The LAST Bus Ride

Oh Rio....I'm going to like you!!!

After the craziness of Carnaval, Larry and I found ourselves on another endless bus ride, this time headed to Rio de Janeiro. I don’t even know how many hours this bus ride was… 28 hours…..32 hours……….37 hours…who knows. I was really starting to feel like all of my time in South America was being spent on a bus. Somewhere on this endless ride, Larry and I started to discuss what we wanted to do next. Our original plan was to bus in to Peru to hike up to Machu Picchu. The thought of logging more bus hours heading to yet another overly populated tourist destination made me want to throw myself out the window of the bus and splat myself on the Brazilian highway. We thought about our finances and decided that flying wasn’t really an option. Until the instant people teleporter machine was invented, the bus was our only option.

I started to think about everything I had wanted to do on this trip. The two most important things for me were Antarctica and Carnaval. I had already done both of those. I also really wanted to lay on the famous beaches of Brazil, bike down the World’s Most Dangerous Road, see the Amazon Jungle and see the salt flats in Bolivia. I also wanted to see Machu Picchu. The more I thought about it, the more I decided that I wouldn’t be sad if I didn’t make it to Machu Picchu this time. Part of the reason I wanted to go was that it was such a big tourist attraction…I mean how could you go to South America and not go to the famed Machu Picchu, right? Well for the amount of things I had already crossed off my bucket list, I wasn’t going to be sad to have to come back to South America another time. Machu Picchu could wait. I could not survive another bus ride.

When I explained this to Larry, she was relieved, but as always, the supportive friend who wanted to make sure I was really ok with skipping Peru. I told her I would go on a murderous rampage if I had to endure another multi day bus journey.  We left it at that, but I knew we were not bussing it to Peru.

When we finally arrived in Rio, we got to our hostel only to find that they didn’t have enough beds for us. The hostel people were great, and we got a private room for the price of a dorm. We were more than grateful for the room, as the crowded buses and the crowds of Carnival had me nearly at my limit with crowds and people. In our little room, Larry and I searched flights and destinations until we came up with a plan. Randomly, on a whim, because it was cheap to get there, because it was tropical and because I hadn’t yet seen the Caribbean Sea,  we booked flights to Belize. We were going to spend a month on its picturesque turquoise water beaches, then head back to Canada. This was a plan I could jump on!

Copacabana Boardwalk

I was ecstatic and overwhelmed with relief…it was true, NO MORE BUSES!!!!!!!!!!!!!  A single thought had never made me so happy!!

NOT where we stayed...notice giant Christ at the top left

We had a week in Rio and were determined to fit in as much as we could before we departed South America. Early the next day we headed down to Copacabana Beach. The whole way there, I had Barry Manilow’s song lyrics in my head. “At the Copa….Copacabana…..they fell in love”. Little did I know that these words would nearly ring true in the very near future. I was missing a bunch of lyrics in the middle, but all I could think of all day everyday we were in Rio was “at the Copa…Copacabana…” It was a broken record in my head that Larry and I were constantly belting it out at random intervals.

At the Copa...Copacabana....

We lazed on the beach, ate fresh prawns from a man selling them on the beach and gazed at the Christ the Redeemer statue from afar.

YUM!!!!!

 When we had enough of the beach we hit the streets and window shopped our way to Ipanema beach. It was a lovely day, and already I was loving Rio! We had big plans for the week, including a football game, a tour of the favelas and more beach. Knowing I was not going to be suffering through another bus journey had lifted my spirits and I wanted to soak up all of Rio de Janeiro.

Copacabana Beach

Up next, a Brazilian football game, a ghetto tour and helping some boys find an ATM.

Join me as I TRAVEL MY LIFE AWAY!!!

Quest for Brazil, with a little waterfalls on the way

                                                               The cruise ended and we were back in Buenos Aires. We had spent a few days here before the cruise, and I would have loved to spend a few more days here, but we needed to make it up to Salvador for Carnaval (the biggest street party in the world), just a few days away. We had heard horror stories from other travellers about trying to get Brazilian visas after already leaving your home country. I had heard it could take from a week to ten days, time we did not have. I also heard that you must have proof of your onward travel, accommodation booked for your whole stay, proof of funds to sustain you there, a contact in Brazil, and that the visa could cost up to $250. Of course we didn't have onward travel booked, as we change our minds often, had only booked the hostel for Carnaval, had no bank statements printed out, knew no one in Brazil, and need our visas the day after we got there if we were going to make it on time for Carnaval.

