I was sad to say bye to Harry but I was also in luck. When I got back to Montevideo the lovely Lea was still at the apartment and with a few weeks left of her stay.

Whilst I was away Lea had fully immersed herself in the social scene at the school so I arrived back in Montevideo – for my last two weeks of Spanish lessons – to a busy social calendar. I was also switching from private lessons to group classes, so all of sudden I was busy again.

Lea’s pretty advanced at Spanish and I was just starting to learn (and really sucked at verb conjugation), so we were in different classes but we became best of friends. She introduced me to Sarah (a medical student, also German),  who was doing a placement at the hospital in Montevideo, and the three of us hung out a lot for the following weeks.

We went to free Tango classes at a local ‘milonga’, discovered the best of Montevideos bars and restaurants (including the best vegan food I’ve ever had at an independent cafe called Mercado Verde), hired bikes and checked out the best beaches along La Rambla.

Lea and I also accidentally caught the inauguration of the country’s controversial new president, Luis Lacalle Pou, (which happened just around the corner from our apartment) one sunday.

Our apartment was a five minute walk from one of the best sunset spots in Montevideo. If we’d all had a long and busy day of classes we’d grab a beer (or Mate), and wander down to watch the sunset. 

Lea and I would also spend hours sat in our kitchen sharing food, listening to music and putting the world to rights. She is an incredibly bright and kind soul and again I was surprised by my luck with running into strong and inspiring young women (who speak fluent English).

Montevideo is really close to Argentina’s capital city Buenos Aires, and Sarah and Lea were planning a whistlestop trip to Buenos Aires on Lea’s last weekend. So, the weekend before that we planned a load of fun things to celebrate the last time we’d all be together. 

On the Saturday I had my first haircut in six months, which was a traumatising experience in a foreign language. The hairdressers had literally never seen hair like mine. My hair dresser from the UK (love you Lora), had sent me clear instructions on how she cuts my hair which I translated into Spanish and handed to the receptionist. Some of the team huddled around the piece of paper and argued about who should cut and colour the awkward English girl’s hair. 

After five anxiety filled hours and five different stylists they finally finished and I didn’t hate it which was nothing short of a ‘Christmas miracle’. I needed a stiff drink after the ordeal though so Lea, Sarah and I went out for the night to one of Montevideos nicest bars, Mala Fama, a micro brewery in Pocitos.

On Sundays in Montevideo they close the seafront golf club to golfers and open it up to anyone who wants to sit on the green and enjoy the view.  The three of us took a picnic and set up camp in the sunshine with views over the estuary of Rio de la Plata.

Later in the day we went and met some other medical student friends of Sarah’s for a huge march for International Women’s Day right in the city centre. It was the most blissful, dreamy day in the sunshine, we were all so happy and relaxed, and totally unaware that it would be the last ‘normal’ day we would all have together…

What’s that coming over the hill? (spoiler alert! – it’s a global pandemic)

The following day things started to get weird. Covid19 was really starting to take hold in Italy and Spain and to put it lightly ‘shit was getting real’ in Europe and the States. Students started leaving abruptly to fly home but South America was getting off very lightly and Uruguay in particular still had zero cases.

I will admit that for a long time I was in the ‘it’s just bad flu’ camp and wasn’t really paying attention. I think because of there being previous hysteria around SARS, Swine Flu and Foot and Mouth (and none of them living up to the serious pandemics they were billed as), as well as the fact that I wasn’t able to fully understand the news, it wasn’t until Lea had to cancel her trip to Buenos Aires that I really started to pay attention.

Luckily, due to the fact that I had been so busy with classes and socialising, I hadn’t planned any onward travel after my Spanish lessons.  My spanish school hosts had secured a volunteer spot for me at a local school, and I had booked myself an AirBnB in Punta Carretas (one of the nicest districts in Montevideo) for two weeks to allow myself some time to practice my Spanish and research what to do and where to go next.

Lea’s last few days almost went in slow motion. I think I experienced quite a lot of mental shock about what was going on around us and it turns out that when I go into shock I basically do nothing (the ‘freeze’ in ‘fight, flight or freeze’). The weather was still amazing and Uruguay still had no cases although Argentina and Brazil were both starting to get hit. 

On Friday 13th (ha) March, the day Lea and Sarah were due to make their flying visit to Buenos Aires, my month of spanish classes was at its end and Uruguay had its first official case of Coronavirus. Argentina announced they would be locking down soon and after class I found a visibly shaken Lea sat in our kitchen. She had to fly back to Germany on the Sunday of the same weekend but she had really wanted to visit Buenos Aires for Friday night and Saturday. She was planning to get the night bus back to Montevideo on Saturday and go straight to the airport to fly home – it was all booked and paid for. 

After speaking to her parents and then the school staff it became clear that if Lea went ahead with her trip, there was a very real possibility that she could get stuck at the border with Argentina on her way back, which could result in her missing her flight home, so she bailed out of the trip at the very last minute. Sarah was planning to stay on in Montevideo for her work placement so she went to Buenos Aires by herself.

The ‘Coronavirus effect’ was inching closer to us but in reality everything was still eerily calm in Montevideo. It was definitely getting quieter but people were still going about their business and everything was open. Lea and I had two nice (albeit quiet) nights out to celebrate/commiserate the end of her trip and as the weekend progressed things started to get more serious globally. Even Lea’s flight home was touch and go at one point. I waved her off (another sad farewell), on Sunday morning and was releived when I got the message that she’d made it back to Germany safely.

Lockdown

I woke up on Monday (the 16th) expecting to hear the usual hustle and bustle of the school opening up but it was deadly quiet. No cleaner, no teachers arriving and at 09:30 when classes usually started, there still wasn’t a single other soul in the building. I messaged the school owner, Silvina, and she explained that over the weekend the President had announced that all schools, colleges and unis would close for at least the next two weeks, which also meant my volunteer place wouldn’t be going ahead.

It was ‘moving day’ for me anyway and I had packed all of my things the night before. I called an Uber at 10:30am and made the short journey from Ciudad Vieja to my new apartment in Punta Carretas. My new host Elisa came down to greet me from the first floor apartment. She was clearly distressed but was really kind and welcoming. I got settled quickly and met my other housemates. Evan was from Spain and was trying to get a flight home the next day and Loreley was a Uruguayan girl who had just moved back to the city from Santiago in Chile. 

I took a walk to La Rambla to check out my new surroundings. When I returned from my short walk I had a message from Sarah – back from Buenos Aires – saying she had gone into work and had been told that her work placement at the hospital had been cancelled and that she was now arranging an emergency flight home. We planned to meet later in the day. 

I met Sarah and her friend Ellie in a Cafe in Ciudad Vieja. Sarah was devastated that her trip had been cut so short but without her hospital placement and with the Spanish School now closed there was no option for her to stay. Ellie was in a similar boat but was planning to stay and see what happened. 

We spent the afternoon in the old city shopping for Sarah’s souvenirs chatting about her short visit to Argentina and lamenting about the weirdness of Covid19. On social media I saw other friends of mine having a nightmare getting back to the UK from overseas. I figured that because I wasn’t planning on going home until October that it would blow over in a month or three. I thought I’d get a volunteer spot in Uruguay to tide me over and then carry on with my travels…

On the same day the three of us went out for dinner to say farewell to Sarah. The streets were empty and everything was shut apart from a cute, American style diner. There were two other customers and we sat at the opposite end of the restaurant to them. The food was nice and it was good to have company but we all had a creeping sense of unease. Ellie and I talked loosely about meeting at the beach for Yoga in the mornings but I had a creeping feeling that I wouldn’t see her again and I was right.

On Tuesday 17th March I started to get messages from friends and family at home worried about my situation. My boss from my previous job (Isobel), messaged me on Facebook to make sure I was OK. It was really nice to hear from her but it was at this point that I realised that the UK was taking a turn for the worst. There were still a few options for flights home and I now started to think perhaps I should be going. I went for a long walk to clear my head and did some meditation but when sitting still, quietly I was getting the feeling I should hold my nerve and keep still.

The same evening I got a knock on the door of my room. It was Loreley (my Uruguayan flat mate), she had a friend who worked in the government and she told me that Uruguay was about to lock down for two weeks and that we wouldn’t be able to leave the apartment except for exercise and shopping and even that would be restricted. I’m not going to lie, I went into full panic mode. It was 8pm but the local supermarket was still open so we both went and panic bought supplies.

The first week of lockdown was very, very hard. I was so lucky that my room had direct sunlight in the mornings and looked out over quiet gardens with trees but my room was small and the rest of the apartment quite dark.

My AirBnB host, Elisa, has underlying health problems, and is classed as very high risk. I also found out that she had lost her husband (of 40 years) just a month previously. Understandably, she began spiralling into a depression and was extremely worried about anyone leaving the apartment and potentially bringing back the virus. I think I went into a state of mental shock and spent a lot of my first week just sat on the bed or the chair in my room staring at stuff with a bit of a sinking feeling. My saving graces were yoga, meditation and video calling all my friends and family in the UK.

Even though I was extremely concerned about my friends and family back in the UK (and missed them terribly), I didn’t feel like I should drop everything and rush back. For a start flights were becoming increasingly hard to get. You had to go to the airline office to secure a seat and even then it was debatable whether the £3,000 – £4,000 flights (with no checked luggage), would even get you back, plus I wouldn’t be able to see anyone even if I did rush back. My two biggest travel considerations were my travel insurance and my Uruguayan Visa.

Two days after the last available repatriation flight I got a text message from the UK Government telling me that they “strongly advised me to return to the UK if I was still travelling overseas”. This was annoying because not only could I not get a flight at this time, but it also meant that my travel insurance would be invalid. Onward travel was also fast becoming a distant hope and I steered myself for a long haul in Uruguay (which is no bad thing at all). 

