I joined in with the foxy dancers on the street
The World Cup might have been over but the samba party was still in full swing, with thousands of visitors in celebratory mode, swarming with ‘cariocas’ (dancers) of all shapes and sizes parading up and down Copacabana beach.
The excitement got too much for Paul who went his own way after Argentinian hairdresser Florencia won his heart.
Initially, I was anxious at the prospect of flying solo but, looking back, Florencia’s arrival could not have been more perfectly timed.
So it was that I found myself alone and heading for Salar de Uyuni. The desert encompasses the world’s largest salt flat and various lakes, which offer an array of stunning landscapes. And I soon realised one simply cannot be lonely here, such is the warmth and easy hospitality of the people – from the kindest drivers accompanying us across the great expanse to the nomadic families who hosted us.
But first, to ease my pouding head I had to adjust to the high altitude that was causing it. I was surprised to see that it was not only ‘gringos’ who struggled to acclimatise as several locals had blinding headaches and nausea too as we crossed the border.
As we split into groups of four and boarded 4X4s to tackle the rough terrain ahead, I was delighted to find our driver, Danny, was equipped with a plentiful supply of cocoa leaves, which ease altitude sickness.
So I was feeling much better when we reached the National Reserva Eduardo Avaroa and savoured the surreal beauty of its green salt lake, which is home to large flocks of beautiful pink flamingos.
Sleeping in basic brick huts with no electricity as temperatures plummeted to -10°C, we scrambled at night to throw on as many layers as possible. Danny had an ample supply of food and the local cuisine did not disappoint as we were treated to saltenas – hot pasties filled with combinations of meat, rice and potatoes – and chairo – a hearty beef soup with potatoes, vegetables, ají peppers, and chuños (freeze-dried potatoes).
Even as we grappled with freezing weather and altitude-related dizzy spells, my mood soared as we trekked further into the desert, with each day bringing the reward of some of the most incredible displays nature can conjure.
The art enthusiasts among us were mesmerised. One captivating scene of a colony of flamingos standing by bubbling thermal springs in the middle of a desert was like something Salvador Dali would have painted.
But for me the climax was on the last day as we arrived at the salt flat in Potosi, one of the world’s highest cities, in southwest Bolivia. It was nothing short of an outer-worldly experience. The endless almost eerie landscape was more akin to a moonscape than an earthly one – and it stretched out to cover 12,000sq.km.
Next along the ‘gringo trail’ was the capital of La Paz, where I briefly stopped before making my way to Cusco in neighboring Peru to see Machu Pichu, the mountain-top ruins known as the lost city of the Incas. I cheated by opting for a one-day tour of the world heritage site, skipping the customary three or fourday Andes treks favoured by most visitors.
Many do their soul searching during this gruelling trek through the valley of the Urubamba River – the Inca’s Sacred Valley – and are rewarded by watching the sun set over the ancient ruins.
However, after some soulsearching of my own, I decided Rio was the place for me. So I hopped on a flight back there from Santa Cruz in Bolivia.
I’ve always been told my rhythm was wasted throwing shapes down my local, so, energised and emboldened after my pilgrimage, I decided it was time for me to tackle the Samba.
Not that it matters how rhythmically challenged you are. In Rio, instructors encourage prospective dancers to join the impromptu street Samba sessions in the city’s nightlife district.
I didn’t need much convincing and felt right at home swinging between the street parties that happen most nights, in the Bohemian downtown district of Lapa.
Here, smiling vendors line the cobblestoned footpaths of the main strip serving up Caipirinhas – a delicious blend of fermented sugarcane juice, fresh lime and sugar – Brazil’s national cocktail.
With a goblet-size glass at just R$6 – about €2 – I thought I’d died and gone to Bossa Nova heaven. As the drums reverberated loudly through the bustling streets until the early hours I joined in with the friendly, foxy female dancers teaching basic Samba moves.
It’s worth bearing in mind that musicians and performers start practising their carnival routines on the streets during the summer for the world-famous February event so Lapa is a spectacle almost year-round. To counterbalance my partying, I joined a walking tour of the favela of Rocinha – home to more than 70,000 people. Although Brazil’s largest favela, its residents have better – but still basic and overcrowded – living standards than favelas further from jobs and services.
It is near some of the more affluent suburbs such as Leblon and Ipanema, which offer work.
Antonio, our guide, explained that Rocinha is pretty much selfcontained, with a bank, health centres, crèches, a college, a supermarket and even a TV channel.
‘Vendors served up Caipirinhas on the street’
Down one meandering alleyway, we were greeted by three young boys, togged out head-totoe in Brazilian football strips, having a kick-about outside their tiny bungalow home.
It struck me that although the people here have little and face horrendous social problems such as gun crime and drug gangs, they exude an enviable energy and optimism that would put us to shame.
Such is the level of crime in Rio’s favelas that the authorities have pioneered police pacification units in an effort to regain control of the territories from drug gangs.
One of my most memorable moments came as we made our way out of the favela, passing a state-of-the-art AstroTurf pitch where aspiring footballers practise. There two local youths gave us a lesson in cool and they cycled by on BMX bikes, nodding their heads to the rhythm of Wiggle, the summer anthem featuring Snoop Doog, blasted from a portable stereo.
And so it was with a heavy heart that I said goodbye to Rio. It was time to explore another continent. I was on my tod again but having samba-d my way through the most exciting city on earth, I was ready for Chile and Santiago, followed by Australia where I knew there would be plenty of Irish to catch up with in County Bondi.