Tuesday, 5 July 2011

CYCLE TOURING EUROPE - PART ONE

 



40-42 EUROPE - PART 1
1 June – 4 July 2011
1 915 Kilometres - 33 Days



MAP

PHOTOS - FRANCE 1

PHOTOS - GERMANY

PHOTOS - AUSTRIA

PHOTOS - SLOVAKIA

PHOTOS - HUNGARY (2)


EUROPE

An unexpected turn of events sent me from the Americas to South Africa to obtain a European visa. Usually, my route takes me on a continuous path from country to country. Still, this time I abandoned the Americas midway. Albeit not my first choice, it was exciting to make this significant leap from South America. My struggle to obtain a Schengen visa forced me to initially book myself onto a pricy organised tour. This meant joining a group of cyclists for an entire month. The price included the transport of panniers, food and accommodation. There’s a first for everything.

 

1 June 2011

A whole month passed doing zero except eating, drinking and smoking. I was thus itching to return to the familiar routine of biking. Hence, I was ready to scurry off to Paris to meet the tour. My worldly possessions were hurriedly stuffed in a single bag (apart from the bicycle, of course). I’m convinced I’m one of a tiny group of people whose material positions fit into one bag. The tour organisers clearly stated that one could bring 2 x 90-litre bags, but all my stuff fitted into one bag. This made me wonder what the others were taking. I guessed it would soon be revealed what would be in those bags.

 

 

40 France (1)

510 Km – 10 Days

 

2 June - Cape Town, South Africa – Paris, France

At last, I was on my way to Europe via Abu Dhabi and onto Paris. The flight was relatively uneventful - merely the usual hours of boredom.

 

3 June - Paris

Soon enough, though, my flight touched down in Paris, located on the River Seine and home to Chanel, Dior, Louis Vuitton, Yves Saint-Laurent, etc. I, nonetheless, had little use for these stores.

At the pre-arranged hotel, the other cyclists were already busy reassembling bikes in the wake of long flights. With the help of our bicycle mechanic, Gergo, my bike was soon in tip-top shape. My bike lock seemed the sole thing of importance left behind. Marion and Barry (from Australia) kindly lent me one of theirs until I could replace mine. Together with David and Edna (also from Australia), we’d had a bite to eat and all turned in early after our long flights.

 

4 June - Paris – 35 km

The group departed the hotel early morning to cycle to the city centre. The traffic was light, which made a great amble through the streets of Paris. Past the Eiffel Tower, around the Arc de Triomphe and onto the Louvre. Following a coffee break we returned to the bicycles to ride along the bank of the River Seine, ending at our hotel. Our guides, Ricardo, Miles and Gergo, gave a short briefing on what to expect during the following days. Everything looked well-organised, and it appeared we had a relaxing month ahead.

I searched for a bike shop, invested in a helmet and bike lock, and was as keen as the rest of the group to get underway and see what Europe had in store for us.

 

5 June - Paris – Chenoise – 71 km

At last, I was on my trusted iron horse and couldn’t have been happier. We left Paris in a group and I felt like a dork as my fellow cyclists were dressed in full cycling gear, whereas I was in my usual shorts, sandals and T-shirt.

However, it was effortless meandering through the French countryside and past tiny hamlets. Lunch was under trees before tackling the last few kilometres into Chenoise. Arrival at the campsite was early. Being our first day of riding, everyone fidgeted and sorted out tents and gear. The camp was located on a farm with an extremely, as could be expected, French-looking farmhouse and loads of horses, donkeys and ponies.

 

6 June - Chenoise – Troyes – 90 km

Being early June, the day dawned early and the farm animals made sure no one overslept. With breakfast done, all felt energetic and ready to roll.

At Provins, our path veered off to the old walled city with its ancient castle and old houses. Later, we returned to our country lane, past vast farmlands, poppy fields and small settlements. These communities were tiny and highly French-looking, with stone-built houses and pretty windowsill flowers. Things were somewhat organised and orderly in France to such an extent that the villages biked through resembled ghost towns, as no peep came from any of the properties. Even the “riot” encountered was so peaceful the march appeared a well-rehearsed play.

We were pleasantly surprised to find we were booked into a very comfortable hotel. What luxury! Troyes is the historic capital of Champagne, and I was looking forward to sampling some of their excellent sparkling wine.

 

7 June - Troyes

An additional day was spent in Troyes, famed for its wood-framed houses and Cathedral of St. Peter and St. Paul. Word had it, The Order of the Knights Templar was founded in 1128 by the Council of Troyes. Naturally, I was keen to find out more about this mysterious history. Nevertheless, I met no one belonging to the Order but uncovered heaps of Champagne and thoroughly enjoyed the day in Troyes.

 

8 June - Troyes – Val de Meuse – 140 km

Our hotel provided a hearty breakfast; once done, all were eager to get going. However, a nasty surprise awaited as the (locked) bicycles belonging to my fellow South Africans, Evlyn and Alf, disappeared from the hotel’s parking garage. I gained tremendous respect for them as they took this disaster in their stride without making a fuss. They hurried to the bike shop and bought two new bicycles to resume the tour.

While at the bike shop, the rest of us set off on a beautiful path through the countryside with numerous coffee and pastry breaks. Although reasonably cold, the ride was nonetheless enjoyable. When Evlyn and Alf pedalled into camp, their arrival was met with great applause for their strength of character and how they handled the whole fiasco. A few bottles of red wine were consumed, partly due to the cold and partly to celebrate the new bicycles. At 3 euros a bottle, we felt no guilt.

 

9 June - Val de Meuse – Plombieres-les-Bains – 88 km

With great reluctance, I crawled out of my warm sleeping bag as the weather was freezing. From time to time, the sun threatened to come out but to no avail. En route, we enjoyed the famed French cheese and bread; as expected, there was quite a good variety.

Plombieres came with tiny straight-up houses built along the mountainside and a few thermal baths. A small eatery provided coffee before cycling the two kilometres uphill to camp, where we arrived minutes ahead of the rain.

 

10 June - Plombieres-les-Bains – Munster - 86 km

Departing camp was in freezing weather. With teeth chattering, we sped downhill into misty valleys, past vineyards and quaint-looking hamlets. A long climb brought us to a ski resort (fortunately, it was summer), where we ate a light lunch accompanied by more coffee. Afterwards, we descended to the small settlement of Munster, where we arrived with frozen fingers and toes. Two riders lost their way but fortunately made it to Munster.

We slinked into camp reasonably early and enough time remained to wander through the streets of Munster, eyeing the storks nesting on the rooftops. Supper was at camp, accompanied by a good dose of French wine.