My main aim at that time was to sit out the pandemic in Uruguay whilst spending as little money as possible. I started to look for volunteer spots close to Montevideo but held out little hope of anyone accepting volunteers during the lockdown.

A Little Country with a Big Heart

Just before the Spanish School closed, I had met a nice English lady called Lynda. We were supposed to be on the same volunteering spot at a local school in the city and Lynda was tempted to stay in Uruguay also. However, due to the travel insurance question she ended up leaving. Once back in the UK Lynda did a final act of kindness for me. She passed me the details of a Facebook group and tourist website for Uruguay, run by an ex-pat Welsh lady called Karen.

Guru’guay.com and the ‘Discover Uruguay’ Facebook group were originally set up to help English speaking foreign nationals immigrating to Uruguay but during the Pandemic Karen decided to adapt the pages to help stranded travellers like me.

The sites became the most useful source of information to me for my unplanned extended stay Uruguay. Not only does Karen translate the news into English on a regular basis but she also put out a call for any Uruguayans in the group who speak fluent English to help any stranded travellers, should they have any health problems during the pandemic. At least 70 people responded saying “yes if any travellers have problems and need help at hospitals etc, then they can call me and here is my number”.

I posed some questions to the group about extending my Visa and asked if there were any other travellers who had decided to stay put and sit out Covid19 here in Uruguay or if I was the only crazy one? Over 20 people responded with help to extend my Visa online and another 4 or 5 travellers got back to say that they were still in Uruguay and happy and healthy. One of them was a lady from Oxford – Caffie – who I’ve stayed in touch with. She sent me the step by step process to extend my visa online and also recommended I take out mutualista private health insurance to cover me now that my travel insurance was invalid.

I have heard it said that “Uruguay is a nation of sweethearts”, and through this new online network this statement was proved to be absolutely true to me. 

I scanned through the list of Uruguayans who had offered their support and found a lady in the same neighbourhood as me,  Rosana. I sent her a message on facebook explaining my situation and she got straight back to me to say that she would happily help me with translation in any situation I needed help with. 

Rosana and I got chatting and I mentioned in passing that my travel insurance was now invalid and that I was considering mutualista insurance. She said “leave it with me” and within an hour she had found a mutualista company, found out the prices for cover, set me up with an appointment and told me she would be coming with me to the appointment to translate. I couldn’t believe the kindness of this stranger who had gone out of her way and was going to risk her own exposure to help me. I felt genuinely moved.

The whole health insurance idea ended up becoming a fiasco. The company (Cosem) aren’t set up for international payments and Christian – the gentleman looking after my individual case – seemed to have run out of fucks to give about most things in life. Rosana, though, was my saviour and chased them daily, harangued Christian and his bosses and came with me on the numerous trips for health checks and payment discussions until I finally got a policy. The process was a headache but it meant I got to know Rosana and made a new friend in one of the strangest situations I have ever been in.

Living with Loreley and Elisa was great too. They are both really kind, love food and were happy to try and communicate with me even though my Spanish was still pretty poor. When Loreley wasn’t busy working (from home), we would bake cakes, drink tea or practice yoga. Every sunday we would all eat lunch together and I would practice my bad spanish on them. 

I felt safe and looked after but I was also spending quite a lot of money on rent and food, and cabin fever was starting to set in. I could walk down to La Rambla once or twice a week (and having the ocean and a beautiful green space just six blocks from the apartment literally saved my sanity. However, because of the restrictions I wasn’t getting enough fresh air and started to feel a bit depressed at times.

After a week or two of just sitting in shock I decided to take some action and see if there were any volunteer places close to Montevideo (so I wouldn’t have to travel far). I went onto the Workaways site and spotted a place in the countryside just 35km from Montevideo, near a town called Sauce (pronounced Sowsay).

The volunteer space was with a family that had bought a house with land and wanted to turn it into a retreat centre and a small permaculture/eco farm. I messaged them with a long explanation about my situation without any expectation of even getting a reply.

To my surprise Rafael and Claudia came back to me a few days later to say they would love to take me on as a volunteer straight away but that because of the pandemic they had to wait a while. They also had family members staying with them and they needed them to leave before they could come and pick me up. I was over the moon and happy to wait.

I had a long break from writing the blog because things got very busy. Then Covid19 happened and it just didn’t feel right to write. The upshot being that I wrote too much for one blog.  I have cut it up into smaller pieces and will post them in sequence over the next couple of weeks

I felt a bit sad leaving Montana Encantada (the yoga ashram), and beautiful Garopaba behind. I shared a taxi from the Ashram to the nearest city (Florianopolis) with two of my friends from the yoga course who also had early flights the next day. Daniella and Alcmene, both Brazillian girls who live in the north. Daniella works on cruise ships and had been one of my translators for the yoga course, and Alcmene is a retired architect (and talented artist), who wants to set up a yoga centre.

We dropped Alcmene at a friends house in the suburbs of Florianopolis, and Daniella and I shared a twin room at a Pousada near the airport. We were both tired but stayed up late exchanging life stories. Daniella had, had a heartwrenching childhood having lost her mother at a very early age to a gang murder. A far cry from my safe and secure life in the south west of England. Another reminder of how very privileged I am. She had fought off alcoholism in her early twenties and has pieced together a happy and healthy life of freedom, travel, yoga and spirituality. I really salute her!

My heart skipped as my flight landed in Montevideo (MVD), Uruguay’s capital city, bringing me to the second country on my South American adventure. 

Uruguay is a teeny tiny country in the southeastern region of South America. It borders Argentina to its west and south west, and Brazil to its north and east and in recent history has been famed for its socialist political leanings. Their last but one president, Jose ‘Pepe’ Mujica was hailed for being “the world’s humblest head of state” due to his austere lifestyle and his donation of around 90 percent of his $12,000 monthly salary to charities that benefit poor people and small entrepreneurs.

Admittedly, I had read very little about Uruguay before deciding to add it to my itinerary (apart from a Guardian article saying it is now one of the top 10 best places to go backpacking), so I didn’t really know what to expect. Well it turns out the travel gods had dropped me in one of the best, safest and most comfortable places to be for what we all now know to be one of the most bizarre and life changing events in our lifetimes, the unfolding of the 2020 global pandemic.

However, it all started with the intention of learning a bit of Spanish, having a holiday with my friend Harry and doing some Permaculture volunteering. And all of those bits were great…

The first two weeks in Uruguay

After clearing customs and collecting my bags I hailed an Uber to take me to my Spanish school (Academia Uruguay). I had pre-booked two weeks of lessons and the school had an apartment attached to it with private rooms and a shared kitchen and bathroom. I’d had very little time to research and book the Spanish school so I was a bit nervous as to what I might have let myself in for.

The Uber driver kindly took me the scenic route into Montevideo and drove me all the way along the seafront (La Rambla). It was a sunny Sunday and I had a big smile on my face as I took in my first impressions of the open, breezy laid back city. La Rambla was alive with activity and the sea air blew my hair around as I peered out of the window seeing people walking, cycling, skating, swimming, *drinking mate and watching the world go by (so watching me watching them).

My heart sank just a little as we pulled up to the front door of the school ‘Academia Uruguay’. From the outside the building looked tired and the street looked slightly dodgy. The school was closed for the weekend so I rang the doorbell and was greeted by Martin – one of the school managers. He had come in on his day off to let me in so was unsurprisingly in a rush to get me set up so he could go back to enjoying his weekend.

Once inside my mind was completely changed from my first impression. The school was full of ‘period house’, style, character and charm with 20ft high ceilings, giant plants, giant windows and doors, and huge, internal, glass covered court yards around which all the classes and apartment rooms were dotted. Martin handed me a map and pointed out where we were and I realised the school was actually in a great location.

The building houses the school at one end with 9 classrooms and an office (and an internal courtyard) and the apartment at the other end with 3 big bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, bathroom, and it’s own internal courtyard. The only other student staying there was away on a weekend trip so when Martin had helped me get orientated he left leaving me on my own. I hadn’t had a room (or any space at all), all to myself since leaving Spain (the roach infested nightmare in Brazil doesn’t count) and the luxury of my own space sank in. 

I must have needed my own space more than I realised because without thinking I went into hermit mode. I wasn’t bothered about meeting people or mixing with the other students and happily spent the first week avoiding social gatherings in favour of sleeping, exploring by myself, watching shit tv and wandering around in my pants scratching my belly and staring out of the window. Ana, my volunteering friend from Brazil visited me for a day from her new volunteer place in Minas (another province in Uruguay) but apart from her and my private Spanish lessons I barely saw anyone.

The school and apartment overlook Plaza Matriz in Barrio Ciudad Vieja (which is Spanish for the Old City neighborhood). Ciudad Vieja is, as its name suggests, the oldest part of MVD and the part that had been repeatedly invaded by Spanish, Portugese and us – good old aggressive, colonialist – Brits, back in the day. A lot of the colonial architecture is still standing and the old city is beautiful.

Week two I realised that if I wanted to improve my Spanish I really needed to make an effort to socialise. My new flat mate Maha – a Palestinian lady living in the US and travelling solo after retiring early from her job at the World Bank organisation – coaxed me out of my hermatiage to practice my spanish and socialise with other students.

Maha’s last night was the first night of Montevideo’s famous Carnival parade so we had a few beers and wandered over. Neither of us could be bothered to shell out $70 US for a seat so we did what the locals do and jostled for position at various points along the packed street ‘Isla de Flores’. 

The parade was spectacular. Uruguay is unusual for Latin America in that they completely separated the church from the state (within their constitution) over 100 years ago, so their Carnival parade is a completely unique (non-catholic) event that has more connection to Africa than Spain.

There are groups called Comparsas who drum, sing and dance along to Candombe music. The whole parade is a reference to the ‘white people in blackface’ that dressed as black people in the past in order to take part in the dance parades during colonial times, not as mockery, but as tribute to their lives and recognition of the African slave trade in Uruguay’s past.

