On a cheerful sunny day, January 22nd to be exact, we crossed the border from Argentina into Brazil between the frontera cities of Puerto Iguazu, AR and Foz Do Iguaco, BR. The sincere sadness we felt at leaving Argentina didn't diminish our eagerness to explore Brazil. Many adventures lay ahead beginning with our stop at Immigration. A friendlier entry into a country we have never had. The Portuguese language barrier did not yet rear it's ugly head as most staff spoke decent English. Our cab driver from P.I. knew the routine and kindly pointed us in the right direction, waited then graciously delivered us to our appointed hotel where we'd spend our first night in Brazil.

It was not the same type of reception two months earlier, in Buenos Aires, when we had visited the Brazilian Consulate to secure 90 day visas. The forms required of US citizens traveling to Brazil are almost biblical. We filled out the mass of the paperwork to the best of our knowledge and walked to a window only to be told they needed a lot of information we either didn't know or weren't prepared to answer. Besides needing a passport size photo and our basic travel plans, they required:

1) Name, phone number, dates and copies of paid receipts from whatever transportation carrier we'd be taking into and out of Brazil.

2) Name, phone number, dates and copies of paid receipts (*CPRs) from whatever hotel we'd arranged to be staying at in Brazil.

3) Copies of bank statements for the current as well as the past two months.

4) Both front and back copies of our credit cards...yes they also wanted copies of that magic 3 digit number on the back!!

This seems like the right time to explain our method of travel and why all these requirements totally cramped our style. You might have figured out by now that Ken and Becky Gunderson are not your normal tourists. Frankly we usually don't know any travel plan info until a day before we depart - if we're lucky. Some things, like rooms, are often arranged for "after" we arrive at our chosen destination. Here's how we do it...we arrive wherever and take a cab to the center of town; Ken leaves Becky at a café (if she's lucky) where she sits for an hour (or more) with the luggage while Ken runs around town trying to find a worthwhile place to stay.

Our budget precludes us from staying in 4 or 5 Star hotels, which others would deem perfect and a sure bet. Ordinarily those places don't fit with our travel style anyway. We often have a list of hotels we've found in our guide book or on the internet and we have usually narrowed down our place for the night to 1 or 2 "perfect" choices. The reality is it's a fifty-fifty shot that they're really like they've been represented and have our required options (hot water and clean sheets). Of course it's no big deal if you're only staying a night, but dealmakers or breakers if you're staying a week or more. So we often find ourselves without digs until Ken does his "runaround". And if we get to a town we don't like, without pre-arranged onward tickets in hand, we have the option of blowing out on the next bus. To us there's a huge value traveling with this type of freedom.

In his engaging travelogue The Happy Isles Of Oceania Paul Theroux makes the compelling observation that "Tourists don't know where they've been. Travelers don't know where they're going." For us that says it all.

Most tourists arrange their accommodations months in advance. They know exactly where they're going and how they'll get there, not to mention having a good idea of what they'll do once they arrive. There is nothing wrong with this method, and it works well for most folks. We happen to feel this "prearranged-style" lacks the flexibility we desire and just doesn't give us the opportunity to really know the place we're staying. The flip side to that method is our own "bumbling-traveler" style, seldom knowing where we're going or what we'll do when we get there. But we feel this 'style' gives us a better sense than most of what the place is like by requiring us to interact with all sorts of locals many tourists would never have the chance to meet.

Back to jumping through the hoops to get our Brazilian visas...there was no way two fly-by-the-seat of their pants travelers such as ourselves could be that prepared and feel good about visiting a country. So we did some research on other Brazilian Consulates in Argentina and Uruguay, and ultimately opted to try the "get-to-the-border-and-act-stupid" method of crossing from one country to another. Ultimately we timed our border-crossing with our trip to Iguazu Falls (which borders Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay). The day we arrived we were a couple hours too late to start the immigration process, but the jovial Brazilian official, at this much tinier consulate, gave us a simple form to fill out and told us how much dinero to bring along the next day. All he required were those passport sized photos, and answers to the questions...a) when are you entering the country and b)when do you think you're coming back...Period.

