NORTH CAROLINA

I have been a bit pre-occupied to add to the blog for a while, so let's get up to speed. My time in Charlotte was busy, as I had to get all the camping stuff I could not bring with me on the plane due to size, weight or other restrictions. I had sussed out a chain called Bass Pro Shops, so off I went to the local branch. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. The place was the size of Bunnings (Home Depot for you locals) and filled with all manner of goodies. I had to fight with myself not to fill the trolley. I particularly liked the gun section, which took up more space than I thought possible, and where I could have bought an AR15 assault rifle had I wished. The thought occurred to me that the remaining deer, bears, fish and other critters of America don't stand a chance, and anyone you dislike might at best be a 50/50 proposition.

The journey out to the shop consisted of a combination of bus and light rail into the city, then a taxi out to the store and back to the hotel. It cost me less than $2 to go into town using public transport, and $110 for the taxi fares. The good folks at the hotel desk could not tell me how to use public transport, but they were kind enough to call one of their darker hued employees to explain the system. Turned out there was a bus stop right across the street, which nobody knew about. Such is the car culture here. A short wait and I was on a near new bus to the near new metro station & into the city very quickly & comfortably. Reminded me of the time I was the only white guy in sight at a Bob Marley concert in London.

Next came the tricky bit. The bike was waiting for me in Rock Hill, just across the border in South Carolina. I had no option but to use a taxi again, and carry all the riding stuff I needed to bring it back. It all went without a hitch, even getting fuel which is a whole story on its own, but I was pretty nervous all the same about mixing it at 75-80 mph on the interstate and trying to navigate strange surroundings from the opposite side of the road as well. My impression of Charlotte was that the parts I saw were smart, almost too neat and tidy if that makes sense, so I'm not sure if I just got lucky but I really liked what I saw.

So after repacking my luggage for bike mode, & dumping any surplus at the hotel, I headed out onto the Interstates once again. It was time to get the show on the road and do what I came here to do. This time I was heading for Hendersonville, about 3 hours away. About 20 minutes later I was back in Rock Hill, so I knew I had blown it. I had missed my first turn completely! To an outsider, the US system of navigating takes some getting used to. We tend to think in terms of destinations, here it is all route numbers & compass directions. The heirarchy of route numbers is an added complication to the uninitiated. First there are the Interstate Routes, the the National Routes, State Routes and Local Routes, all with their own symbol and route number. Of course these often overlap, so it is common to see a cluster of signs all at once as the various bits converge and diverge again. When you have no idea where you are, let alone which direction you are facing even before you do a few corkscrews at a cloverleaf  road junction, its tough. A guy looking for a direction sign to Hendersonville will cluelessly drive right past a forest of signs saying among other thing, lets say US 74 West, to his eventual demise. And if you ask for directions, they might as well be speaking in Klingon. "Khrrr schmigg arrrrghtt 74W thropppscchhdd - what are you, stupid??" I've got it sussed now but Klingon was bloody hard to start with. I'm still working on the roadsigns.

Nevertheless, somehow I managed to get to Hendersonville and to the home of Steve and Vici Linden, good  friends of Mike and Tina Valenti back in San Diego. The way this trip has unfolded is really uncanny, but it is essentially bike karma, bikers doing what bikers do for each other, as I'm sure anyone who has read this far will understand. My hosts for the next few days live in a beautiful part of the country, and they pulled out all stops to show me around. I am very grateful for their generosity, so thanks again folks. We got out for a ride on the Blue Ridge Parkway, including the summit of Mt Mitchell and up to the top of Mt Pisgah, with spectacular views across the Appalachians. I could not believe how lush and green the countryside is, and how thick the trees and foliage are, and how different it is from home. We also enjoyed some great eateries & a local craft brewery. Small town America may not get better than this, I reckon. One night the bird feeder on the back porch of the Lindens' house got raided by a pair of young bears, who succeeded in breaking it open for the seed. That's something we don't have to contend with in Adelaide. Rodents the size of a car.