 

41 Germany

800 Km – 12 Days

 

11 June - Munster, France – Freiburg, Germany – 68 km

Shortly following breakfast, Alf, Evlyn and I set off on a gorgeous amble past timeless communities. A short ride brought us to the Rheine River. Next, the path crossed into Germany, where we immediately landed on a cycle path. The route led through farmlands, and the architectural difference was immediately evident.

Our hotel in Freiburg turned out especially elegant. Regrettably, I was somewhat ill-prepared for such an upmarket place. It felt claustrophobic in a room where one couldn’t open the windows. I guessed it came from living in a tent far too long. Alice and I shared a room. Alice was a lovely person and a strong cyclist from Canada. She, however, didn’t feel well and turned in early.

 

12 June - Freiburg

A day of sightseeing was spent in Freiburg (situated on the edge of the Black Forest). It’s a charming village with cobbled streets, trams, pavement cafes, street musicians, and a plethora of old buildings. Kids were floating boats in the water furrows and people were out and about enjoying the sunny weather.

Judging by the variety of beers available, one could tell this was indeed Germany. We wasted no time in sampling the various brews. In addition, there wasn’t any shortage of cuckoo clocks, as they originated from this part of the world. Freiburg further had an astonishing number of bicycles.

 

13 June - Freiburg – Donaueschingen – 75 km

A fabulous breakfast spread provided energy, and we saddled up and biked out of Freiburg. The road led partly through the Black Forest with gorgeous scenery. Dense forests lined our narrow path while a musty wooded smell permeated the air. The wood business still appeared in full swing and practically all houses were thus timber homes. The route wasn’t without a climb up a hill or two but came with an equally good descent.

Donaueschingen is the official start of the Danube River, signalling the end of our day’s ride. The town sits at a surprisingly low altitude for such a mighty river. The city is further the start of the world-renowned Danube cycle trail. We biked the trail for a few kilometres before slinking into our campsite at Pfohren. The camp was packed with cyclists, and we met a couple (Tamar and Keith from the UK) cycling on a tandem recumbent bicycle. I was given a ride, which was quite an unusual experience.

 

14 June - Donaueschingen – Sigmaringen – 86 km

From Donaueschingen to Sigmaringen was a brilliant cycle via the Danube cycleway. Here we experienced our first sunshine of the trip. The path was immensely popular and we came across heaps of families with small kids enjoying the outdoors.

Our route passed castles, forests and villages where we stopped numerous times to have coffee. This all added to a social ride with no rush to get to the camp.

Miles was an excellent chef and he again cooked a tasty meal. A drizzle set in, which sent us scampering to our tents early.

 

15 June - Sigmaringen – Ulm – 115 km

The Danube cycleway is a bicycle trail that follows the Danube River. The river runs from its source at Donaueschingen for 2850 kilometres to where it flows into the Black Sea in Romania. The cycleway is a dedicated path for nearly the entire distance. Still, the terrain was far more varied than I’d foreseen. The trail crossed the Danube several times and followed the river in an easterly direction. What an absolute pleasure to amble along this path.

Arrival in Ulm was in good time, and after stopping numerous times for coffee and pastries. By evening, all walked into town searching for an authentic German restaurant. We’d no problem finding one and pigged out on Wiener schnitzel, sauerkraut and Swabian noodles, all washed down with a few pints of German beer.

 

16 June - Ulm

A day of rest was spent in bustling Ulm, giving time to do the regular rest day chores, i.e., laundry, internet, etc. Ulm is home to the church with the tallest steeple globally and Albert Einstein’s birthplace. There were, therefore, plenty of sights and attractions to uncover in this very fascinating city.

 

17 June - Ulm – Eggelstetten – 104 km

To a cyclist, there is nothing quite like a breakfast buffet! Before leaving, we filled our stomachs from an enormous spread of fruit, cereal, bread and cheese before ambling further east.

We must have impressed the owner of a coffee shop with our “Paris – Istanbul” bike signs, as he offered us freshly baked pretzels, which came out of the oven piping hot. In addition, he generously provided us with a sample of homemade sausage before we set out through the forest.

Although the path was clearly signposted, we still managed to pick the wrong route. Not that it made any difference - all routes were scenic and eventually spat one out in the next town.

 

18 June - Eggelstetten - Kipfenberg – 100 km

Due to our early nights, people generally got going early. It felt like I was the only slow one as I didn’t think there was any rush going anywhere.

In general, the group set off together but soon split up as each pedalled at their own pace, taking photos, drinking coffee or sampling the cuisine. Our days took on a comfortable rhythm, except for the weather, as it drizzled most days.

The town of Eichstatt looked worth exploring, but I kept going as by then, I’d lost the rest of the group and didn’t feel like investigating in the rain. Nevertheless, biking was enjoyable, and I reached camp early.

Soon the others arrived, and tents were pitched in a constant drizzle. Fortunately, the camp showers were piping hot and the rain abated later that evening. The cold weather seemed to encourage the consumption of an unprecedented amount of red wine and chocolate. The red wine fuelled in-depth discussions of the world’s energy crisis. As with virtually all good talks, we all crawled in content, knowing we’d solved the world’s problems.

 

19 June - Kipfenberg – Regensburg – 100 km

In a constant drizzle, we continued, which made an excellent excuse to stop for coffee and pretzels. Despite the weather, it remained a pleasure to meander past small settlements, forests and farmlands. We watched barges manoeuvring through sluices while slowly making their way upstream.

Somehow, I missed the lunch spot but noticed a cycle path and continued downstream until famous Regensburg. By evening, all went to a German restaurant for more schnitzel, sauerkraut and Swabian noodles.

 

20 June – Regensburg

Regensburg was a fascinating town with a medieval centre, now a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The old town was crammed with old houses, churches and narrow cobblestone lanes. Apparently, it’s the only intact historic city in Germany. Moreover, the stone bridge over the Danube River was built between 1135 and 1146, making it pretty unique.

 

21 June - Rederenburg – Straubing – 52 km

A short but delightful day of riding took us from Rederenburg to Straubing. Soon after leaving, we came upon a very Greek-looking building, the history of which still eludes me. However, with the short distance, we stopped more than usual to investigate or sample the food.

Chris was the lone racer in the group and customarily finished the day’s ride hours ahead of anyone. Francois (from Canada), Michelle (New Zealand) and Jacky (Australia) were all strong cyclists and usually set a good pace. Barry, Marion and Alice were all experienced cyclists and were typically right on the heels of the fast cyclists. The rest of us trailed far behind.

 

22 June - Straubing - Passau – 100 km

Our last day in Germany arrived and, at last, the sun made an appearance. We had a fantastic day, except for John (from Canada) who had an accident and had to be taken to hospital to have his leg seen to. Fortunately, Barry and Marion were there when the accident happened and could attend to his injuries until staff could get there by van and transport him to hospital. I couldn’t think of a better couple to have with you when something like that happened, as they were caring and compassionate people.

