A trip in a day

A question I'm not regularly asked is "what's a typical day like?". The difficulty with the answer is that they're all different but there are similar elements. Then today I was thinking that the day I've had has included lots of those elements. So this has been my day:

• Wake up at 5am after a pretty bad nights sleep [1] as a result of some very persistent mosquitos. 
• Oversleep.
• Just make breakfast.
• Load the bike (unusually don't immediately turn around and find something I've not packed).
• Leave, wave at some small boys who look at the bike (not gender stereotyping bit is always small boys who wave).
• Bike decides to stop working, on second time it doesn't restart, push it uphill to a layby, strip off all the luggage and get the Haines manual out. 
• Bike starts working, but I'm pretty sure it had nothing to do with me. 
• Stop for fuel at a petrol station with three vehicles parked outside it. Find out it's (permanently) closed. Still not sure what the other vehicles were doing there.
• Ride on along beautiful roads with amazing views but don't stop as I'm worried I might not be able to start the bike again.
• Tarmac gives way to dirt roads and I'm still 70km away from my destination (according to one map anyway). Wasn't expecting that.
• GPS map roads start tracking 100m or more off my actual position, suggesting the maps for this area aren't particularly accurate.
• Plan to stop for some food and a cold drink at a place about 1/3 to 1/2 way there. Get there and it's pretty dead so push on.
• Not happy worth the route the GPS is taking (no mention of São Tome on any signs), but have plenty of fuel. 
• Rejoin GPS road. Hurray!
• Follow it to a padlocked gate - boo!
• Turn around, summon the assistance of Google. Ride on.
• Sun's going down and the temptation to race it home is enormous (riding after dark is a lot slower) but keep it steady.
• Ride past a campsite where I could have stayed but push on the last 2km to town, up a horrible dirt road with undulations similar to riding up a mogul field uphill.
• Arrive at in town just after sun down.
• Pull over to look at a map and am approached by a biker. Short chat, photo taken with him and get given a sticker. Smile for the photo and try and make coherent conversation even though I'm tired and my focus is on getting somewhere for Lena and I to spend then night. 
• Go to the place I want to stay, get the last room, more expensive than anticipated but I'm tired...
• Park bike.
• Have a look at the room and check in.
• Unload bits off the bike.
• Unpack. Find shampoo bottle has leaked / exploded. 
• Shower, washing shampoo of all my kit before I get a clean - apart from my hair as there is no shampoo left in the bottle...
• Go for food and beer (or two), then a short wander around town before deciding to get an early night.

Update - 5 April - the next day (5 April)

• Repeat, this time with added rain! "Highlights" of the following day being:
• A pub in town has a band playing live music, loudly, until about 5am.
• Loading the bike, then setting off and dropping the bike within 3 feet because I hadn't taken the disc lock off (d'oh) while being watched by the lady who worked at the hostel and wanted to lock the garage behind me. On the bright side I was able to lift the bike without unloading anything - embarrassment being almost as effective as adrenaline.
• 35 of the last 50km being on wet dirt roads, uphill, in the dark, through cloud / fog (it was above 1,500m altitude) and distinctly off my GPS mapping.

There may be trouble ahead...

Notes:

1. Other reasons for getting bad nights sleep include, but are not limited to, uncomfortable beds, people snoring, people having sex (mostly sleeping in dorms), postpone getting in late and drunk, people getting up early and packing to catch buses and flights, rooms too hot, too cold, too noisy. Insects, primarily mosquitos, occasionally bed bugs (only come across them 3 times this trip but the decontamination process afterwards is a real hassle).

2. It was the side-stand cut-off switch (which is designed to prevent you from driving off with the side-stand down). But it wasn't making the connection and it fails off, cutting the engine out. I'm undecided as to whether that's the safest thing to do as it happened when I was overtaking a car... I later discovered I hadn't fixed it either [see here].

Gold and God: church, state and slaves in Ouro Preto

I spent the day wandering around Ouro Preto today. Ouro Preto was to gold and Portugal what Potosí was to silver and the Spanish. It was a learning day:

There are a hell of a lot of churches here (that sentence amuses me), which suggests that some of the wealthier people had doubts about what they were doing. Given this involved not only having slaves (ie they owned other people, and the children these people had), they routinely starved them off they didn't work hard enough and castrated them to either a) prevent them growing too tall to work in the mines or b) prevent the tall ones having children to increase the proportion of small slaves to work in the mine (I'm not sure which, this is the current limit of my Portuguese) I think it's probably a good thing they weren't comfortable.

