RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL - 15 September, 2002
It was way into the flight that it finally sunk in that I was heading towards my third continent and I would be almost halfway across the world from where I had started. The cultures would be really different. And back to places where one COULD NOT flush paper down the toilets. Excellent.

I studied every piece of luggage that popped out onto the carousel until there was no more. I thought history was repeating itself when I finally spotted my backpack lying on the floor at a corner. Someone had hauled it out earlier and left it there. Phew...

I got a bus plus did some walking to get to my hostel which was located at Urca, right below the Sugar Loaf Mountain. If you stood at the yard and looked at the back, you would see the wall of the rock that was the Sugar Loaf Mountain. Yeah...excellent location.

Well, apparently, there were loads of buffet-by-weight restaurants here in Brazil and these were excellent deals in that you could see what you might like to eat. No need to point and pray. I soon found myself munching my first Brazilian meal in one such place.

Now, when in Rio, where was the first place to head to (after satisfying your stomach, that is)? Naturally, Copacabana Beach. It was the most famous of all beaches in Brazil, a curvy stretch lined with the most beautiful bodies of Brazil.

Yummy men and teenage boys in tiny trunks were strutting around, playing soccer or surfing in the waves. Incredibly fat-free women were lounging around in the world-famous micro-bikinis the size of postage stamps. Their evenly-tanned, flawless bodies were so taut, one could bounce a centavo off them. I had to know the brand of anti-cellulite gel these girls use.

I was sitting in the sand, soaking in the sun when a group of boys aged perhaps between 10 to 15 surrounded me. The apparent leader of the gang looked at me with dead eyes and touched my bag. I got up and walked away.

I stood near a mother with two kids. The boys surrounded me. The leader grabbed my bag while another boy reached for my wallet. As my wallet was connected to my pants with a coil, he couldn't run away with it. I turned around to see the surprise look on his face as he stared at my wallet and the coil. I tugged my wallet and bag back.

The boys continued to advance towards me in a menacing way. "Stop it!" I shouted at them. "Stopit..." The leader mimicked me. Some people were starting to stare. The mother with two kids held on to her kids tighter.

I decided to walk away firmly. I was afraid they might grab again or follow me. But by then, a guy had started shouting at them. Thank goodness! I looked back and he waved me on, telling me to flee.

Sheesh... What a crappy thing to happen on my first day in Rio. It made me very aware that in South American cities, I really had to be extremely careful.

I stayed on at the beach as I refused to let the event spoil my day.

There was a group of capoeira performers. This was a sort of fight-dance. There was a group of musicians playing local instruments, like berimbau (a stringed instrument that looks like a bow, with a round-container-looking thing at the bottom) surrounding two 'fighters'. These 'fighters' used gentle high-kicks and low-sweeps, slo-mo squirming around the ground and swaying from side to side to avoid each others' blows... all to the rhythm of the music. It appeared the 'fight' was mainly NOT to hit each other and yet, was coordinated in a dance style that they almost hit each other. This had its origins from Angola, Africa and used to be banned by the slave-masters as it was a sort of rebellious act. It was actually banned from the streets for a long time thereafter and only resurrected recently. I was not a good judge yet but this group here seemed very good.

RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL - 16 September, 2002
I made my way to the Bolivian Consular this morning. A lady came out to inquire what my business was.

"Fala Ingles? (Do you speak English? - in Portuguese)" I queried. "Nao. (No.)" "Er...?habla Espanol? (Do you speak Spanish? -- in Spanish)" I tried again. "Si. (Yes.)" Of course she could, she was Bolivian.

OK, now I had to explain my whole Bolivian visa saga in Beijing and London in pidgin Spanish to her. I took a deep breath and went haltingly... "En julio, fui a la embajada de Bolivia en Beijing a aplicar mi visa autorizacion. Soy Singapurense..."