I had another interesting experience when I went for a haircut. Actually when I think about it, getting a haircut on the road is always fun! From the $3 buzz cut with free scalp massage which went on just a little too long in Islamabad, to the shapely babe that destroyed two inches of beard on each side of my face in Cusco while I was busy checking her curves out in the mirror instead of remembering the Spanish word for " trim ". This time I thought I had walked through a portal into the 1940's. There was a sole barber about 100 years old and four other guys about the same age in the line up. This would take a while, assuming it is really a barbershop, and not a wax museum. Still, I'm not in a hurry. I took in the decor- this was your razor strop and hairoil kind of joint for sure. For reading matter I could choose between two copies of the bible, a magazine about rifles and a few about pickup trucks. Religious quotes were attached to the walls. I thought better of asking if they had the latest copy of Sushi Today, Naked Schoolboys or a Koran. I listened to the barber drone on in standard barberspeak to the guy in the chair, his voice barely above a whisper, enquiring about last weekend, the weather, next weekend, the weather, etc. Nobody else said anything. I started to prepare my answers. It took me back to a time when the barber was Mr Burns on Kilkenny Rd, where cigarette smoke hung thick in the air and I had to sit on a plank across the chair to get my head at the right height. That hour or so was worth every cent.


Just before I reluctantly left Hendersonville, I got a call from Brian Cullinan. He and Val, Bjoern and Sigrid were just 20 miles away in Asheville, having ridden all the way from the start of the Blue Ridge Parkway. I rocked up at their motel shortly thereafter to catch up and compare notes. Even though none of us had been away from home for long, it was great to see them right here in the US of A after all the dialogue of the past year or so. They had set up their bikes really well for the adventures ahead.

So we headed off in the same direction before reconvening that night at the same motel in Bryson City, where it was drinkies and dinner in a local Italian restaurant. The following morning we would head to Deals Gap and ride the infamous Tail of the Dragon together, with all of its 318 curves in 11 miles.

The Dragon starts on the North Carolina border and runs downhill into Tennessee, and there were dozens if not hundreds of bikes everywhere. Squid central, for sure.That's local speak for hoonville. Down at the bottom, I thought it was hyped up out of all proportion. I thought my ride the previous day to Gatlinburg and back through the centre of the Great Smokey Mountains National Park was a far superior ride, and even the road into Deals Gap from Bryson was more enjoyable. There you go, but the legend is good for business. I suspect the reality is that a lot of guys come to ride the Dragon, but a lot of others come to enjoy the superb riding the region has to offer generally. Sure the Dragon is a nice fun ride, but there is a 30 mph speed limit on it, & there were cops at the top and worse, more cops at the bottom where you can't help cracking on the throttle when the road finally straightens out. Plus, we were all fully loaded up with travel gear. As it happened, Brian got pinged for doing about 41mph in a 30 zone, but fortunately the cop let him off when he saw how much work was involved in getting his registration papers out of his luggage, or I would hope rather when he realised he hadn't caught a hoon on a sports bike out to break the record or die in the attempt, but just a victim of gravity. Our plan is to reconvene in Flagstaff AZ on 18 May, if not before, now that communication has been established. OK, Tennessee is next.

BOURBON STREET

After the paddleboat cruise, I headed up to the French Quarter, which I had reconnoitred earlier in the day. It was going off well and truly, Bourbon St was absolutely jam packed but I think I got there too late. About 30 years too late!! It is first class sleaze, with hundreds of noisy bars, full of people getting (or already) pissed out of their brains, strip joints for people of all persuasions, and weirdos on every corner. Just like the Boaties Tent at the Aussie Surf Lifesaving Titles, really. Didn't go much on the pervading stench of overflowing garbage bins & vomit though, but I'm sure I saw a couple of the Village People in one joint. Nevertheless, in the seventies I would probably have been in there with my ears back, & I probably would have started at breakfast time. (I still dare not show my face in Pamplona after the fiasco of the Running of the Bulls in 1977, & thats all I'm saying).  But at my current stage of life, active participation would have been just pathetic, so I went back to the hotel, kind of cheesed off at the whole place. Or cheesed off at being 60, probably.