We stopped to have coffee and later for lunch, as due to the accident, there was no lunch truck. Eventually, we rode on to famed Passau, where the campground was picture pretty and fitted with good showers. Supper was excellent, but the rain made short work of this social gathering. A few bottles of red wine helped ward off the cold.

 

42 – Austria – Slovakia – Hungary

605 Km – 8 Days

 

23 June - Passau, Germany – Linz, Austria – 100 km

Edna, Sterling, John, Evlyn and Alf opted for a boat ride on the Danube from Passau to Linz, a scenic part of the river. I felt sorry for John as he dearly wanted to cycle, but cycling wasn’t a good idea with his leg stitched up. John was a university professor from Canada and a wise and kind man, and the last person in the world one wants things like this to happen to.

The rest of us saddled up and followed the river to the Austrian border. Soon, a small and faded sign indicated the border between Germany and Austria.

David and I joined forces and later met up with the others as we stopped to have our usual coffee break. We spotted the riverboat carrying our friends six kilometres before Linz, and we waved frantically to attract their attention. We then raced the boat to its mooring point, where we waited for them to disembark. Afterwards, we all biked the last few kilometres to camp together. Regrettably, no sooner were our tents up than the dreaded rain returned.

It turned out a public holiday in Austria, and all shops closed. Shopping for ingredients to cook was thus virtually impossible. As a result, we ate at a nearby restaurant.

 

24 June - Linz – Emmersdorf – 110 km

From Linz, we followed the river east but turned off to visit the Mauthausen concentration camp. What a depressing sight. Soon afterwards, we made the day’s first coffee stop, after which I set off downstream, powered by a strong tailwind.

We were undoubtedly in the land of Heidi and the Sound of Music. The scenery was sublime, making a pleasant day of biking as the rain held off and the sun peeped through the clouds every now and again.

Sadly, this was Evlyn and Alf’s final day of riding as they were to fly home in the morning. Bicycles were taken apart and boxed, and tents rolled up and stuffed into the bike box. They booked into a B&B and it was sad to see them go as they were very likeable people.

At camp, John’s leg was cleaned and redressed. Fortunately, Sterling was a medical doctor and kept a close watch.

 

25 June - Emmersdorf – Vienna – 120 km

The route to Vienna was particularly scenic past vineyards, cherry trees, apricot plantations and small settlements. These tiny communities were steeped in history and came with cobblestone streets, quaint houses and old churches complete with human remains. There seemed a castle on each hilltop, mostly still in good nick.

Losing the group was no disaster and I enjoyed a day alone. Although it’s nearly impossible to get lost in this part of the world, a few riders lost the official path and landed themselves on muddy tracks. However, we eventually made our way to the pre-arranged hotel in Vienna and looked forward to two days at leisure.

 

26 - 28 June - Vienna

Vienna or Wien, the capital of Austria, is the largest city in the country and was swarming with tourists. We couldn’t have picked a better time to arrive in Vienna. The Danube Island Festival was taking place, and the island was packed with bandstands, food stalls and entertainment.

The city had numerous sights and attractions. I roamed the crowded streets, eyeing the colossal Ferris wheel but couldn’t find anyone to join me. Instead, I enjoyed innumerable cups of their famous coffee. Vienna is home to great music and a person doesn’t have to go far to find piano makers and opera houses.

The old and the new seemed to blend effortlessly in Vienna. Hectic city traffic, old-fashioned trams and horse-drawn carts seemed to co-exist happily. For that matter, so did Armani, Strauss and Mozart. Coffee shops and Bratwurst stalls abounded. One could find opera tickets and tickets to Mozart concerts on almost every street corner.

Vienna has enough art nouveau buildings to satisfy anyone; Otto Wagner must have been an immensely busy man. All in all, a fantastic city with bicycle lanes, substantial parks, pavement cafes, music houses, opera theatres, and coffee shops - all situated on the banks of the famous Danube River. It’s no wonder Vienna is such a touristy place.

 

28 June - Vienna, Austria – Bratislava, Slovakia – 65 km

Two days were spent in Vienna to sightsee and welcome the new arrivals. Included in this group were two South Africans (Mieke and PC), Paul from the USA (whom I’d met previously on Tour d’Afrique), Mark from Australia and Rudolf from Canada. Departing Vienna was in a group to the city’s outskirts. Then, a relaxed amble to the Austrian/Slovakian border.

John’s legs improved, and he must have been relieved to return to cycling. The two of us set a relaxed pace and, from time to time, pedalled with Mieke and PC. Following a quick coffee break, we arrived at the Austrian/Slovakia border. Border crossings in Europe were relatively unremarkable. However, one needed to be pretty alert to spot these tiny signs high up on poles. Four kilometres later, we found ourselves in Bratislava, where accommodation was in a boathouse. All were somewhat surprised at our unusual accommodation. Not merely was it unique, but also extremely comfortable with large and spacious rooms.

Bratislava was beautiful, friendly and culturally rich. As we marvelled at our new environment, I strolled the city streets with Marion and Barry. A short bike ride brought us to a new culture, language and architecture. A walk up a hill took us to a castle with enough nooks and crannies to keep us occupied a few hours. The old town had a great deal to offer, and the remainder of the day was spent exploring. Dinner was on the boat and the food was excellent. Later a few of us walked into town, where we had a glass of red wine compliments of PC.

 

29 June - Bratislava, Slovakia – Komarom, Hungary – 116 km

The time came to leave our boathouse, and we rode together out of Bratislava. Soon the group split up, with Chris, Francois, Michelle, and Jacky taking the lead. Barry, Alice, John and Marion were in close pursuit, followed by Stirling, David and Edna. The rest of us ambled on in our own sweet time. Cycling mainly was with my fellow countrymen, Mieke and PC, who enjoyed sampling the local brew.

At Komarom, we encountered one more border crossing, this time even more inconspicuous. Then, finally, we crossed from Slovakia into Hungary, where I ended my trip with the Orient Express as I planned to leave the group in Budapest.

With that, it was Mieke’s birthday. We didn’t merely have cake but also consumed a substantial amount of red wine. Francois tried his best to teach us a few words in French but eventually gave up.

 

30 June - Komarom – Budapest – 94 km

My final day of cycling with the group arrived, and I enjoyed my last luxuries. The day consisted of a good road through beautiful scenery and over a few hills to the lunch truck. After lunch, all biked together into the city of Budapest.

That evening, the majority of us went out to enjoy a few beers and good Hungarian food. I’d made such good friends and felt pretty sad to see them carry on without me, but I’d already cycled that stretch and wanted to explore a different part of Europe.