The streets were full to bursting with families, tourists and locals and there was absolutely no tension or edge. I had heard that Montevideo is the safest city in all of South America and I could really feel the lack of any threat out in the streets particularly on parade night.

The parade doesn’t even begin until 10pm but Maha and I found the street where all the comparsas warm up and get kitted up. They burn fires to warm up the drum skins and huddle in circles to psych themselves up for the big show. 

Each comparsar consists of giant flag wavers (the flags are giant not the people), who’s appearance signals the start of each group, then there is a group of synchronised female dancers in costumes to match the theme of the group. Next are the ‘hot girls’ in samba get up (sequin leotards that leave nothing to the imagination and full on head dress). After them come the older dancers who symbolise the ‘Mama Vieja’ (the wise black slave matriarchs) and ‘Gramillieros’ (her would be suiter), and finally the band of 40 – 50 Candombe drummers who’s tribal beats electrify the whole parade. The sound from the drummers is so loud you can feel it in your whole body as they pass. I don’t think a single crowd member can stop themselves from dancing as each comparsar passes.

The next morning Maha left early and the lovely Lea arrived. Lea is a student from Frankfurt (Germany) who decided to study Spanish in MVD for a month during her spring break. We started talking and had tons in common so we arranged to go out together for the second night of the parade. My friend Harry was arriving very early the following day and it was Lea’s first day/night in Uruguay so we danced along to the first few Comparsars and then called it a night.

Holiday with Harry

I got the earliest bus out to the airport to meet Harry, he had been on an Ayahuasca retreat in Peru for two weeks so I wasn’t sure what to expect when I saw him. Seeing his beaming (and slightly dishevelled) face walking out of arrivals was an absolute treat though. He was the first Brit I had encountered in my three months away and I was bowled over to see one of my best friends half away across the planet. We hugged repeatedly and talked over each other excitedly while grinning like idiots. 

Harry had been through some pretty intense and life changing treatment in the Amazon and was in a bit of delicate state so we planned to take it easy for the first few days. His treatment also prescribed no drinking at all for the whole 10 days of his visit so we agreed on a ‘get fit and eat healthy’ break in Punta del Diablo (PDD) which is a remote – but popular – fishing (and surfing) village, up along the coast from Montevideo.

We had a full day in the city before our early bus the next day so we hired bikes and explored along La Rambla in the sweltering 35 degree heat. We got as far as Punta Carretas (one of the nicest and most up-market districts in MVD) and stopped for lunch then slept in the shade on the sea front and talked about life, the universe and everything.

The next morning we took the five hour bus from Tres Cruces (MVD’s main bus station) to Punta del Diablo. The bus was very comfortable and the Uruguayan countryside was mostly farmland so we slept all the way. As we neared Punta del Diablo the scenery changed and started to look a bit more sub-tropical – similar to southern Brazil. We passed through some cute towns and villages before finally turning into the small, quiet and dusty bus station in Punta del Diablo.

We had booked a basic but comfortable, self-catering beach shack, with a sea view to the south of the village and we took a taxi from the  bus stop to our new pad. A cute but rustic, two story wooden beach hut with a kitchen and balcony (with hammock), upstairs and a bathroom and two small bedrooms downstairs. It was a bit like camping (or more glamping) and perfect for us for 10 days.

Harry was a bit unwell for the first couple of days so we took it very easy and chilled out at the beach or the apartment. We explored the windswept village on foot and checked out the best beaches for surfing. Many of the shacks looked very ‘hand made’ which added a real charm to the place and in some ways the windswept landscape and ramshackle village reminded me of some places in Cornwall – plus the first couple of days were quite stormy and rainy so that also reminded me of home.

As soon as Harry felt better we switched to adventure mode. We were lucky that the sun came back at the same time as his full health so we hired surf boards and Harry gave me some lessons. 

We spent the rest of the break enjoying the great outdoors. We hired bikes and cycled a very long way (sorry H), to Santa Teresa where there’s an old iron age fort, surfed, did yoga, beach walked and played tennis on the beach. The beach closest to us had very rough seas that you couldn’t swim in so we would take Harry’s Go-Pro into the water and body surf letting the waves chuck us about. We ate breakfast in, made lunches for the beach and then checked out the many local restaurants in the village some evenings.

One of the best days was a trip to another local spot, Cabo Polonio. Cabo is another tiny fishing and surfing village that has sprung up in a national park around one of Uruguay’s biggest sea lion colonies.  There is no running water or electricity in the village and if you stay overnight then you have to take everything you need in with you. The local buses drop you at the entrance gate to the park and then you climb onto giant 4×4 trucks that drive you the ten kilometers in, over the sand dunes.

We ate lunch on the beach in the wind and sun and pondered why we couldn’t see any sea lions (or lobo del mar’s as they’re called in Spanish which translated means ‘wolf of the sea’). “There probably aren’t any”, Harry said glibly with a mouth full of sandwich, “it’s probably just a thing they say to get tourists to come here”. 

When we finished eating we got up and walked 200 yards to our right and our jaws dropped open as we saw the giant sea lion colony about half a mile offshore. There were hundreds of thousands of sea lions out in the distance and just a couple of hundred yards along our shoreline there were another 30-40 resting on rocks within good photo range. We set up camp and watched them for ages then took a walk out to the point.

After exploring the whole village (and beach) and sampling some local food we joined the queue for the last few 4×4 trucks back to the park entrance. The trucks hold about 50 people on their first level and then they have a few seats on the very top out in the open which looked like so much fun for going over the massive sand dunes. Like a pair of small children, we were dying to get the seats on the top deck. 

There was a group of – very stoned – teenagers in front of us leaving the point with all their gear and we could see them eyeing the top seats up too but they got distracted while putting their bags on the back. Harry and I took the initiative and jumped in front of them (it’s not difficult to outwit stoned teenagers). 

We smugly took our seats in the sunshine and patted ourselves on the back for a few minutes until Harry pointed out that there was a massive storm approaching. The lower (covered) deck of the truck was full so there was no backing out. Within minutes of setting off there were literally sheets of rain being whipping in our faces with a howling wind, which made for an invigorating ride back to the park entrance.  Stoned teenagers – 1, Harry and Maya – 0.

We got some hot drinks at the bus station until what we thought was our bus appeared. The guy who checks the tickets was busy loading people’s backpacks and suitcases so we just got on. There was a young couple sitting in our booked seats but we were too tired to argue with them in Spanish so we sat elsewhere. 

Then the ticket man came around and checked our tickets. He frowned, muttered something to himself in Spanish then disappeared back down the bus. He came back five minutes later and explained that we were on the wrong bus. Annoyingly, there are two bus number 41’s that go in totally opposite directions, that arrive at the Cabo bus station at exactly the same time. Really unhelpful if you’re a tourist that doesn’t speak the language!

The bus conductor explained that they would drop us at another bus station but we would be travelling half back to Montevideo. There we could get a connecting bus back to Punta del Diablo. We laughed at ourselves for being idiots before we realised there were two other (British and Canadian) tourists on our bus who had done exactly the same thing. Not quite as stupid as we thought. 

We hung out and chatted to the other lost travellers before finally getting our bus back to Punta at around midnight. It was the  longest day trip ever but it was such a laugh it didn’t matter.

We spent the last few days in Punta enjoying scorching hot sunshine, sea swims and walks out to the point to watch the turtles and dolphins, and then the two weeks were over all too quickly – as is always the way with holidays.

There was a definite rise in murmurings across the global news about the continuing spread of Covid19 as we made our way back to Montevideo for our sad farewell, but we were both still blissfully unaware of the impending craziness. Harry left as abruptly as he arrived (at 4am) and I waved him off feeling so grateful that he had come all the way to see me. Awesome break HP! Thanks a million for coming to see me.

This blog is dedicated to my UK Yoga Teacher Eleonora (who recommended the Sivananda Yoga Teacher Training course to me),  and my dear friend Yig Labworth who sadly lost a short battle with cancer on New Years Eve 2019. She will really be missed.

… I left Serra Gaucha early in the morning to travel to Garopaba via Porto Alegre. Aleks had agreed to drive me to Sapuranga (his nearest town) to catch my bus for 08:30am but we both missed our alarms so he drove at break-neck speed along the dirt roads. I clutched my cup of ginger tea and hoped I’d make it in one piece. We screeched into the station with three minutes to spare, Aleks helped me grab a ticket and throw my bags on the bus before giving me a big hug and waving me off.

I had a two hour stop over back in Porte Alegre before the seven hour bus journey onto Garopaba in Santa Catarina. I wandered around the bus station spending a small fortune on snacks and found a fruit stall outside the station. The Brazilian woman’s eyes lit up when she realised I was from abroad. Neither of us spoke the other’s language but she (like so many Brazilians), was so warm and friendly I just stayed and chatted to her for a while, me in Spaniglishese (a confusing mixture of Spanish, English with a hint of Portugese) and her in Portugese. I don’t know what we were talking about but it was lovely. I tried to explain my journey and plans as best I could and as I left she smiled at me like I was a long lost family member and said earnestly “Vaya con dios”, which I think literally means “Go with god”.

The bus to Garopaba was a luxury. Brazil is gigantic (I think the 5th largest country in the world), so the buses can cover epic distances (there are some 50 hour journeys that you can take…. Erm no thanks!), and because of this they have these super luxury, double decker, ‘tour bus’ style buses – I happily slept most of the way but woke up for the last part of the journey which was stunning. We crossed over a huge bridge which straddled the vast estuary to Lagoa Imarui (Imarui Lagoon) an 82kmsq shallow lagoon with tropical forest covered mountains in the distance behind it. The view to the other side was the beautiful rugged coastline leading to Garopaba.

