standing beside me clutching a doll. She’s holding a red tellytubbie and I suddenly feel very homesick. I can’t believe it’s a tellytubbie doll that makes me feel this way but as soon as I see it I immediately think of my niece, Isabelle, cute little Izzy with the cheeky grin and her tellytubbies. For the rest of the journey, we keep hearing a tinny, electronic version of London Bridge which is what said tellytubbie plays every time its stomach is squeezed. I pass in and out of sleep becoming stiff from trying to doze in a scrunched up position – I’m very restless and this is in no way helped by the continuous renditions of London Bridge.

Early in the morning when dawn is just breaking, Jayne is looking out the window and spots a Toucan – a first – a Toucan in the wild. Shortly afterwards, I see one as well, flying with the sun exaggerating the fiery colours of its beak – making it look translucent. Further on I spot two more sat in a leafless tree, just as I see them they suddenly take off together.

Hay Corumbá! (There is Corumbá). The train stops in Quijarro, still in Bolivia, but our final destination can be seen from the border. We get a taxi to the frontera where we meet an official who informs us that he used to live in Australia – Canberra for a month and, of all places, Harbord.

We have to get our entry and exit stamps in Corumbá so taxied to the police station. The city is very well developed and in stark contrast to the shacks we pulled up at in Quijarro. The weather is decidedly hot, people are walking about in shorts and T-shirts and many cafes have chairs and tables spilling out on to the pavements.

So the whole purpose of coming here was to get a trip out to the Pantanal and we can’t believe our luck – while having our passports stamped, an English girl walked up to have her papers sorted out. She told us she had just done a three day trip and recommended speaking to the owner of the hotel where she was staying. “Ah, here she is now” she said. Up walked a short  woman with long, dark curly hair who informed us that a trip was leaving today, “Would you like to go?” she asked. ‘Why not?’ we thought.

Before we knew it we were being driven to the bank in a small open truck to get money and then to the hotel to shower and prepare for the expedition.

The hotel rooms were veritable shells again – just a couple of beds and peeling paint on the walls. We were soon showered and ready then browsed through a collection of photographs of the place we were about to visit.

We went for a quick buffet lunch at a restaurant near the hotel where we got talking to Corin and the woman who ran the hotel then we were shortly back in the truck and heading out of the city into the Pantanal. – We drove for miles and miles and miles. The three of us sat in the open back of the truck with all the luggage and were very soon off the sealed asphalt road, bumping along rocky tracks, sandy paths and, at times, just driving across scrubland. We drove past many lakes that were incredibly glassy smooth reflecting everything in the afternoon sun. We began to see alligators lazing in the mud at the edge of the lakes and then a Jabiru Stork. The driver stopped a few feet away from it so we could take photographs. It had a fat, bulbous neck that looked as if it didn’t belong on its body – black with a vivid red. We saw kingfishers, storks and herons and more alligators, ominously eyeing their surroundings, motionless but ready to jerk and snap should an opportune meal pass by.

As the sun dipped still further, the insects began to appear until at one stage I looked at the bags and saw they were covered in little bugs, swarming in number into the truck. The sun was looking incredible, a movie sunset fitting for the closing credits of a film. Thin cloud vapour hung just below it turning the background into a red almost purple dusty light. We stopped at a supply store where I had a drink of Skol as the sun finally disappeared. A very large dark coloured woman with a huge backside served us – she bulged in all directions in her tight shorts which looked as if they were sprayed on. It was a ramshackle wooden store with shelves of tinned food and supplies for the people who were venturing deep into this wilderness or to their vast farm properties. We set off again – a couple of times before reaching the camp we got caught in sand traps but it was no problem, the driver just told us to stay in the truck while he let a bit of air out of the tyres. After some revving back and forth we eventually came unstuck and were on our way again.

