Day 91: Homeward bound from Bogotá

Yesterday, Day 90, was an easy day of relaxing in Bogotá's hip, local neighbourhood of Chapinero. Which meant prowling the streets taking pictures of cycle facilities, like this rather congested cycle path (pic)...

...or this entertaining road sign (pic) that looks like it came from a comic strip. Eek! Crash! Crumbs, that's torn it! But I also managed to graze successfully (and cheaply) on Colombia's delightful street- and cafe-food, fresh fruit and bespoke smoothies.





Today is my last day in South America. I'll shortly be heading for the airport and the long tedious flight back home. The lovely hostel I'm staying in, La Pinta, is gearing tastefully up for the Christmas mood (pic). So here's some quick, final thoughts on my three months round the continent.

Conclusion
It's been very rewarding trip: astounding scenery and views, intriguing customs, food and drink, nice people, rather a lot of wearying bus journeys, plus plenty of mediocre lager. Ecuador was best for jungle trips, Peru for Andes and ancient culture, Bolivia for rough'n'ready backpackerz travelz, Chile for civilisation at airily remote altitude, Argentina for nice buses, Paraguay for smilingly gentle off-the-beaten South American everyday life, and Brazil for spectacular joie de vivre.

But my unexpected favourite has been Colombia, where I started and finished (by economic accident: Bogotá was simply the cheapest way of flying to South America). A country that feels on the up after its turbulent recent past, still with challenges, but full of energetic, educated, friendly people, many of them young and positive. A civilised, proper country, that has a bit of everything: jungle, coast, beaches (Atlantic and Pacific), mountains, thriving cultured cities, a decent and developing food and drink scene – a proper country, that's making strides all the time. There's plenty of reasons to visit other places around the continent, but if I was looking for somewhere to live and work, or study Spanish for a few months, it'd be here.

Anyway, that's all for me for this blog. I'm just looking forward to getting home. That's quite enough travel for now. But stay tuned for me cycling Sri Lanka in January: yep, robsl15.blogspot.com is coming soon...

Day 89: Medellín

Curiously, after yesterday's jokey reference to bike campaigners asking for more generous cyclestreets days, today it seemed that had actually happened. It was a national holiday, meaning the shops were mostly shut, and people were out on bikes taking advantage of yet more closed-off roads (pic). Perhaps I should try joking about winning the lottery.


I spent the day chilling out, and doing a few things you can't do at home, such as watch Premiership football live on terrestrial TV. Being the end of a holiday weekend, all the buses back to Bogotá were full. I was very lucky yesterday to get what must have been the last available seat, thanks to smiling at the nice lady and using my best Spanish. This was my last glimpse of Medellín, one of the many hillside neighbourhoods, seen from the bus station (pic); from here it's the start of a long, long journey home.

Day 88: Medellín, Santa Fé de Antioquia

Sunday mornings in Medellín see a few selected bits of road closed off to traffic so that cyclists can enjoy them (pic) – a mini version of Bogotá's Ciclovia, which I blogged about on Day 4. Cyclists of Medellín, rise up! Make it bigger and better and more generous!


Anyway, I did a daytrip to the colonial town of Santa Fé de Antioquia, 90 minutes away by bus. SFdA was the old state capital before Medellín, and has all the nice olde buildinges and pleasante cobblede olde squares (pic) that Medellín doesn't. It also does a nice line in smoothies made from guanabaná, a kind of custard apple the size of a rugby ball. But rather nicer tasting.


Back in Medellín I took another cable car (a different line to yesterday) up to the hilltop parkland at Arví. It's an extraordinary journey, giving you astounding views of the city (pic) and the shantytown neighbourhoods that cling to the surrounding mountainsides, and today it took us above the clouds. It was more like flying.

Arví park is supposed offer free bike hire, but the system isn't operating at the moment, apparently. So instead I walked in the park for a bit, and saw this (pic). Now, some travellers, townies who know nothing about the natural world, wouldn't know what it is. But I knew straight away. It's a bird.





