After visiting a fantastic Nikon store in the centre of London, and walking away with a big and beautiful 300mm lens, we made our way to Chapaman, to meet up with Nick (and his fiancé Jacky)- one of Adam’s old friends. It was a grey day in London town, so we did as the Londoners do and made for the closest pub for an afternoon of beer drinking and rugby viewing. I was surrounded by three ardent fans, and tried my best to look enthusiastic at times! Nick took us to his local for another few rounds, then we spent the evening in Nick and Jackie’s little apartment, chatting over a lovely home cooked meal.

Lucy (an English friend I met in the Alps) was next on the list, and the following day we met her for lunch at the Belgium beer café for a hearty European meal with plenty of excellent beer. It was a quick catch up, before Adam and I had to race to the train station for our journey to Sheffield. Unfortunately, there was a fire in the tube, so we ended up running with our huge packs to the station in drizzling rain, full of beer and food, only to miss the train by a few minutes. We were promptly put on the next train, just an hour later, and were soon sharing another home cooked meal with my good friends Dave and Hayley. We were introduced to little Harry,  just a few months old, and had our bi-yearly catch up session. It was wonderful to see them doing so well. It was too short a visit, as the next morning we were back on the train to Heathrow, and then whisked into the next chapter of our adventures – Africa.

Our time in Nice will always be remembered foremost for the amazing array of extravagant meals we managed to squeeze into the week (Laure now refers to our visit as ‘Food Week’…see http://thesoupchef.blogspot.com/ for more). Taking it in turns to walk to the boulangerie nearby, each morning the breakfast table was covered with fresh croissants, pan au chocolate, a warm baguette, a selection of cheeses and coffee. If we were in town exploring the old town we would have a coffee stop at Laure’s favourite café, ‘le pain a table’, with a delectable spread of tarts and pastries for our morning break. This eleven o’clock coffee stop would often flow into lunch -  perhaps a salade de chevre chaud or rich lamb shanks.  While Chris was in French class in the mornings Laure (when not working as an assistant chef in a cooking school) often acted as tour guide and led us through the streets of her home town. We poured over the shiny fresh produce at the daily market in the old city and bought some local sweets (candied fruit and chocolates), walked up to the lookout with views over the red tile roves and the pebbly beach, and past the port area in search of some funky bottles Margaret had spied in our regular cafe.

We were itching to make use of the array of produce so readily available, and created a feast each night- rabbit in a mustard brandy sauce and apple and almond tart; glazed duck breast with a green aniseed reduction and roasted figs followed by Laure’s rich chocolate tart; onion, eggplant and courgette facie (a specialty of Nice, made under Laure’s strict instructions). Laure’s uncle joined us for a simple but delicious dinner – wild mushroom fettuccine with plenty of good red wine, followed by goats cheese, fig paste and a desert wine from Malaga.

We also had a delectable meal out, in the old part of town. Laure took us to Birsto d’Antoine, a wonderful little restaurant that has earnt the reputation of being one of the best eating venues in Nice. We had a lovely evening, more dishes that only the French can produce (steak with foie gras, risotto with white truffle, duck breast, buddin noir, chevre chaud, beef capriccio, slow cooked lamb, crème brulee, chocoate mousse).

In between all the eating and drinking cheap but delicious French wine, we ventured to Grasse and Canes for day trips. Grasse, perched in the hills about an hour from Nice is known for it’s perfume factories, and lovely old centre. It was a Sunday, and the city was quiet, but we wandered the streets and managed to find a cute restaurant open for lunch. After a couple of bottles of rose, we made our way back to the train station via my favourite perfumery, Fragonard. We stocked up on some alluring fragrances, then having lingered a little too long over the perfume, ran to the train station only to miss the train by one minute!

Our second outing was to an Island just off Cannes. We took a picnic lunch and walked around the island, exploring the old fort and tried to walk off a few kilos that we’d all put on in the week.