Soon, she was nodding away and trying not to laugh. She appeared to be trying her best to politely stop me as I prattled on into oblivion. She disappeared into the Consular's office. I waited a while and the Consular came out personally (most likely because he could speak English) to explain to me that I should return in three weeks time because my application status was still pending. Okay, muchas gracias. Like the Consular in London, he was also a very 'simpatico' (nice) guy.

Moran, an Israeli girl, from my dorm was fasting because of a Jewish religious day yesterday. She needed to fast until 3pm today. Still, when I told her I was heading to the Sugar Loaf Mountain, despite being weak and having no energy, she wanted to join me.

The view up there was spectacular. Need I say more? Rio de Janeiro indeed had the most beautiful setting in the world - between ocean and escarpment. I wandered around, totally in awe of every view-point. The distant sky looked a little smoggy but Rio, from every angle, was truly stunning.

By 3pm, we treated ourselves to an all-you-can-eat buffet in a fancy restaurant, where the waiters kept coming to our table with skewers of awesome, barbecued meat and carving them off onto our plates endlessly. OK, I didn't deserve this treat... I did not fast for a day. Moran did. But it was really gorgeous food.

RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL - 17 September, 2002
Rio de Janeiro is famously beautiful and loads of people want to live here. On the narrow strip of flat land between mountains and beaches, buildings, offices, apartments, private condominiums, etc... were built up very densely. Between Copacabana beach and Morro de Sao Joao and Morro dos Cabritos (the mountains behind Copacabana), for example, there was only room for four main roads. Traffic was horrendous along the avenues here.

Meanwhile, on slopes of many mountains, arose slums or shanty-towns or what the locals call - favelas.

Deepa, an Indian-English roommate and I joined such a favela tour today. There were 600 favelas here in Rio. Most had never seen tourists so it was best to join a tour and never head out there alone.

We visited Rocinha, the largest favela in Rio. This was managed by drug-lords. Ironically, because they were managed by drug-lords, the number of robberies here was zero. This was because the drug-lords did not want trouble with the police and wanted to be left alone to do their business... and the locals had better respect the drug-lords if they wanted to live longer. Hence, no robberies. We could walk around with our expensive cameras hanging off our necks, we were told.

We could smell cocaine and marijuana in the air. There was a sort of energy in this favela. We heard a fire-cracker's 'boom' and was told by our guide that it was informing people down by the beach or whatever, that a new load of drugs had arrived and they could pop by to purchase. There were young runners stationed at the entrance of the favela, getting orders and retrieving the goods. These guys could earn up to 10 times the minimum salary eventually but they hardly ever lived beyond 18 years of age.

In a way, a favela, while they looked a little run-down and had the reputation of being poorly-provided for, was actually quite the opposite. There were banks, groceries, McDonald's, doctors, dentists, postal offices, etc. Thoroughly self-sufficient. Why not? There were reputedly 170,000 residents living here who would be using these services.

They had water (which they needed to pump), electricity (though many tapped illegally from the power poles), garbage bins (which were collected, mind you) and importantly, road signs.

These essentials were fought for and provided by the 'management' of the favelas. If they had a problem, they created the solutions. They did not sit around and wait for the government to help. For example, as the roads were hilly and steep, gangs of taxi-motorcyclists had set up a business of transporting people up and down the roads.

The road signs, I mentioned earlier, meant that the people living here would now have an address. They could apply for jobs, apply for a driver's licence, apply for electricity, etc... Imagine, if they had no address - "Er.... Where do I live? You know, if you go up this road, at the second hairpin turn, you will see a house with blue shutters (that's my uncle's house), turn right and walk straight, and on the third left turn, head down the steps and you will see Fernando's Lanchoette... count the fourteenth house from there...that's where I live."

A huge proportion, up to 80%, of the people living in the favela were regular working folks, who had absolutely nothing to do with drugs. They chose to live there in order to be near to their jobs.

Favelas could pop up anywhere. Rocinha, for example, was right next to the most expensive and prestigious private school in Rio de Janeiro. Another one we visited was right by an exclusive golf club. Such was the density of Rio. This favela had a wall where they painted 'WELCOME' in different languages, meaning to tell us tourists that they welcome us (although we should still never head out to favelas alone) and they hope we would be ambassadors to change the reputation of favelas. I noted there was no 'WELCOME' in Chinese and wrote one for my guide. He assured me it would soon be up there.

