All through my wild days, my mad existence…

Apologies for the predictable title. The Argentinian leg of our tour began in Buenos Aires and we duly ticked off the tourist-trail holy trinity of football, Evita (museum and grave) and tango.

One of Julian’s top priorities was to go to a South American football match to see if it measured up to the sporting atmosphere and fair play served up in a West Ham v Millwall mash-up. We went with an over-priced guided tour to the River Plate v Huracan derby, having been warned by locals it was neither safe nor sensible for foreigners, particularly women, to go independently. It was still a remarkable experience, just like the classic games often portrayed in the media - thousands of fans all wearing team colours bouncing up and down in time to the beat of hundreds of drums and the whole ground strung with banners and the pitch covered in ticker-tape. Just like Upton Park then. For the record River Plate won 2 – 0.

When Ryders go on tour, the rarefied atmosphere of high culture is never far away. It was time for tango. Portenos (residents of Buenos Aires) have their own unique timetable, eating late and socialising into the early hours. In an attempt to blend in at Bar Sur (a small bar with nightly shows claiming to provide an authentic tango experience) we arrived shortly after 10.00pm, which would generally be beyond our curfew for going out. It was heaving with people drinking, tapping their feet to the music and swaying along with the fabulous dancing. We settled in with a bottle of Malbec only to find at about 10.15pm the bar started to empty out at an alarming rate. By 11.00pm it was just us and one other couple. We spent the next hour being privately serenaded by tango dancers and musicians in an intimate little space in the middle of Buenos Aires wondering when it would be polite to leave.

Much as we both fell in love with Buenos Aires, after five days it was time to move on. We decided to rent a car and explore the pampas in easy reach of Buenos Aires. We quickly found the repeated warnings about the great distances, condition of roads and lunatic habits of local drivers to be scarily accurate. Luckily, we’ve chosen to tour this vast land in a Vauxhall Corsa, a car equipped to tackle all but the roughest terrain in comfort and safety. Having spent 400 kilometres being overtaken by 40-tonne lorries, pulled over by police for non-existent infringements and closing our eyes in silent prayer going over crossroads, we have come to one definite conclusion: Julian is the only motorist in Argentina to use indicators. Ever.

Colon, a lovely town across the river Uruguay from the county of the same name, saw us joining a boat trip with a fascinating and charming Argentine guide (of Scottish heritage) called Charlie Adamson. We were invited to Charlie’s house for dinner that evening for an ‘asado’ (traditional BBQ) and an impromptu tango show with our new Danish friends. The tango was provided by Charlie’s wife and her dance partner Raoul. Once they showed us how it easy it can look, they insisted we return the favour and show them how difficult it can look. When you’ve spent the evening taking advantage of someone’s hospitality it’s difficult to refuse them the small pleasure of watching you making a complete fool of yourself shuffling round their living room. We were taught the eight basic steps by the professionals who then insisted we give it a go together. They clearly hadn’t heard of the death grip employed by Ryder men when forced to dance with their womenfolk. We were doing ok until our Danish friends took to the floor. Ryders work best in a rigid 4-4-2 formation and as we were not able to deviate or change direction from the eight basic steps much crashing about and hilarity ensued, which took the sensuous gloss off this supposedly passionate Latin-American dance. However, it was an evening that will live long in the memory.

Having been exposed as the true leaden-footed hoofers that we are, we left Colon before being totally stripped of our dignity; this blog finds us in Rosario, Argentina’s third city and the birth place of Che Guevara. Revolution is in the air....

Highlights: Julian’s was seeing a game in the stadium long burned in his memory for hosting the 1978 World Cup final. Cath’s was being flung around the dance floor (read living room) by a professional tango dancer.   

Lowlights: Sat-nav operator error (two places called Colon in Argentina, both within driving range of Buenos Aires, who’d have thought it?) leading to a tense and confusing few minutes of going up and down the same road in different directions several times while cursing the grip of computers on the life of modern man.

Malbec count: Six bottles (approx.) – ranging from £3 end-of-bin specials to vintage reserve.

First I was afraid, I was petrified....

Last time we left you we were in Bonito waiting for the rain to clear; four days later, we were still in Bonito waiting for the rain to clear….

Bonito means beautiful in Portuguese, but beauty is rarely enhanced by incessant rain. However, we were here for the river snorkelling and torrential rain was not going to stop us. Geological quirks have blessed Bonito with crystal clear waters and an abundant population of huge fish, so we donned our wetsuits and floated down the Rio Prata marvelling at the aquatic life and wondering when the rain was going to stop.  

For reasons best known to ourselves, we had booked four nights in Bonito, so used the rest of our time to hire bikes and cycle out to a natural swimming pool for a dip, complete with a glorious display of colour from some scarlet macaws showing off in the trees. Inevitably this ended with us cycling back to the hotel through another torrential shower and roads that morphed into rivers. We are still waiting for the shoes to dry.  