On our final night in town Adam made up some Caipirinha’s with the cachaca we’d brought from Paraty in Brazil while we cooked up the final meal. Just to top off the week of indulging in the richest foods of France, we decided on the classic raclette – sliced meats, boiled potatoes smothered with decadent melted cheese. Chris, Laure Adam and I chatted in to the evening, then Adam and I finally packed, ready for an early departure.

Madrid/ Toledo

It was fabulous to arrive in Madrid and catch up with Mamita in the centre of town.  We spent a few days in Madrid visiting famous museums (Museo del Prado, Reina Sofia), wandering through beautiful parks and narrow tapas filled lanes and drinking coffee/wine in the cities’ plazas. The perfect way to catch up with mum and swap travel stories over the past 8 months or so.

It was, as always, great to view some of the world’s most famous art with Jacinta – partly because she knows plenty about art history and the careers of the artists whose work we were viewing, and partly because she could (patiently) answer my stream of religious questions that inevitably flowed from the disproportionate amount of biblical scenes adorning the walls. Goya (who I knew little of previously) was a favourite of mine, especially his latter day material of dark, warped and haunting portraiture.

Madrid turned out to be every bit as seductive as I had been led to believe. The pickled anchovies alone would have had me in raptures- but added to the warm, unpretentious people, the picturesque lanes and plazas, the art scene and of course all the other delectable dishes (and decent wine everywhere for 1.80 Euro a glass!) this city was hard to beat.

After 3 days of fun, we hired a car to do a tour of southern Spain. Jacinta managed to get pulled over by the police after taking an illegal left turn immediately upon leaving the car-hire parking lot! The police were a bit serious and after I had got out of the car and argued the age-old defence of ignorance for a while, they demanded I return to the vehicle. They ended up letting us free without a ticket and with a small lesson on the Spanish road signs. (even though we knew full well that the turn was illegal at the time!).

We made it to the small, medieval town of Toledo for lunch without further incident (I had taken over the driving, hehe). The old section of this town was a maze of cobble stone streets and high stone buildings and we staggered around admiring the majesty for a while. The highlight was the Toledo Cathedral, a monumental… errrr… monument, with stunning interiors, numerous chapels lining the sides and even its own gallery within. We finally found our way out of the old town just before sundown and headed to Cordoba.

Three gems in the South

After some quick research, we found a place smack in the centre of the old town in Cordoba, opposite the city’s main attraction -the “Mezquina” or Mosque.  This ranked among the most phenomenal pieces of architecture I had ever seen. I think I might let the photos give you an idea rather than provide a dewy-eyed, rambling tribute. Unfortunately, there had been a cathedral built in the middle of the building that detracted significantly from the spacious elegance of the Islamic design. Apparently the Mosque had originally been built on the site of a cathedral. A clear case of … our god is better than your god, no, our god is better, no our god is better…BLOODY CHILDREN. Why can’t we just respect everyone’s god.. huh, huh??

We also visited a synagogue with a lovely ornate simplicity (errr .. I think that makes sense) and an exhibition house depicting a typical Moorish home.  Jacinta and I promptly decided that if we ever own a house it will have interior balconies, lots of small hand painted tiles and a stone courtyard with a simple water feature and an orange tree (take note Erin/Chris/Laure/Emma). Actually, make that a lime tree- thai food and cocktails trump fresh orange juice. Anyway, Cordoba was a charming city (yep more stunning food, cheap wine, narrow streets and alluring plazas) which we enjoyed for a short time before heading on to Seville.

We navigated into the centre once more, following the ingenious blue dot along the blue line on mum’s ipad. (She might be significantly older than us but she managed to teach us both a thing or two about the uses of technology more than once on this trip!)  Highlights of Seville included the Cathedral (only slightly less impressive than Toledo’s version), the Alcazar and its beautiful gardens and the Plaza Espana. Jacinta and I also wandered past Seville’s famous Plaza del Toros (or Bull Ring) but bull-fighting season had finished a fortnight before our arrival.  I had never intended to see a bull fight, but I had begun to think that it would be something I’d like to experience once, especially given the setting in Seville. Alas, it wasn’t to be.