RIO DE JANEIRO to SALVADOR, BRAZIL - 18 September, 2002
Deepa and I took the 26-hour bus-ride to Salvador, up in the North in the state of Bahia today. I dreaded to think how I could spend 26 hours on a bus.

To my surprise, the buses in Brazil were very well-equipped. And this luxurious bus we were on was ISO-9002 certified. The seats were spacious and there was loads of room in front, much like Business Class seats on airplane. There were calf-rests which you could pull down and rest your calves. Goodie-bags with snacks, biscuits and jam were provided. There was also personal head-phones for the movies. The windows were tinted so dark that I could not read even in day-time, all for the supreme comforts of the passengers.

It was really quite easy to pass the time, I must say...

SALVADOR, BRAZIL - 19 September, 2002
We arrived in Salvador at about 3pm in the rain. Our favela tour guide had told us it never rained in Salvador. How wrong he was.

After settling ourselves in Pelourinho, the well-restored old city centre, we headed out for a walk and encountered a group of boys making music known as Oludum. This was music, with African origins, created from various sorts of drums. The music had great rhythm and 'oomph'. The drummers looked like they were having the best fun.

Salvador was turning out to be very vibrant and spontaneous, with loud booming music everywhere. It had quite an Afro-Brazilian culture here, unlike in Rio. The majority of the people here were of African origins. Naturally, there were mestizos and mulattos but I hardly saw a white Brazilian whom I could say was a local. I guess that was how the racial mix was like up north in Brazil.

Well, unfortunately, we could not really enjoy the night-life of Salvador tonight as it rained incessantly for the rest of the night.

SALVADOR, BRAZIL - 20 September, 2002
Deepa and I meandered more around town today. Salvador's Pelourinho was quite touristy. We learnt that this previously downtrodden district had been restored and cleaned up for tourism's sake. Shops along the streets here mostly sold tourist souvenirs. These houses were plastered up evenly and painted in all sorts of pastels shades. Police were stationed at every corner to protect the area.

Once out of the immediate district, we saw crumbling buildings, cracked walls, peeling paint-work, foliage-covered walls, broken windows, lopsided balconies, missing shutters...

Capoeira, as I had explained earlier, was resurrected here in the state of Bahia. So, naturally, I expected to see some fighters-dancers out for a 'play' here. Deepa desperately wanted to see one. She had not seen one before. So, in the end, she paid and went to the capoeira school to see it. I wandered around the street and by night-fall, at the main square, as predicted, there was a circle of capoeira players so I watched for free.

This evening was perfect. The near full-moon was breathtaking in the clear sky. We sat al fresco at the tables set up on the uneven roads, amongst the pastel colonial houses and enjoyed some 'live' music and drinks. The entire town was alive with locals, not just tourists, enjoying their share of music and drinks for the evening. Every bar or restaurant had loud music like samba or oludum playing.

In a very humble local eatery that did not even have a menu, the locals broke into spontaneous dancing. And what I meant by locals here were fat, aging, tubby aunts and uncles. Not the slim and skimpily-clad youths. The energy in this town was electric.

At some corners, typical in this state, women in white Bahian, bouncy, lacy dresses and white head-wraps (they looked like they were wrapped in layers of doilies, actually), were sitting and deeping-frying Bahian snacks in oil. Surely, your road to heart attack.

SALVADOR, BRAZIL - 21 September, 2002
We visited a Candomble session tonight. It was quite an experience. This was a religious ceremony where they communicated with their gods and baptized a boy of 12 years.

The men were in charge of the complicated drum-beats (sometimes with hands for a god, and other times with drum-sticks for another god) and provided the main singer.

The women (and a few men) danced slowly in tiny movements in a circle in the yard. The floor of the yard was strewn with a type of leaves.