From Budapest, the plan was thus to return to France by train and then head west in Lisbon’s direction. Gergo was kind enough to find the train info; all that remained was to buy the ticket and bike to the station.

 

1 – 3 July - Budapest

Two days were spent sightseeing in Budapest as the city came with remarkable architectural heritage. There was much to see and do in this beautiful city. By evening, we looked for restaurants to indulge in the local cuisine.

In Budapest, one can frequent the Romkocsma (literally ruin pubs). These are pubs in the courtyards and gardens of abandoned houses or commercial buildings. You don’t see anything from the outside apart from people drifting about with their plastic beer glasses. Sometimes a beefy guard made sure people didn’t get too noisy, as these places were usually in residential areas. Once inside, the courtyard offered live music, alternative exhibits, and films, and stayed open until at least 4 a.m. As Gergo’s band played at one of these pubs, we followed him for a few beers.

What a lovely group of people they were. On departing, PC and Mieke presented me with a farewell goody bag. The goodie bag was exceptionally well thought through. It contained all the essentials: cup-a-soup, instant noodles, an energy drink, sweets and, of course, a small bottle of wine. xxx

On the morning of 3 July, I finally waved goodbye to my friends as they sped off to the Romanian border. I returned to my room to work on my blog updates. My train ticket was booked for the 5th and I’d plenty of time to kill until heading back to Paris.

 

4 July - Budapest

After collecting my laundry, I sauntered around the city centre with PC (who had to return to Budapest to collect his new passport). Then, back to my room to start repacking my panniers.

Thursday, 28 April 2011

CYCLE TOURING BRAZIL (1) - Uruguay to Rio



Photo by Tauari Formiga 


BRAZIL (1) - Uruguay to Rio

2 337 Kilometres – 49 Days

10 March 2011 – 27 April 2011




MAP

 PHOTOS - Part One

E-BOOK


  

10-11 March 2011 – Chuy, Uruguay – Santa Vitoria Do Palmar, Brazil – 25 km

Brazil was one of the more relaxed border crossings, and a simple stamp in the passport allowed entry into this new and very large country. Our first day of cycling in Brazil came with bucketing rain, and Santa Vitoria Do Palmar made a perfect spot to get out of the weather.

Amazingly enough, the town boasted a large lighthouse at the entrance. The lighthouse was no more than a welcome gate as Santa Vitoria was located 16 kilometres inland from the coast. The ATM spat out a few Brazilian reals, granting a comfortable night at Hotel Brasil, sporting an en-suite bathroom, decent breakfast and Brazilian TV. The TV wasn’t very useful as the little Spanish picked up biking through Argentina, Chile, and Uruguay was replaced by Portuguese - our next challenge. Still, it was evident it wasn’t merely raining in Santa Victoria but that the entire area further north was flooded. TV further showed the earthquake and tsunami in Japan - how horrific and there I was complaining about a spot of rain.

Ernest wanted to update his blog, and one more day was spent in Santa Victoria.

 

12 March - Santa Vitoria Do Palmar – Curral Alto – 90 km

Getting Ernest going in the morning was like preventing Uruguayans from drinking mate. I felt he did this deliberately to annoy me, and it was midday before we finally biked out of Santa Vitoria. Our late departure meant bearing the full brunt of the headwind, as well as the heat, and I thought it a pretty stupid thing to do, but there’s no cure for stupidity.

Brazil’s coastal southern part was flat, hot, humid and wet, perfect for growing rice. Once again, the road led past pastures and rice paddies, and one could easily imagine being in Vietnam.

Finally, the tiny settlement of Curral Alto was reached shortly past 5 o’clock. Taking its location on Lake Mirim, the fish factory was an excellent place to pitch a tent. Factory staff offered us an empty storeroom, and albeit a tad smelly (it was a fish factory, after all) one could close the door and keep the bugs at bay, which seemingly grew to monstrous proportions in Brazil. (At least I learned the Portuguese word for fish).

 

13-14 March - Curral Alto – Pelotas – 157 km

Ernest must’ve read my thoughts, or the fishy smell got him going, and before ten a.m. we closed the door and thanked the staff. A tailwind pushed us past vast areas of wetlands, rich in birdlife with storks, herons, sacred ibises, raptors, and numerous other water birds. I didn’t particularly care for the many snakes and kept a beady eye on the road.

The wind drove us right past the turn-off to Rio Grande and onto remarkable Pelotas. The town featured an ensemble of old buildings and cobbled streets and, thus, had a considerable amount to discover.

By morning, the long overdue laundry was handed in, and we took to the streets to investigate the historic city centre.

 

15 March – Pelotas

I planned to depart on this day, but I discovered our unwashed laundry behind the reception counter. Maybe the staff considered it old clothes no longer needed. And there I imagined I’d picked up a few Portuguese words!

We took the washing to the laundry ourselves and the rest of the day was spent meandering the historic areas. In the nineteenth century, Pelotas was Brazil’s primary area for producing dried meat, a staple made by slaves to feed other slaves working on sugarcane, coffee and cocoa plantations.

 

16 March - Pelotas – Camaqua – 133 km

With clean laundry we continued to Porto Allegre. Expecting a headwind, it came as a pleasant surprise to find the wind slight and the way gently undulating.

The area was very much Gaucho country, and farmers on horseback rounded up cattle aided by their working dogs. I watched in fascination as they commanded the dogs by whistling, a task they made look easy. In my mind, there’s nothing more beautiful than watching skilled people at work.

At the Camaqua turnoff, a petrol station made it a convenient place to pitch the tents. However, it turned out to be a popular truck stop resulting in a noisy night.

 

17 March - Camaqua – Guaíba – 104 km

Even in Brazil, mate drinking remained prevalent, meaning hot water was readily available. Morning coffee was, thus, made easy as one could fill your mug from the hot water dispenser.

Due to our noisy night, we were on our way remarkably early. The weather was hot and humid, and the route became hillier and more forested while crossing a multitude of rivers. At Guaíba, Ernest spotted a bicycle shop and bought a new rear tyre. A conveniently located hotel sporting air-con, cable TV and a shower made it a natural choice.

 

18 March - Guaíba – Osorio – 125 km

We emerged to a drizzle, which continued throughout the day. Nevertheless, it wasn’t altogether unpleasant once we were on the bikes as sometimes cycling in the rain can be pretty enjoyable.

Soaked and covered in road muck, Osoria came after 125 kilometres of biking. A hotel provided a warm shower and a place to rinse away the day’s drizzle-fuelled road dirt and hang our wet clothes.