The bus made an unplanned stop on the outskirts of town and everyone looked around confused, then I heard someone shout my name. It was my Brazilian friend Alana beaming at me from the top of the stairs. She had been due to meet me at the main bus station but was late to meet me. Whilst trying to find a taxi, she spotted the Porto Alegre bus and flagged the driver. She explained to him that she “might have an English friend on the bus who can’t speak Portugese”, and he let her look for me. We then spent ages trying to find my backpack amongst all the hold luggage (probably really pissing everyone off) before letting the bus carry on into town. Alana’s genius idea saved us about an hour in extra journey time and taxi fees.

Garopaba and Karla’s Permaculture Guest House

Alana managed to get us an Uber from the bus stop to our pousada (Brazillian name for a guest house) and she introduced me to our charming hostess, Karla. Karla had worked in a bank for 10 years before deciding to have a lifestyle change. She moved from Minas Gerais (a state further north in Brazil) to Garopaba to develop a property owned by her mum using Permaculture design techniques. 

Karla couldn’t have been more welcoming. Alana had explained to her that I was travelling trying to learn about Permaculture so Karla spent ages showing me her home and garden. There was a cool bioconstruction extension at the front of the house that she’d built with help using found materials. She’d had a bore hole, for water, dug out of the ground and a pump installed – so she is fully ‘off grid’ for water, and we could drink the natural spring water from every/any tap in the house. She also had a stunning array of fruits, vegetables and herbs growing in her bijou, and well designed garden.

Garopaba sprawls along the coast and encompasses seven beautiful beaches with almost every kind of ‘atmosphere’ to choose from. Furthest north is Siriu which is the most beautiful (in my opinion) and a quiet surfers paradise, next is Garopaba town beach which is busy and noisy but safer for swimming and protected by headlands, there’s Silveira (which I didn’t get to). Ferrugem (which means rust in Portugese) is named because of a rust coloured lake set back from the sea which has a natural accumulation of iron in the water, the nutrients in the lake’s water make your skin really soft and this brings a lot of people. Furthest south are Praia de Ouvidor, Vermelha and Praia de Rosa which were all walking distance for us. 

Family friendly Ouvidor is really beautiful, Vermelha is quiet and difficult to get to (so lots of surfers in the water), and Praia de Rosa is the most ‘hype’ – basically packed from end to end with young, rich, beautiful Brazilians partying day and night (I’m guessing similar to some beaches in Ibiza).

After settling in Alana and I walked along the busy road in to Praia de Rosa village – A super laid back and beautiful bohemian surf village with a backdrop of jungle mountains. Garopaba (and the surrounding villages) instantly became my favourite place I’d been to so far. The cool surf shack bars and eateries along the road all had welcoming smells and caipirinhas on tap with softly spoken, beautiful girls and boys en mass. Brazilian Portugese just sounds so cool – gutted I still couldn’t understand a word anyone was saying….

We grabbed a spot at a family run cafe and shared some excellent veggie, cassava pancakes and some of the best caipirinhas I’ve ever tasted, whilst watching the world go by and catching up.

Christmas and New Year are in mid summer for Brazil (the seasons are completely opposite to the UK being south of the equator), and Karla basically moves out of her house in summer and camps in her own garden to take in guests. As such the house was full of nice, fun people who (luckily for me) mostly spoke very good English. Rapheal and Federico were from Sao Paulo and were very much into the all night, expensive club scene. There was a fabulous gay guy and his friend (who’s names I forget), plus Viktor, Arthur and Fernando, all from Curatiba (a city further north). Those guys had all previously spent ski seasons in Canada and were all pretty fluent in English and we made friends with them straight away.

Alana and I went into turbo chill mode. We spent our days either at the beach, hiking along the coast (between the many beaches) or in Garopaba town shopping and eating. Alana took great pleasure in introducing me to all the Brazilian cuisine that I hadn’t yet tried and I was more than happy to oblige. We spent evenings out in Praia de Rosa at the bars in the main village or back at Karlas hanging out with Viktor, Aurthur and Fernando playing cards and sharing food and drinks.

New Years Eve

Alana and I hadn’t been particularly fussed about partying hard but we decided to make an effort for New Years Eve and Karla, Viktor, Arthur and Fernando invited us to join them at the big beach gathering in Praia de Rosa. There was a central London style, ‘VIP’ stage setup on the cliffs, fenced off for the VIP guests. There were tickets on sale but it looked and sounded a bit tedious and one of the beach tellars had told us there would be a massive free party on the beach for anyone not wanting to shell out for the VIP ciff-top club.

We had a big cook up at the house with everyone, shared a few bottles of bubbles and some caipirinhas then headed down to Rosa beach. Having been to some epic beach parties for Carnaval, in Rio with my friend Maddie (some 15 years ago – I got told off for aging us prematurely in my intro when I’d said “about 20 years previously”), I was expecting similar offerings but in comparison it was disappointing. 

Luckily, Karla, Viktor, Arthur and Fernando were so much fun and such a laugh it didn’t matter where we were. This was good because the ‘beach party’ was basically thousands of people with shit, old ghetto blasters, in total darkness (aside for a few head torches), pumping out varying degrees of terrible latino pop (distorted because everyone was competing for volume with said, shit ghetto blasters). We got smashed anyway and had a real laugh finding people with the least shit taste in music to hang out near, dance with and generally while away the end of the decade with. At about 4am we ran out of booze and sobered up. We all got cold and tired so we stumbled back to Karla’s, ate leftovers and passed out. Feliz Ano Novo!

New years day was basically spent motionless. Everyone spent the day recovering from their hangovers and Alana and I made it out for ‘linner’ (as opposed to ‘brunch’). Everyone else left on 2nd January so Alana, Karla and I went for some epic hikes around the area and detoxed in preparation for the Yoga TTC (in my case) and going back to work and uni in Alana’s case.

Yoga Teacher Training Course (YTTC)

On 5th Jan, Alana had to leave at 7am to get a Blabla Car lift back to Porto Alegre and I needed to be at Montanha Encantada by 8:30am to register for the YTTC. I got an email from my friend Will explaining that his wife (my friend) Yig had passed away. It was really sad news and I wanted to pay my respects so I delayed my cab and went and laid some flowers in sea before heading up to the yoga centre.

I had read all the literature for the course so I knew it would be intense but nothing really could have prepared me for the month ahead….

The Ashram itself is jaw-droppingly beautiful. Set part way up a very small mountain (or a very big hill) with views over Garopaba and the coastline in the distance. 

I arrived just in time to register and talk to my new teachers about the course. I have practiced Iyengar Yoga with my teacher, Eleonora, for over 15 years, and although all yoga lineage derives from the same place there are huge differences in practices depending on the style, lineage and teachers all over the world.

The beginnings of yoga came about in Northern India about 5,000 years ago. The ‘classical period’ is defined by Patanjali’s Yoga-Sûtras. Written some time in the second century, they describe the path of Raja Yoga, often called “classical yoga”. Patanjali organised the practice of yoga into an “eight limbed path” containing the steps and stages towards obtaining enlightenment. He is often referred to as ‘the father of yoga’ and his teachings still influence most styles of modern yoga.

Sivananda Yoga comes from the lineage of Swami Sivananda which was brought to the west by his disciple Swami Vishnudevananda in the late 1950s, making this style of practice an important part of yoga’s first wave of popularity outside India.

In ancient Indian times, to train as a Sivananda Yoga Teacher, it was tradition for students to live, work and study with their teacher for 12 years before qualifying. The modern day Sivananda YTTC is styled on the ancient model but has been condensed into one month, which makes it a very intense experience and a practice of discipline I had never even considered before.

What followed was basically one of the most physically and mentally demanding things I’ve ever done but also one of the best experiences I’ve had (although I genuinely don’t think I could do it again).

I was sharing a dorm room with Mariangelles (from Argentina), and Tamara from (Sao Paulo), and our daily routine consisted of getting up a 5:15am  to shower and get up to the main yoga space for 5:50am:

6am – 8am was Satsang which consisted of half an hour of silent meditation, half an hour of mantra chanting (usually in Sanskrit), and a talk or reading on some aspect of yoga philosophy. 

8am – 10am was our morning asana class which was our time for our own individual practice and development of asanas (poses) – I can now do headstands (sirsasana), the crow (kakasana), and the fish (matsyasana) which are all poses I couldn’t do before the course so stoked with that!

10am – 12noon was our brunch break. All meals were provided and conformed to the lacto vegetarian ‘sattvic’ diet prescribed by the school of Sivananda (the food was incredible to be fair and has convinced me to have a go at vegetarianism for real). This break was pretty much the only time I would have any time to myself each day and a large part of it was spent doing the summary homework from the main lecture (from the day before).

12noon – 1:15pm was either studying the Bhagavad Gita (the most renowned of the ancient yoga scriptures) or learning about mantras.

2pm – 4 pm was the main lecture which consisted of either yoga philosophy or anatomy. This was the best thing about the course for me. I’m really interested in the physical and emotional benefits of yoga on the body, mind and soul so the anatomy stuff was really cool, and I love a bit of philosophy. So, to sit in a room with 40 other like minded people and talk about the nature of reality every day was a pretty mind bending (and fun) experience. We also had to summarise this class every day and hand in the summary at 2pm the following day.

4pm – 6pm was ‘learning to teach’ asanas (poses) so another two hours of exercise which after the first few days became gruelling. I recalled similar pain to that when I had learnt to snowboard, and my dear friend Maddie practically had to dress me on my third day of boarding because my muscles ached so much that I couldn’t lift my own arms up…

6pm – 7:20pm was dinner where I would literally dislocate my jaw and insert as much fuel (food) as I could in an hour and 20mins.

7:20pm – 8pm was Karma Yoga. Sivananda yoga promotes the idea of being of service without thought of reward so everyone was required to undertake a chore each day to help with the running of the whole ashram. I was helping in the food hall cleaning dishes, washing floors or cleaning toilets.