The dancing, singing and drumming went on for hours. Some younger, inexperienced disciples (who had to dance with their backs hunched and heads hung low) might fall into a trance earlier. A girl did that, actually. She had to be led out and revived because it was not the time for the trance yet.

The 12-year-old boy was brought out first covered with white dots to immune him against illnesses. Later, he was brought out again, covered with yellow, pink and blue dots. We were to throw the leaves at him as he passed by.

Slowly, the women and the disciples entered into a trance and the main matriarch of the event started hopping on one leg at some point, which meant she was possessed by a particular god called Ossain who was painted on a picture as hopping on one leg.

They were watched over and guided by some mentors who were not in a trance, just in case the entranced got a little lost in their walking or started grabbing their jewellery and hurt themselves.

Then, with their eyes closed, the entranced swooped out of the yard one by one, somehow knowing where the open gate was.

After a very long wait, they returned with very colourful costumes, with bright blue, yellow, red, sequined-dresses and head-gears which had beads or shells draped across their faces. They held implements on their hands like axes and metal-snakes.

OK, we did not always understood what was going on. It was very complicated. Many gestures steeped in meanings. It was also very long. It started at 10:30pm and lasted beyond 1:30am when we left. No way they faked this for tourists. This was a religious ceremony and was not widely promoted as a tourist event. Still, I appreciated it and found it interesting. Some tourists had looked very bored with the repetitive dancing, gotten fed up and left in taxis earlier. Well, this was not a performance for them to like or dislike. This was a complex ceremony which had its origins from Angola and Nigeria, with too many things beyond our understanding.

SALVADOR to LENCOIS, BRAZIL - 22 September, 2002
Deepa was an art student. And she wanted to do some sketches today to while away the time. Hmmm... I had bought a sketch-book in Irkutsk and I last used it on the Trans-Mongolian Railway. Yeah, I would crack mine open too.

We spent the day, idling around and sitting at the square, sketching the local people. It was awkward for me not to include details for the sketches. No way I could include details as the people walked away or changed positions ever so often.

We had been eating at buffet-by-weight restaurants (cheaper) in Salvador but the food was unexciting and sometimes, not very fresh. So, as our last day together in Salvador, we decided to treat ourselves and order a la carte.

I only realised this much later, but most of the items on menus in Brazil were for two people. But we did not know it then, and she ordered fried fish and I ordered a Bahian speciality - Ximxim de frango (that was chicken cooked like a curry and swimming in dende oil). Dende oil, a local ingredient here, is s-t-r-o-n-g stuff. So, when I expire due to a heart attack later in my life, as my whole life flashes before me, I would surely recall this afternoon, sitting under the Salvador sky, eating chicken cooked in dende oil.

So, imagine our surprise when the food was served with rice, salad, beans, and portions big enough for a party! We were embarrassed by the decadent display of such copious food and proceeded to partake of it quickly before more people saw us. We did not do a bad job by finishing up all the fish and ¾ of the ximxim.

That night, we parted. I headed to Lencois tonight while Deepa travelled south to Caravelas for whale-watching.

LENCOIS, BRAZIL - 23 September, 2002
Lencois, a small, quiet town, was set in the wooded mountain region, west of Salvador, near the Parque Nacional da Chapada Diamantina. The main tourist business here was offering trekking and day-trips to the rivers and waterfalls in the National Park.

I arrived at, maybe 5am. Stumbled off the bus groggily and into a group of hotel and tour touts. Many asked if I wanted to do trekking today? Were they crazy? I hardly slept a wink last night on the 6-hour bus-ride with the air-conditioning set to full-blast. All I wanted to do now was to find a place for a nap.

A guy said free transport to wherever I wanted. No way... He insisted. OK, I got into his van, telling him the name of my pousada. Naturally, he drove me to another and suggested this was better, for the same price, no mosquitoes.

No, thank you. You said you would take me to wherever I wanted. "No problem, no problem..." he drove on and dropped me by the pousada that I wanted. "Maybe you [sic] join our tour today. We go to [sic] Glass waterfall. You can meet at Hotel Alcino at 8:30am. Maybe.... yes? Hotel Alcino..."