In the darkness you could occasionally see the white shapes of cattle grazing, at one point the driver stopped and shone his torch into the darkness where we saw a small deer with impressive looking antlers. It looked at us for a bit then turned around to show us the white of its small tail.

It was 8:30 by the time we arrived at the camp, a small shelter of trees with hammocks strung between them. There was also a netted circular thatched roof construction in which hammocks were hung from a central pole to the walls. There was a large campfire burning with people sat around it. We unloaded our bags from the truck and were then introduced to a few of the guides. They showed us some hammocks which would be our home for the next three nights, covered with large mosquito nets that draped to the ground. Corin was embraced by the cook when she got off the truck while some of the guides were saying “ahhh – you come back, you come back!”. In fact she looked so friendly with the chef that it looked like he was the reason why she came back. We sat round the fire for a bit and ended up chatting to a couple from California, the guy was an anthropologist who had lived in Brazil and talked to us about more places we won’t have time to visit while we’re in the country.

The chef knocked up a meal of meat and rice then before serving it gave us something to smoke as an appetiser. “Welcome to Brazil” I said to Jayne with a smile on my face.

The noisy, bumpy overnight train ride meant I ended up falling asleep almost instantly as soon as Jayne had switched off her head torch. The hammocks make for a very comfortable bed, especially after two, long uncomfortable journeys on train and truck. We’d covered over 200k by truck alone. Before falling asleep I remember the sound of thousands of crickets and frogs, making a classic chirping jungle/swampland noise - a sound that served as a backdrop to remind me where I am.
 

 A Walk through the Wetlands [Sun 25th Jul 1999]

There was an early light to start the day as we swung out of our hammocks at 7:30. Our guide who introduced himself last night told us we would be going soon so “get up and eat”. His name was Israel, he was going to guide us into the Pantanal as opposed to the promised land. At 8:30am we set off on our walk as the flat marshy surroundings began to gradually heat up. We walked on grassy dry land always close to marshes or small clumps of trees thick with vegetation. We spotted some birds described as the ‘police of the Pantanal’ given that their screeching warned you of close danger – perhaps a puma or an alligator. At one stage early on in the walk, Israel gave me his machete and list of birds with Portuguese, English and Latin names “here, take, present for you”. I took the items from him and he immediately ran off straight towards a clump of trees then, just as he was about to reach the trees, he veered right and followed the edge of the forest. When I looked in the direction he kept turning his head, I saw a four legged creature with a bushy tail made up of black and white bands and a head with a longish nose. A mix between a badger and a Racoon. Israel ran towards it then, after a couple of missed swipes, grabbed it by the tail and held the creature up as we walked towards him. It was a cute little animal that didn’t appear too happy about being displayed in such a degrading fashion – dangling from the tail. When it was released, it didn’t scarper but rather shuffled off looking a bit pissed off.

We walked through a sparse wooded area then came to the edge of a salt lake just as an alligator slipped into it, his snout slightly above the surface trailing a V shape in the still reflecting water. Many birds were wading in the lake and when they took off they appeared to fly in symmetrical pairs as their reflection mirrored in the smooth water. Israel began to machete his way through an area of palms and other trees, on the ground were many spiky plants looking like Aloe Vera with thorns. He showed us a parasite tree that grows by attaching itself to another tree, its grey trunk looking like a tangle of Siamese snakes, choking the palm, appearing to literally jail the tree. There were quite a few of these parasite trees, all wrapped around the trunks of other trees and choking them. Before this we had seen a number of tall white birds in the middle of another lake with smaller pink birds around them. Further on we saw dark coloured vultures picking at the carcass of a cow that had died from a snake bite. Shortly we came to a group of small wooden buildings where a family was living – manky looking chickens with feathers missing in great clumps strutted and jerked around the yard while three tired looking dogs lazed sleepily in the midday sun. We had just seen some Blue and Yellow Macaws, a group of six sat in a tree with splendid yellow chests and dark blue over the rest of their bodies – a great contrast in colours. The family at the farmhouse dished out some glasses so we could taste some ‘Pantanal bore water’ best described as refreshing and gritty. The guide talked to them all in Portuguese then started talking to the birds, whistling and clicking until they began to seemingly talk back, imitating his sounds – who was copying who here? From here we began the trek back to the campsite, more Macaws to see on the way out as well as an Emu running comically across the plain. We saw more Jabiru Storks and one of the creatures we had seen Israel catch in the morning watching us from atop a tree. We all walked with a weary leisurely pace as we’d been out for three hours. The last stint, with the campsite in view, involved taking my shoes off then walking first through squelchy mud and shallows until we were waist deep in a lake covered with reeds either side of us. The mud turned to sand and became a lot more pleasant to walk in once we’d reached the centre point of the lake where the reeds didn’t encroach so much.