8pm – 9:40pm was evening Satsang (similar to the one at 6am)

10:30pm was lights out for the whole ashram but I was usually so wiped out that I would be pass out straight after evening Satsang and wake up in exactly the same position as I fell asleep in atl 5:15am the next day (when we would get up and do the whole thing again)…. So if anyone was wondering why I was incommunicado for a whole month it was because I barely had ten seconds to myself every day (which I think is how all of my friends who have kids spend their whole lives so hats off to you all).

We would have one day off per week (usually Friday) but we still had to attend morning and evening Satsang. As gruelling as it was, it was also a really incredible and beautiful experience. I can’t say that I’ll take all of the practices back to real life with me but it certainly gave me a broader perspective and I might have been physically and mentally in the best shape of my life right after the course – so all ticks and smiley faces from me.

The gruelling schedule did take its toll on a few people though. You really had to want to be there and you could leave and be refunded for the parts of the course not completed at any time. I think about five people left in the first week (including one of my roommates Tamara). As much as we missed her, Mariangelles and I were grateful there were only two of us in the queue for the shower in the mornings. Some of the other dorms had four or five people in them.

Unsurprisingly I met some amazing people from all walks of life. My translators were all incredible and one of them, Radha (who is from Bolivia but had lived and worked in the film industry in Madrid for 15 years), had done exactly what I am trying to do. She spent three years travelling and trying to learn about Permaculture across the whole of South America. The second we met she threw her arms around me and excitedly said “my daaaaarling I have so many contacts for you, but first you need to learn Spanish!” 

Meeting Radha was a bit of a lightbulb moment for me. Until then I thought I might ‘wing it’ and learn Spanish as I went but that would be pretty lazy and would rely on me finding Permaculture farms/ranches/eco villages/yoga schools with people who spoke at least a bit of English. I realised this was a tad arrogant and could be pretty limiting for me so on my first day off I researched and booked myself onto a Spanish course in Montevideo, starting immediately after the YTTC.

The whole month was a real challenge. There were moments when I was so tired I could have curled up and cried but on the flip side there were moments of real euphoria and clarity. My inner cynic wasn’t the biggest fan of daily kirtans (chanting/mantra) but to be among peaceful, non-judgemental people who dedicate their lives to peace was a real privilege. I had been pretty disheartened with all the news about climate breakdown, fires in Australia and the ever divisive Brexit before going in, and the course (and the people), were the perfect tonic.

The YTTC includes a three hour exam at the very end of the course. The final week leading up to it was very tense and you could see people starting to crack. I’m glad to say that it all turned out well. Everyone knuckled down and studied hard and everyone I knew passed the exam – and so did I!!

As much as I had enjoyed the course I was relieved to get to the end. I left the mountain on the final day and headed for country number two – Uruguay. And that’s where I am now…

I’m three weeks into learning Spanish and I’m loving it. I totally suck at verb conjugation, which is doing my head in, but after the last month I really do feel like I can achieve anything if I put my mind to it (famous last words – queue epic failure to learn Spanish)…..

I had a break from learning for a ten day holiday with my friend Harry who visited from the UK (on his way home from Peru), and I have another two weeks of Spanish learning before deciding what to do next. I’m undecided if I want to focus on Yoga Teaching or Permaculture next but either way I will need to practice my Spanish.

Big love to all back home – hopefully spring has sprung and all is well with my friends and family. Much love to all! 

………. Additionally… The main blog would be too long if I harped on about ALL the amazing people I met on the course but I just wanted to mention some of the people I was lucky enough to share the YTTC experience with and how they helped me….

• Radha was a god send and literally saved me from a mental breakdown on a few occasions. She is also hilarious and as disruptive as me when she gets bored.
• Daniella – was my morning translator. After leaving the course I found it weird not having all discussions translated in my headset by Daniella’s dulcet tones each morning.
• Mariangelles – The angel from Argentina and my roommate for the month. We both spoke very little of each other’s languages but communicated and looked after each other via snacks.
• William – my nextdoor neighbour and general ladies man. William was from Foz da Iguazu (Iguazu Falls – on the Brazillian side). He had a wicked sense of humour and was always flirting with someone.
• Charlie – ‘Mr Acro Yoga’, and Williams room mate. In breaks we all had a go at being thrown around in the air by Charlie in various yoga poses.
• Gauri and Carla- The only other Europeans on the course. Gauri (from Germany but lives in Sweden) did my evening translations and Carla (from Barcelona) was in my teaching group for asana classes. Both gorgeous.
• Majori (from Recife in the far north of Brazil) was always looking out for me and making sure I didn’t miss anything) – she spoke fluent English and was just so kind to me for the whole month.
• Hari – One of the teachers and my translator for the main lectures. He’s Brazillian and training to be a doctor. He speaks fluent Spanish and English and was generally an absolute star. Given that his native language is Portugese and the main lectures were in Spanish which he then had to translate into English (and they were not ‘light topics’), must have been mind boggling for the poor lad. At the end of most lectures he looked like he needed a long lie down in a quiet, dark room…. He did it all with good humour and a smile though.
• Anandi – Is Uruguayan and another one of my translators. Just an all round lovely person.
• Yamit – Was the Israeli receptionist who spoke fluent English, Spanish, Portugese and Hebrew. She couldn’t do enough to help me and would run out to the shops to get me emergency supplies and even helped me fix my backpack.
• Carolina, Cata, Silvina, Drhitti, Laksmi, Gabriel, Monika, Thais, Eve and Rukmini for all being fun and making me laugh when every bone in my body was screaming for me to stop what I was doing, lie down and go to sleep on the spot!

It was a mixture of relief and anxiety when Aleks, my new (Siberian) Workaways host confirmed my space with him up in the hills in Serra Gaucha – the mountainous region in the northeastern portion of Rio Grande do Sul state (in southern Brazil).

Porto Alegre’s cool but I was spending too much money and wanted to actually do some work. Following my first volunteering experience I wondered what potential nightmares could await me but any fears washed away once I met my host and settled in.

Me and public transport

My luck with public transport still hasn’t improved. Novo Hamburgo, the town where I would meet my host,  is the last stop on the only train line out of Porto Alegre. Simple right? The journey was smooth and I was feeling relaxed as we approached the final stop “nothing can go wrong here” I thought to myself.

My backpack is bulky and can ‘take people out’ if I’m not careful  so I waited for the packed train to clear before swinging it up onto my shoulders and collecting my hand luggage. As I motioned towards the doors the automatic beepers sounded and the doors closed quickly. I scanned for the ‘open’ button but there wasn’t one. I caught the eye of a guy standing on the platform as the totally empty train pulled away with just me in it. I bangged the door to signal I needed to get off. “Where the fuck am I even going”, I thought, “this was the last stop!!”

I shouted for help as I pictured myself spending a night alone on a locked train with no way of contacting my host to let him know I was trapped. The train picked up speed and I started to panic and shouted louder for help.

The train slowed and stopped – had someone heard me shouting? It stood still for what felt like an eternity (but was probably about 4 minutes). Then, to my relief it moved slowly back towards the station. Then I realised the platform was on the other side of the train, “Ohhh this is how they switch a two way line”. The guy on the platform who had seen me carried away in a panic looked on bemused as I rushed off the train flustered and shaking. If I was him I would have fully laughed in my face – he managed to control it,

Workwaways and finding volunteer spaces

I found my new spot on the Workaways website, which is like AirBnb for volunteering. As a volunteer or a host you set up a profile, and hosts and volunteers rate each other after the volunteer has completed their agreed time with the host. The work is varied and can even be paid. In rare cases volunteers pay to work perhaps if the place is very popular or the type of work sought after. 

Work can be anything from babysitting to gardening, stable management to language immersion, yoga teaching to help with marketing and much much more (including permaculture, bioconstruction and eco and conservation projects). You pay about £35 per year for a subscription to use the service and it can be a great way to travel if you want to learn new skills and don’t want to haemorrhage money on accommodation and food travelling, plus you can get off the usual tourist trail and see how a country really works. 

I first heard about Workaways from a lovely girl named Rozie who happens to be an editor for Permaculture Magazine (an excellent publication if you want to learn anything and everything about Permaculture). Rozie was on my Permaculture Design Course in August and was super helpful and knowledgeable.

If you’re interested in signing up with Workaways as a volunteer you can do so here and if you use the referal codehttps://www.workaway.info/invite/6CX1DBD2 then I get free stuff 😁

My new crew

I had a 30 minute wait at Novo Hamburgo station for my host so I waited in the shade and people watched. Novo Hamburgo struck me as cleaner and more orderly than Porto Alegre, looking almost European. All the cars pulling up to collect and drop off were brand new, modern cars and the people driving looked distinctly European. There was clearly a lot of wealth in this part of the state.

A battered and filthy old Toyota 4×4 pulled up and I knew without even looking that this would be my host. Aleks jumped out and shook my hand with a warm smile and helped me put my bags in the back. In the car were Martina and Anastasia (or Ana). Martina is Swiss and has just completed a 5 month trip (Alek’s volunteering spot was her last stop before heading home for Christmas). Aleks was picking me up, dropping Martina off and collecting his 4 year old son Alexey.

Ana is Ukrainian and has also just arrived in Brazil. A super strong, independent 22 year old used to travelling solo, she’s a true icon of girl power in my eyes! Ana had had a stroke of bad luck. She’d had an even worse experience of Sao Paulo airport than me in that all of her money was stolen from her bank account when she had drawn money out from an official airport  ATM inside the airport!

If this had happened to me I probably would have gotten on the next plane home. As adventurous as I am, I have always travelled with enough money to get myself out of trouble if I needed to. Rather than laying down in a heap and crying or contacting her parents to ask for money. She has found a paid job (on Workaways) in Uruguay at a horse riding stable. She is planning to work there and save up so that she can take a TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) course and then continue her travels whilst working and earning money. Go on girl!!!