We did some shopping and visited Mum’s favourite Spanish store, Massimo Dutti (many times), among others. And of course, we thoroughly explored the restaurants and tapas bars in the central part of town. Overall, I was left with a very pleasant feeling from Seville. In seemed to have a great student life and plenty of parks and I couldn’t help but think of Melbourne (minus the cold weather).

We made a relaxed departure and navigated our way through many more kilometres of picturesque olive groves to Granada, stopping in a beautiful old town for lunch on the way. Even the blue dot was powerless to combat the maze of cobble stone streets and pedestrian boulevards in the city’s centre- thus navigating our way to a good parking lot proved a lengthy challenge which was finally successful.

That evening we set about securing tickets to the Alhambra. We were a little distressed to find that they were all sold out every day for the following two weeks. Happily, further inquiries revealed this information (asserted by the vending machine, who was the only “person” to sell tickets in town) to be merely a befuddling piece of deceptive bullshit. It seems that you need to speak to someone in the know: they will then tell you that you can acquire tickets at the gate everyday if you get there at dawn and wait in line for 1-2 hours. If you don’t speak to someone in the know, you leave the city disillusioned without seeing its main attraction. Luckily, after asking the same question four different ways, we drew this knowledge out of the receptionist at our hotel. Relieved and excited, we hit the tapas bars again with vigour.

Granada is one of the few places left in Spain where each bar takes pride in providing a complementary tapas dish with the first drink that is ordered. Thus, if one were a desperate backpacker, one could do a pub crawl of the town (remember wine is only 1.80 Euro a glass!!), get nicely toasted and receive a sumptious free dinner to boot; a trick that one Jacinta van Lint had employed a couple of years beforehand.

We endured the 1.5 hour pre-dawn vigil (with coffee and croissants to lighten the mood) and entered the grounds of the Alhambra triumphant. That was until we realised how we’d conspired to bring three excellent cameras and no spare batteries. We ended up juggling two between the three of us and salvaged the situation with some selective photography amidst much gaping at the beauty of the architecture, the grounds and the setting atop the city.  Magnificent? Majestic? Miraculous? Marvellous? Mind-blowing? Ok, I need a better vocabulary, have never been a fan of alliterations and stopped being serious a few crap superlatives back but it was probably all of them.

The following day we went on a drive to three small towns set in the hills around Granada- Pampaneira, Bubion, and Trevelez. The first two were mainly defined by their berber architecture, white-washed buildings with flat roves and rounded chimneys,and their narrow streets with lovely views. Trevelez was solely defined by its Jamon. We felt like we were on a pilgrimage of sorts as we drove along the windy mountain roads to reach this, the furthest of the three. As it happened, the holy grail, viewed in one of those gorgeous little delis (hanging from each available inch of ceiling space), and sampled in a nearby restaurant with a view of the valley, was everything the scriptures (ipad) had promised.

The Mediterranean coast

After more excellent food in Granada, a spot of shopping and a night photography class in the old town (thanks for the patience Jacinta and mum!), we drove south-east. We followed the coast along to the most south-easterly point – San Jose- of the Iberian peninsula, stopping for a lovely seafood lunch by the water on the way.  San Jose was a sleepy little bay that seemed to consist mainly of holiday homes that were deserted at this time of year. Still it provided an agreeable and scenic stopover en route to Valencia.

The highlight of Valencia was definitely the old buildings, parks and food in the cities’ centre and not the beachfront area which consists of a long strip of sand and cement with little shade and less atmosphere. The city was pleasant enough, but was probably our least favourite of the large cities we’d visited in Spain thus far (though to be fair, it had pretty stiff competition).  We tried to order the famous Valencian Paella (with rabbit!), only to be told it had to be pre-ordered. I am sure I saw tears well up in Jacinta’s eyes at that point but this was probably because she was shortly to leave us, bound for Nice.