I could not remember what I uttered. A trek to the waterfalls at 8:30am today??? He was so kidding me...

I slept til way after 11am. The guy at my pousada asked what kind of tour I was interested in today. "Hoje? Nao.... Hoje tranquilo, tranquilo... (Today? No... Today tranquil tranquil.)" I told him.

I was keen on the 3-day tour to the Cachoeira da Fumaça, also known as the Glass Waterfall. At 420m, it was the second highest waterfall in Brazil. He said he was not sure if there would be a group. I would be able to know by 8pm tonight.

I headed out. Lencois, after Salvador's loud and wild music, parties late into the night, and reputation for mugging, was incredibly quiet and felt thoroughly safe. Birds were chirping. The town was tiny, sleepy and magically silent.

I walked around and sat around without anyone really paying any attention to me. People were friendly but a little restrained... if I managed to get eye-contact and greeted them. It was really different from Salvador. So sleepy. So tranquil. It wasn't long before I wanted to head back to my pousada to nap again but I willed myself against it. A man was crushing up sugar cane in a rattling machine to squeeze out sugar cane juice. I got myself a cup for a perk-me-up.

I headed down Rio Lencois. The riverbed was a reddish mass packed with round, white, yellow, pink rocks. It was a very unique and beautiful landscape. Locals were washing their laundry and swimming in the pools with brown water. It was gorgeous. There were small waterfalls here and there. Some pools were so deep, the locals plunged head-long right in.

By night, there was indeed a group formed - Malte from Germany, Egor and Carolina from France and I. We met our guide Crispian who could only speak Portuguese, and was sort of briefed about what to pack for tomorrow.

Gee.... I did not feel quite ready for a trek.

PARQUE NACIONAL DA CHAPADA DIAMANTINA, BRAZIL - 24 September, 2002
After breakfast, we left by a road behind the pousada. It was a gentle walk for a long while before we started climbing slowly up slanted rocks amongst the vegetation.

I had wrecked my watch when I got to Utrecht in the Netherlands. So, without a watch, I had no idea how long we climbed. In a way, it was good. I just concentrated on taking the next step.

The region was surrounded by mountains with horizontal slates of rocks and thick foliage. We alternated between walking on rocks and cutting through bushes. We passed another group consisting of two guides and four Brazilian ladies with huge backpacks. Soon, we passed another two Brazilian men. They looked like they walked into a trekking shop and told the staff, "We want to go trekking. What do we need to buy?" and proceeded to buy a whole lot of gizmos and gears, outfits and gloves, bottles and hats, compasses and more just-in-case gizmos.

Some steep scrambling later, we got to the top of a section with overhanging rock and stopped for lunch and a nap. Awesome view through and through. Straight ahead of me, between two mountains, there was a short length of the horizon all to the way to where the earth curved away.

We walked on for a long time, passing more rivers. The water here was brownish because of the reddish rock mass. We were told the water was safe to drink and so we drank them neat. As we filled up our bottles with the river water, it reminded me of urine, hahaa.

We made our way to a deep plunge-pool and a very pretty waterfall. After all the sweat and workout, the pool sure looked inviting. We plunged in, pronto. I swam up to the waterfall and sat behind it. Hmmm.... It felt just like sitting in the rain.

The two Brazilian men, I call them Dumb and Dumber, arrived in their flashy, long-sleeved trekking top and long-pants and gloves. Imagine, their perspiration had no chance of evaporating and cooling down their bodies. They must be really hot now.

But Dumb stripped down into his swim-trunks and climbed up the rocks to where we were sitting as we dried ourselves. He sat there and considered for a long time, saying that he 'dared not swim'. Dared not swim? Hmmm... if he could not swim, he would say he 'could not swim'. But 'dared not swim'?? Eventually, he allowed himself a short swim and scurried back to shore.

Dumber changed into his swim-trunks and just stared at the pool. He never plunged in. Not even a toe went near the pool.