 

19 March - Osorio – Capao Da Canoa – 47 km

The following day, the sun was out and the wind in our backs as the road followed the coastal route north. The way was dotted by small villages, all relatively quiet as the carnival was over. Kids had returned to school following a three-month summer holiday, and just a few holidaymakers remained.

So quiet was it, on finding a campsite at Capao Da Canoa, the owners offered us one of the chalets at no extra charge. How nice of them.

 

20 March - Capao Da Canoa – Torres – 62 km

The South Coast of Brazil was scenic, and a pure pleasure to pedal. En route, a man and his dog on a horse-buggy caught our attention. He had a flat tyre but, at first, I didn’t notice the problem as he addressed us in Portuguese. But, once we passed, he made a big enough noise for us to realise he had a problem. Fortunately, his wheel size was similar to ours, and Ernest could give him a tube to see him on his way.

In general, Brazilians were amazed at our lack of Portuguese. “Nao Portuguesa?” was usually uttered in total astonishment. The fact that we hailed from South Africa was equally surprising to them. “What, Africa?” they repeated, looking at us like we’d dropped from Mars. If you further explained that it took four years of cycling to get there, they laughed, shook their heads, and it appeared something they couldn’t comprehend.

 

21 March - Torres – Ararangua – 60 km

The campsite where we’d spent the night was so peaceful, I was reluctant to leave and it was, therefore, late morning before we departed.

The wind picked up and the pleasant road surface deteriorated, with roadworks and narrow sections. Ararangua turned out significantly more extensive than anticipated and, in no mood to battle the wind, the town made a perfect place to find a hotel and get out of the wind.

Accommodation in Brazil was generally pricier than in Argentina, Chile or Uruguay. Still, this one had cable TV, air-con, an en-suite bathroom, sparkling white linen, and a sumptuous buffet breakfast, and I thought it was money well spent.

 

22 March - Ararangua - Tubarao – 62 km

Being rice harvest time in the South of Brazil, farmers were feverishly bringing in the crop. Flocks of birds were hanging about, waiting for an easy meal. The day turned out a grind into a gusty breeze and, being slightly hilly, I called it a day at Tubarao.

As Tubarao was a sizable town, finding lodging was effortless and a conveniently located supermarket provided ingredients which became a massive potato salad.

 

23-24 March - Tubarao – Imbituba – 55 km

Breakfast was included in the room rate - a good thing, as once on the road, a strong headwind made us work hard up the hills. At least the new road was completed along that stretch, making cycling more comfortable. It was, however, heads down, grinding into the wind for the best part of the morning. The beach and harbour town of Imbituba came as a welcome surprise, as it sported a decent sheltered campsite, Wi-Fi, and a lovely lawn.

The relentless wind never abated, not even at night, and we stayed an extra day, which was perfect for doing laundry, restocking our dwindling food supply, oiling our bikes and airing the sleeping bags.

 

25 March - Imbituba – Tijuca – 129 km

Luckily, we packed up before the rain came and a tailwind drove us north. It became a delightful ride past small communities still using the horse and cart and past lush green hillsides until the turn-off to Florianopolis.

Florianopolis and Sao Jose were high-rise cities with Florianopolis on Isla de Catarina and Sao Jose on the mainland. They were sprawling cities and skyscrapers spread as far as the eye could see. Giving them a wide berth, we followed the coastal route with beautiful ocean views and nearby islands.

It drizzled all day, but we were tailwind-assisted and continued biking until Tijucas, a small settlement with both a supermarket and a hotel. Afterwards, Ernest cycled to the market and returned with the ingredients to make one of his favourite pasta dishes.

 

26 March - Tijucas – Barra Velha – 85 km

From Tijucas the route ran north, over hills, down valleys, through tunnels, past large resort cities revealing upmarket condos, and past humble timber homes next to rubbish dumps. A Brazilian couple, out in a camper van for the weekend, stopped us at a sugarcane juice shop and literally “topped us up”. Sadly, the conversation was limited due to no one speaking the other one’s language. But, amazingly enough, we understood each other well enough to have a simple conversation.

In Barra Velha, and with the villagers’ help, an unofficial camping site was located alongside the river. The tents were barely up and food prepared when it started raining. Soon, a full-blown storm hit the area, and I discovered my tent not as waterproof as it used to be. It soon turned into a small swimming pool. Mercifully, the weather passed quickly and I could clear most of the water.

 

27/28 March - Barra Velha – Joinville – 58 km

The next morning dawned bright and sunny making it a peaceful Sunday morning. The previous night’s storm was forgotten, apart from large pools of water. In the company of birds that came out to dry their feathers, we sat in the sun waiting for our tents to dry. It turned out a beautiful morning, and people came equipped with boats and fishing gear to try their luck in the river. Eventually, the tents were dry and bags repacked. Day campers waved us goodbye and, following a photo session with the estate agent across the road, we biked out of Barra Velha.

A slight tailwind made for pleasant cycling as the road turned away from the coast and headed inland, over wooded hills. A strong forest smell filled the air, making it pleasurable riding. But, spotting a sign to Joinville, our curiosity got the better of us and we turned off to see what was in a town featuring such an English name.

On closer inspection, Joinville turned out an unusual place. History had it that Joinville was established on land given as a dowry by Emperor Dom Pedro to his sister, who had married the Prince of Joinville, the son of Louis-Philippe of France. A deal with Hamburg timber merchants meant that, in 1851, 191 Germans, Swiss and Norwegians arrived to harvest wood from the forest area. During our visit, I noticed many blond and blue-eyed residents, which I understood were of German, Swiss, Norwegian, and Italian descent.

 

29 March - Joinville – Garuva – 41 km

Like the previous day, our route veered away from the coast and headed inland over the mountains. Unfortunately, it continued raining, and on biking into Garuva, the weather over the forward pass to Curitiba looked even worse.

Instead of keeping it going, I persuaded Ernest to settle for digs in the small settlement of Garuva and hoped the weather would improve by morning. Hotel Recanto-Eliza at the edge of town was a wonderfully comfortable choice in a lush forest setting with a river running right past it. Feeding the fish was a pleasant way to while away the time, and they came out in hoards to snatch it away. Unfortunately, it rained hard throughout the night, and there seemed no end to the rainy weather.

 

30 March - 1 April - Garuva – Curitiba – 95 km

After breakfast, while the mist hung low over the mountains, the road led out of Garuva en route to Curitiba. It rained the entire day as our path climbed over hills, leading us up a 25-kilometre-long climb and through a beautifully lush green setting. However, all uphills eventually ended, and the rest of the day was pleasantly undulating. Finally, Curitiba rolled into view, and we were wet, cold and tired. The Formula 1 hotel in the historic centre, provided a hot shower and space to dry wet clothes.