After seeing her off at the train station, mum and I headed to Barcelona. A late lunch in full view of the Sagrada Familia was the perfect introduction to the city. The following three days were crammed full of highlights. The Picasso Museum was one of my favourites – I love his work and it was all beautifully presented, tracking his various artistic phases. A special exhibition Degas antes de Picasso was also on show at the time which placed many famous works from both artists side by side to illustrate how Picasso may have been influenced and inspired by Degas. This exhibition was nearly as good as the Picasso Museum itself.  We also went to the Miro museum and his brilliance was sadly lost on me.

We visited many of Gaudi’s famous architectural works around the city, all of which were very impressive and fun to try and capture with a camera. The exterior and interior of the Sagrada Familia was impossible to beat, though the Pedrera (stone apartment building) was also a highlight.  Just to top it off, we also went to an excellent Catalonian guitar concert in the Palau de la Musica Catalana and I went to dinner with an old friend who I had lived with in Montreal when I was 22.  Both nights were fantastic.

I had always wanted to visit Barcelona and now I know what all the fuss is about. The city has a magic combination of old world ambience and vibrant modernity. It is beautiful and cosmopolitan, the Catalonian culture gives it a unique character, the art scene is one of the best in the world and apparently the nightlife is second to none (easy to believe).  I always thought a city that combined Sydney and Melbourne’s best qualities would be hard to beat. Barcelona manages this (in a very rough sense) with much more on the side.

We returned to Madrid and spent two nights staying with my ex-girlfriend, Amelie. It was great to see her again and both nights involved drinking/talking until 4, in true Spanish style. Unfortunately I had an early morning flight to Nice after the second of these nights and arrived in a rather poor condition.

We had pre-bought bus tickets to the Falls, from Sao Paulo, but the bus from Paratay to Sao Paulo was scheduled to arrive with just 20mins to spare. After sweating out the 7 hour journey, we arrived perfectly on time, very thankful to be on the 15 hour bus to one of the most spectacular natural sights on the continent.

Adam had seen the falls on his last visit to South America, but I was absolutely amazed by the power and energy of the huge expanse of water. Apparently it was a particularly good time to see the falls, with a massive amount of water tumbling over the broad cliff faces. Initially we had plans to get to both the Brazilian and the Argentinian, but in the end we viewed and photographed all the angles of the Argentinean side, enjoyed a beer at our favourite viewing point, and then rushed back for our return overnight bus to Sao Paulo, and finally (sleep deprived, but satisfied) fell onto our flight to Europe.

We decided that we needed a few days of Brazilian beach time, and Ilha Grande was our choice. A small island just off the coast, renowned for its long beautiful fair sanded beach, and lovely little coves. We camped at the main town area for 2 nights, and had a lovely few days exploring and relaxing.

After finding the buses were full in the direction to Iguasu falls, where I was planning to spend two nights while Adam explored the costal area more, Adam- being such a lovely boyfriend- decided to join me for the epic journey after a night in Paratay.

Paraty is a lovely old town, with white wash buildings, cobbled stoned streets, and some pleasant beaches nearby. We wandered the streets, marvelling at the sweet carts on every second corner, and indulged in caipirinhas on the water’s edge. It is famous for its cachaca so we were forced to invest in a bottle, to share later in our travels with Laure and Chris in Nice.

Our flight landed bright and early in Rio, and even though it was overcast, I could see that this was a beautifully situated city, lying in and around green hills, with the ocean lapping at one edge. We checked into our outrageously priced hostel, near Ipanema beach and went for a stroll to explore the upper class area and the neighbouring beach of Copacobana.