Our trusty guide book suggested that the easiest and fastest place to have Brazilian visas processed was in Puerto Iguazu, Argentina. I wanted to see the world famous waterfalls anyway, so we crossed our fingers and jumped on a bus bound for Iguazu. The bus ride was surprisingly uneventful and went by quickly.

We arrived in Puerto Iguazu without a hostel booked. It was a small town and we thought we could easily find somewhere to stay. Well, turns out every gringo in Argentina had the same idea as us and was hoping for a quick visa to Brazil. We wandered for quite some time before we found a place that was cheap enough and had beds for us. We dumped our bags and made a dash for the Brazilian consulate to see exactly what we needed to get our visas.

Turns out it wasn't too difficult to complete the application process. We needed to fill out a form online, print it, pay 276 pesos (about $70) in EXACT change and give them a passport sized photo. As long as we got this all in before 11 am, we would receive our visas by lunch time the next day. It was only 9:30 now, so we got to work. We went to an internet cafe so we could easily print the applications when we were done. Other travellers were there trying to get their visas in as well. And then the problems started.

First, I could not open the website where the application form was. I tried 32 different ways but nothing worked. Laurie was able to get to the application form and spent 20 minutes filling out all the minute details. When it came time to hit send, and put the application through the internet cut out. Just to tease us, it would cut back in and allow her to fill out the form again but always stop when she needed to send it. This went on for 45 minutes. Now it was 10:15...we had less than 45 minutes to complete the application process if we wanted to leave tomorrow. We went back to the hostel and used their wireless connection to get the application forms in, but had no way of printing the forms we needed. We tried to take the computer to the consulate with our reference numbers for our applications, but they refused and said it must be printed out. We went back to the internet cafe to try and print them out there. While Laurie tried to get the applications printed, I went on a mission for the exact change we needed to pay for the visas. In Canada, change is not a problem. In Argentina, change is a precious commodity. No one willingly hands out change, and often a shop will refuse to sell you something if you only have a big bill.

With 10 minutes to the deadline, Laurie was struggling at the internet cafe because the program that her computer used to save our applications was not compatible with whatever South American shit the internet cafe was using. So close, but so far, we were nearly pulling our hair out. The internet came back on in the cafe and the lady was able to go online and retrieve our applications on her computer. She got one printed out before it cut out again. Miraculously I had managed to return with the proper change. It was 11:10, ten minutes after the deadline that we finally had both pages printed. We ran down to the consulate anyway, hoping maybe he would give us a break and let us submit our applications a few minutes late.

It was 11:17 by the time we arrived there. No deal. The only thing to ever run on time in all of South America seems to be the application deadline at the Brazilian consulate.

It was not the end of the world; one more day meant we could spend an entire day at the waterfalls. The next day we were up early to make sure our applications were in with plenty of time to spare and then headed to the falls.

Iguazu falls was beautiful! We started at the bottom and worked our way up. The bottom circuit provided a close up view of the falls and the certainty of getting wet. The upper circuit gave a spectacular view from the top of the falls, encompassing much of the surrounding landscape. Devil’s Throat was an amazing show of how powerful the waterfalls actually are, with water spraying everywhere and the deafening thunder of crashing water. We had a great day at the park and were exhausted when the day was through.

Too many tourists on the lower circut

We awoke early the next morning and checked out of the hostel. We had to wait until lunch time to pick up our Brazilian visas and we were crossing our fingers that they went through ok. In the meantime we went to the bus station to find out how we could get to Salvador. None of the bus companies seemed to go direct to Salvador, so we were looking for tickets to Rio where we figured we could get another bus to Salvador. After 4 bus companies told us that buses to Rio were sold out for the next 3 days, my heart sank in my chest. We were already going to be missing the first day of Carnaval, something that has been on my life’s to do list ever since I had a list, I did not want to arrive for only 1 night of the giant party. We searched a little more and eventually found a company that offered non stop service to Salvador. The good news was there was a bus leaving that afternoon. The bad news was that it was not a luxury bus, it was going to take 52 hours, and it was ridiculously expensive.

We picked up our visas without a problem, made some sandwiches for the bus journey and later that afternoon set out on what was sure to be another adventure.

Up next…Carnaval Salvador Style…Partying in the streets with 2 million people.

No ATM???!!!!!!????? In a tourist town???!!!! Somebody should have told me……….

                                                The brochure sold it for me. Motorized canoe, swimming with endangered pink dolphins, searching for anacondas, cobras and crocodiles and fishing for piranhas. After Mount Potosi, I should know not to believe the brochures…but once again it sure was an adventure.


It started off with the plan to be a real backpacker, skip the 40 min flight and take the 19 hour local bus and save $80 bucks each way. A few hours into the bus ride I would have sold my soul to be on a flight. As my Dad always says, you get what you pay for, and I should have known that a 19 hour bus ride for $11 just didn’t add up.