Curitiba was one of the world’s best urban planning models. I loved the story of its mayor, Jaime Lerner, who transformed a six-block stretch of street into a pedestrian zone in the ’70s. This move was solely the start, and later express-bus avenues featuring tubular boarding platforms were added. Add to that recycling and planting trees and parks on an enormous scale, and you get what Curitiba is today.

The tourist bus was a novel way of exploring the town and one could (in one fell swoop) see all Curitiba had to offer. From the lovely and peaceful botanical garden to the 110-metre-high telephone tower with a 360-degree city view.

The next morning dawned overcast and rainy, making it a no-brainer to stay the following day. The day was spent eating cake and drinking Brazilian coffee, a pleasant way to spend a rainy day.

 

2 April - Curitiba – Parana/Sao Paulo State Border – 111 km

Thank goodness the weather cleared, and even though drizzling occasionally, it wasn’t bucketing down like the previous night. The route remained hilly, but felt mainly downhill (it must’ve been the two rest days). Unfortunately, Ernest had two flats from truck tyre debris and discovered his rear rim cracked. Luckily, the road was in perfect condition, making it easy pedalling until the light faded. The overcast and rainy conditions made for a short day’s cycling before pitching the tents on a grassy patch on a hill behind a petrol station. Unfortunately, when the tents were up, it started raining again. Mercifully, the petrol station shop provided a convenient supper.

 

3-5 April - State Border - Registro – 110 km

Following the usual breakfast of coffee and biscuits, our route took us through a national park, which meant stunning scenery and big hills. The road continued across numerous tropical-looking rivers and through forests overgrown by ferns, moss and creepers, revealing only the odd wooden home peeking through dense bushes. Finally, a 20-kilometre descent led to lower ground. The weather was more tropical and humid and home to vast banana plantations. Registro provided a comfortable hotel - so large was the room one could dry clothes and tents.

Interestingly enough, Registro was named so as in its heyday it was the port where early settlers had to register the gold they shipped from Brazil to Portugal. I love these little snippets of history.

In the morning, Ernest washed the bikes at the car wash around the corner. Nevertheless, there was a method to his madness as he needed a new rim. He spent the rest of the day spoking the wheel, a lengthy process that he was good at by then. The rim was slightly different from his previous one, which required shorter spokes. Ernest returned to the bike shop the next day and we spent an additional day in Registro.

 

6-7 April - Registro – Peruibe – 109 km

More than happy to get on the bike, the day turned out superb biking as the way mainly led downhill, the scenery was sublime and a slight tailwind made it easy biking. We ate fruit from roadside stalls and filled our bottles at mountain streams.

After about sixty kilometres, I persuaded Ernest to turn off the crazy trucking highway and head southeast towards the coast. Ultimately, a route ran over the mountains, reaching the shore at Peruibe (meaning ‘shark’ in the Tupi language). Out of season, camping was available on the beach, where one could fall asleep listening to the sound of the waves.

Ernest wanted to straighten his new wheel and fix punctured tubes, and an extra day was spent kicking back in, what felt like, my private little paradise.

A day at leisure allowed for sniffing around and discovering all the exciting sights and attractions. In the process, I found the Abarebebê Ruins. In the sixteenth century, the story was that Portuguese settlers enslaved the Tupiniquim Indians to work in sugarcane plantations. Father Leonardo Nunes (Abarebebe, as the indigenous people called him) was against this practice. The first church in the region was built on the rock of Abarebebe, where he was often seen walking.

 

8 April - Peruibe – Guaruja – 122 km

The further north we proceeded, the lusher the landscape and the more vicious the mosquitos. The coastline was picture pretty revealing white sandy beaches; this was, after all, Brazil’s Costa Verde. After missing the shortcut to Guaruja, the alternative road turned out hilly but stunning and ran around the port of Santos.

Guaruja was, in fact, an island as the area was surrounded by water. Being a touristy beach town, it provided plenty of hotels but no camping. Instead, people strolled the beachfront and sat at sidewalk cafes; the balmy weather made it perfect to be out. At first, I thought of climbing to the viewpoint, but I had no energy.

 

9 April - Guaruja – Bertioga – 37 km

A scenic road led to the ferry port and ran beside white sandy beaches and idyllic palm trees. Unfortunately, the path reached the ferry to the mainland far too soon.

Once off the boat, the weather took a turn for the worse and came with thunder and lightning. Our route into Bertioga led past the Forte Sao Joao de Bertioga, constructed in 1532 by Portuguese settlers, making it Brazil’s oldest fortress. Construction started in 1532, but the fort was only completed in 1702. Today, it’s a prominent landmark in town. Still, we didn’t explore as the weather was terrible and we thought it best to find shelter. Luckily a budget room appeared just as it started bucketing down.

 

10 April - Bertioga – Boicucanga Beach – 70 km

Ernest and I weren’t getting along, making life an absolute misery. Though the route featured picturesque beaches, al fresco oyster bars, and lush forests, I was in a foul mood and unable to enjoy it. Then, towards the end of the day, I spotted a pousada opposite a beautiful beach. I thought it would make a more pleasant evening. It was, however, not the case and money wasted.

 

11 April - Boicucanga Beach – Sao Sebastiao – 41 km

I left early, leaving Ernest to his own devices. The Serra characterised Brazil’s Costa Verde do Mar, a 1,500-kilometre-long mountain range, making it not simply an immensely scenic ride but also a hilly one. I felt mentally and physically tired, and struggled up hills usually easily scaled, even pushing my bike up a few. Nevertheless, it was gorgeous, and I wish I were in a better frame of mind to enjoy it all.

Ernest later caught up as he always did. I was unsure why he did that - maybe his actions were purely to annoy me. I, again, discovered a lovely guesthouse overlooking the Canal of Sao Sebastiao and Ilhabela Island and thought a pizza would improve my mood. Unfortunately, my order of a large vegetarian pizza from the pizzeria across the road came with tuna. This was obviously not my day!

 

12 April - Sao Sebastiao – Maranduba – 52 km

My knees were sore from the countless hills the previous day. Fortunately, it dawned a bright and sunny morning. I still felt fatigued but, once underway, felt a great deal better. Gone were the sore knees and it became a beautiful day past waterfalls and caves. Nevertheless, a small campsite on the beach stopped me in my tracks and I couldn’t bring myself to cycle past such a lovely spot. Its white beach and tiny islands off the coast resembled a small paradise.

 

13 April - Maranduba - Ubatumirim – 61 km

There was no rushing that stretch of coastline, and I ambled on (Ernest in tow) from one beach to the next and crossed the tropic of Capricorn. It was, in fact, the third time I had crossed this line by bicycle. I found it quite ironic that between Brazil’s two largest cities was a beautiful coastline featuring some of (I’m sure) Brazil’s finest beaches, and mostly unknown to foreign tourists. Moreover, the beaches seemed even prettier the closer one got to Rio. The ocean was a bright blue-green and at least 25˚C. Wonderfully comfortable, to say the least.