That said, the nascent independence movement that took hold here in 1789 seemed to have more to do with getting rid of the "fifth" of all gold mined that went to the Portuguese crown than getting rid of slavery. On this at least they have something in common with the US independence movement (taxation without representation is unacceptable but owning other people is just fine). What they don't have in common was the latter's success. The leaders of the Ouro Preto rebellion were arrested and exiled or in Tiradentes case executed (the details that I've heard / read but variously involve being dragged behind a cart through the streets of Ouro Preto, drawn, quartered, beheaded and his head taken to Rio to warn off others). It seemed to work. Brasil got its independence in 1822 on the crowd's terms when the Prince Regent, Dom Pedro decided he didn't want to go back to Portugal [1], staying in a now independent Brasil, becoming Pedro I of Brasil.

A child-sized hole,
for (slave) child miner

Alternatively, the churches may have been following the money. There's a legend of an entire tribe being taken from Africa to Ouro Preto to work the mines, including the tribe's chief. By working any days off the chief saved enough money to buy his freedom. Then, working on his own account he bought his son's freedom. They then gradually bought out all of the other slaves in the tribe, then bought the rights to one of the mines in Ouro Preto, making them all pretty wealthy. This is now my definition of leadership in difficult circumstances! However, the King of Portugal apparently caught wind of this and was not amused, making it impossible for slaves to buy their freedom. So instead the slaves would sneak bits of gold out in their hair and under their finger nails. They'd then wash themselves in the baptismal fonts in the churches on the understanding that when enough gold had accumulated the priest would "buy" them from their owner (allowed) and give them their liberty.

But like anything in life, sometimes you got a bad priest who wanted to keep the gold for himself and there was obviously no recourse for the slave.

Maybe the churches had it right when they said that money is the root of all evil, but then forget to put it into practise...

Notes:
1. The Portuguese court had relocated to Brasil in 1807 after the Napoleonic Wars meant that Portugal had become the set for Wellington (with some help from Sharpe and the Royal Green Jackets) to beat the French during the Peninsula campaign.

Miner's food

A couple of people had told me that I was in for a treat when I got to Minas Gerais. I thought it was just that the area has a surprisingly high number of good restaurants - I was wrong, in the best possible way.

Let me talk you through my supper the night before last (my welcome to Minas Gerais meal), below is a photo (fine - I'm not a food Instagrammer and I wasn't going to use the flash because that's just weird...).

Clockwise from the 12 o'clock position we have two large chunks of cooked ham, or pork (to be honest I'm not entirely sure what the difference is, I'm going to Google it now [1]), then crackling, although it's more like uber fresh pork scratchings, pork sausage, then beans and farofa (ground fried manioc flour I think), rice, egg on top and in the middle a bunch of kale. Out of shot are two plates with the same quantity of everything bar the pork, sausage and egg...

Then for breakfast, warm pão de queijo (other than proper tea and fresh porridge or a full English the only thing I'll actually voluntarily get up early for), goiaba jam (from guavas) and three (yes, three) different variations of cake. And I'm staying in a hostel for R$38 (about £8) a night...

Notes:

1. In case you're interested, a Telegraph article describes Ham as raw pork meat that has been cured by baking or boiling and comes from the thigh meat on the joint.

Brazil!

When I first came to Brasil (many years ago) I bought and watched Terry Gilliam's film Brazil. I was confused when I found a film more in common with 1984 than Rio, being as far as I recall a story of mindless bureaucracy amongst other things. I now think he must have tried to extend his visa.

When I tried, the website said I needed to take a form (printed from the website) to the Federal Police Station. I needed to pay the fee in advance and said that I could do this at a number of different places. The first two post offices said I couldn't do it there. The third told me to go to a bank. The bank said that I was missing a form which I needed to print off a website, but he showed me which site I needed to go to. I found an internet place I could print at, but then the website was down for an hour. Then I had to decipher what codes I needed to access the site, after finding these online, I hit the impasse that pursues foreigners in Brasil trying to get anything done - I don't have a CPF (the national ID document which you get asked for pretty much everywhere). So I went to the Federal Police station to find out what I needed to do, to find out that the foreigners' department moved to the airport 8 years ago. At which point I gave up.

Then I went to my happy place - not meditation, but a place with books. In this case the Royal Portuguese Reading Room (Real Gabinete Português de Leitura), an absolutely stunning building moments away from the chaos of the central market. The sort of library I imagine when reading Borges and like Umberto Eco's unread book collection, where the enormity of human knowledge and experience makes itself felt (especially in comparison with what I've acquired). It's a definite challenger for my favourite library (previous number 1 is the library at Chatsworth House) and I thought it would make a great wedding venue (ceremony, not party) if you worship knowledge rather than a big person upstairs (although no idea why that came to mind).