Aleks, my Siberian host has been in Brazil for nine years. He met and married a Brazilian woman and had a bright and beautiful son. The relationship didn’t work out but instead of leaving Brazil, Aleks decided to build his own eco home in the jungle to provide a tranquil and beautiful home for he and his son to live. Aleks’s neighbours and Workaways volunteers have helped him complete his stunning self build home and he continues to take volunteers on regularly to help in the garden, on the land and for cultural and creative exchanges.

The new pad

It started to get dark as we climbed the hills into Serra Gaucha. The air was warm and filled with smells from sub-tropical plants and flowers. Aleks took us on detours to look at some of the nearby towns and villages. It was Sunday and all the shops were shut but we were all hungry so drove around until we found a bakery and Aleks bought us all Pao de Quejo (Brazilian cheesie buns made with cassava flour). 

As we drove he explained that the region was settled by European immigrants during the 19th century. Germans settled in the lowlands close to river springs while Italians populated the highlands. As a result, the region has a blend of German and Italian cultures, reflected in the architecture, cuisine and population. 

This explained a lot. I’d been looking out of the window wondering if I had gone through some kind of weird portal which had spat me out in another dimension – a sub-tropical Switzerland. So many of the houses looked similar to mountain chalets I’ve seen in Switzerland, Austria and Germany. As we turned one corner a Santa Claus train pulled by a shiny new tractor loaded with Germanic revellers cut in front of us. I looked on slack jawed. It was a bit of a culture shock to go from the very Brazilian PoA to this.

We continued up into the hills and the roads turned to bumpy dust tracks. We stopped at a mountain deli, one of Alek’s many friends, and the very German couple welcomed us by bringing out a plate of delicious meat and potatoes. I thought I should try to be polite but was so hungry I just stood there shovelling it into my mouth.

They poured us about four shots of Cachaca (Brazilian rum) each. Aleks bought a bottle plus a whole wheel of handmade cheese and we continued our journey to the house. Luckily not coming across any other vehicles or people…

Pulling up to the house we were surrounded by jungle. The sound of cicadas and the lights of fireflies being a warm welcome. Not only that but the spacious, two bedroom bungalow on stilts was clean, modern and air tight from roaches – I breathed a big sigh of relief. 

I woke the next morning to the sound of howler monkeys and toucans and the view out over the jungle covered valley was nothing short of spectacular. I wandered around the airy, self-built house admiring the taste with which the place had been built. An open kitchen diner with cool wooden floors and a breakfast bar, with stools that are just tree trunks, opens out onto a verandah with views of the terraced front garden, a small lake and the sweeping valley.

As cool as the inside of the house was the surrounding area and wildlife were even more impressive. As well as howler monkeys and tarantulas I saw armadillos (didn’t manage to get a photo sadly), giant but beautiful harlequin beetles and more butterflies than I’ve ever seen, some electric blue in colour. A short walk through the jungle, on Alek’s land, and the valley opens up into a crystal clear waterfall where we spent plenty of our free time swimming or lounging on the hot stones.

Some actual work

I instantly felt safe and welcome at Alek’s place. If the three of us met under other circumstances we might not have hung out because of culture and age differences, but being thrown together for volunteering was really nice, it turned out. I think the most important lesson I’ve learned from traveling is that everyone you meet is a human being trying to go about their lives as best they can. If you really look you can find common ground with most people.

Most of the work Aleks is doing is aiming to provide a safe and easy home for his boy. He completed the actual house build more than six months previously; so the work he wants myself and Ana to help with is mostly developing the areas immediately outside the house. 

Aleks isn’t a permaculture practitioner but he built his house with his own bare hands and he lives a laid back, humble, happy and healthy existence. His son Alexey is a bright eyed, healthy, engaging four year old. Extremely cute, mischievous and a chatterbox, he likes to bomb around the house and garden terrorising the cat, dogs, chickens and any other creature that gets in his way. It was good to finally get stuck in and feel like I was being useful and learning some hands on techniques for working in gardens.

Aleks is extremely laid back in terms of work. He would run in the morning whilst I did yoga, then we’d meditate. Once Ana was up we’d all have a chilled breakfast and then start work. We’d do three to five hours in the morning, then a big break for lunch, and then another two or three hours in the afternoon or evening. If it was too hot in the afternoons we’d sack work off and go to the waterfall. A great life!!!

Over the three weeks at the mountain house I built some steps from stones on the land, planted organic black beans on the terraces in front of the house, dug up sapling palm trees from Alek’s own surrounding jungle plots and replanted them around the house, helped clear a piece of land by the side of the house and construct a slide and swing as a playground for Alexey, cooked, cleaned, fed the animals and relaxed on the hammock on the verandah which overlooks the valley.

Tarantulas

On my first evening at the house Alexey was playing just outside the house as I came out in my flip-flops to give the dogs some water. As I walked out of the door something caught his eye. He dropped his toy truck and pointed excitedly to a spot a few metres away. I looked up to see one of the biggest tarantulas I’ve ever seen making its way idly towards us. I probably swore very  loudly (good job the kid can’t speak English) and Aleks and Ana came running. Aleks literally just shoe’d it so that it went in another direction.

As scary as they are, they’re pretty docile when you see them in real life, and they aren’t interested in being anywhere near you. Which is good cause I don’t want one anywhere near me ever – but I almost found them less scary than house spiders in the UK. Those bastards are fast and unpredictable. These things – although the size of small cat – moved really slowly and basically don’t pay any attention to you. I Googled what they might be (which I then wished I hadn’t), and I think they’re the giant crab spider – I could be wrong but I couldn’t look at those search results anymore. 

A very Russian (and German) Christmas

The Sunday before Christmas day Aleks decided he’d take us into a nearby town so Ana and I could have a few drinks and we could look at the Christmas lights. I couldn’t have felt any less Christmassy being in the jungle but I was up for the craic and a caipirinha or three. I think the town we drove to was Campo Bom which literally translated means good field.

The town was so Germanic I almost couldn’t believe we were in Brazil. 99% of the locals were of fairer skin than me and dialect being spoken definitely included german words and phrases.

It was a very pleasant evening but without a doubt one of the weirdest experiences I’ve had. Aleks insisted on wearing socks with sandals, a beanie hat and sunglasses, and parked on the main road a little way out from town and walked into town – Ana and I at a small distance from Aleks…

The centre of town looked like a Brazillian/Swiss/German tropical fairytale winter wonderland. I was so confused I decided the best option was to drink through it. The main street had a string of German looking bars overlooking the street that was decked out for some kind of parade. I ordered the strongest caipirinha I could see and we took a seat to watch the evening unfold.

The street filled to bursting with families and couples as it got dark, we left the bar to get a better view and the parade began. I was glad I was half cut as the weirdest parade I have ever seen began. Brand new heavy duty tractors and farm machinery pulled floats of mixed themes through the streets. 

There were some Christmas theme floats intermingled with school kids doing shit gymnastics, gnomes blowing giant bubbles, heavily made up beauty queens (who looked as confused to be there as I was to watch), a lady dressed as the HR Queen, floats with cute, terrified looking children half singing, half just staring, and Santa with elves. The whole family parade was chaperoned and overseen by heavily armed, militia police. I wondered if they would use the handgun, pepper spray or taser first on santa if he stepped out of line…. “Well done” I said to Aleks, “Why’s that?” he enquired. “This is one of the weirdest things I’ve ever seen in my life, and I’ve travelled quite a bit” I explained. He laughed loudly and nodded his agreement.

Christmas day was ace. We had worked hard in the lead up to the day so we stayed up late Xmas eve cooking a fusion cuisine feast (Russuan salads and breads to go with English roast garlic and herb potatoes, a fruit compote drink and fresh banana bread with a hot chocolate dipping sauce for dessert. We drank and ate late into the night cheersing in Russian (Na zdorv’ye), and English and playing epic battles of shit head (the card game).

At one point Aleks was stood in the corner of the kitchen chuckling to himself, secretly squirreling away doing something. After about five minutes he turned around and proudly presented me with a plate of cheese. The whole wheel of cheese had been cut into tiny shapes and laid out on the plate in a decreasing circle to depict an ancient megalithic structure, “Look, look” he said, “stoned hedge!” Through my blind tears of laughter I corrected him, “I think you mean Stone Henge.”

We had a long lie in on Xmas day before packing up all the leftovers and heading to the waterfall for the day. A very un-christmassy Christmas day. Perfect for Maya Orme-Grinch!

I spent most of boxing day packing my bags. I was due to leave to meet my Brazilian friend, Alana (from Porto Alegre). Before leaving PoA to go to my mountain volunteer spot, Alana and I had decided to meet in Garopaba, on the coast, for a 9-day holiday (from my holiday – I know, what a dick), before my yoga teacher training course starts (in Garopaba) on 5th Jan.

And that’s where I am now. Plenty of new stories for the next blog but it’s New Years Eve today and I need to get up and out for the day. Wishing all my amazing friends and family a very happy and healthy New Year. 

Got told off by Dad for having too many swears in my last blog. He is right, I do swear far too much. Better try and keep this fucker clean then…. Oops sorry Dad.

The highs and lows of solo traveling (possibly more so as a solo girl), are pretty extreme. I still wouldn’t change this for anything but if you’ve read my ‘about me’ section of my blog site you may remember the bit that says “follow my blog to see the potential success or hilarious failure unfold”… Ha! So, funny story…

Porto Alegre Continued…

It turns out Porto Alegre isn’t the downtrodden backwater I first thought it was. I just managed to panic book my first hostel in the most ghetto part of town and then walked through other, fairly ghetto parts of town all the way to the sea/riverfront on my first day.

The following day, before setting off for the permaculture farm, I explored in a different direction and found stunning parts of the city. Including the sub tropical Farroupilha Park, a Zen garden complete with snapping turtles and darting bee eater birds.

Moinos De Vento is the posh part of town where the super rich hang out and eat, plus the bohemian quarter (Cidade Baixa and Farroupilha) are where all the cool kidzz are.