Figuring out what bus we were supposed to be on was an ordeal in itself, and I will spare you the tiresome, not very exciting melodrama. All I will say is that Bolivia is a disorganized mess of hurry up and wait.

The bus looked like it had had its day before my parents were born. The inside was a mess of broken green seats covered in dirty, 1970’s green fabric. The entire bus smelled of armpits, urine and the third world. In times like this, sleep is my savoir. I can sleep anywhere and especially well in a moving vehicle. Poor Laurie cannot. We began by driving down a road that was similar to Death Road (check out the details of my experience here), narrow one lane dirt road with a sheer cliff face on one side, a mountain on the other, and at times it was partly washed away as it is rainy season. The bus was tearing down the road like it was a paved 4 lane freeway. As we would come up to a blind corner the driver would lay on the horn to signal our appearance out of nowhere. Quite a few times another horn would blare, vehicle unseen and we would slam on the brakes. What happens next is something like a game of chicken. The drivers stare each other down for a few seconds, until one decides to back up and let the other pass.

I woke up in the middle of the night, and the bus was stopped. Well not just stopped, broken down. We got out to see what was going on. It was not a good situation. Laurie and I watched as a few men worked under the bus. Hours went by. Of course none of the other passengers spoke even a word of English. My Spanish was not even close to good enough to have a conversation, had anyone even tried to speak to us. Instead, they stared. Not out of the corner of their eyes, and not when our heads turned the other way. They stared at us full on without even a hint of a smile. I did not feel welcome, or even safe. Outside in a Bolivian slum, at 3 am, unable to communicate and surrounded by locals who I am sure would have sold me for $20 to anyone who wanted a exasperated white girl.

Seven hours later, well into the light of day, we set on our way again. We were less than half way there and our tour was just about to start. We had already had enough of this adventure, and it hadn’t even began.
27 hours after the bus had left La Paz, we finally arrived in the jungle town of Rurrenabaque. But the fun had only just begun………………

We showed up at the tourist office to make sure we could do the tour the next day. No problem at all. Next, we needed to hit an ATM and withdraw some money. The jungle tour required us to pay an entrance fee at the park, and we didn’t have much cash at all. The tour office told us there was a bank on the next corner. Sure, there was a bank, but no ATM. No way to withdraw money. We pooled what we had, but only had enough for the bus to leave Rurrenabaque. No way we were going to go through that hell again!!! We only had one option…to beg for a refund on the tour and if we got a full refund, we could manage plane tickets back to La Paz. We would miss out on the jungle tour, but so far, this excursion was sheer hell. I was not sad at the possibility of missing the jungle, I was only sad at the thought of taking the bus back.

At the tour agency, the lady listened with sympathy. I am sure we were not the only backpackers who had been stranded due to the town’s lack of an ATM. When we were done begging for our money back, she smiled and picked up the phone. Speaking quickly in Spanish we had no idea who she was talking to or what she was saying. After a few minutes, she explained that she had called the manager down and had booked us plane tickets back after the jungle tour was over. We began to explain again, that we couldn’t go because we didn’t have any cash to pay the entrance fee into the park. She shhhhhhed us, and told us not to worry. Once the manager of the tour office arrived, she explained. The tour office was letting us go on the tour tomorrow, had booked our plane tickets back to La Paz, and handed us 400 Boliviano (about $60) for our accommodation, the entrance fee, and some dinner.

We were shocked!!! We did have to hand over our passports until we paid the company back - eeep! - but we were so surprised at how accommodating they were. So, we were getting the best of both worlds….we would be adventuring through the jungle AND we got to fly back!!! So we were off on our adventure in the Bolivian Amazon to hunt for crocs and anacondas, swim with pink dolphins and fish for piranhas. Oh, if we only knew what the jungle had in store for us!!!!

SIDE NOTE: Anyone looking to make some money, Rurrenabaque, Bolivia DESPERATELY needs an ATM. You could charge $20 or more for each withdrawal and make a killing!!!!

Join me as I TRAVEL MY LIFE AWAY!!!
Up next, my adventures in the jungle…oh the jungle!!!

The time I thought I was going to die in Mozambique

                                                                                                                                                                       
From December 2009
This is a true story about one of many adventurous journeys in Mozambique

They looked at us with disbelief. Every single one of them. Were we crazy? Had we gone mad? The local South Africans wondered what on earth we were thinking when we told them that we, three small Canadian girls, were headed to Mozambique with nothing but our backpacks, a bag of oatmeal and an appetite for adventure. We left our rental car at the border under a tree and the watchful eye of a man with a broom and a few chickens. We planned to travel like the locals, camp where we could and just see where our adventure would take us. A few days in, we finally got the adventure we were lusting after.