Last time Adam was in town he had eaten at Porcau, (an all you can eat style restaurant Brazilian style) and had raved about it so much that he had to take me to experience this meat eating extravaganza. Waiters roamed the restaurant floor with huge skewers of succulent cuts of beef, and would cut a piece to your liking. There were a few other types of meat floating around (chorizos, pork ribs, and whole salmon) but the beef was the star. They also had an extensive salad bar, complete with seafood, sushi and a cheese platter. We left with our stomachs achingly full of excellent food.

The next morning the weather had cleared, so we made our way up to the Jesus statue towering over the city. We went via the suburb of Santa Teresa, a lovely hilltop area with small mansions, leafy streets and little cafes. There was also a little walk way that had been covered with tiles from around the world by an eccentric Chilean artist, which was a nice detour in our wanderings.

After having our fill of city gazing at the massive statue we made back down the mountain to grab our bags and continue a few hours down the coast to the departure point to the island of Ilha Grande.

Lima/ Punta Hermosa

I headed back to Peru two days ahead of Jacinta to take advantage of some limited time to catch up with friends. Staying at “Sombra’s” house in Barranco with his family and seeing Michelle Wall again was a highlight of my trip. We didn’t do a great deal except drink, eat, catch up and wander the streets meeting Michelle and Sombra’s friends. Couldn’t have wanted for more.

Punta Hermosa was a similar story but sadly a little rushed. It was great to see Jose, Ito and the Gomez family though, and catch up on the town gossip. It was also great to introduce Jacinta to the small town where I lived for 5 months. As it was we were probably fortunate to find “Jarita” in a hung over state, preventing him from leading us astray, after a hectic stay in Lima.

Iquitos

We flew into the jungle town and took a late afternoon mototaxi to our hostel. The first evening we spent wandering in the central area and taking trips out to two of the ports to organise our departure towards the Columbian border the following day. We ate at a pontoon restaurant on the Amazon, looking back towards the city. It seemed like a fitting way to get our bearings in our new location -  or maybe just a good excuse for a meal in a classy restaurant.

The following morning our first chore was to find comfortable hammocks for the 11 days of river travel that was to come. We ended up in the Belem Saturday markets. This was a massive conglomeration of diverse makeshift stalls selling everything from hammocks to fresh fish and to natural medicines from the jungle. It sprawled out through the streets just above the rundown suburb of Belem on the banks of the Amazon. A highlight was the fake sincerity with which a lady, brandishing a jar containing a small anaconda, implored us to drink some of the liquid inside the jar to remain young and vital all our lives. Given that we emerged from the markets after purchasing only hammocks, rope, very bony fish and a few eggs, it appears we are destined to remain trudging along that long road to old age and senility.

Iquitos buzzes constantly with the hum of motorbikes and mototaxis. It is only accessible by air and water and so there are few cars.  The city has an unkempt, rough edged, old world majesty. Some buildings lend the city a colonial feel and many more are adorned with hand-painted Portuguese tiles that were shipped up the Amazon centuries ago. It also has great ice cream with more tropical fruit flavours than possibly imaginable.

We boarded the ferry early and strung up our hammocks on the breezy top deck to await departure.  Some delicious chilli banana chips and beer, in addition to a fun Scottish backpacker, made the wait seem minimal.  Once we were away, we settled into life on the river – which basically consisted of reading/writing/drinking/socialising/playing cards/ scenery or sunset gazing while lazing on the deck or in your hammock.  We took to rising at 5am for sunrises and sleeping through the hot hours in the middle of the day. We also took to dolphin spotting, having heard of the beautiful pink Amazonian variety. Only grey ones were spotted on this boat and after a similar experience in the quest to see a pink dolphin on a previous trip, I decided that they were myth.

Leticia

We arrived at the borders of Columbia/Brazil and Peru around 2 and a half days after departure. Initially we stumbled a long way with heavy packs in searing heat around bush tracks near the river in search of customs huts. And yes, it was exactly as good as that sounds. Finally, we found a room in town and collapsed.