I walked back to the park's cable car station just in time to miss a ferocious thunderstorm. The cable car was stopped for 45 minutes because of the lightning (with everyone en route stuck in mid-air, of course). Luckily, I hadn't quite got on it to go back yet. I had little option but to shelter from the rain in a marquee (pic) full of stalls selling papa rellenas and coffee and fruit juice and sausages and bowls of fruit salad in cream with nuts on top and everything cost like 30p. It rained for over an hour. Terrible, it was, having to wait. I must have spent nearly three quid.


Once the cable car restarted I made it back to the hostel without getting too wet, and managed to enjoy the lights of Poblado Square (pic), near the hostel, just before it started to throw it down again. Generosity: aha, that's a concept Medellín Cycle Campaign could appeal to, for getting better Cycling Sundays...

Day 87: Medellín

Yesterday, Day 86, I flew from Rio north back to Colombia, and the city of Medellín. One of the world's most dangerous places in the 1990s, when it was controlled by drugs lord Pablo Escobar, it's now a hip and happening tourist place – though still with some dodgy areas. I was worried my hotel might be in one, but it turned out to be full of people celebrating Medellín's Christmas lights, so felt safe and sociable. Some images – such as deckchairs or characters in sunglasses (pic) – betrayed a different Christmas climate to what we're used to at home.


The messages (pic) were nothing to do with the season, but stirring socially responsible slogans celebrating equality and diversity. Certainly there was accessibility for all for food and drink. From the street sellers, local shops and resto-bars, I could buy ice cream, fresh fruit smoothies, a bottle of beer, a kebab and potatoes, or hot pasties, all for 30p to 50p each. How to choose? So I had one of each. And an extra smoothie and ice-cream just in case. I like this kind of economy.


Today I went up Medellín's thrilling cable car system (pic). It's an integrated part of the metro network, with connecting lines – one ticket (less then 60p for any distance) covers train and cable car – and it was packed with locals. It's rather similar to the cable car crossing of the Thames in London, except for the bit about being packed with locals, and being integrated, and costing 60p.


Anyway, it reaches up and over the mountains into poor neighbourhoods, shanty towns really, that didn't previously have access to the centre. The hillsides are covered with ramshackle houses stacked up against each other, most of breeze blocks, many of corrugated iron sheets, and some of wood (pic). German draughtproofers would stare with dropped jaws at the non-existent insulation science here, but with year-round warm spring weather, they wouldn't get much work anyway.

Finally I dropped in to a couple of modern art museums. The central Museo de Antioquia has a big collection of Medellín-born Fernando Botero, famous for making everything and everyone fat. Mona Lisa, Jesus, Paul Cézanne, Pablo Escobar, horses, guitars, fruit: all fat. An information board stresses 'they are not really fat, they are his formal bid for expressing the sensuality of form, for exploring the possibilities of volume and to give monumentality to the protagonists of his visual world'. So here's a pic (pic) of Jesus's mother Mary. A bit more exercise and a bit less cake would make her a little less monumental.

Day 85: Rio de Janeiro

I hired a bike today, which is almost always the day I enjoy most in a city. So it proved: Rio only has one cycle route, but it's a cracker. It follows the shore for about 15km alongside the great beaches of Ipanema (pic), Copacabana and Flamengo. It shows the best of the city – as well as lots of exposed Brazilian flesh, much of it covered with really quite awful tattoos (not illustrated).


Some locals found even more effort-free ways of doing the path than me.


Most of the bike path is segregated, but a few joining bits suffer from the same problems as urban cycle lanes everywhere, such as cars parked in them. Or, being Brazil, double-parked (pic).

The northern part of the bike path gives fantastic views of all the great landmarks, such as Sugarloaf (pic) and Corcovado. The 25 reals I spent on hiring my hostel bike was the best investment I made in all my time in Brazil – and yes, I'm including the friendly local favela yesterday with ultra-cheap beer.

Day 84: Rio de Janeiro

Up Pão de Açúcar today, or 'Sugarloaf'. A dramatic two-stage cable car ride takes tourists to the top of this rocky pinnacle (pic). For experienced climbers, there's also a mountainside ascent. I usually like to earn my beer at the top by getting there under my own steam, but in this case I made an exception.