Towards the end of the day, I turned off the road via a sandy path and came upon a rustic beach offering all the necessary facilities. Camping was on a small grassy patch overlooking a long stretch of beach, and it felt like I could sit there forever, watching the small waves roll in.

 

14-15 April - Ubatumirim – Paraty – 49 km

Paraty turned out a lovely surprise after nearly missing the turnoff. The town was blessed by a beautiful beach and a historic old town, still revealing cobblestone roads so rough I had to walk the bike. The local campground was across the street from the beach. Food and drink carts were right on the water’s edge, making it a perfect place to watch the calm, warm water of the Atlantic.

Paraty was picture pretty and a great place to spend an additional day doing laundry and lounging about. So pleasant was it, I could easily have stayed one more day.

 

16 April - Paraty – Tarituba – 37 km

We waited until our clothes had dried before heading out. Scarcely on our way, an interesting-looking turn-off lured me off our route. The detour revealed an idyllic beach and a cottage in a jungle setting on the water’s edge.

We offloaded the bikes and sat on the beach eating our “pastel” (a fried pastry with a filling). I thought it was one of the most idyllic settings in Brazil. By evening, a sweet aroma filled the air, crickets chirped, and the moon shone brightly. Sadly, mosquitos came out, and one had to retreat indoors.

This was what cycle touring was all about. Regrettably, my cycling partner preferred to do distance, primarily by following the highway - a dreadfully monotonous task. Each tour in their own way and I liked discovering new things without a destination in mind. Ernest was out to “cycle around the world” and wasn’t interested in exploring. Our different views of cycle touring, and life in general, didn’t make for harmonious cycling, and I thought it best to go my own way.

 

17 April - Tarituba – Angra Dos Reis – 66 km

Breakfast was served under the trees outside our cottage. A full spread of bread rolls, ham, cheese, salami, coffee, juice, fruit and biscuits was served, and I felt like a royal family member. But, all good things came to an end. I thanked the owner and we continued our journey.

The road was slightly hilly but offered unique views of the Costa Verde. Even the nuclear power plant looked idyllic amongst the lush forests. Being entirely different from the rest of the coast, Angra Dos Reis was quite a surprise. Houses clung to the wooded mountainside overlooking the picturesque bay, and narrow cobblestone streets weaved through the old part of town.

 

18 April - Angra Dos Reis – Mangaratiba – 66 km

Albeit a scenic coast, the road was all but flat. I churned my way hill after hill, and sweated buckets in the hot and humid conditions. Nevertheless, the hills provided stunning views. One could see colossal oil tankers anchored in the sheltered bay, waiting their turn at the off-shore oil rigs.

At the turnoff to Mangaratiba, our route headed up one more large hill and I thought it best to head into town. After a few kilometres, the small, picturesque village of Mangaratiba, spread out along a steep peninsula, rolled into view. Unfortunately, Mangaratiba didn’t offer budget accommodation or a place to pitch the tents as the town was one of the jumping-off points to the touristy Isla Grande. Returning to the highway, a more suitable option was located on the outskirts of town.

 

19 April - Mangaratiba – Barra Do Tijuca – 93 km

The route to Rio was hilly, but later flattened out somewhat. At Santa Cruz, a minor road turned off the highway and followed the coast. Following one last hill and dodging roadworks and heavy traffic, our path eventually spat us out at the beach. Barra Do Tijuca was near Rio and, contrary to where we came from, the entire area was built up. Remarkably, Tijuca had a campsite.

 

20 April - Barra Do Tijuca – Rio De Janeiro – 55 km

Barra Do Tijuca was located on the southwestern outskirts of Rio, and what a relief to find a twenty-kilometre-long cycle path running next to the beach in the direction of the city.

At the spectacular Jao bluff, no bicycles were allowed onto the bridge which ran through two tunnels connected by an elevated highway over the ocean. We pedalled across the bridge anyhow. Our illegal route spat us out close to the famous Ipanema and Copacabana beaches where another bicycle path was situated. After snapping a few pics of these famous beaches, the hunt to find accommodation was on.

To our surprise we found it at the start of Easter Weekend in one of the world’s most prominent holiday destinations. All budget accommodation was choc-a-block full, but a room/flatlet was eventually uncovered only a few blocks from Copacabana Beach. Our digs came at quite a cost, and the condition was that it had to be taken the entire weekend, allowing for plenty of time to discover the city.

 

21-24 April - Easter Weekend - Rio De Janeiro

Rio was spectacular, with abundant natural beauty and many interesting people. I still claim it’s one of the world’s most beautiful cities. I walked the beach, swam in the ocean and took a bus to all the touristy places. But, of course, the beaches were crowded, and one could hardly move. Still, it remained a beautiful city.

Soon the time came to move along. Personal problems between Ernest and I forced me to make a long-overdue decision. It wasn’t an easy choice as I enjoyed myself in South America. Still, I felt I had to put distance between Ernest and myself.

 

25 April – Rio

I moved to a cheaper hostel while deciding what to do next. After much deliberation, a flight was booked to South Africa. However, they needed a cash payment. Unfortunately, I could only draw half the money at a time and had to wait until the following morning to draw the remainder.

The rest of the day was spent chatting with people at the hostel. What a remarkable place a hostel can be. People from all over the world gathered there and had fascinating stories and reasons to travel.

 

26 April – Rio

It felt like I wasn’t meant to leave, as all sorts of difficulties arose as I tried to organise my “escape”. Firstly, I discovered one of my fellow travellers had dipped into my wallet and helped themselves to my money. How and when it happened, I wasn’t sure. I thought it all quite weird as not all the money was taken, only about half. There wasn’t anything I could do but return to the ATM and draw the necessary funds to pay for the ticket.

The travel agent booked the flights, and I was told to collect the tickets later. On my return, I learned they couldn’t reserve an Air Malaysia flight in Brazil and refunded the money. The trip from Rio to Buenos Ayres was scheduled but to the wrong airport and the booking was cancelled and a new ticket issued. The Air Malaysia ticket (Buenos Ayres to Cape Town) could be bought online. Still, my visa card had a security setting that prohibited online purchases. I decided to go out on a limb and buy a ticket at the airport once in Buenos Ayres.

With that, I left the Americas, and it would be four months before I returned to Rio.

Wednesday, 9 March 2011

CYCLE TOURING URUGUAY


URUGUAY
596 Kilometres - 11 Days
27 February – 9 March 2011




MAP

PHOTOS 

E-BOOK

  

27 February - Buenos Aires, Argentina – Colonia De Sacramento, Uruguay - By ferry

Colonia dated to 1680 and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Colonia thus came with a lively touristy trade. However, it’s primarily known for its Barrio Histórico, lined by buildings from its time as a Portuguese settlement.