In hindsight the clue should’ve been when I read a few reviews of the hostel and they said “in a good location near the bus station.” After all my years of travel I forgot the golden rule. Bus stations are NEVER in a nice part of town.

The Farm

Friday came and it was time for me to strike out of the city and get down to some serious permaculture immersion out in the sticks. I had a Whatsapp message from Simon, my host, telling me that he had had a change of dates for some workshops he was running in another city and wouldn’t be back until the following Wednesday. He said, “Alexandre and Rodrigo will meet you at the house, and I and the rest of the residents will  be drifting back throughout the week.” This should have been an alarm bell…. 

I took a taxi to the rodivario (bus station) and boarded my bus.

I put my headphones in as the bus drew out of town and got a rush of excitement as the cityscape faded into sub-tropical Brazilian countryside. I played something cheesy like ‘Buena Vista Social Club’ so as to feel the full Latin American experience (yeah I know its Cuban not Brazilian).

Staring wide eyed and excited as we rolled past stunning lakes with vultures, egrets and the odd eagle flying overhead – I was buzzing to be in Brazil. Miles of rice and eucalyptus plantations interspersed with livestock farmland floated past us. Rio Grande do Sul (RGdS), is known as ‘gaucho territory’ – gauchos are South America’s version of cowboys and cattle ranchers – because RGdS is one of the biggest exporters of beef in the world.

I had to change buses at Esquina do Tapes which is basically a petrol station in the middle of nowhere. Thankfully just before we got to Tapes my co-passenger noticed the concerned look on my face and saw my Portugese phrase book in my hand. She asked in very clear English, “do you need some help?” We both laughed and I explained I wasn’t sure where to get off. Marcella is a student, studying pharmacy at uni in PoA. I wished we’d started chatting earlier but then my stop came and she prompted me to get off. 

I handed the driver a bit of paper with written Portugese asking him to tell me where to take my next bus to Cerro Grande do Sol. He gestured to a dusty spot on the other side of the petrol station with a tree where there were two other people stood waiting. I had an hour to wait for the next bus, so was grateful for the tree in the searing midday heat. I ate some crisps – they were really bloody good.

The next bus was on time, and again I had written in Portugese asking the bus driver to drop me in Protiero Grande and specifically ‘Simon’s house’. He smiled nicely and nodded then looked confused when I tried to give him my money. I insisted on paying him there and then and only realised how much of ‘Norma newbie’ I was being when we pulled away and the bus conductor came through the bus to collect money and issue tickets. I might as well have had a sign on me saying “I’ve just arrived and I have no idea how anything works – please rob me.” No one did by the way – they were lovely.

The tarmac roads merged into bumpy dust tracks and the odd town was now an odd village or dwelling. After an hour the friendly conductor nodded and I climbed off the bus. It rolled away leaving me in a cloud of dust, stood looking at the dilapidated structure of Chacara Sol Nascente. I thought, “Well, this is rustic.”

The guard dog half heartedly barked at me as I opened the gate and a tall friendly man came out to meet me. Rodrigo is Brazilian and speaks a tiny bit of English so we had a slow, confusing conversation until Alex arrived. Alex is Brazillian and speaks fluent English but he came across as slightly aloof. Still nice and easy-going though. 

Rodrigo was cooking a meal for us all so Alex showed me to my room. Another girl lived there usually (Christelle) but she was away studying and only came back to the farm intermittently. The room was in the centre of the house and quite dark, with a window into another internal room. A piece of perspex on the roof allowed natural daylight in but it still gave me the slight heebie jeebies. 

Christelle’s dusty belongings were piled up on shelves and in a wardrobe. The house was pretty open to nature (basically camping but in a house built from clay and rice husks on a wooden frame), and I wondered how many beasties were lurking among her things. I hung my tiny, one-man mosquito net from the nail above the double bed and prayed it would keep me bug free.

Alex and Rodrigo wanted beer with our meal so we walked into the main part of the village to the dark and dusty mini-market which has friendly owners and a barky little dog. I really wanted a glass of wine so enquired what the wine was like. The lady owner scratched her head and dug out a dusty, plastic bottle with a grape picture on the front. It was only $R15:00 (about £1.50) so I thought I’d give it a whirl – how bad could it be? Very, VERY bad it turns out. It smelled and tasted like someone had soaked metal and an egg in sour water and then bottled it… Eeuuurgh!!

After showing me the beautiful grounds with forest garden and polyculture vegetable beds*, we chatted over our amazing plant-based dinner (all grown on the land),  and Alex kindly shared some of his beer with me. Shattered from my trip I made my excuses and headed for bed. I spotted a fair few bugs but climbed into my protective mossi net and passed out. 

I woke in the night to a lot of scratching and scurrying sounds. I flicked on my head torch and saw at least four giant cockroaches on the walls. I had to pee so I darted to one of the loos near the main entrance door and took a seat. Looking up I realised that I was sharing the bathroom with a very big spider, a frog and a worm. I peed faster and rushed back to my mozzi net and luckily passed out again.

The next morning (Saturday), was a day off for the boys. I think Alex had stayed up late drinking and was pretty hungover. Rodrigo was trying to be friendly and chat but our lack of language connection made it difficult. We cooked a meal together and Alex emerged just to eat, didn’t say thank you, and then went back to bed. 

I did some yoga, read, walked around the property again and read some more. Just as the sun was setting Rodrigo came rushing in and gestured for me to join him outside. The sunset was stunning and the garden was lit up with dancing fireflies, frog calls and cicadas – absolutely magic!

The exhaustion from the night before had meant I’d probably slept through a horror show of creepy crawlies that was about to traumatise me, potentially for life.

I fell asleep easily making sure, or so I thought, that my mozzi net was tucked in sufficiently to keep me safe all night. I was woken again by loud scurrying and scratching sounds and flicked on my head torch. To my horror there were about 10 giant roaches on the walls, on the floor and on the bedside cabinet beside me. I literally went cold. There was no effing, geoff’ing way I was getting out of my net until it was light so I looked at my watch hoping it was nearly day – it was 1:30am. I had to go back to sleep!

I drifted in and out of shit sleep (sorry Dad) but was woken again by something big RUNNING ACROSS MY CHEST AND NECK –  INSIDE MY MOSQUITO NET!!! I let out a scream and threw off the net flicking a giant cockroach onto the floor where it scurried away, then lay awake for the rest of the night checking my net barrier every few minutes to make sure I had no other unwanted guests.

Sunday was not a good day. I must have gotten back to sleep as I woke again at daylight to hear someone in the kitchen. It was another day off and the daylight had put all the nocturnal nasties back into hiding. I needed a little more, uninvaded sleep. 

I got up to find a note from Rodrigo saying he had gone to Porto Alegre for a day or two. He was volunteering as well and must have been put out by Alex’s lack of interest or help. Rodrigo had basically been looking out for me until then so I felt a bit sad that he’d gone. Then I took a difficult phone call from the UK and felt really sad. I was starting to think I might not settle here.

I decided to be British and have a stiff upper lip and carry on. I was desperate to actually do something of value and not just feel like I was in the way.

Alex finally got up and was in a slightly better mood. When I told him of my night of horror he was very apologetic but then he broke the news that he had to leave the following day. At that point we thought some people were coming back that night and so they would be able to show me some work for Monday. I started to feel pretty anxious but didn’t want to make a fuss so I sat and read.

Alex and I got chatting properly over a late lunch and we actually had plenty in common. He was nice, I think he just had a lot on his mind and wasn’t actually supposed to be babysitting the newbie (my words not his). He told me how the farm worked and the amazing work that Simon was leading. “Simon is a master of Biodynamic farming,” he explained.

Biodynamics isn’t technically Permaculture. It grew out of the work of Rudolf Steiner and the Anthroposophy movement but both are attempts at establishing sustainable patterns of raising food and of living. They both promote their own systems of ethics that deal with how humans treat the Earth and each other. Biodynamics is actually more prescriptive about organic food raising saying, “You can not use this method of fertilising or that of pest control,” where Permaculture says, “if you have things set up correctly from the start, why would you want to use those methods?” Essentially the two can go hand in hand and Simon was utilising both at the same time.

Alex also explained that Simon had split from his wife and was raising his two kids on his own, whilst running the farm and teaching Biodynamics to other farmers across the state and wider Brazil. I empathised with him but realised he was spreading himself too thinly, and ‘the thing that had to give’ was the state of the house.

Simon messaged me that afternoon to see how I was getting on. I tried to be positive as I wasn’t sure if I would stay or leave. I really wanted to meet him and learn some techniques so I kept it pretty light.

That evening Alex broke the news to me that no one was coming that evening or in fact until Tuesday and that he had to leave by lunchtime Monday for his other job… This would mean a whole day and night, on my own in the house of horrors. The day was going from shit to uber shit. He helped me debug my room by setting up bug traps, lighting a repellent coil and spraying the whole room with natural bug spray (made on the farm). I also devised a weighting system for the inside of my mosquito net which involved water bottles and books…. IT DID NOT WORK!!

Again, I managed to get off to sleep but woke up to the most amount of scratching, scurrying (and what sounded like fighting) that I had heard so far. I gingerly reached for my head torch and reluctantly switched it on to reveal what I can only describe as a scene from some kind of horror film. 

I was too paralysed by fear to scream so instead I watched in silent terror as giant cockroaches crawled all over the walls, my bags, my mosquito net, luckily not breaching my weighting system but only – I think – because I was watching the little bastards, and would flick them off if they got near to the bed/net meeting zone. They dropped off the ceiling making loud thuds and and then scurried to the edge of the bed dropping to the floor with another loud thud. The decision was made – I had to get out of there!

Back to Porto Alegre

I must’ve slept a little before dawn as I woke about 7am. I got up and messaged Simon and told Alex that I had had a nightmare night and had to leave. I was really upset that I was leaving but as soon as Alex saw how distressed I was his compassion kicked in. We sat and chatted and he told me, “You’re not the only one, Simon is too busy to care properly for volunteers and this should be a massive warning for us. We need as much help as we can get, but if people can not sleep or relax in the house then we will not be able to get help, and the whole farm could fold”. 