The Brazilian ladies arrived, in various stages of undress and by the time they got to the pool, their glorious string bikinis were revealed. No stopping them.

Pit-stop for that night was under some overhanging rocks, right by the gushing river. All of us, except the guides, slept near the river, under the stars. I felt wonderfully at peace here, lulled by the sound of the river. It reminded me of the night in Mongolia when Pablo, Goretti, Tina, Jus and I slept by the river.

In the middle of the night, we knew why the guides slept under the overhanging rocks. It rained. In the darkness, we knocked into and tripped over rocks, got a whole foot into water, blundered into walls to resettle ourselves under the overhanging rocks.

PARQUE NACIONAL DA CHAPADA DIAMANTINA, BRAZIL - 25 September, 2002
No wonder the four Brazilian ladies had such huge backpacks. They had something to wear for the night and something different and extremely fashionable to wear for today's catwalk around the mountains.

The rain continued in the morning. But Crispian reassured us it would stop in an hour's time. True indeed, soon, we got our gear together and started rock-hopping.

Bon Jovi was so insightful - Slippery When Wet. The route today involved quite a bit of scrambling, clamouring and balancing on the slippery rocks across the river. Sometimes, there was something to hold on to. Other times, it was a real balancing act. A wrong move, I could slip and smash my skull to smithereens. Moments like these made me wonder why I do such things. One really had to be agile, sure-footed, quick-minded. All the rocks looked slippery - take your pick.

As I made my way precariously on the rocks, strangely, my thoughts went frequently to my teeth. Yeah, I kinda like them. I really do like them a lot. I hope to keep them intact. Then, I remembered my brain. I sorta like to keep that intact too.

Saw Dumb and Dumber. Dumber was drenched to the bones. Ooops, he must have done the slipperoo.

We reached our pit-stop pretty soon. There was a group of hippie-sorts and their molls, smoking joints permanently. The guys had dreadlocks, woollen Jamaican caps and huge shirts. The glassy-eyed girls pranced around in bikini tops. They greeted Crispian with familiarity. Perhaps they lived out here at the pit-stop.

We left our stuff and made our way through more slippery rocks on the river and on slippery mud across the forest to reach the Cachoeira da Fumaça. There was a lot of jumping off and climbing up rocks, using upper body strength to yank yourself up.

Unlike the last forest I was at in Manu, Peru, there was no chorus of singing insects in the forest air. Besides mosquitoes, there seemed to be few insects in this forest. In a way, it was good. That meant we could grab and tug whatever tree, root, crevice, we needed without fear of armies of fire-ants or other exotics running up our arms. At some precarious points, I even held onto blades of grass, like a life-line. Silly, I know.

We reached the waterfall after two hours. I was not so much physically exhausted as mentally exhausted with all the microseconds-long decisions of which rock to hop on, how to climb up this huge one, which root to pull, which branch to grab, etc...

All this to see the second-highest waterfall in Brazil. The water seemed to be falling in slow-motion. Compared to its height, it was a mere trickle. The water also appeared to be blown into oblivion about three-quarters of the way down. Sometimes, the water made it to the bottom and we could see bigger splashes. Still, lying on the rocks underneath, it was a magnificent sight.

The chatters of the Brazilian ladies arrived before they did and stirred us awake. There was not enough room for two groups so Crispian led us back. Along the way, we passed Dumb and Dumber. They again stopped Crispian to ask for directions. Straight ahead, dudes.

Back at our pit-stop, Egor and Carolina found a flat 'beach' (no sand here, just a flat piece of rock) by the river, swam and relaxed. I walked down further and found myself a nice spot - another flat, peaceful 'beach' with small waterfalls and a big area to swim in and no one else. I swam and slept on the rock until it started to turn dark. It was perfect. Just me and my thoughts and nature...

The area below the overhanging rock was smaller, compared to last night's pit-stop. With the ladies, the hippies and ourselves, we barely had room to walk around without stepping on one another's sleeping bags. Yeah, tonight, all of us knew we had to sleep under a shelter. Night fell by 6pm. There was nothing much to do, except to lie down and sleep after dinner. Strangely, Dumb and Dumber did not grace this spot with their presence.