Back at the base Chitu the deformed monkey who hangs around the campsite was being playfully annoying. He has an odd bulbous growth on his top lip and one of the fingers on his hand is floppy and useless. Not useless enough however to prevent him from trying to bite peoples ankles and help himself to plates of food which had been left on the table. One of the people who work here eventually took him away in disgrace as if he’d been a naughty school kid. The two Brazilians who had come on the walk with Jayne and myself were passing round a joint. Everything seemed to become even more tranquil, laid back and ‘woozy’ to quote Jayne. Brightly coloured Lorikeets skimmed through the air above us, another Emu strolled past and Chitu the monkey swung from a hammock.

Despite the fact all the guides are Portuguese speaking Brazilians and the Italians, obviously, speak Italian, most people at the campsite spoke Spanish because it’s the common language they share. I only managed to catch brief snippets of the conversations but it didn’t really matter… the walk, the food, the early rise, the smoke – four reasons that justified my return to the hammock for some rest. As I dozed I started to formulate a 19^th century explorer’s tale in my head: ‘In the month of July I visited the Brazilian Pantanal during the dry season where I befriended a hideously deformed monkey called Chitu.’

We went for another walk in the late afternoon after Israel had woken us from our hammocks. When I initially retired to mine I was a little distracted to say the least by the moaning sounds coming from the tent in which Corin had decided to share with the cook. There was definitely something going on here because later in the evening she approached Jayne and asked her how to say “Will you marry me” in Spanish.

During the late walk we saw very little wildlife although I guess it’s all relative – on an average work day in Sydney or the UK, I might see a few dogs, maybe a cat and a few birds so I guess we saw a lot. We spotted plenty of Capibaras (of which we saw loads in the morning), emus and other birds… yeah okay, we saw plenty. It was a short walk culminating in more than enough drinks back at the campsite that Corin had knocked up; sugar, limes and some clear spirit we’d purchased in Corumbá.

The Italians who had arrived broke out a packet of hand rolled cigars and told us how they’d bought 100 of the things for one dollar when they were in Paraguay. I was offered one of the gnarly, coarse looking stoagies so took it and soon began to appreciate why they were so cheap… I can’t say I felt particularly good for it afterwards.
 

 Wading with Alligators [Jul 26th 1999]

Up early and off again this morning, this time with Gabriel, another guide. This was after I’d visited the campsite dunnie along a path amongst sheltered trees. Once at the end of the path I basically picked up a shovel, dug a hole, did my thing then refilled the hole. I was wondering what I was going to dig up? On returning I swung the sign that was staked into the dirt back round to say ‘Vacant’. We then set off and had an almost immediate sighting of some pink coloured birds and a lone Capibara who ran into a nearby lake making a sort of coughing grunting sound.