PS - It turns out that I'd been looking at the wrong website (although the bank pointed me to the wrong one as well). Maybe I'll get it done tomorrow... I think that's me gone local - amanhã...

UPDATE: I did eventually get it done, after my second trip to the airport (the foreigners bit is only open until 2pm) and proving that I had the funds to get out of the country if I needed to. I now have about 5 weeks to get out - the clock is ticking...

Bike surgery

I'd told them I was worried, they reassured me it would be fine, but it was still with my heart in my mouth that the guy I'd met about an hour earlier, and didn't work at the workshop, cut into the frame with an angle grinder.

After visiting two different Yamaha dealerships to work out why my new panniers didn't fit (and an email exchange with the dealers I bought Lena from in Woking!) I had a clearer idea that the problem was with the brackets/frame but still didn't know how to solve it. I went back to the welders that had done some work on the front of the bike back in January. Helped by someone (who happened to be a mechanic but was also waiting to get some work done) we dismantling much of the back of the bike. At which point it became evident that the whole frame at the back was bent down slightly - although I'm not sure whether this happened as a result of dropping the bike or riding with broken panniers for the best part of three months. It did explain why I had a similar problem on both sides of the bike though.

So they suggested making a V cut on the top of the frame on both sides, bending it up and welding it together again. This should also strengthen the frame which would have been weakened when it was bent.

So, first the frame was cut, then bent until the panniers fit. After that it was welded, painted and everything reassembled. Simple...

The welder came highly recommended and seemed confident of the quality of the work he'd done. To the extent that he said if I crashed the bike and the frame broke, it wouldn't break at the weld. Fingers crossed his confidence is well-founded... fingers also crossed I don't end up testing it...

First "strap-less" panniers since Bolivia!!

Not leaving Rio

There's a story I've been thinking about quite a lot over the last few months. I think the version I read first was set in the early years of the 20th Century but I've found references that go back a lot further and is set in China. It goes something like this:

"A poor farmer had all of his meagre wealth in one magnificent stallion, but one stormy night the horse escaped from its corral.  The next day, all the neighbours came around to commiserate with the farmer’s terrible misfortune.“Let’s wait and see,” is all he said.

Two days later, the stallion returned with four heathy mares in tow.  Now the neighbours were loud in their rejoicing.  “Let’s wait and see,” said the farmer.

The next day, the farmer’s adolescent son was trying to ride one of the new horses, and he fell and broke his leg.  The neighbours were desolate, but again the farmer said, “Let’s wait and see.”

And the following day, the army came through the village to draft all the young men to fight in a vicious war, but the farmer’s son was spared because of his leg."

In some respects the last few months have followed a similar pattern.

• My flight was delayed, but this meant that I was able to have a last pint in the UK and do some shopping at the airport.
• I just made my flight's connection in Lisbon, but I think the tightness of the time between flights may well have been a contributory factor in the fact that my pannier was damaged en route.
• The airline took nine weeks to admit responsibility and agree to pay for it, but it meant that I was in Rio for Carnaval.
• The delay in my pannier arriving meant that I was able to spend a last weekend in Rio and go to the first concert of the year at the Teatro Municipal, but the same delay also resulted in some of my cooking stuff being "liberated" from my bag in the kitchen.
• Then taking longer to post a package home meant that I ended up staying in Rio a few days longer than expected, but this was enough time for me to be reunited with the most important bits that I'd lost from my cooking kit.

Some people have said that I've had my share of bad luck in Rio - and then some. But maybe that's only if you look at it from a certain direction or a certain distance.

Last Friday I managed to break my oil filler cap and am now having problems fitting my new panniers to the bike. Is this necessarily a bad thing? I don't know. I think I'll take the advice of the farmer and wait and see.

Loving (and leaving) Rio

My pannier arrived on Monday, so sheet two days of packing I should be leaving Rio in the morning, so I thought I'd put down what I'll miss about the cidade maravilhoso:

Carnaval: my first Carnaval and hopefully not my last. I'm still astonished by how that many people can get drink so much, for so long, in such crowds, and yet I saw no trouble or violence whatsoever. Well done Brasil.

Architecture: Rio is famous for its beaches but it also has some stunning architecture - a highlight was seeing an incredible concert in the beautiful Teatro Municipal. And for something a bit more modern there's Oscar Niemeyer's museum in Niteroi, beautiful in its own right but also with one of the best views of Rio.