PARQUE NACIONAL DA CHAPADA DIAMANTINA, BRAZIL - 26 September, 2002
Once again, it rained. Unlike yesterday's rain, however, this one did not let up. It poured and poured and poured. Brazilian girls, in yet another set of matching trendy attire, were starting to crack jokes about Dumb and Dumber as they were currently Missing-In-Actions.

We sat on our mattresses and watched the rain. The 'cave' started to flood. I looked at Malte from Germany. His government, recently re-elected too, had some experience fighting against floods in August, hadn't they? So, could he be so kind to try and stop the flood now, bitte?

He scooped some sand and a twig and blocked the area right in front of my feet. Danke.

When I ventured outside for a pee, I was thoroughly shocked by the thunderous river now. The calm and peaceful 'beaches' we were at yesterday were now gone. The rocks we were climbing across had disappeared under the violent cascades. Dumb and Dumber were so not coming back to this pit-stop. There was no way to cross the river today.

At 12:30pm, Crispian told us we were heading out. The water falling in front of the overhanging rocks, came from the top vegetation and rocks and was accumulated and looked heavy. But, once outside, the rain was actually not that bad. We headed up and up today.

Rock after rock, step after step, we ascended without stopping. I felt giddy at times and had to stop for a drink. It was really quite difficult for me. Sometimes, I needed a hoist or a push from behind to tackle the huge rocks. Then, after a while, even for simple rocks, I could not process in my head how to handle them. I tottered like a drunk at some point. I tripped over roots or small rocks. No helicopter rescues, honey. I just had to keep trying.

Finally, we petered out onto flatter grounds at the top. We went through grasslands, now marshy and muddy because of the rain. And also, courtesy of the rain, it was foggy everywhere. It felt like walking in the clouds. We squelched through the mud. Sometimes, my entire boot sank deep in and I had to yank it out with effort and without falling unglamourously into the mud.

We came upon the thunderous river that would eventually become the second highest-waterfall in Brazil. I was a wee bit chicken, trying to cross this river barefooted. Crispian held my hand and got me across. Now, the waterfall we saw yesterday, which I commented was a mere trickle, was alpha-male today. It was a loud, booming, voluminous, authoritative, no-nonsense, giant-of-a-waterfall today. It was an amazing sight! Wee-woah!!!!

After a short time admiring it and freezing away, we returned and went through more swamp-lands, even wading through knee-deep water. Finally, we did a quick run-and-hop downhill all the way to Capao, our destination. We arrived, dead-tired and an hour before night-fall. Phew...

There was a jeep that drove us back to Lencois and I could think of nothing except to get out of my clothes and jump into a shower. What an amazing trip.

LENCOIS to ILHEUS, BRAZIL - 27 September, 2002
Malte would leave for Sao Paolo today and Egor, Carolina and I headed to Salvador. I busied myself, reading 100 Years of Solitude on the bus. I had started a tiny wee bit on the 26-hour bus-ride to Salvador but with the tinted windows, it had been too dark to read. Now, there was good light and I could not put it down. I got through half the book or so by the time I got to Salvador. What a genius story-teller!!

When we arrived in Salvador, like my first arrival in Salvador, it was raining cats and dogs. I bought a bus-ticket to Iheus, leaving tonight at 10:45pm.

Now, what was a girl with 8+ hours to kill to do in the rain, with the Rodoviaria (bus-station) located right next to the huge shopping mall, Iguatemi Shopping? Yes, the girl goes shopping. Well, I have to admit, after about five months of travelling, I was kinda sick of my clothes already and was itching to buy new ones, especially since clothes in Brazil were rather cheap, and not to say, looked pretty and sexy on those Brazilian stunners.

The alleged 'waterproof, windproof, breathable' 20-pound jacket I bought in London, proved itself to be waterproof. Tick.

Questions?
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