Who's that girl...?

BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA - 3rd March 2010

We made it to Buenos Aires, but more about that later. More important matters have arisen.

Harking back a few weeks, I was somewhere in the centre of Curitiba near the university, sitting in a bar with Luis, Bruno and a couple of their female friends having a fairly animated discussion about gay marriage or something else far too serious for the time and place. Readers of the blog from back then might recall that it was at some stage that evening that I found myself transfixed following a long conversation with an actress who, thanks to a couple of years in London including some time at RADA, possessed a scintillating English accent.

Thanks to some deft recon work by Bruno, it turns out this wasn't any old actress, but in fact was Isabel Wilker - somewhat famous in her own right thanks to appearances on various Brazilian soap operas, but better known across the country as the daughter of José Wilker - an actor whose fame is on a par with Hollywood A-listers over in Brazil. Photos of the two of them, like that to the right, are a plenty on Google Images, and Bruno reliably informs me that the Brazilian trashy magazine scene (the kind of rubbish girls/women with nothing better to do read back home) and their equivalents of The Sun regularly come up with some sensationalised drivel linking her with some Brazilian lad or another.

So it appears my long chat with a random stranger from Rio may have actually been a meeting with someone who, possibly, might become vaguely famous... and if not, at least appears in a whole load of YouTube videos including the below one that - for whatever reason - saw her doing some reporting over in Jordan...

Trains, Buses and the Cristo Redentor

RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL - 13th February 2010

Yesterday evening I arrived here in Rio to be greeted by Rita (regular readers may recall the story of our meeting on Fraser Island) - and seconds after emerging from the bus station's multistorey car park I found myself staring through her windscreen down a long street, somewhere at the end of which rose green vegetation up and up and, atop of this towering hill, triumphantly looking down over the city and its millions of inhabitants below, stood the stone statue of Cristo Redentor - Christ the Redeemer - a monument like no other, that I immediately knew would represent my abiding memory of Rio.

Getting to this realisation involved a fair few journies, however, and my last update from Curitiba ended on one hell of a cliffhanger - we'd had a big night checking out some places that were not so much "exclusive" as "off the beaten track". Long story short, it was 5am before Luis and I were rolling back to his house, and it was 7am when our alarms were going off and we were up and out.

Why, you might ask, would be possibly schedule quite such a ridiculous plan? We found ourselves asking very similar questions, but it was very much a case of one thing leading to another. Flash back to the Whitsunday Islands diving cruise in Australia (where I'd first met Luis and his brother, Guillherme), and conversation about what to do in Curitiba included a "must-do" train ride through the semi-tropical jungle, descending from Curitiba's 1km above sea level altitude down to sea level and the old colonial town of Morretes. Being a must-do, and with the forecast crap weather holding up against the odds, our previous day's tour of the city's sights also included a stop at the train station to book ourselves on the morning's tour train. Departure: 8am. Discussion over whether this meant sacrificing the planned "big night" went something as follows:

Luis: "Maybe this means we don't have such a big night tonight?"
Dean: "Why, what time do you think we'd get home?"
L: "Er... maybe 4 or 5 in the morning?"
D: "OK, so we're gonna have absolutely bugger all sleep..."
L: "Exactly"
D: "Well... we could just man up..."
L: "Perfect!"

So that was that - 7am came with alarm bells ringing and two red-eyed twenty-somethings silently consuming suitably strong coffee; 8am came at we were safely on board the train and safely nodding off to sleep. Come 9am, however, and we were carving our way through some of the most stunning scenery you'll see on any train journey anywhere in the world - for me it immediately sent my mind racing back to the Bangalore-Mangalore train ride up through the Western Ghats back in October. The similarities were everywhere, in the tropical vegetation, the sweeping turns through sheer cliff faces and in and out of dripping tunnels, and all the while views out through lush green valleys, complete with muddy rivers trailing away into the misty distance tens of kilometres away from eyeshot. It is very much a case of photographic overkill, but I had that opportunity snuffed out sharpish thanks to my camera battery dying. Some half decent snaps will hopefully make an appearance on here at some stage... (although I did find the crappy promotional one to the right on Google).

Morretes is a quaint little place - colonial towns like it are found all over Brazil and while the blend of cobbled streets, old buildings and quiet lifestyle is presumably a standard feature, each has its own unique charms. Morretes was nice and quiet on this, a Thursday, but the abundance of souvenir-based shops and stalls made it easy to believe Luis' assertion about the place being rammed with tourists at the weekend. Lunch was a fine affair at a riverside establishment regularly frequented by Luis - sampling the locally brewed cachaça on entry, followed by an excellent mix of local dishes ranging from meat to prawns, all washed down with some ice cold beer. Certainly not the cheapest meal you'll have in South America, but definitely worth the price.

The return bus journey was hella quicker than the train (to be precise, twice as fast), but I would be making up stories of the top of my head if I were to provide any further details about the journey. I barely remember getting on the bus, and remember absolutely nothing else before waking up as we pulled into Curitiba's rodoviária an hour and a half later. With time to burn and refreshed from a good kip, we walked around the city centre - managed to finally pick up a pair of Havaianas flip flops (the ortho-style ones I wanted/need are pretty hard to come by, compared to the normal ones with are sold ten-to-the-dozen in every other roadside store), and checked out the main central square before taking advantage of the city's famed public transport system to bus ride home.

The overnight bus to Rio was booked for 11.30pm, and a few hours kotching and packing left enough time for a final dinner Chez Hanninger, and a final drink with Bruno, Luis and the girls before rocking up for my bus about 30 seconds before it left. Fashionable to say the least.