I decided that the following day would be much more enlightened, so I turned to more cultural pursuits. I took a bus ride out to two old plantations, one of which was the magnificent Oak Alley, a fairly typical southern mansion, but with the added bonus of a stand of exquisite 300 year old oak trees lining the approach. It has been used to shoot scenes in lots of movies, apparently. Look familiar? Fletch 2 was my guess. I was surprised to find they didn't grow cotton in this latitude because it is too humid, here they grow sugar cane. Remember that, it may come in handy.

 Of course, everyone knows the slaves got a raw deal, so there's no point me going over all that. Suffice to say the living conditions out the back in the staff quarters were pretty rough, yet somehow still better than some of the septic tanks Chris Phillips & I stayed at in the west of Pakistan, or the room I had in Peru last year with no glass in the windows.

Later in the day, I took a stroll around the so called Garden District of New Orleans, where some of the well- to- do built their town houses. I think its fair to say the parts I saw had seen better days. Nice houses, but most are built of high maintenance timber, and with 150 years of tropical humidity, the damage level was high. Also because the whole city is built on a swamp, there are subsidence problems galore, and there is evidently a huge problem with termites here as well, with the conditions being ideal. OK, no more free  building advice, I'm retired, but here's one of the better ones.

I was also able to revisit the French Quarter, and this time I discovered a whole world of culture away from Bourbon St itself. There are many exquisite buildings in the other streets comprising the French Quarter, with lots of antique shops, art galleries, cafes, hotels and residences. It has a very relaxed feel, & maybe because it was a Sunday, there were lots of buskers around, and some impromptu bands playing all kinds of neat stuff, mainly trad jazz, but other stuff too, and most of it was high quality.

OK, good stuff, glad I've seen it, but now its time time to move on. I flew up to Charlotte, North Carolina today, & I have just settled into yet another hotel.  A noticeable drop in temperature of about 15 deg C was immediate as soon as I stepped out of the airport. I will do a bit of sightseeing, this actually looks like a very nice city so far, and a bit of shopping for more camping equipment while I wait for the bike to arrive later this week. Yippee, I don't have to carry that bloody big bag around any more, I will soon be able to actually wear most of its contents & stack the rest on the bike. I look forward to giving the bag to a homeless person to live in, and getting ON THE ROAD...... AGAIN. Blue Ridge Parkway, here I come. There is a chance I may rendezvous somewhere in this area with fellow Ulyssians Brian, Val, Bjorn & Sigrid in the next week or so, if they can get out of the snowstorm that just hit New Jersey & the north east of the country. The weather really is all over the place, unseasonal & very variable. Currently 40 deg in Phoenix, with snow in Yellowstone, and rain around this area. That's adventure riding!

STILL IN N'AWLins

Life was not meant to be easy. Gmail Blogger has just changed the entire format on me, now I have to learn a whole lot of new tricks. Technology gets right up my hooter sometimes, no, make that all the time. Please bear with me while I re-learn how to blog.

Well, I burnt some dough & shifted hotels to get a bit closer to everything. Turns out this is Navy Week, and there are several warships in port, and I note that Britain, France & Canada are represented, as well as sailing ships from Ecuador & Indonesia. The latter two countries probably sent their entire navies, but I don't think we even have one, do we? The Indonesians of all countries shouldn't be here, they should be patrolling the Timor Sea to round up boat people heading for Australia! How come the alleged refugees have no trouble getting into Indonesia anyway? But I digress. There are several American ships in port, & as usual, they let people crawl all over them & play with guns & other neat stuff. The USN aerobatics team, the Blue Angels, stage regular shows above the city, and with 6 x  F/18's you do get "spectacular", no problem! I've only ever seen one F18 at a time at home, we cant afford to buy replacements if they run into one another. Makes the Roulettes with their trainers look a bit tame. Mind you, the security in the harbour is fairly high profile

There are several inflatable hulled Coast Guard patrol boats buzzing around the place, armed with a machine gun on the front. They not only escort ships coming in & going out, they park in front of the Navy ships as well. No doubt to deter would be suicide bombers etc. No more USS Cole incidents around here, and fair enough too. (just flying bullets). I guess if the bad guys get in the first few shots, the inflatables zip around like balloons & then sink.

