Our winter 2016 trip to South America.
“But… why Canada?” “Because that’s where we live?” Oh, kiddo… I don’t want to go home either. But that’s life.
My final verdict on Brazil? As a backpacker, I love the country. But I don’t think I would live here.
Christ, this was harder than it should have been! Guess what: Jesus is a popular dude. Ah. Who would have known.
I developed an addiction to pão de queijo, these little balls of tapioca with cheese.
We used to avoid Rio Centro because it was dodgy and not so safe. It still is in a way—I wouldn’t wander around in the streets after dark—but Rio de Janeiro feels safer and the downtown area is undergoing major renovation and improvements for the upcoming Olympics.
If you want to go to Copacabana beach, don’t follow the Avenida Nossa Senhora de Copacabana. Brazilian logic.
Rio de Janeiro is a picturesque city. And this is an understatement.
The taxi drove us downtown and we passed favelas and the sambodromo.
“So after the beach we go more beach?” Yes, Mark. That’s the concept. Hey, we are on an island, after…
After crowded Praia de Canasvieiras, we went into the wild.
The beach was packed. Every centimeter of the narrow strip of sand was occupied. It could have been awful, but it felt awesome because of the great atmosphere.
I couldn’t resist. I bought the Brazilian beach uniform: a new bikini, the Brazilian kind with a true thong back. It doesn’t get any tinier.
Praia Mole, a fairly small stretch of sand of about one kilometer long. Blue sky, waves, yellow Cerveja Skol plastic tables and chairs and a crowd of people drinking, swimming, walking around, eating and having fun.
Again, we stepped onto a new movie set. Brazil, this time. I have to “obrigada” people again, we need to remember that businesses close early, that you buy essential at the ubiquitous gas stations instead of heading to the convenience store, the Brazilian cities are hilly…
The last night in Buenos Aires was less relaxing than I would have thought—it was a case of the usual…
In one swift motion, I dropped off the bag inside the bin and jumped back onto the sidewalk.
I can’t claim I’ve been everywhere but I think we visited all the main attractions and walked in every barrio. Hell, I can even find my way without a map.
Plaza de Mayo is not your usual boring plaza featuring a statue of a dude on a horse: it is a hub of political life.
We are standing at the entrance of the famous Cementerio de la Recoleta, a picturesque yet slightly creepy landmark that is famous for containing the graves of, among other notable people, Eva Perón and presidents of Argentina.
Traveling is like stumbling on a new movie set every few days, except that you weren’t given the script and you aren’t sure what part you’re playing.
The Plaza is packed, as usual. Kids bath in the fountain (no Mark, you can’t, sorry), run around, climb on the Statue of Pedro de Valdivia. Adult play chess or listen to the very loud preachers.
Here are my random thoughts on Santiago. No, I didn’t write them on the walls.
Chile’s fast food choice is the perrito caliente with a mound of different condiments.
The tiger yawned and turned his head before going back to sleep, dreaming of the great comida por kilo buffet he could have if only the kids weren’t outside the cage.