Sometimes I find myself in a situation where I’m doing something I would consider stupid and dangerous and I look back at the event and wonder what on earth I was thinking. Today was a perfect example of that, after walking through some woodland, we came to the same remarkably still lake we had walked by yesterday. We walked around half of the lake, taking photos of the great reflections the birds caused, when we stopped and Gabriel pointed out some alligators in the water. We saw three in total with their eyes just above the surface of the muddy lake. He spent a bit of time throwing a bit of wood out towards the alligators that was tied to a length of fishing wire – I think this was an attempt to get them to move for photos rather than fishing for them. Then came the bit where I couldn’t work out if he was being serious – he said we were going to walk through the lake to the other side. Is this another ‘wind up the naive tourist’ situation I thought? Evidently it wasn’t as we soon found ourselves wading barefoot through the muddy water. Jayne was doing her ‘nervous laughter make a lot of noise’ routine all the way across. At one stage the guide who was leading the column of people turned round and pointed to some bubbles I had just walked past and Jayne was right next to. “Alligator” he said – jeez, I thought – it couldn’t have been more than three feet away at the absolute maximum. We were both extremely relieved to get to the other side – the Italians had opted to walk around the lake and meet us on the other side – I’m sure there’s a joke in there somewhere about the Italians retreating…

A bit later we were walking across some scrub with the guide leading again when one of the Italians began shouting something. Gabriel turned, spotted an Armadillo and ran towards it catching it ready for a few photos again. It was a pretty cute looking animal that appeared to be as tough as a tank on top but had no armour to cover its belly. Gabriel pointed this out when he turned it over to expose the soft the belly then identified the animal as being female. The next sighting, aside from a couple of emus and the ever present munching, docile vague looking cattle, was a couple of brightly coloured Macaws. Their feathers went through many deep shades of blue, red and green. We stood silent watching them for a while before they flew off squawking with their long tail feathers trailing behind. We returned to the camp the same way we had yesterday, wading through the reeds and lilies of the refreshing lake water.

Chitu the deformed monkey who was hanging above my hammock and climbing over it woke me from my afternoon nap. I knocked him away to see him settle for Jayne’s company as he lolloped about in the mosquito netting.

A large group turned up at the camp with a few kids who immediately came over and played with the monkey. Gabriel took them for an afternoon walk but we opted to take the aluminium boat out on the lake. Jayne did all the punting and paddling sporting her freshly acquired natural tattoos. Gabriel had just put them on using a fruit that when opened up looked a bit like a pomegranate – he dipped a thin reed into it and applied the tattoos which went on clear then dried to a dark grey/black.

Jayne paddled me out to the clearing in the lilies and reeds then took a left though a dense patch where we became bogged down with lake flora a few times. Eventually, with a bit of wind assistance, we were paddling across the larger lake with the relaxing, calming backdrop noise of chirps, whistles, coos and clicks. Time for another quick smoke… could we be any more relaxed?

Lots of fireflies twinkled during the evening, flashing on and off by the edge of the lake and in the trees. While we were having dinner, Gabriel shone his torch toward the lake and showed us a couple of sets of glowing orange eyes just where the punt was. We went down to the water for a closer look then saw, thanks to the chef, even more – 9 sets of orange eyes – all baby alligators apparently, maybe waiting for an unfortunate Capibara to come their way.

Gabriel was now sporting a penguin tattoo on his neck courtesy of Jayne who had just applied it. The campsite was very quiet as the people who had arrived mid afternoon didn’t stay and the two Brazilians had left. With everyone feeling weary, we were all hammocked and tented up by 8:30pm.
 

 Chitu the Cattle Fearing Monkey [Jul 27th 1999]

We were left to our own devices this morning as Gabriel had some work to do. Jayne and I decided to do a clockwise route of the lake and for the entire journey Chitu accompanied us. We were only a few yards out of the camp when we turned round to see him scuttling slowly across the floor to join us. He soon found a perch, after some prompting, on top of Jayne’s shoulders and that’s pretty much where he stayed during the walk.