The view from the top is stunning (pic) – more spectacular even than that from Corcovado, location of Christ the Redeemer, yesterday. You also get an idea of the inequality here, able to see the upscale millionaire beaches and the dirt-poor shantytown favelas in a single sweep: the have-yachts and the have-nots.

From here you also get a feeling for how majestically the statue of C the R looks down over Rio – and how improbable it is that a train and road can get up to the top at all (pic). It's a reminder that miracles do happen – specifically, how mankind can construct bars in impossible places. If we ever do get to Mars, you can bet that the Brazilians will put a bar there. Selling rubbish beer.




The watery quality of Brazilian ale didn't stop me from having one from the bar at the top of Sugarloaf, of course (pic). Well, such a view deserves to be celebrated.


After that I wandered round the hillside neighbourhood of Santa Teresa, famous for its colourfully decorated staircase access (pic). There's lots of colourful graffiti here, too, some of it helpfully in English: 'Caution! High theft area!' for example.

On a sunny afternoon with lots of locals around, though, the pleasant historic centre (pic) didn't actually feel unsafe at all. The only way you'd be parted from more money than you intended would be in one of Santa Teresa's bohemian, artsy bars and restaurants.

Day 83: Rio de Janeiro

My last few days before the next few are being spent in Rio de Janeiro. The Portuguese named it after 'Rio', meaning 'River', and 'Janeiro', meaning 'January'. They're not very good at names, because there isn't a river here, and it's not January most of the time.

It's a lively but cool place, though, full of beaches and bars and people ambling round in sandals and shorts being, well, lively but cool. Its most famous site is the statue of Christ the Redeemer (pic) on the top of Corcovado, one of the many very pointy, forested mountains that surround the city. Even he's wearing sandals.



I went up there today, on the electric cog railway. It's very very steep, and that's just the ticket price. It crawls up 1 in 4 slopes to the top, too. However, the sight of the statue at the top, and of people taking bad selfies (pic), is worth it.


The view down to the city is pretty spectacular, too (pic) – the summit is 700m high. That pinnacle down there is Pão de Açúcar, or 'Sugarloaf'. Brazilians evidently have a sweet tooth, as anyone who's had their oversugared breakfasts and coffees will know.


Back at sea level I enjoyed an afternoon stroll along the bustling beaches of Ipanema, made famous by Antonio Carlos Jobim and Vinicius de Moraes's song The Girl from Ipanema. Brazilians are a bit fatter than when they wrote it over 50 years ago, so now the words might go Short, and fat, and slow and dumpy, / The girl from Ipanema goes waddling, / And when she passes, / Each one she passes goes, / 'Aaargh!'. The red flags were up and you couldn't swim, but the sand was still packed, with locals doing the traditional Brazilian activities of (a) volleyball (sometimes hands-free, football-style), (b) football, and (c) posing.

Day 81: Ilha Grande

Ilha Grande, Brazil's third-largest island, is a delight, packed with forests, beaches, hiking trails, bars and restaurants, domestic tourists, and stray dogs. I spent two nights here, at the hostel whose terrace – on the extreme left of the pic (pic) – overlooks the bay.


There are no cars here: transport is all by boat around the coast, or by bike or handcart on the island's few dirt roads. Everything vital, such as mattresses, gets moved this way (pic). Relaxing is clearly one of the main activities. (There are no banks, either.)


I hiked a few hours along stunningly beautiful trails accompanied by a friendly Brazilian family (pic). They were very interested in knowing about British culture, such as fish and chips. The lad, Vitor, spoke good English and wants to be a chef like Gordon Ramsay. I hope he doesn't start speaking English like Gordon Ramsay.


Our destination was a couple of lovely beaches (pic) where we swam...


...and picnicked on rather sandy sandwiches (pic). I was quite surprised by how out of shape a lot of Brazilians are: half of them seemed to be, well, fat. Clearly the economy really is booming. I wondered if this national weight problem went some way to explaining the recent decline of the once-invincible football team...