I am surprised at the size of the ships that can use the Mississippi, at least this part of it, bloody great big ones! Then there are the barges, unbelievably long multiple flat barges connected together, carrying bulk commodities like coal or sand or whatever. It appears these are pushed, rather than towed. It would be like backing a giant trailer, quite tricky I imagine.

The bridge, by the way, I'm pretty sure is the one that Peter Fonda & Dennis Hopper rode across in Easy Rider. I'm still searching for some of the other iconic landmarks in said film,  but I'm not allowed to go anywhere near any knock shops these days, so that makes it tough.







No, you'd be 100% wrong,  that particular establishment was actually a restaurant.








OK, down to business. Last night I took a cruise on a paddlewheeler that looked just like this one below.

 It was supposed to be an evening jazz/dinner cruise, and it was, sort of. Well, it was evening, & there was jazz, and it did go up the river, eventually, after spending the first hour of the two hour cruise still tied up at the wharf while they fed everybody. By that time it was dark & you could only see twinkling lights & not much else. Having had a look around in the afternoon, that was just as well. Its a working port, & not a pretty place. The dinner bit was pretty woeful, I thought. Nursing home food for people who are dentally challenged. Various spoonfuls of unidentified grey slop masquerading as food, with a cupcake on the top, weird stuff indeed. If it was served in a prison, there would have been a riot for sure. Tell you about the nightlife next segment.

NEW ORLEANS, YO-'ALL

To tell you the truth, I have long harboured a desire to visit New Orleans. It probably started after I read a lot of Mark Twain and watched Maverick on TV as a kid. Grooving to Eric Burdon singing House of the Rising Sun, and seeing Easy Rider about 30 times probably helped as well. Carolyn & I had plane tickets & hotels booked for a stay when we were in the US in 2005, but Hurricane Katrina scuttled those plans, & a lot more besides.

I had a fairly early start this morning. I was due to leave San Diego at 8.20 am, Having already discovered the advantages of getting to the airport earlier rather than later,with the heavy security, etc, I had decided to eat at the airport instead of the hotel, but when the choice turned out to be Maccas or pizza, I decided to forgo breakfast. However, there was a bit of fog about this morning, & the plane I was due to catch could not land for a while, & eventually took off 45 minutes late. Consequently the relaxed brunch break I had planned for Houston turned into a breathless sprint down a seemingly endless corridor (lined both sides with food outlets, I might add) to change planes. I was almost the last to get off the plane & the last to board the flight to New Orleans. The pilot was waiting at the door , & said he was just about to shut it. When I arrived, with the time differences, it was 3.30 pm local. By the time I got the shuttle into the city, it was close on 5pm, & I hadn't eaten a thing all day. However, the guy driving the shuttle turned out to be worth the money. He gave us passengers a non stop commentary about NOO AW-lins and its history, in quite remarkable depth, whether we wanted to hear it or not. The commentary was interesting all the same, even if some of the jokes seemed a bit lame, or too well rehearsed. The dialogue was peppered with lots of slowly drawled "Yo-'all" s. So far I haven't established if that's really the way everyone speaks around here, or if he was laying it on for the tourists.

I got a reality check shortly afterwards though. After being dropped in the city, I still had to get to my hotel, which was still bloody miles away to the east. I was carrying a backpack, my helmet & a bag that weighed a ton, & do you think I could spot a cab? Eventually I found one in a side street, with three rough looking black guys standing next to it. It looked pretty banged about, but too bad. When I told them where I wanted to go, two of them just laughed, & the remaining guy said flatly "thirty bucks". Clearly he was the most entrepreneurial of the group. Now I don't even know if he was really a taxi driver, or whether he just stole the cab right then & there, but they were the last words I got out of him, so I'll never know. I had an uneasy feeling that people were watching me & saying "look at that tourist sucker".