What would Chitu the monkey of the Brazilian Pantanal be afraid of? The menacing looking black vultures perhaps? Maybe Capibaras or, more obviously, alligators? Or is it the stealth like Puma that scares him? – No, try domestic cattle! It was so funny to see his reactions… the first time we came near a cow he cowered behind Jayne’s back with just his head sticking out looking very deterred. Towards the end of our walk, we came a cross a group of about six cows which caused Chitu to leave Jayne altogether and scurry up a nearby tree – not until we had shooed all the cows away did he climb back down, cautiously, to the perceived safety of Jayne’s shoulders.

Our first sighting today was a couple of Toucans perched high in a tree – as usual, directly in the sun meaning it made a poor photo opportunity. We saw many Jesus birds (although I’m sure they have a different name here) walking across the water and at one stage spied a large group of Capibaras, mostly juveniles, entering the waters edge then swimming across the lake. One deer sighting, herons and of course the many Chitu deterrent cattle. Back at the base, after another wade through the lake with monkey in tow, there were a couple of Emus wandering around the campsite. Much of the afternoon was spent swinging in hammocks, catching up on a bit of Spanish, reading my last book and punting on the lake. A lone horseman wearing a black hat traipsed through the lake at one stage then returned in the direction he’d come. At about 3:00pm we were told it was unlikely that a truck would turn up and we may have to stay another night. “No problem” we said, all set to enjoy the lazy remaining hours of the day. No sooner had we moved all our bags back to our respective hammocks and settled back down to rest, another truck turned up. Corin had conveniently gone for a two hour walk with the cook and so could not join us on the return to Corrumba. And she would probably kick herself (well, maybe not) had she known what was in store. No sooner had we thought we’d seen all the wildlife this place has to offer in the dry season, we found we were treated to some of the rarest sightings of all during the trip back. We stopped at a hacienda to pick up a group of four young boys then continued on, after which the truck came to a halt and the driver pointed out an Anteater – I couldn’t believe it. It was bigger than I expected with a large tail that bordered between heavy plumage and fur. The archetypal big snout was there and I couldn’t help thinking of the Budweiser commercial as it trotted away from us, its tail bobbing up and down like a big feather duster. Well, that was like the icing on the cake for me until the next sighting - the icing on the icing in the form of a beautiful spotted puma looking like a mini leopard/cheetah. Although it scampered away from us quite quickly, we still got a good look at the creature. I did not honestly think I’d be lucky enough to see one of these animals during my time on this continent – in most of the Latin America literature I’ve read, the Puma appears as an almost mystical creature steeped in symbolism – and here was one, a few yards away from me. We made excellent time to the river crossing – all but one of the boys had put longer sleeve tops on and the youngest was asleep with his head in his brother’s lap.

We had to wait a while for the ferry, Jayne found out from a hacienda owner that the captain didn’t make a crossing until he had a boat full of vehicles to take across the Rio Paraguay. So we waited while the captain, on the other side of the river, delayed the ferry in anticipation of another customer. We used the break in the journey as an opportunity for a quick drink in the bar by the river. A place that would not have been out of place in outback Australia – a real blokes bar – save for the huge catfish hung up outside. One of the fish was about two metres long with a huge mouth.

While sipping my beer a local asked me if I was going to Corumbá

“Sí sí, Corumbá” I said

“Corumbá Disco” he replied, swivelling his hips and waving his arms about

“No, mañana” I replied, he then asked me where I came from and after I told him he said,

“Ahh, Inglaterra, Disco – mucho disco” – yeah whatever?

Mr Disco swivelled off to another side of the bar just as the ferry could be heard coming in. The kind barman offered to pour my remaining beer into Jayne’s empty coke can until Jayne pointed out she’d stubbed a cigarette out in it so he scored the remaining drink. We observed that fishing was big business at this intersection of road and river which may have been  why it was more developed with an array of accommodation, bars, cafes and food vans.