...but beach footy is evidently still popular (pic). One chap had to swim into the water to retrieve the ball after accidentally kicking it seawards. He was booked for diving.

Finally, back in the main settlement of Abraão, I could watch the sun go gently down, its golden glow making me very relaxed and happy. Funnily enough, the same applied to the beer (pic).

Day 79: Paraty

I'm now in Paraty, a picture-postcard colonial beach village (pic) between São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro. So it's full of damn tourists. Not even proper British ones speaking English in loud middle-class accents, but Brazilians, talking Portuguese very fast and even louder.


The town's pretty cobbled streets are closed off to cars, which means lots of bikes. Unfortunately the cobbles are too rough to bike along, so everyone gives up and leaves them propped against walls, like here... (pic)


...and here (pic). I did see someone trying to ride along one of the streets, but by the time I'd got my camera out, he'd got off to look for his fillings.


I'm staying in a lovely little hostel right on the beach. This was breakfast (pic) on Black Friday, the day when back home people are queueing to fight each other for cut-price flatscreen TVs. Well, I had to queue a few seconds for my third round of fresh fruit and coffee.


I hired a kayak for a couple of hours (pic) and paddled round the bay, visiting some of the beaches and islands. The novelty of being wet, but warm instead of cold, is one that didn't wear off.


In the afternoon I hired a bike for a couple of hours too, to trundle round the village (pic)...


...and surrounding countryside, where I saw something I've never seen before: a man taking his horse for a walk by bike (pic).

Day 77: São Paulo: Ibirapuera

I spent the morning in the São Paulo Cultural Centre – a place rather like London's Barbican, combining library, art galleries, concert venues, free wifi public space and exhibition areas, one of which featured this fine array of wrecked cars (pic). At least I think it was an exhibit. It might have been the overflow car park, in which case it's a poorer area than it looks.


The afternoon was devoted to Ibirapuera: the city's equivalent of Hyde Park, complete with skaters and skateboarders, a lake, cycle paths (pic), and a gallery with terrible modern art – the sort where you honestly don't know if what you're looking at is a room being refurbished in mid-builder chaos, or an installation. It was an installation. My brother John clearly doesn't know he's overseeing artworks every day.


Anyway, I hired a bike for 5 reals (£1.25) an hour and enjoyed trundling round for a couple of hours (pic). It felt great to be on two wheels again, and a welcome feature of Ibirapuera is the profusion of free public toilets. Brazilian breakfast coffee is just as fast-moving as British.


Another feature of the park is the buildings by Brazil's Oscar Niemeyer, a key 20th-century architect and prominent figure in modernism. This one (pic), for example, which looks like it's just landed...


...and this one, which looks like it's about to close the cargo bay doors and take off. Sadly, I resisted the temptation to try cycling up it.

Day 76: São Paulo: Museums

São Paulo museums very well, so today was my day for looking at exhibitions. First up was MASP, the Museo de Arte de São Paulo. Just as well it's not the Sao Paulo Art Museum. A super collection of top-notch pieces by all my favourite artists, from subversive Goyas to astoundingly ahead-of-their-time Turners to fabulous Impressionists. There were also some that puzzled me a bit, such as this Bellini called Virgin with child, embracing his mother (pic). Embracing? It looks the little terror's trying to strangle her.


Next was the Museo de Futebol (pronounced 'moo ze-oo je foochy boww'). This was only a museum of Brazilian football, so you had to know a bit about the country's footy history (who Pelé and Garrincha were, for instance – amazingly, they never lost a game in which they played together) and also be able to read Portuguese (pic). Which I can't. Some fun videos to be seen, I suppose. Almost as good as YouTube.


Finally was the Pinacoteca, the museum of Brazilian art (full of painters I'd never head of) that also had a wonderful temporary exhibition by Australian (but living in England) hyper-realist sculptor Ron Mueck. Here's an example (pic): the figures really look like they're about to move and speak. He ought to be made a Lord.

Anyway, I'm now back in the hostel and enjoying a complimentary caipirinha (a limey cocktail) which is just as well, because it's raining tropically outside, and thundering 'n' lightninging hard (no pic: my camera might get washed away).