Soon we were on the Interstate, and rapidly heading further away from all the things I had come here to see. The landscape turned to slums, burned out derelict factories, abandoned houses, and out on the horizon, several petro-chemical plants. Great! This must be the other three quarters that the French didn't want, & now I know why. Not a real good introduction but hopefully things will improve from here. Maybe moving out of the Post Apocolypse district would be a good start. Yo'all come back now, y'hear.

HIT THE ROAD, JACK

Ok, so when I got to Mike Valenti's place there was a big pile of cardboard boxes in the lounge room. Santa had come early! Goodies left, right & centre, mostly from Touratech. It took about a day to unpack, sort & install all this stuff on the bike, & I have to say I'm pretty pleased with the results. But as I said earlier, the panniers are a bit wider than I thought they would be, but the whole arrangement looks fairly serious.


A few of Mike's mates called in to see at was happening, & it was arranged that we would get out for a ride the next morning. Being a Sunday, we went to "Church", which for these guys was a ride to a bar up in the hills behind San Diego for breakfast. I don't know why the last bit of text is blue & underlined, but this is a voyage of discovery! Anyway,when we got there, there was a bunch of boxer engined BMW of various ages in the car park, which was promising. I walked in the door & immediately saw .........absolutely nothing. When my eyes adjusted to the ambient light level, approximating that of a coalmine on the dark side of the moon, I saw a long row of guys sitting perched on stools at the bar, at least one wearing a cowboy hat. I immediately think they must play both kinds of music in this joint (you know, Country and Western). Actually it was a bit more raunchy, some Stevie Ray Vaughan, followed by some George Thoroughgood, but you get the idea. Over in one corner, there was a table full of bikers, which we immediately joined. I was about to meet the local Airhead (ie boxer engine fanciers, geddit?) chapter. And what a great bunch of guys! It was just like Ulysses, but with some young blokes & a lot more food, a real lot more! I was warmly welcomed, and we proceeded to talk about what bike riders everywhere talk about (that would be bikes, bikes, bike bits and past exploits, some of which might be true), and generally had a good time. We then hit the road, into some lovely stretches of twisties. This road turned out to be bike central, & it was a real good hoot, despite a lot of sports bike riders out to break the land speed record. Call me a chicken, but right about then, I decided I will not bother to ride the Tail of the Dragon when I get to the Appalachians, not if its infested with guys that ride that hard. I'd rather go to a track day, & that aint ever going to happen either. We finished up at another neat little cafe, before turning back to town on an equally good bike road. Yahoo. I had no idea Mike was running around busily taking photos, and of course, I forgot my camera altogether. Look at me, I'm an Airhead already! Thanks Mike.




So now the bike is all ready to go, packed with as much stuff as I could cram in the panniers. I just need to drain the fuel & its ready to be trucked to Charlotte, North Carolina. So I had a little spare time this afternoon, and took a walk along the shoreline opposite the downtown area. There is a maritime museum precinct along here, & there are a number of sailing ships on display, a cruise ship terminal with a humungous Dutch passenger liner in town, and further on the retired aircraft carrier USS Midway. I wanted a look but it was just closing, however, I am tempted to go back tomorrow to check the aircraft I could see on the flight deck.

I then detoured into the city, and it was all but deserted. Apart from a few tourists, the streets had been left to the homeless, and they were plentiful. Some lying inert on the footpath, a few under bridges & in vacant lots, some animatedly talking to the voices in their heads, and one guy standing with his hand down the front of his trousers playing pocket billiards with a spaced out grin on his dial. Well, as long as you're happy....but I noticed everyone was giving this guy a wide berth. Glad it wasn't dark, this would really be scary. Lots of shopping trolleys being pushed around and bins being cleaned out by those for whom the American dream has not come to fruition. Sadly this is commonplace these days in affluent societies, and that includes Australia. If I knew the answer, I'd tell people. There but for the grace of God....