I asked Alex how he coped with the ‘La Cucaracha’ (the cockroaches), he said “There are none in my room – although there is a problem with fleas”. I asked him how Christelle coped and he said, “she never says anything, she lets the cats sleep in her room though so perhaps that keeps them away.” I felt better for getting it out in the open and chatting. 

I could get the same bus as Alex and it would take me all the way to Porto Alegre (no changes). Then I booked a private room in the best hostel in PoA to recover. The relief was palpable but I also felt a sense of failure. I hadn’t spent any money for four days but I hadn’t done any work either and now I was faced with a month with no volunteer space and hadn’t learned a single thing.

I’ve spent the whole week in Porto Alegre recovering and going hard at researching and emailing potential volunteer places. I heard back from an eco farm run by a Siberian guy up in the mountains near small city called Novo Hamburgo and my place starts today (Sunday). It’s not quite permaculture but at least it’s a volunteer place using sustainable practices. Hopefully I’ll actually get to do some work and learn some things too.

Back in Porto Alegre, I returned to a lovely French Bistrot that I’d found in my first few days. I got chatting to the  waitress, Alana, who speaks fluent English and we hit it off straight away. She studies Theatre Studies at the uni and she’d also heard about and was interested in permaculture. 

Alana was busy with studies and work in the week but wanted me to join her and her friends on Friday for some drinks. She also had a lot of contacts of people who run permaculture farms so we swapped numbers and she started sending me contacts for projects.

On Friday night, over some drinks Alana and I got chatting about New Year’s Eve. Neither of us had plans and both of us wanted to do something fun and relaxing. If we travelled together we could both save money, I can learn more Portugese and she can practice her English – win/win. 

Alana also asked if I would like to help her with a community art project that she was running the following day with her theatre group. I agreed thinking I would be watching some kind of play. When I got there they were setting up paints, skipping ropes, games, food, drink and party gifts for the local favela kids. “They sell crack out of that favella”, Alana told me nodding at the colourful, crumbling area next door to their theatre rehearsal space. “The guys hanging around the entrance are watching for police. It’s very poor there and the kids have very little. We try to engage them in the arts to show them there is another way to live.” I was suddenly hyper-aware of (and very grateful for), my first-world privileges. 

The theatre group formed a circle to discuss how they would run the event and Alana explained I was there to help. They were very welcoming and carried on discussing the plans in fast Portugese. As we broke the circle to start, the group started picking up a range of Samba instruments. “You know how to drum right?” Alana asked thrusting a tambourine into my hand. “This is how we let them know the event is starting”….. So that’s how I found myself walking around favela with a samba band playing a tambourine rounding up kids to join an art workshop. Random AF (technically not a swear Dad). I thanked my years with Weapons of Sound for being able to keep time. 

The kids were great and so much fun. They all wanted to speak to me and stared at me like a dog that’s just been shown a card trick for a few minutes. Then they clambered all over me, painted me, asked my name and if I liked football (via mime). One kid knew all the colours in English so he just pointed at different things saying “black”, “yellow”, “blue” etc (super cute).

Little Luka – from one of my photos – insisted on putting lipstick on me. It was second hand, favela lipstick. It stung. And he really smooshed it on. He was enjoying the experience so much I hid my grimace and left it on until he was out of sight.

So that was PoA round two. Now, I’m sat in my hostel waiting until 5pm to catch a train to Novo Hamburgo where my host will collect me and take me to round two of eco living lessons. An eco farm in the mountains around Sierra Gaucha (still RGdS). Hopefully this one will be slightly more productive than the last one. But if not – hey it makes a good story… 

*Sighs

Permaculture terms explained – (sort of)

*Agroforestry (or Forest Gardening) a land use management system in which trees or shrubs are grown around or among crops or pastureland. This intentional combination of agriculture and forestry has varied benefits, including increased biodiversity and reduced erosion.

Polyculture is a form of agriculture in which more than one species is grown at the same time and place in imitation of the diversity of natural ecosystems. Polyculture is the opposite of monoculture, in which only members of one plant or animal species are cultivated together. Polyculture has traditionally been the most prevalent form of agriculture in most parts of the world and is growing in popularity today due to its environmental and health benefits. There are many types of polyculture including annual polycultures such as intercropping and cover cropping, permaculture, and integrated aquaculture. Polyculture is advantageous because of its ability to control pests, weeds, and disease without major chemical inputs. As such, polyculture is considered a sustainable form of agriculture. However, issues with crop yield and biological competition have caused many modern major industrial food producers to continue to rely on monoculture instead.

“Shit shit shit shit shit shit! I’ve actually gone and done it!” Were the thoughts running through my mind whilst sitting in Madrid airport waiting for my flight. I’ve quit my job, sold almost everything I own and I’m off to Brazil by myself. 

My reason/mission? To volunteer on as many eco projects as possible, to learn as much as I can about permaculture and conservation, and to learn to teach yoga….. But at that precise moment I just wanted to be sick down myself and have a snotty cry on someone’s shoulder. 

Luckily Madid airport is cool and quite calming. I spotted a WH Smiths which made me feel strangely at home. I spent £50 on snacks and a new travel pillow which made me feel slightly better, then it made me feel guilty about buying into the capitalist rhetoric of consuming to feel better.. Then I had my 7th anxiety wee.

Not knowing how long I’d be away for and not really knowing where I was going, I was sat in Madrid airport (knowing a tiny bit of Spanish and literally zero Portugese), slightly wondering what the fuck I was doing? “Am I literally out of my tiny mind”? Possibly.. Very exciting though and I really like scaring the crap out of myself now and then.

Sat on the plane I was surrounded by Brazilians (the people not – ya know), and listening to them all chatting away I started to relax and feel excited. I love the sound of Portugese being spoken and they’re so laid back it had a calming affect. Plus I have a superpower – I can not stay awake on any plane journey. As soon as they drop the pressure my eyes start rolling and my head goes (hence the expensive travel pillow) and out I went…..

I woke about 2 hours from Sao Paulo and watched the new Elton John film and cried my eyes out. How sad is that film?? It could just have been that I needed a cry to be fair, or it was my body preparing me for the clusterfuck of a connection I was about to have in Sao Paulo.

The Iberia Airlines check-in guy in Madrid had said that he had checked me in all the way to Porto Alegre and that my bags would go all the way without me having to get them…. He lied. As we landed in SP I checked the in-flight map thing and changed my watch to Brazilian time (or so I thought) and had a sudden moment of panic. Checking my boarding card for my next flight it was meant to be boarding!! As I was exiting the plane I vaguely heard a steward mumble something about people having to collect their bags for connecting flights but thought “well that doesn’t apply to me”…

I tried to get off the plane quickly but somehow ended up at the back of giant queue for immigration that wasn’t moving. There was not a single official person before the queue or near it to ask, and I could see other people starting to panic. I spotted one official guy and lurched at him with my boarding card. He didn’t speak English but I showed him my boarding card (with the imminent take off time approaching), and gestured as best I could. He looked totally unphased and just said “waiting”. 

I thought, “I’d better find some wifi and look up the Potugese for ‘I’ve missed my connecting flight please can you help me’, and ‘what will happen to my checked bag?” My phone hadn’t updated so I did it manually for Sao Paulo time….. It was an hour behind.. The time on the in-flight map thingy had been wrong so I could relax a little but I was still cutting it very fine. 

Finally got through immigration and was trying to follow the shambolic signage for my domestic connection which led me out through baggage reclaim, which I thought was odd. I passed about 10 baggage carousels and just as I was about to walk out of the hall, by chance, I spotted my checked backpack just sat on the floor – I think I said “What the fuck?” out loud. 

A nice Italian girl (who spoke English and Portugese), spotted my look and asked if I was OK? She helped me ask an official who said I had to take the bag and check in again. I grabbed it and ran. Now my backpack is not the lightest (I have an illness which means I have an inability to travel light), and it was about 2 miles distance from where I had to pick the bag up to where I had to check it in again. I arrived pouring with sweat and the Latam air crew did some teeth sucking before deciding I actually could put my bag on and get on the connecting flight – but only if I sprinted. Thankfully I made it as the last person onto the plane.

Now I’m here! And falling in love with Brazil all over again. Had a slight hiccup when I realised that Brazil changed their plug sockets about 5 years ago and I had no adaptors that would work. But my helpful hostel hosts lent me one and then I spent about 2 hours trawling around hardware stores before finally finding a place that did them. This was actually good for practicing/learning a bit of Portugese.

I was so exhausted from all the anxiety I just passed out on my first night (last night) but got up early this morning and did some yoga, then out on foot to explore Porto Alegre. It’s not the prettiest city and I seem to have brought the English weather with me – it was thunder, lightening and drizzle when I set out. But the people – oh the people – are so, so friendly, helpful and welcoming (even with my awful attempts to speak thier language). 

There’s a real buzz to Brazil. I visited Rio about 20 years ago and wondered if the rest of the country is as cool and fun as the big city. I’ve only been here a day but but pretty sure the answer is yes. I spent my morning and afternoon wandering through city markets full of fresh fruit, chillies, and local produce, meandering through parks and all the way up to the sea front. It poured with rain but was so warm it didn’t matter. I found this really cool ‘library cafe’ for lunch and had homemade asparagus and gorgonzola quiche (that Brazilian classic – ha), and warm, homemade chocolate cake.

Tomorrow I’ll be gearing up for my first permaculture volunteering, farm experience where I’ll be staying and hopefully learning for the next month. I leave on Friday and have to get by bus to the middle of nowhere… Good luck everybody! Apart from the journey – I’m very, very excited to start doing what I came here to do and in my next blog I will probably start harping on about how I think permaculture thinking and design could save the planet.. Wish me luck! 🙂