Leticia didn’t quite have the jungle town charm of Rurrenabaque or hustling vitality of Iquitos, but it was quite a pleasant place to find our land legs again in between boat trips. For one thing, it was brilliant to be back in Columbia and get decent coffee and “huevos pericos” for breakfast again. Incidentally, the main plaza in Leticia is home to one of the best ice cream stores and breakfast venues on the continent. The river levels around Leticia were at record lows. As such, the high stilted community with raised walkways served to make an interesting ambience rather than fulfilling any other immediate duty. Actually, many of the locals were very concerned about a consistent reduction in water levels and some even implored us to make a documentary about the problem.

We crossed into Brazil and then had the joyful experience of dealing with Brazilian officials drunk on power in the 2 hour long boarding process. I figured they would be paranoid about Cocaine at the border, so luckily I snorted the last of ours en route to the port.

The Brazilian boat was slicker with much better food and much much much louder music. The top deck was transformed into a 24 hour party zone which lent itself to slightly more hammock time.  We were versed in the art of Dominoes by some lovely Canadians and met an array of companions for the onward journey up the river. One was a Brazilian guy called Luis. The Irish couple Ian and Susan (actually she was more Italian) were also a good crack as they say in the Emerald Isles.  After 3 more days and nights of drifting along, we arrived in the old rubber capital of Amazonia.

Manous

There was faint horror upon arrival as our enquiries disclosed that no boats parted the next day. At first blush this seems unfair to the jungle city of Manous, but we had a flight to catch from Belem and we preferred spend more time further down the river. Just to sweeten the deal, the reason no boats departed (the only day in 4 years) was because there were national elections taking place (for the record, Brazil ushered in its first female leader that day- Dilma, the protege of Lula Da Silva who could not run for another term despite his soaring popularity)- everything was shut and no drinking was allowed after 6pm the day before poll day.

The Irish (and to a lesser extent myself) were petrified about this and so saw fit to explore a few street bars and diners just before the ban kicked in. What followed was an enjoyable Saturday night wandering the lively streets of the jungle metropolis. The sense of location was nowhere near as acute as in Iquitos; mainly because there were plenty of cars and a major road that connects Manous to the rest of the country and not the ceaseless buzzing of motos/mototaxis.

Understandably, the next day was a mellow affair. We wandered the quiet streets for awhile, found a bbq lunch by the kilo (a popular option in Brazil), and had another cheap street meal with the others.

We slept on the boat that night to save cash, waiting for the supposed departure time of midday the next day. At 10pm the next night, we were still watching bags of onions being unloaded from the hull, one by one (four observers, one worker, Australian roadwork style).  It would have been a great slow motion comedy act except for the fact that three different port information officers had given us the same wrong information (in three different languages!) about the non-existence of any other boat (there was in fact another one, that left at 12 but was originally scheduled to go at 10pm!). Plus, we had to get to Saatarem as soon as possible to give us a chance of making the flight from Belem. Finally, we were near an old Australian guy with a particularly boring bout of verbal diarrhoea, the staff constantly outdid each other for rudeness… and it was my birthday.

The boat ride itself ended up being only a day and a half with good scenery and even a spot to escape from the loud music and engine to play some guitar.

Saatarem/ Alter do chao

We weren’t so keen to spend much time in Saatarem itself, but had heard brilliant things about the small town of Alter do chao nearby. Upon our arrival we found that the following day was a public holiday, suspending the daily schedule of boats to Belem. The good news from that scenario is we got to spend longer in Alter do chao then would have otherwise been possible. The bad news was that we had finally been defeated in our quest to make it to our flight and consequently had to pay too much to change it.

Alter do chao was more than worth it. It is a stunning, quiet little town with a long sandy spit that stretches out to split the river.  Coconuts, beer and caipirinhas were all cheap and the setting was impeccable. The jungle stretched out on all sides of the two enclosed bays making for very rewarding sunset and sunrise strolls. And then we relaxed.