So a couple more days here, then off to New Orleans while I wait for the bike to be shipped east. Did I mention that the security going through the airport in Dallas was the tightest I have ever experienced. Shoes off , belts off, pockets emptied, laptops & phones in the trays, no exceptions. Then through the metal detector then, & get this, into the full body scanner. Legs apart-stand on the big yellow footprints, sir-arms up in the air please sir. It was as though everyone in the crowd, one at a time, had just seen the light. Halleluia brother!! Either that or a very slow Mexican wave. Speaking of which, adios.

USA 2012

Well here we go again. It is April 11 and I have just arrived in Dallas, after a long flight from Sydney. Possibly the roughest flight across the Pacific that I have yet encountered. I was sure I was going to end up wearing my food & beverages at some stage. Anyway, I remained clean, although the jet lag has kicked in already, & I do feel like I have had a frontal lobotomy. On this adventure I have been dragged kicking & screaming into the 21st century. I have a notebook computer and a GPS. The computer seems to be working & the GPS must feel like I do, because it took quite a while to work out it was in a different country. But my Travelsim phone card is not working at all. My antique 4 year old Telstra phone won't handle it. Well if Telstra think they are going to collect another Global Roaming jackpot for a few modest phone calls, they can get stuffed. I wont use it at all. Email only please. Or write me a letter.


Dallas airport is intimidatingly large, & pretty busy as well. I broke into a sweat just walking to the front door of Terminal 85A or whatever. The driver to the hotel wasted no time in telling me that the airport here is bigger than Manhattan. I thought he meant bigger than JFK, but no, he meant Manhattan, apparently. Well this is Texas! He also asked if I was from Sydney, but changed the subject back to how big Texas is when I said I was from Adelaide. Adelaide.... A-d-e-l.... Still not sure what to make of that conversational tack. Anyhoo, back to the airport after a good sleep, & tomorrow I get to fly to San Diego.

THE LAST POST: COPACOBANA & RIO´S UNDERBELLY

Copacobana Beach. Its not all beer & skittles here, you know. For a start, I don´t play skittles at all. The actual beach is a beaut, even by Aussie standards. The suburbs of Rio are separated by large, weird shaped mountains which acted as natural barriers. Until they started to put tunnels everywhere.



The main streets of Copacobana are softened by trees, which gives a kind of Euro chic feel to the place.


But it can be bloody hard to find a park!! The parking racket appears to be controlled by local parking chiefs (I dont know what else to call them) who appear to direct operations on their little patch of kerb. I have made a detailed study of this operation while perched on one of the beer keg tables at the Belmonte. A fat guy with thongs is the local boss on this corner.



This is my local. I think I am now a part owner of this establishment. Several very late nights were enjoyed by our group right here. But I dont like the way they run a tab, instead of pay as you go. You almost think its free grog, until you get a humungous bill approximating the national debt, just as you want to go home. But you dont care......... until the next morning.



Even getting home is tricky. Most of the streets have this mosaic tiled surface on the footpath. It probably looked great when it was new, but now it is uneven & slippery.

Just about every building has serious security fencing at the front, with locked gates, & often a security guard as well.


It must be like living in a zoo, I expect.

Ok, thats the end of the photos for the time being. Friends, I have just had an un-nerving experience. As all my group has now left, I decided that today Sunday, my last day in Rio, would be devoted to cultural pursuits, rather than drinking & babe watching at the waters edge. So last night I got out the maps & the Lonely Planet, & plotted a course to the St Theresa area of the city. There I hoped to catch an old tram which winds its way through an older section of town, allegedly similar to the older parts of San Fransisco. And what better time to check it out than on a quiet Sunday morning, right? Wrong, as it turned out. The map showed the line would go close to several favelas, the local name for slums, which are definite no go areas, but that just makes it a bit more exciting, & maybe Ill take a few hard to get photos from the relative safety of the tram. I awoke early to the sound of steady rain. Damn it, but at least it will wash the streets clean of the all pervading dog wee odour.