We had no definite plans after Bonito, so on a bit of whim and a vague attempt to see a slightly different side to Brazil we decided to head to Salvador. The guidebook describes Salvador as the African jewel in the Brazilian crown.  It is certainly an impressive city with some beautiful architecture, but despite much of it being designated a UNESCO world heritage site, it is a jewel in need of a bit of a polish. Salvador was once the centre of the Brazilian slave trade and has retained much of its African history and culture.  It is a city full of life and energy, with music on every corner and hundreds of street vendors selling African tit-bits like prawn and bean fritters.  It is also a city full of stray cats, rubbish on the streets and homeless kids and people trying to scratch a living wherever you look.

Drawn by the hypnotic sound of drums in the Pelourinho in Salvador, we drew closer completely mesmerised, only to find it was an African version of ‘Killing Me Softly’, which slowly morphed into a medley of Gloria Gaynor hits. Was this the beating heart of Brazil we had been searching for? Thankfully the 1970s disco-themed music faded to black and we were able to enjoy what we assumed was some Brazilian music from then on.

Next up was Praia do Forte – something of a culture shock after Salvador, being basically a posh beach resort with the main drag hosting a range of chic boutiques and cosmopolitan eateries. Think of a classy Butlins with sunshine and miles of palm-fringed beaches, a good place to wind down our Brazilian adventure.

Highlights: not a highlight as such, but it was a relief to finally get some laundry done, at least allowing us to pass through the bio-hazards section of customs looking the man squarely in the eye….though for the money it cost, you would hope each pair of under-crackers was licked clean by Brazil’s own carnival queen and her retinue of sequinned flunkies.  

Lowlights: A hair-raising taxi ride from Salvador airport with a charming, but totally mad, driver called Oscar. Despite sharing no common language, we learned Oscar’s main passions were Liverpool FC, early 70s classic English rock music, not braking for red lights and making his passengers pay for the petrol. He is also either a lifeguard or life-coach, each of which seems equally unlikely.

Caipirinha count: The finally tally stands, like many an English batsman, at just two shy of a half century.  We will count something different in Argentina. Does anyone have any suggestions?  Bottles of Malbec perhaps?

Monkey count: Loads of them in Praia do Forte, little fellows we had not encountered before, not sure what they were (tiny little squirrel-sized things with wizened old faces and long stripy tails – a bit like Yoda after a shrink-wash). We will look them up and get back to you.  Again, we need something different to count in Argentina as we think monkeys will be in short supply.

This is the final blog from Brazil as we fly to Buenos Aires today.  We visited five different states, stayed in nine different hotels / guesthouses and met some very lovely people along the way.  We have barely scratched the surface of this massive country, but if you haven’t already done so, have a look at the photos (soon to be updated) for our highlights.

Heads and tails, eyes, whiskers and a nose....

The latest stage of our tour took us on a long journey to Iguazu Falls, one of the natural wonders of South America, straddling the borders of Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay. Long-distance bus travel is a common way of getting round Brazil, and there is a network of overnight 'sleeper' buses with luxurious, horizontal seats and blacked out windows that shuttle between the major urban hubs. All over the country you can spot these air-conditioned super cruisers transporting their lucky passengers as if on magic carpets - indeed, we spotted several of them through the grimy windows of the battered old portable toilet that we were somehow booked on for our 16 hour journey to the Falls, a night that will live long in the memory, but one we are trying hard to forget.

The Falls, however, were worth the journey. You can visit them from the Brazilian or Argentinian side of the border (we did both), and each gives a different perspective of the falls. A feature of the Argentinian side is the wooden walkway into the horseshoe-shaped mouth of the falls (the 'Devil's Throat'), an amazing experience that photographs can never do justice to. The wildlife was great too, with lots of coatis (raccoon-like creatures) and agoutis (think giant mice) running about the surrounding jungle. The authorities at Iguazu seem keen to promote the falls and encourage all visitors to help push the falls up the league table (in case you though those days were gone) of natural wonders. We didn't bother, but feel free to do so on our behalf.

Next were the Pantanal wetlands, a vast area home to much of Brazil's amazingly diverse wildlife. The birdlife is some of the richest in Brazil, and the region also hosts hundreds of different types of fish, anacondas, giant otters, caimans, capybara and tapirs, along with elusive jaguars. We worried it would not live up to expectations, but our fears were laid to rest when we spotted a toucan in the trees just as we arrived and a family of capybaras cavorting by the walkway just outside our chalet. Neither of us has a good record at spotting wildlife, and true to form we spent about five minutes excitedly trying to locate the source of a low humming sound, only to find it coming from an electricity generator. Despite our best efforts, along with our expert guide Paulo, we managed to see some spectacular birds in our three days (herons, falcons, macaws, caracara, kingfishers, kites, cormorants and Rhea to name a few).  Howler monkeys, a herd of peccary and buffalo were among the animal highlights.  You know somewhere is good when you no longer reach for a camera when a caiman is within five feet. Along with walking tours, day and night boat safaris and horse-riding, Julian also tried his hand at  piranha fishing - basically putting a hook in the water, waiting 2-3 seconds and then hauling up the catch for a tasty dinner. Expect the photos to appear on the blog soon (technical issues notwithstanding) and don’t be surprised if a guest slot on Attenborough’s latest televisual venture beckons us to the small screen.