Having crossed the river, the wildlife sightings were not yet over - further down the dusty track we spotted a fox and then another rare sighting – this time a Porcupine. ‘Porco-espinho’ – it looked like a big hedgehog in a black and white headdress. It was shuffling across the road in front of us as we approached and caused enough excitement for one of the people in the cab to get out and have a closer look. Driving on, we climbed a bit into the hills where it became noticeably chillier then down and on to sealed roads to Corumbá “Hay Corumbá” I said to Jayne forsaking repetition for effect. We were dropped right at the door of Hotel Beatrice which was probably no coincidence given that all the metal folding chairs and tables that were in the back of the truck with us were unloaded into the courtyard. I have to say this so called hotel looks more like three lock up garages from the front. The entrance is through a small door in the middle garage. As soon as we opened the door of our again, basic room, the heat just hit us. It is soooo hot. We went straight out for a meal, covered in dust from the journey ending up back at the restaurant we visited on the day we left. Feeling exhausted from the journey, we took full advantage of the ceiling fan in our room when we got back.
 

 Surf's Down [Jul 28th 1999]

Well, this is it, looks like I’ve finally picked up some sort of stomach bug. I had an uncomfortable nights sleep with my belly rumbling, churning and generally getting itself into knots then, when I awoke this morning, I discovered I had diarrhoea. I decided to risk leaving the room with Jayne for a trip to a Laundromat (lavandería) and ended up pathetically leaning against the wall of the place, sweating and moaning while Jayne and the assistant counted out the clothes. To be honest, I was doing fine except for the occasional five minutes now and then when my stomach felt like it was about to explode through my backside. I decided I needed liquid and not beer so we made our way to a small café past litter bins made to look like alligators, macaws, toucans etc and sat down in a place diagonally opposite the plaza with a giant plastic Blue and Yellow Macaw in view. I downed the drink then considered, perhaps stupidly, that some food might be a good idea. We made our way up the road back towards the hotel and were about to go into a restaurant when a bloke with curly hair wearing a pair of glasses with no arms fixed to his face with a rubber band said he knew somewhere cheaper. This in fact turned out to be the same place we went to last night. On the way he told us he worked for the railway and could find out about train tickets for us. He ended up coming into the restaurant with us. Now my mum always said to me, “never trust a man whose glasses are attached to his face with a rubber band.” Well, okay, she didn’t but I reckon it’s a sound piece of advice. I’m sure the bloke was fine and only trying to be helpful but we declined his offer of assistance and said we would sort it out ourselves. We managed to shake him off quite easily which is more than could be said for my stomach. The buffet lunch did not go down at all well and I ended up making another dash for the toilets only the Male/Female signs were now in Portuguese so I had no idea which one to go into. I could only see one sign which said ‘elle’ or something like that, I decided it sounded like a woman’s name so went for the other door only to discover I picked the wrong one. I dashed back, sheepishly, to the table then made a second, this time, successful attempt.

And now I’m lying flat on my back in our hotel room, staring at the three lipstick kisses on the white grubby wall while the fan grinds noisily overhead. Funnily enough, Jayne has gone to Bolivia while I stay in Brazil – she’s only gone a few miles up the road to sort train tickets out but it’s one of the rare times we’ve been apart while travelling – and in two different countries no less. I’ve been making occasional dashes to the toilet and doing useful stuff like getting up to level 21 on lemmings while I wait for her to return. The air is still and hot and this is supposed to be a cooler time of year.