Belem

We had one night back in Saatarem before getting on our final boat to travel the 2 days to Belem. We were set to arrive the morning of the biggest party of the year for the city- A religious festival in honour of another Virgin. The celebrations are founded on a legend that a small statue of the Virgin was found in the river by a fisherman but, no matter where she was taken, the Virgin would always place herself back at a specific site. Thus, there was clearly religious hokery pokery involved, they built a very large church near the Virgin’s preferred site and paraded a replica of the original Virgin Statue (mounted in a regal box) from the river bank to the church each year. Cue food, beer, massive crowds cramming the streets, and many religious rituals with the highpoint being a glimpse of the Virginal box, and you have yourselves a party.

Anyway, we got a bit ahead of ourselves. The two-day boat journey to Belem followed many smaller subsidiaries off the main river, taking us much closer to the jungle’s edge. Watching kids paddle out to our boat from their tiny villages provided great entertainment- particularly when they managed to hook their boats on the side, clamber on and sell prawns or cheap snacks.  And….not only did we see PINK dolphins but we kind of sort of nearly managed to get one on camera.  We arrived at Belem very content that we’d decided to go the entire way to the Atlantic ocean by boat rather than flying from Manous.

We arrived early in the morning and walked to Luis’ place without too many dramas. He had flown to Belem from Manous with the Irish who were still in his spare room, so it was a fun reunion. They were all a little strung out after attending an all night church party where large amounts of Iawasca were consumed in a mounting evangelic fervour. As Ian said, ordinarily he would have quite enjoyed tripping out on that stuff, but in that atmosphere it was far too weird and hectic- NO ESCAPE!

After a quick breakfast we wandered into the town centre to embrace the mayhem. It was great to have a local guide. After seeing the Virgin arrive safely at the church, we headed off for the day’s real highlight – a big feast (of Christmas proportions) with Luis’ extended family. During the afternoon we went to his grandparents’ places on both sides where we were fed a delicious array of traditional dishes. At around sunset, Jacinta and I escaped the revelry for a walk around the old Port. It certainly had its own charm: coloured buildings, fading and peeling, beset on all sides by seagulls, market stalls- many selling the ever popular acai (a thick purple jungle fruit renowned for it’s super dose of vitamins) and tall-mast boats swaying at the dock.

We had to leave Belem all too soon on a 2am flight.

This seemed to be the retort from the fiercely proud Calenos whenever any other Columbian dared to criticise their vibrant city near the coast. The city definitely had a distinct charm that wasn’t immediately apparent but grew on us quickly. It mainly revolved around the extraverted, friendly people but the tree-lined streets and parklands mixed with 70s style buildings were also strangely attractive.

We stayed in Santa Domingo which seemed to be a popular restaurant and bar area but enjoyed visiting the centre of town and the Granada barrio for a morning coffee, lunch and afternoon tea in the park.

We also took a bus trip to the nearby national park, wandered around a small town in the area,  and read on a rock by the river.

The highlight of our brief stay was definitely our night out on the dance floor. Cali is the Salsa capital of South America and undoubtedly the place in Columbia to be for a Saturday night. We found a cosy local club with a welcoming and relaxed vibe- nevertheless it was still intimidating watching the locals take to the dance floor. Brilliant to watch them in action though- nothing could have possibly seemed more natural then the way they moved around the floor, swapping partners each dance, smiling and laughing.- now and again they took time out to drink small portions from their large bottles of rum.

Jacinta and I had a gin and tonic or two and then tried to remember some of our very limited salsa repertoire. Shaky at first, but before long we couldn’t get enough of it. When some locals grabbed us for a dance though I was in serious need of a sex change. Luckily that seemed to happen naturally enough as well- my partner quickly realised that she should become the guy if she was to have much fun!