And then there was the bus. News reports of a landslide on the highway between Curitiba and Sao Paulo, combined with the usual carnaval-related traffic surges between Sao Paulo and Rio, had all in all forecast the 13 hour bus journey taking more like 19 hours. Knowing that Rita would only be able to pick me up after work - around 6pm - this worked out perfectly for me... or so I planned. Sadly, as these things tend to go, the forecast delays were underestimated, and I finally rocked up at about 19:30, knackered (and presumably rather smelly) after a 20+ hour bus-laden extravaganza, and further smashed from the 30 minute walk around Rio's enormous terminal laden with bags trying to find Rita (who, sensibly, was waiting at the "arrivals" hall watching everyone come in. Less sensibly, and for reasons way beyond my understanding, I'd entered through some other door...).

And then we drove out, and I sat transfixed as Cristo Redentor looked down on us around every twist and turn between scenic mountains, golden beaches and raging street parties; all journey-based complaints forgotten as I slowly began to appreciate just why everyone who comes to Rio de Janeiro cannot get enough of it.

Student life again

CURITIBA, PARANÁ, BRAZIL - 11th February 2010

Our road trip back north from Florianópolis ("back" for Luis, Bruno and the car; a whole new world for me) began first with a drive around the northern part of Ilha de Santa Catarina - accompanied for one last hoorah by our loyal Aussie sidekicks. Armed with an excellent addition to his English vocabulary thanks to certain clientelle of Tucano House, Bruno reliably informed us that the north of the island was where "Brazil's rahs" live. It is not hard to see why - the streets are bordered by vast palace-come-mansions running adjacent to the beach, but obviously protected from the riff-raff by towering gateways and spiky-topped fences that give a feeling of The OC mixed with Fort Knox.

We had a walk down the beach and got our one and only "Team Photo" (which will appear shortly), before heading back down the island for an incredibly emotional parting of ways with the Aussies (naturally, we were all in tears). 4 hours up the road - through a mahoosive thunderstorm as we scaled the hills - and we were in the hilltop city of Curitiba, just a shade under 1km above sea level. Yet another wonderful example of Brazilian hospitality came in the form of Luis' mother, who immediately had me feeling right at home with delicious food on the table (including an awesome meat-loaf style dish traditional to her hometown area), clothes straight in the wash, and plenty of good banter. Evening is evening, however, and we were straight out to a bar to meet up with Bruno and a couple girls he knows from the language school where he works/Luis knows through university. Thanks to yours truly, all conversation took place in English, and as the drinks went down and the night went on I found myself in the surreal and slightly embarrassing position of sitting adjudicator in a deep philosophical/moral debate-come argument that, despite its serious content (ranging from homosexuality to parent-children relations to the nature of sex), was taking place in a language foreign to 80% of its participants. A surefire way to make you feel lingusitically inferior.

Somewhere in the middle of all this high-brow chat, however, came the distraction of a bunch of girls singing a Portuguese version of "Happy Birthday to You!" to one of their friends (it never ceases to amaze me how many alternative languages can be squeezed into the same musical straitjacket). They'd all had a few and were generally loving life, but for whatever reason one of them decided to come over and strike up a conversation. Me being English went down amazingly well, and she proceeded to tell me everything she knew about South America to inform my upcoming travels - including "finding herself" in Bolivia's Uyuni desert. Lovely girl, but her excitability soon drew another friend over to attempt to steer her away (I guess she incorrectly thought her friend was annoying us). This latter girl will be remembered for a long time.

I have no idea what the first words she said were, but I immediately was lost for words. She's Brazilian, from Rio, but listening to her speak English was like listening to Kate Winslet or something. I guess it was shock, but I just sat there flabbergasted at this girl who one minute appeared to be like any average girl conversing in Portuguese, but the next minute was talking like a young debutante in Home Counties England. Oh, and she was stunning. It turned out she was an actress - as were all of them - and they were in Curitiba for a few months for a production they were all involved in. Her perfect English elocution made some sense when it emerged that she'd spent 2 years at RADA... but the real surprise came 24 hours later when Luis and I were watching TV - who should pop up in an advert for a prime time serial but the very same girl!!! Amazing scenes... but more memorably, an amazing voice. Arguably, the perfect voice.

Anyway, back to reality and the weather was very much against us, but rain showers would remain the order of the day for the length of my stay. As such, Tuesday saw us take to the city and check out the sights. Most stunning, but for some reason totally ignored by the LPG, is the Curitiba Wire Opera House - a massive auditorium resembling London's Royal Albert Hall in shape and size, but built in the heart of an old quarry, surrounded by jungle and accessible only by a bridge over a waterfall fuelled river, and held together by the intersecting network of wires and glass that allow you to simultaneously feel indoors, but surrounded by stunning nature. 8th May 2010 sees a whole bunch of us Pembrokians graduate, and objectively speaking Oxford's Sheldonian is one of the best places you could hope to have your ceremony. Hearing that Luis' sister's graduation was here, however, made me more than slightly jealous. One way or another, it was clearly a fantastic place for Luis to add some Brazilian Backing of the Bid (right)...

A good walking trek around one of Curitiba's parks saw us encircle a man-made lake and built up a good appetite for another excellent home-cooked meal, and we also had time to wander around the city's Botanical Garden - centred around an architecturally stunning glass house that would be right at home at Kew, and whose two-tiered internal walkways in amongst the palm canopy were a (surprisingly) novel experience. A big Tuesday night was always the plan, however, and we met up Bruno and the girls again before us boys went our own way for a fairly unique sample of Curitiba's nightlife.

As future blogs will make clear, sleep was quite spectacularly thrown out the window that night.