Coca cabaaaaaana (Leeds, England > Rio De Janeiro, Brazil)

People!

Last time I travelled I got piles. Not the requiring-an-ice-pillow type setup, but piles all the same. That's the lasting feature of my 03 globetrot. A pretty crappy feature to be left with, if you take my meaning. You may think it's a 'crap' subject on which to kick the blog off, but purile is my bag. Might be wise to get used to it. Beside I've decided to hope for more from this trip - a tapeworm or aemebic dysentry perhaps. Something with anecdotal & weight loss value. That way I'll roll back home all lean & washboard buff. It's all gonna be about unhygenic food for me. Noshing out on leftovers off the floor round the back of some bins & getting chronic diarreohea is gonna be the next Atkins. You heard it here first folks.

Anyways, let me introduce myself: I'm Barnaby Aldrick & this is my Travel Blog & website. I'm a Leeds based uk photographer & have decided to take 3 months to ramble around and about South America. I've never written a blog before, but feel I must continue to embrace technological communicatory advances, so instead of sending account-clogging spam a lot, I'm going to be writing these badboys & hitting you cats with an occasional email once in a while to inform you of blog updates. So - our tale begins in the charming northern metropolis of Leeds...

Leeds - London: I almost began this exotic mission by missing the bus to London. It seems I hardly need BA cabin crew to cancel my trip, when I can so easily do it myself. But I made it with seconds to spare & no time to buy lunch. For the first time in perhaps a month, I finally stopped giving it headless chicken & could just sit vacantly and gently fart my way to Rio. No more scooting about town in any spare minute to buy £4 calculator watches with flat batteries, comparing prices of travel towels & travel adaptors. It's been 1am stops & 6am starts for a bit long & before I knew it I was flippin the Z's. That was all very nice until for some reason I began waking myself up by biting my tongue real hard. I did this like three times over & I assure you there are nicer ways to drift back from nod... I believe on the top ten worth ways to wake up list, a subconscious violent molar clamp down is 2nd only to sleepwalking over exposed live electical cable.

Those that know me may know about my, shall we say, 'fallable' short term memory. I have a habit of putting important travel documents into the back of seats & absently watching them sail / fly / drive off. But I rolled into London and noted to myself that hadn't left any tickets, bags or clothing, and began to feel rather smug that I'd not forgotten anything. Typical then that it hit me that I'd forgot to pack the one thing that makes my camera go, the camera battery charger. That's the way to kick off a photographic 'business' trip! I manage to print & chop out currency coverters, email scans of soon expiring coach cards to myself & find out my blood type, but forget the charger. Good work fella. With an obscure camera battery charger to find in a county where I can only say 'good day' & 'thank you', there's a chance the photos page on this site may remain empty...

London - Heathrow: After a cheeky cwaaafee & a BLT on the NX032 we were amusingly informed by our sarky heathrow bus driver, that the bog is a bog, not a smoking room, & has a sensitive cig smoke detector which cuts the engine, sending us all careening to our doom. I never knew this smoke deterrent, and on reflection, could be a slight oversight slash opportunity if you're on a roundbout or ragging down an autobahn with a suicidal smoker...

I like the more obscure end of exteme sports. Sky diving is all good, but I prefer extreme ironing - while you're wearing the clothes or extreme washing up - with bleach or acid. Today began an extreme heating excerise, to push my body from cold to hot in a real short space of time. I was shuddering & puffing consensation as I scraped ice off me car this morning and in 15 hours I'll be in the 35C Rio sweatbox. I'm sure you could go cold hot faster, in a turkish bath perhaps, but you wouldn't end up in Saaahf America.

I do love to travel. Exploring pastures new, seeinng new & crazy stuff and being forced into direct experience are my bag. In his autobiographical book 'Travels' Michael Crichton once wrote:

'Often I feel I go to some distant region f the worl to be reminded of who I really am. There is no mystery of why this should be so. Stripped of your usual surroundings, your friends, your daily routines, your fridge full of food, your wardrobe full of clothes - with all this taken away you are forced into direct experience. Such direct experience inevitably makes you aware of who it is having that experience. It's not always comfortable, but it's always invogorating.'

Man's onto something there. A ship is safe in the harbour, but that's not what ships were built for. And to discover new oceans, you need courage to leave shight of the shore. But enough No Fear poster quotes... I just wanted to inform y'all what I get out of travel.

On the heathrow tube I ended up chatting to this 60 yr oldie lady off to uganda or kenya, & we had a pleasant bitch about BA cabin crew. Later I bumped into her again & she'd had a member of staff do her boarding pass before queing & started chatting about free upgrades - & she'd had loads. Then I spotted the dog collar & cross on a chain getup. *Lightbulb* Note to self: wear a vicar fancy dress set for a cheeky bump to business. Happy days.