With the sound of the parakeets still ringing in our ears, we left the Pantanal for Bonito, home of crystal clear waters and river snorkelling. A wrong number printed in the Lonely Planet led to something of a mix-up with our hotel booking when we got here and we demanded our bewildered taxi driver take us to a different hotel to the one that had booked and paid for his services where we had reserved a room. Our complete lack of Portuguese did not help, but some frantic hand waving seem to smooth things over and we were promptly taken to the right hotel where we are now residing -  reading, blogging and waiting for the rain to clear so we can go for a swim.

Highlights: Horse riding through the Pantanal and getting off the Sao Paulo – Iguazu bus.

Lowlights: Getting on the Sao Paulo – Iguazu bus, and Julian finally giving up on the most ill-advised attempt at growing a beard since Gary Neville.

Caipirinha count: 23 (after a resurgence in form over the last few days, we have brought the average up to just over one a day between us).

Monkey count: whose idea was it to count monkeys? They don’t like being counted. We have seen more howler monkeys than you can shake a stick at, so let’s leave it there. We may count something less mobile and easier to spot next time.

She's a waterfall, see the steeple pine, the hills as old as time

This edition of Ryders on Tour is brought to you by our official weight loss partners, Re-heated Rice – (motto: 'how can you tell?')

The last instalment of our blog was brought to you from Ilha Grande, which proved to be every bit as picturesque as claimed in the guide book. Stunning beaches, great hiking trails through the Atlantic rainforest and beautiful waterfalls were all on the agenda for our few days there.

From there it was off to Paraty, an old colonial town on the gold trail which boasts an array of amazing beaches and fantastic scenery, a two hour bus journey down the coast.  (The buses in Brazil are an experience in themselves and vary from air-conditioned luxury with massive reclining seats to crowded sweaty bone-rattling charabancs where the driver will only slow to 20 mph and you have to start running before you jump out.)  We stayed at a place called Pousada Guarana, and only mention here because we cannot recommend it highly enough. The owners (David and Jimena) were so friendly and helpful and went out of their way to make us feel welcome, and it’s a great place with a lovely little pool and homemade cake for breakfast.

Perhaps unsurprisingly (given aforementioned cake for breakfast and an intense heat which us delicate Brits just aren’t used to) we were laid low for a day or two in Paraty with some minor health issues…..  But with some focussed brow-mopping and a day out of the heat we soon recovered to make the most of Paraty.

One of the highlights of Paraty is a waterfall and natural swimming pool.  It’s a fantastic spot that features a slick rock face which makes a great natural waterslide. The locals have mastered the art of surfing down on their feet before crash landing in the pool at the bottom. It’s amazing, if slightly terrifying to watch, we even saw one guy go down wearing a blindfold while skipping with a vine! We weren’t quite that brave but did try the more sedate ‘sitting down’ version of the slide.  While it won’t be featuring on any adrenaline videos, it was still a challenge to do it with any degree of dignity and keen observers may have noticed that both Ryders appeared to 'pop out' in various ways.

We are now spending the night in a ‘mid-range’ hotel (mid-range in this instance meaning we have to take turns to stand up) in Sao Paulo before heading to Iguacu Falls on the overnight bus tomorrow.  We have left most of our luggage in Sao Paulo bus station in what looks like an old fashioned swimming pool locker (complete with token and a key with the orange end). We assume it will still be there in the morning, unless some 12 year old kid in Speedos makes off with it.

Our first impressions of Sao Paulo are of a sprawling city where you take your life into your own hands just crossing the road.  Pedestrian crossings seem to mean something else here, if only we could work out what. It is also a city of contrasts, flash apartment buildings and shopping malls abound, but there are also signs of the grinding poverty that Brazil was once known for.  Even in the most affluent areas you see people searching the rubbish looking for cans to collect and return for a few reais.

It is fair to say we haven’t picked up much Portuguese along the way, instead resorting to pointing, holding up fingers (for some reason no-one seems to understand our pronunciation of the word for two) and just generally looking confused.  This approach has worked to a point, although when we tried to check in to our hotel today the woman on the front desk kindly proffered a phone card.

We expect to head into Argentina in the next few weeks, starting in Buenos Aires then heading down the coast towards Patagonia, so if you have any tips for us then leave a comment on the blog, we are in your hands!

Highlights: Lopes Mendes beach in Ilha Grande, a beautiful beach and a memorable hike through Atlantic rainforest.

Lowlights: some minor financial issues which saw Julian’s entire bank account wiped out by some ingenious, if not slightly fraudulent, card cloning. (We are secretly hoping they have cloned his identity too and by the time we return to the UK they will have found him a job and finished decorating the house). In the meantime, if you hear stories of excessive partying in Rio, you know who's bankrolling that particular shindig - it should stretch to a sausage and cheese on cocktail stick platter and a four-pack of local - not imported - beers. Enjoy it lads.

Caipirinha count: 15 (this has slowed slightly due to ‘unforeseen circumstances’)

Monkey count: 12 (approx.) marmosets frolicking on the trail on Ilha Grande.