We were on an all day journey from Maputo to Chidenguele. Traveling like the locals entailed packing 27 people, 16 chickens, 142 pounds of flour and an entire flea market worth of bric-a-brac, into a 12 person van. From one van, to a boat, to another even more loaded van, we thought we were just a few hours from our destination. With the help of a local man, we had negotiated a fare that was much more than the locals paid, but guaranteed depositing us to the door of our campground.

Three hours stretched into five, adding up to over 10 hours of traveling that day. With my backpack on my lap and pins and needles in my legs I was sure we must be almost there. As the sun faded in the distance, the noisy Portuguese chatter slowly died down. No one spoke English on this bus…we spoke no Portuguese.

Now it was dark. And quite. I was sure we should have been there a long time ago. Highway signs were few and far between. Signs I did see on the road, I didn‘t see on the map. We tried asking the other passengers how much further to Chidenguele or what the next stop was. They just stared at us or shook their heads. We tried showing them the name of the town written on a piece of paper. They mumbled something in Portuguese and looked away.

Another hour passed . I had visions of being dropped off on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere with lions waiting in the tall grass or being driven far far away to be harvested for my organs. I was determined to keep my fear hidden from my two friends. We should have been there hours and hours ago. Inside, I was stricken with fear and my mind was going a mile a minute. I needed to shut off my brain. I made the conscious decision to close my eyes, fall asleep and just deal with whatever was going to happen when the bus stopped.

I had just started to doze, when my friend Shani tapped me on the arm and asked, “shouldn’t we be there by now?”. I could hear the fear and uncertainty in her voice and it echoed my own thoughts exactly. As I answered, “We should have been there a long time ago”, I opened my eyes for a second.
It flashed past the side of the bus in an instant. A sign for Chidenguele!!!! We jumped into action as the bus chugged right past the turn off. Yelling, pointing and making frantic gestures we were able to communicate that we had just passed our turn. As the bus turned around, I felt the weight of my backpack dissipate and breathed a sigh relieved. Finally we were here!!!

The bus pulled up to the town. We pointed to a sign for our campground, showing it was 8 km away from where we were. The bus driver shook his head and said something we didn’t understand. After a few minutes of “discussion”, each in our respective languages, we realized that the bus driver was refusing to drive us right to the campground. He wanted us to get off the bus right there, kilometres away from the destination that we had paid a premium to get right into. In the wee hours of the morning, after the long day we had endured and the extra cash we forked over, we were not walking 8 km into the dark sand dunes with our heavy packs. We refused to get off the bus. But they had a solution to that. Passengers began to grab our gear and toss it off the bus. We had no choice but to follow our bags. The bus took off, leaving us in a cloud of sand.

As the dust settled, we took in our surroundings. The “town” consisted of 3 haphazard sheet metal buildings. One was a grocery store, one was a general store and the other was the local bar. Of course only the bar was open. Local men were outside, drinking, smoking and doing who else knows what. Within seconds, we were surrounded. Three little Caucasian Canadian girls far off the beaten tourist path in Mozambique at 3 am, just having been abandoned by a bus. We were quite a spectacle.
Thankfully, one of the men spoke a little English. He was willing to drive us to our campground…for a price. Asking 5 times what we had just paid for 7 hours on the bus for an 8 km drive, we managed to talk him down to half price. No other options meant we had to go. The driver got into the van. We got in. Then two of his friends joined us.

Three huge men fuelled by alcohol, three little girls, strong but exhausted. I was scared. We could only hope that they would deliver us to our campground in one piece. A few silently tense minutes into the drive, the men started chattering away in Portuguese. I felt uneasy. What were they saying? Were they talking about us?

Suddenly, the van began to slow down. Cranking the wheel, the driver turned off the road into a clearing surrounded by trees. My uneasiness turned to pure terror. The man in the passenger seat got out. He walked around the van and opened up the back. I could hear him rummaging around. My active imagination was running a million miles an hour again. I had visions of duct tape, rope, gags and rusty torture devices. I was positive that we were about to be raped and killed. No one would ever know what had happened to me. My body would never be found. This was the end of me. I fumbled through my bag for anything I could use as a weapon. The best I came up with was a corkscrew. The man slammed the back door shut. He walked back toward the front of the van. He paused, his face looking directly into my window.

Then he waved. And ran through the trees. I exhaled the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding and my grip loosened on the corkscrew. We were just dropping him off at home!!!!!!!!
We made it to the campground and our thirst for adventure was quenched.