Jayne returned with a big grin and news of all sorts of adventure. She’d taken a moto-taxi to the border riding pillion on one of the many motorcycles that offer the service. While queuing for our tickets she spotted a Bolivian transvestite and also met a bloke who had been surfing in Brazil but was now heading back to Peru because he reckoned the surfing was better there. He said he got an awful lot of strange looks carrying a surfboard across Bolivia. Jayne had purchased tickets for the train tomorrow so to save a bit of time, I braved the outdoors and we walked back to the police station this time noting that as well as the bins, telephone booths were also decked out to look like animals including a Jabiroo Stork payphone. The police station, which looked nothing like a police station (the staff wore no uniforms and were watching volleyball on the TV) was open so we walked inside to get our stamps out of the country. As it turned out, this was not straight forward as I had no entry stamp to Brazil in my passport – the police officer we saw on Saturday had forgotten to put one in. The thin haired man behind the desk who spoke little English didn’t know what to do and disappeared behind a door with my papers after asking for a description of the original immigration staff member. Another man appeared – again dressed nothing like a police officer – this one was wearing a green baseball cap. He seemed completely undeterred by the whole thing,

“You going to Bolivia” he said

“Yes” Jayne replied, pointing to both of us.

“OK, no problem”, he said, ‘bang, bang, bang’ and the exit stamp was put in my passport then handed back to me with a thank you and goodbye. So, officially, I never entered Brazil but I did leave it.

We sat at a plastic table on probably Corumbá’s busiest street corner and people watched for a couple of hours. A woman weighed her cat on some scales in the chemist, a couple of kids kept hassling us for money, drunks meandered across the road ignoring traffic. I decided I might be well enough to eat so tried a few more slices of pizza which went down very slowly. Corin wandered past and joined us but I had to leave, just making it back to the hotel in time then dosing myself with Gastrolite and Neurofen.

We also discovered that the Puma we thought we’d seen yesterday was in fact a Jaguar – a guide who was with Corin informed us of this fact.
 

 Back to Bolivia [Jul 29th 1999]

After a quick visit to the post office to send postcards and a birthday card for Tamsin (I discovered later I’d completely got her birth date wrong) we collected our washing. My stomach had still not settled down completely so I went through a whole series of dosages this morning, gastolite to rehydrate me, barrocca to give me a vitamins boost and Alka Seltzer to settle my stomach and sort out my headache. We packed up at the hotel then, at midday, said our goodbyes and wandered out to find a cab. The driver we had was really taking his time – the complete opposite of the Ayrton Senna wannabe we had coming into the country. At the frontera we were dropped off then told by a few people hanging about that we had to get our stamps into Bolivia – but hang on – we didn’t get stamped out of Bolivia? We thought that was something that was supposed to happen at the police station in Corumbá but we had that all wrong. Due to the fact that when we originally entered Brazil, the taxi driver just drove straight past the Bolivian immigration office, we technically never left the country. Rather than go through the hassle of trying to explain why we had no Bolivian exit stamps, risking more expense for another visa or even a bribe, we just walked straight past immigration and into a cab. So, technically speaking, we never went to Brazil – if anyone in an official capacity asks we can just say we went to the Bolivian Pantanal. Our taxi ride was hilarious; in fact there was nothing on the vehicle to indicate it was a taxi at all. It was basically a completely knackered three door sports car that reminded me of a British Ford Capri. Our bags only just fitted in the boot but it had to be left open during the journey. Jayne shared the back seat with another passenger while I sat in the front. The back of the seat had to be folded down for Jayne to get in and as far as I could see, it was held on with parcel tape. The dusty red car spluttered and choked along as the driver asked me where I was from and told us how comfortable the trains used to be but not any more.

At the station we sat out in the shade eating a delicious sweet watermelon and spitting the seeds off the platform. We ended up sitting opposite a revolting man on the train while the transvestite Jayne spotted yesterday was holding court a few seats behind us. We’re in the third class carriage this time, upright seats facing one another with little legroom in-between. The person opposite, a small scruffy dark haired bloke with a thin light coloured moustache, kept gobbing out the window, throwing any rubbish he had off the train, constantly scratching and had a loud sneeze that always caught you off guard. Jayne made an observation that the lower class ticket you have the more luggage seems to accompany you.