We followed the narrow cobblestone path in the sweltering heat, which led through the city gate and down to the harbour featuring its historic lighthouse. At the campsite, the price and the quality of the facilities came as an unpleasant surprise. A decision was made to wild-camp from then on.

 

28 February - Colonia De Sacramento – Colonia Valdense – 58 km

Our first day of cycling in Uruguay turned out a pleasant one. The countryside seemed more lush, green, and the weather more humid than in Argentina. Stopping at an ATM to get Uruguayan peso, we met Jo, who lived with her South African daughter and son-in-law. We were invited to tea and ended up having supper as well as camping in their garden. Jo, Abigail and Andrew, together with their small child, Lucy, sailed the South American coast a good few years. As Abigail was pregnant, they came ashore in Uruguay. During our visit, their three-month-old baby, Sarah, was the picture of health and looked quite pleased being Uruguayan.

 

1 March - Colonia Valdense – Playa Pascual – 93 km

Reluctantly, we left our kind hosts and headed east towards Montevideo. Unfortunately, a headwind picked up, and it took churning our way into the wind the rest of the day, stopping ever so often to have a drink and a bite to eat – including the snacks Jo packed the previous evening.

In the late afternoon, about 33 kilometres before Montevideo, a petrol station sporting lawns outback, a shop and toilets made good camping that night.

 

2-3 March - Playa Pascual – Montevideo – 37 km

A service road made a comfortable ride into the capital. Montevideo was a relatively small city with barely over one million inhabitance. It was thus easy to find our way around. We headed straight to the old part of town, where locating accommodation was effortless. With its location on the Rio de la Plata, Montevideo didn’t only have a holiday feel but was beautiful, friendly and culturally rich. Like in Argentina, Mate remained the drink of choice. One seldom saw an Uruguayan without a flask clutched under their arm and cup in hand.

Strolling the historic Cuidad Viejo was pleasant and relaxing. Nearly all the old buildings had been renovated, and in a way, reminded me of Eastern Europe. The many pedestrian malls, street cafes and bustling squares with craft markets and statues, made lingering easy.

 

4-5 March - Montevideo – Piriapolis – 110 km

Montevideo had a 20-kilometre long beachfront and leaving, we shared the path with joggers and other cyclists. Our route led past plenty of beaches and small villages which made enjoyable cycling. Unfortunately, the wind picked up, making pedalling hard to reach Piriapolis. Andrew, from Colonia Valdense, arranged for us to stay at Laurence and Elisa’s place, where we pitched our tents in their garden.

The following day, rumours of an evening barbeque did the rounds, and we stayed one more day. What a delightful mixture of people; four South Africans, two Canadians, two Americans, one English, one Spaniard, two Swedes, an Irish and one lone Uruguayan. The asado was an authentic Uruguayan asado with more meat than anyone could eat. The Uruguayans sure knew how to party.

 

6 March - Piriapolis – La Barra – 52 km

Due to our late night, our leisurely departure came as no surprise and, after scoffing the leftover food, we reluctantly waved our very generous hosts goodbye and cycled out of town.

First up was Punta del Este, one of South America’s most famous and expensive coastal resort towns. Here the River Plate meets the Atlantic Ocean. Four colossal cruise ships anchored in the bay, and the rich and famous were doing their thing on the many beaches around the city.

A safe 10-kilometre distance from Punta’s glitz and glamour, a campsite provided more affordable overnighting. We presumed the weekend camping crowd, who filled the grounds, would soon be packing up. Unfortunately, that assumption was a mistake. The following week was Carnival week and campers were settling in for the weeklong holiday. Surrounded by mate-drinking campers, continually tending to their Asado fires, we were the odd ones out. Watching the Uruguayans enjoying themselves was fascinating, and sometimes amusing.

 

7 March - La Barra – Rocha – 91 km

The Uruguayan lifestyle of going to bed late and rising late was very suitable to Ernest’s lifestyle. So the time was around 12h00 before he was finally ready to leave. But, unfortunately, our late start meant Rocha was reached into a stiff headwind.

Rocha’s smallish town came as a pleasant surprise. Established in 1793, the settlement had cobblestone streets and rows of old, semi-detached houses where people still used horse carts. Apparently, not a considerable amount had changed since 1793. We were offered accommodation in one of these old semi’s (at quite a steep price – it was a carnival holiday, after all). The tiny, low-ceiling cottage had two bedrooms, a lounge, bathroom and kitchen, as well as a courtyard for stashing the bikes. The quaint setup made me want to read “The House of Paper”, a novel by Carlos Maria Dominquez. By the time we’d finished our beer and scoffed the pasta Ernest cooked, the time was 01h30 and way past my bedtime.

 

8 March - Rocha – La Esmeralda – 75 km

Coffee washed down the leftover pasta, and the time was passed midday by the time Mr Markwood was ready to hand in the key. The wind was even more intense than the previous day, and I’d no intention of going far. Nevertheless, the road remained undulating, and it took grinding into the wind the best part of the day. Finally, a friendly Uruguayan stopped and offered us a ride to the border - he looked perplexed when we thanked him but declined his offer.

The day turned out a picturesque ride past farmland and the ever-present pampas grass until spotting a road sign indicating camping four kilometres off the main drag. The sign promised a restaurant, pizzas, and so forth. We left the tarmac and biked down a dirt road, which I didn’t mind as I visualised a luxury room and pizza. However, on reaching the promised land, the setup was somewhat rustic amongst dunes that looked positively Saharan. It took walking the bikes over the dunes to a suitable camping spot. Following the initial disappointment and once settled in, the place wasn’t all bad.

 

9 March - La Esmeralda – Chuy – 80 km

The Next morning involved the same procedure of dragging the bikes through the thick sand to reach more or less solid ground, and onto the Brazilian border. Although still windy, the route flattened out, and cycling was past vast fields of grazing and wetlands. En route, I was surprised and impressed to meet Jorge, from Spain, who drove his little vintage Citroen from Spain via Asia, Australia and South America - very nearly the way we cycled.

Chuy was quite a remarkable town. The Uruguayan border was one kilometre south of the town and the Brazilian border one kilometre north, making Chuy a bit of a no man’s land. Moreover, the town itself was divided in half, one part being Brazilian (Chui) and half Uruguayan (Chuy). One side of the main road was, therefore, Brazilian and the other side Uruguayan.

Our search revealed a budget ground floor room in one of the side streets and, with that, we reached the end of our short visit to Uruguay. A country that felt more like a large farm than a country.