By the time I had finished breakfast it had eased up a bit, so I walked to the nearest Metro station. I stated my destination to the ticket clerk & was given a plastic credit card in exchange for 3 reals. What is it with credit cards in this country? Another WTF moment as I tried to use the thing to get past a turnstile. After trying about every way I could think of, someone else finally turned up, & showed me how. You put it in a slot & the turnstile keeps it. Who would have thought. Great, that means I can stay on the system for as long as I want, because they dont collect tickets at the exit, & nobody knows where I got on! This is essentially how I was able to consistently defraud the London Underground for a whole year in 1977. Bewdy, the Green Man is back!

The euphoria lasted about 4 stops, until a black bloke got in & addressed the entire carriage in a loud voice. Eye contact was being averted by everybody, especially me. The rant lasted about a full minute, & of course I had no idea what he said, but it had the desired effect as many of the passengers squirmed uneasily then dropped money in a box the guy was carrying. I began to feel uncomfortable, as I stood out like you know whats. Had I just witnessed an act of robbery, extortion or charity? No idea, but fortunately my stop was next, & off I got. I was now deep underground, & in following the exit signs, noticed that several of the possible exit routes were cordoned off, including the one I wanted. I also noted that I was pretty much alone. Does anybody work here or what? When I finally left the station, I was totally disoriented, & in walking around the block to find the street I needed, I noticed I was alone again, this time in a vacant laneway strewn with rubbish, apart from a bloke looking at me & swinging a bike lock on the end of a chain, and talking to the voices in his head, quite loudly. Oops. Quick reverse into another lane, where another guy was breaking a lump of concrete into smaller pieces with a metal pipe. Not sure why, but he was a busy man & didnt see me. Another reverse had me in a main street. Across the road two cops had stopped their car & were talking to a group of five young black blokes. The last thing I wanted to do was pull out a map & gawk at it. There didnt seem to be anyone else around, not even many cars, and I suddenly got a very bad vibe as I remembered I had my valuables in my backpack, ie money, tickets, passport, camera, the lot. And at the odds of 5 to 1, I was on the losing side. Bugger, why didnt I leave that stuff at the hotel? Thats right, because the safe doesnt work. Why didnt I do this on a weekday when the city was populated? Because I was too busy sitting in the Belmonte sinking beers & reliving the trip with my travelling mates. By now I was on full alert. Could I make it any more obvious that I was an idiot, a vulnerable gringo carrying a basket of goodies, who didnt know where he was ? Well, perhaps if I was wearing a flourescent orange body suit, with a bag over my head, & throwing bundles of 100 real notes into the air, yes I could. Bugger the tramride, I scurried back to my adopted home of Copacobana with all speed.

Brazil has a bad reputation for high crime rates. This had been self evident from the moment I crossed the border from Argentina 2 weeks ago at Iguacu. Most the houses there had high fences, some topped with an electrified barrier, and large security gates. Windows & doors are invariably screened off with bars, grilles, etc. I believe gun ownership rates are high too. Well, there must be a reason for it. And in Copacobana, & Ipanema, safe areas, the front of just about all the buildings have very heavy duty steel rail fences & gates, while there are security guards outside nearly every large building. Up until last night, my experience had been that these things are pretty much just in the background as the well heeled party people go about their business of having fun in the sun. After checking out the night street market on Avenida Atlantica one last time, I entered Rua Bolivar just as two guys were having a traffic stopping stoush on the corner. They looked either drunk or drugged up, & while it was sort of in slow motion, it showed no sign of stopping as they each landed hit after hit. This was even attracting the attention of the staff & diners at several of the open air restaurants on this busy corner. But there was nothing funny about the sound one blokes head made as it smacked into the footpath. I walked quickly back to the hotel, feeling slightly sickened by what I had just seen.

Sorry to end on a bit of a downer, but after these two events, my second South American adventure is now over, & its time I went home. And at 4.00 am tomorrow (Monday), I will head to the airport, & after enduring the modern day equivalent of torture, eventually arrive home at about midnight Tuesday, if it all goes to plan. Thanks for reading, and Hasta Luego, Amigos.