It was impossible to sleep in the seat so eventually, like most other people in the train, I settled for a cramped space on the floor beneath Jayne’s feet giving her the opportunity to use the whole seat. This was after I took a walk, or rather a climb, to the toilet – there were bodies everywhere. Mr Manners was resting his legs across the aisle while someone else was sleeping on the floor below his legs. Past that, there were two more people in the aisle as well as bodies between seats; it looked like some sort of knockout gas had been thrown in the carriage causing everyone to fall in a heap. In the dark, it was difficult not to step on people but I made it.
 

 Suffering in Santa Cruz [Jul 30th 1999]

That goes on my top ten list of the most uncomfortable nights sleep I’ve ever had. I picked myself up off the floor at about 6:30am – my clean fleece now grubby again. The pain in the arse bloke was becoming more annoying and I couldn’t believe one of the things he did. One of the people serving food on the train had a very bad squint and was either completely blind or pretty close to it. The poor guy had to negotiate bodies and legs by feeling his way up the aisle while selling bags of coffee. He walked past us and as he was a couple of metres on, the annoying, scratchy, sneezing, gobbing, short-arsed, scruffy gaucho in front of us called out ‘Café!’ and then shuffled into the corner of his seat to make himself small whilst laughing and giggling. The blind vendor returned looking around for what he thought was a customer. Mr Manners thought this was hilarious and looked at me for approval of his practical joke while grinning a stupid grin. I just returned his look with a very unfriendly scowl.

Late last night I also remember looking out the window and seeing some incredible scenery – it looked as if we had just stumbled into Monument Valley with vast natural stone structures jutting high into the air. There was one that looked like the huge conical rock in Close Encounters of the third kind. The scenery belonged in a Western movie, massive sheer rocks jutting out of the ground. It was pretty dark when we saw them but up close they looked just as interesting with all sorts of knotty gnarly shapes – I’m sure Paul Hearty, our geologist friend, would have a few things to say about the formations.

The train continued on as we got more and more uncomfortable on the seats. We went past the vast field of sunflowers we had seen on the outward journey, swaying in the wind, and through the same litter clogged towns crawling with vendors selling food and drinks (Palmito was one town name I remember). I however ate nothing for the whole morning, only sipping my water in an attempt not to bring on my case of the squits again. This seemed to prove successful.

When the train pulled into the station there was a mad scramble to get everything on to the platform. We were knocked about while getting our packs off but made it out the door and were then stopped by someone checking passports – were they on to us? Everything was in order and we cabbed out to Hosteleria Bolivar where the only room left was the one with the en-suite bathroom so we took it for a night. After finally eating something without any problems at the Irish Pub, we found the first Internet café we've been to since travelling that was fast – unbelievably fast in fact, so much so that we cleared up practically all our email.

The evening was, looking back, a complete waste of time especially for me. We went to the movies and even though we’d found three cinemas in Santa Cruz, the film choice was very poor so in the end we settled for My Favourite Martian after Jayne specifically asked if it was in English. The movie was half an hour late starting which meant we suffered the end of a truly awful movie called Bride of Chuckie about a couple of psychotic killer dolls – complete and utter shit is the best thing I can say about the film – it made me wonder who on earth watches these types of films. When My Favourite Martian started – and I was hoping for a sort of movie like Lost in Space which wasn’t brilliant but passed the time – we found it wasn’t in English at all and was also very obviously a Disney movie aimed at a young kids type audience. None the less, we watched it for no other reason than to pass the time and then made a dash from the place once it was over end in case anyone spotted us. Next, rather stupidly, I decided to have a Melanesia Napolitana at a cheap restaurant attached to a hotel. It was huge and I only managed a few bites at which point the growling stomach returned and before I knew it I spent the rest of the evening in and out of the toilet. I'm so glad we got the room in the hostel with the en-suite. I felt very embarrassed about handing back a completely full plate back to the restaurant staff. Walking back to the hostel, the palms were swaying in the plaza in which women and men wrapped in Bolivian textile blankets were out begging or trying to sell material, bows and arrows, carvings and other items.