I'm not sure many of you know, but I've got mental jukebox. It's mental cos it subconsciously crossreferences lyrics with current experiences & pulls up a tune. At this stage I couldn't shake Janis Joplins 'leaving on a jetplane'. At least it's a good tune. Better than something by take that. I'll keep you informed of musical updates. Who needs and iPod eh?

Heathrow - Rio: So I met my bwais, James & Zesh at the airport. We're gonna be checking the Brazilian carnavale out for a few weeks together. They're me lions from minor anarchic childhood days. As we wander the check-in queues a cheerful BA geezer we told we were off to the Brazilian carnavale warned us to watch out for carnaval he-shes. He basically said that if they've got their baps out for all to witness & are real proud of em, they generally have the spuds & banger. Or at least once did. Good advice. We've also been warned to drink beer from a supplied straw, as rats aparently love nothing better than to piss all over beer crates. More reason to go caiprinia's all the way really...

I love free drinks on planes. 'Drink sir?' '...yes my good lady, I'd like two bottles of bubbly wot ain't babysham. By the way, not striking today, cos the old staff get more tea breaks than you or something?'. One of my friends back home & his mates drank an entire plane dry of lager on a teneriffe flight. I thought it'd be amusing to try & raise that bar, but we play a reasonably respectable card. Apparently, one of my boys informs me, alcohol affects you 4 times as much at atmosphere. Garcon-more wine please.

In flight, I sat with listening to my bbc portuese cd, learning to count. Porty is like a weird hybrid of english & french, with some mystery sounds the english generally can't say. Let's just say it might be a while before I'm at bingo there... But I have learnt to say 'My name is Luis Coreia, I am married', which may help keep the ladyboys at bay.

Seatbelt lights bing on. 527mph ground speed. Mini Jd bottles make you feel like a giant. A good movie (the Illusionist) with bad sound and small picture has been watched. Some patchy sleep caught. Watch 2 hours back. Obligatory holes poked the in the sickbag. A perfect landing. Doors disarmed and BOOM - into the toasty sweatbox that is Rio.

Rio: My first impressions of Rio airport was the fact that 80% of the airport vehicles were good-condition old school VW camervans. I remember my photographic stallmate Del telling me they still make new Campers & Beetles in Brazil. They're everywhere. Good call.

In the bazing sun we flag our ride. 'Taxi! To our 4 star mini bar in Cococabana, obrigardo', humming the old jukebox selection: Manillo's 'Cocacabana' all the way. Just need to find Lola, apparently she was a showgirl, with a floral hair getup.

So once we'd checked in, we find our AC triple has a fridge full of Brama beer & snacks (do they already know us?). From our 8th-floor vertigo inducing balcony complete with dangerously low balcony, we can see the copacabana beach down the road. There's a phone in the bog & bday that can hit the roof. On the actual hotel roof there's a pool, jacuzzi, sauna and a gym. Ne bad at all, we thought. But I doubt I'm gonna see the inside of the gym.

Another observation is that Rio appears to have a real big sky. Not sure if there's any scientific grounding for it, but it seems pretty mac daddy.

Which reminds me! The 1st food we voted to sample in Brazil was a MacDonalds. Believe me, the irony isn't lost, travelling so far to eat the same lardy rabbish, but I like to sample Maccers regional variations. I had a cunningly named McNifico which, it may surprise you, didn't quite live up to expectations. Later on, somewhat out of the zone from 48 hrs nae kip, we dug out a traditional Brazilian Feijoada restaurant. It's a traditional massive black bean & salted suspect pork parts dish with shredded garlic kale, some chili fire water & deep-fried flour blobs. From a list of various pork related parts you could choose ears, trotters & fatty belly pork. But when in Rio, do as the cariochas do. (By the way, Rio citizens call themselves cariochas and rate themselves rather, even claiming that God is from Rio)

Anyhoos I'll leave you there for now. I will be in touch to cheerfully (and more than likely wordfully) gloat about some new blog I've just writed about meeting Padington Bears' old Peruvian schoolmates in deepest Brazilian rainforest...

I've set two targets for this trip:
i) to clock up my a half centenary of countries by my return. I've visited 43 so far. Not sure what colour that makes my carbon footprint, but I doubt it's green. Might have to join a commune or plant some trees at some stage.

ii) to grow a beardy! This is as much for your amusement as anything, as I've notouriously patchy facial hair. The boys I'm with are head shaving beard growers, especially Zesh who has been able to grow a full ZZ top in a mere afternoon since he was 15. Jim took a beard trim earlier & now our sink won't drain.

So I don't yet have any photos to unveil & pimp on my new & fancy website, but they'll be up as soon as I have the nerve to flash my kit, so to speak, in this notouriously dangerous city.

Reet, we're off to play spot the smallest thong on Ipanema Beach, so for now I bid y'all well.

Take it sleazy. Good bile. Cheery ho. All the breast. Smell you later. Etc.

Peace, love & big skies

Barnaby

E: barnsyard@hotmail.com