The Calenos deride the recent law changes prescribing that the clubs close at 4am. This is known as “carrot hour” because you’d have to be as boring as a carrot to go home at that time.  Well Jacinta and I were quite proud of making it until 1:30am – nonetheless we must have been as boring as …I don’t know what…. brussel sprouts?

Popyan was another one of those beautiful preserved colonial towns that provided a convenient stopover on the way back south. More whitewashed buildings, stone streets and quaint beauty. It was definitely far from ugly, but my superficial 1 day assessment placed it third in line of the Columbian colonial gems after Cartagena and Barachara.

While Adam raced off to spend some time in Lima, I spent a day in Silvia, a small mountain village a few hours from Popyan. The local indigenous people come down to Silvia for a weekly market and I was keen to try and capture some of their bright blue traditional dress. I had a lovely morning wandering around, trying not to draw too much attention to my camera, as the people are quite shy and don’t enjoy the tourists attentions.

After another overnight bus, we had a few days relaxing in San Augustin, a small town about 10 hours south of Bogota, while I recovered and Adam played lots of guitar. Casa de Francois was the perfect place to chill for a few days – a small farm with lovely little guest houses dotted around the property overlooking the town. Our host was an eccentric but lovely Frenchman, who took great pride in his little oasis.

The drawcard of the area are the pre-Columbian UNESCO listed archeological sights scattered around the country side in between the coffee farms. As the scenery was so alluring we hired a couple of horses for two half days and set of up and down entremly steep rocky hills, hoping that the horses were as sure footed as our guide assured. We visited a large park full of various stone statues and burial sights, and other singular statues and rock carvings in the area.

San Gil, nestled in the midst of the Santander Province, is the adventure sports capital of Columbia. White Water Rafting, skydiving, parasailing, caving and hiking are all common activities in the beautiful green hills that surround the town. The nearby Chicamocha National Park is home to the Chicamocha Canyon which stretches for miles through the heart of the province. The area is also home to the regional delicacy of fried big-ass ants. (Hormigas Culonas).

The town itself has a friendly laid back vibe and the hilly streets and old red roofs lend it a cosy old world feel. The bustling twin food markets were among the best we found in South America and we spent our one night in town (a Saturday) having a few beers in the main plaza, surrounded by families and friendly locals. There are a couple of bottle shops on the plaza and instead of going out to expensive bars, the town social life revolves around takeaway drinks consumed in the plaza amongst family and friends. This was yet one more pleasant feature of the entire country but was particularly prominent in San Gil. Instead of loud teenage boguns running amok as one might expect from such an arrangement in Australia, there was merely a contented large group from all sectors of society laughing and chatting while they drunk the bubbly, tasteless American style “beer.”

We had planned to go hang-gliding in Rio (Jacinta’s Christmas present actually) but were a little worried about being unable to do so due to the wind conditions. As a back up plan then, we neatly justified going parasailing over the large Canyon in the National Park.  I had an excellent instructor who took me very high, spiralling up and up on the thermals. The exhilaration was unlike anything I had experienced- definitely very different to skydiving- and I loved every minute of it (good thing, cause it lasted about an hour!). Unfortunately Jacinta was suffering from a vague fevery sickness at the time and so I think the one hour of endless spirals at a great height seemed more like three. Sadly, it wasn’t the ideal Christmas present in the circumstances!!  The Police gave my instructor a severe talking to for swooping too low over the national park complex and delayed us for a couple of hours with senseless bureaucracy. Apparently a couple of people had died parasailing in the past year by running into power-lines in the area.

The small colonial town of Barichara was definitely worth a visit and was only a short 45- minute bus trip from San Gil. We arrived in time for a delicious late lunch and then spent a couple of hours wandering the quiet stone streets. The elegant, peacefully uniform rows of whitewash buildings with dark green trims and red roofs inspired a slightly obsessive session of twilight street photography. Happily, at least a few of the many shots of empty streets with identical buildings managed to capture the magic.