Range: Last week Monday night was spent at Pedra do Sal, the birthplace of Samba where there was a street party with samba bands, food stalls (selling meat of uncertain origin) and caipirinhas made infront of you for remarkably little money. This week was a classical theatre. In Rio you can walk, climb, shop, sunbathe, surf, paddleboard or just sit in a kiosk drinking beer and watch the world go by - just as long as you're having fun.

Landscape: Any one of the Sugar Loaf, Big Jesus, two brothers, harbour views from Niteroi or either of Ipanema or Copacabana beaches would be stunning in any city. Having all of them seems a little greedy.

Atmosphere: It's the people I've met which have made the stay so much fun. The strangers that invited me to join them for karaoke when I couldn't find my friends, the random people I'm in selfies with during Carnaval, the friends from before who have been so welcoming. This isn't exclusive to Rio but I think the city helps.

Agora estou com saudade.

Rocinha - the largest favela in Brasil

The tour of the favela at Rocinha was fascinating but afterwards I was left with mixed emotions.

The remains of 14 buildings
that collapsed in a domino
effect

The people we’d met were lovely and it was a testament to human ingenuity that 75,000 people can live there, pretty much all with water and electricity (and most with satellite TV) clinging to the side of a mountain.

But then it also made me sad, 75,000 people living in a place with open drains and where TB can be a problem and dengue fever significantly more than that in season and where drug gangs recruit children.

You could say I feel conflicted.

Guns and drugs

Kites used to warn locals of the arrival of the police or competing gangs. Now they use fireworks – apparently more effective in the rain and at night…

Although Rocinha is in the process of being pacified, the gangs are still in control (in Rocinha’s case – Amigo do Amigo) and drugs still evident (although interestingly they don’t allow heroine or crack). On the tour we saw graffiti indicating the gang’s control, occasional bullet holes and discarded drugs containers. Then two young men, their faces covered, walked briskly past us up the hill, one carrying an AK47, the other a semi-automatic pistol…

Dangerous kites

They fly lots of kites in the favelas and to make it more interesting they fight, using glass infused string to cut the strings of other kites (yes, just like in The Kite Runner). An unintended consequence is that the (glass laced) strings of the losing kite can be carried off and get tangled up across roads, decapitating unsuspecting motorcyclists. Bikes sometimes have radio aerials on the front (an alternative looks like an aircraft arresting hook, pictured), not because the rider wants to listen to Radio Rock on their way home, but just because they want to get there intact.

Names and ages

You meet lots of people travelling, eventually you get to names and ages, frequently forgetting both. After meeting two people last night, we decided to skip names and use the “Zombieland rule”, where you’re called by where you’re from, and so spent the evening with Cricklewood and Glasgee. Then we played “guess my age” - Cricklewood was 19. After, with me, I said “no” to guesses in the high 20’s then Cricklewood asked if I could be his dad. I clarified that he meant “could I be old enough to be his dad?”, then said yes. Twice his age, ouch…

Giving up "giving up" or the First Sunday of Lent in Brasil

Carnaval, Mardi Gras, Shrove Tuesday, Pancake Day. The day you eat all the rich foods in your cupboard, before you start the serious business of Lent, beginning on Ash Wednesday.

Or in Brasil, start another 5 days of drinking and partying. Which is how on the first Sunday of Lent I found myself in the centre of Rio, having a beer for elevenses, taking selfies with strangers and dancing alongside a block with half a million of my closest (and newest) friends and 4-5 [insert expletives] people who stole my phone, which is why I don’t have any photos ☹

10% of a picture

After my phone succumbed to its injuries sustained during a pool party (not my fault), the cheap counterfeit Sony I’d bought was stolen on the last day of Carnaval and so the daily Instagram posts (which haven’t exactly been daily) are going to become less frequent. That and the big blog posts are getting unwieldy (my fault). So I’ve decided to do something shorter (the target’s no more than 100 words, hence 10% of a picture) and more frequent, which will hopefully keep things more up to date, and tell some of the stories that you don’t get from photos.

Leg 10 - Sucre to Foz do Iguacu route (layered map)

+1 Paraguay

Iain has been to: Afghanistan, Andorra, Argentina, Australia, Austria, Belgium, Bolivia, Brazil, Cambodia, Canada, Chile, China, Cyprus, Czech Republic, Denmark, Fiji, France, Germany, Greece, Guernsey, Hong Kong, India, Indonesia, Iran, Ireland, Italy, Japan, Kenya, Luxembourg, Malaysia, Monaco, Mongolia, Morocco, Netherlands, New Zealand, Norway, Paraguay, Poland, Portugal, Russia, Singapore, South Africa, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, Tanzania, Thailand, Turkey, United Kingdom, United States, Vatican, Vietnam. Get your own travel map from Matador Network.