We were at his counter around 10am the next morning, gave him the completed forms, the photos and the money ($150.00 US pp) and he requested we return by 1:00pm. We were on his doorstep at 12:45 and by 12:50 we had our visas in hand (sometimes it pays to play stupid). The unexpected caveat was the visas were only good for 30 days. No way, no how could we get more days than that. We could, however, extend another 30 days for an additional $45.00 US pp by going to any local office of the Federal Police once we were in Brazil. That was a head-scratcher. We only needed a visa for 35 days.

For the record, the many hoops the Brazilian Consulate in Buenos Aires required of us are the exactly the same ones the Brazilians have to jump through to get a visa to visit the USA. They have made our treatment of them completely reciprocal. Most all other nationalities who visit Brazil pay a mere pittance for an entry fee (under $25) and are not required to give any personal banking information, provide prior confirmed hotel reservations, credit card info, etc, etc. I guess here is a perfect place to send a BIG "thank you" to "W" for being so warm to the rest of the world when he was in office.

Foz Do Iguaco was an easy introduction to Brazil. Our hotel holds the record for having the friendliest staff (most spoke English) of our trip thus far. The Bahian restaurant we chose for dinner had an equally amiable staff (no English spoken) who offered us a menu in English. This would have been helpful if there were translations for some of the regional specialties. Fortunately we'd done some homework and were able to somewhat intelligently nosh our way through a mouth-watering assortment of dishes from a northeastern state of Brazil where seafood is king. It was also where we were joyfully introduced to caipirinhas...the potent national drink.

The next evening we hopped our first Brazilian bus for an overnight trip to Sao Paolo. No wine or grub of any sort was offered and the comfort level dropped a notch from the ultra-luxurious Argentine sleepers, but it was a passable trip. Arriving at the ultra-modern bus terminal in Sao Paolo near 9:00am we secured passage on the next bus to Paraty departing a half-hour later for another six-hour run.

Now is as good a time as any to talk about our lack of the new language we were faced with...Portuguese. Similar to Spanish on paper, but the words are pronounced nothing like their Spanish counterparts. For instance:

- At a bus station in Mexico you'd ask for tickets to Paraty (Para TEE). In Brazil you ask for tickets using the same pronunciation and the ticket seller's brow furls. You repeat it and repeat it and repeat it until he finally figures out you want to go to Paraty (Para CHEE).
- Tarde - 'afternoon' in Spanish is pronounced "TAR day", but "tarch" in Portuguese.
- Noche...'night' in Spanish is "NO che", but "no WEETCH" in Portuguese etc.

Even the money of the country (the Real) was hard to say. One Real is a "hay OW" and two or more Reals is said "hay ICE" but with only one syllable. Hard to say and even harder to hear. We could go on, but suffice to say, this was one of our most difficult language challenges to date because how the words are written have no bearing on how they're spoken. Serbo-Croatian, in pre-war Yugoslavia, was difficult for us, but at least there an "A" was "A" and a "T" was "T". We knew we were in for a language-challenged visit, to say the least.

Paraty was a beautiful first destination and our first colonial town situated at the edge of the sea. Our pictures will sell you on the fact of how charmingly cobbled it was. Unfortunately we arrived in the rain, we muddled through 5 days in the rain and we left in the rain. The weather has been unseasonably wet in SE Brazil this summer and it wasn't going to let up for a couple of Oregonians who happen to really dislike rain.

We did manage to sneak in one outside trip to a natural waterslide in the small town of Pelha. We hiked a slick red-muddied trail a short distance from our bus stop to bear witness to this natural phenomenon. Not able to figure out how to go about sliding down this immense piece of rock we sat for awhile until a local guide came with a small group of German tourists and demonstrated the procedure: Slosh up another slippery path 300 feet, gingerly walk across the shallow but strong-flowing river to the head of this gigantic flat boulder, sit down, push and slide. At the end of this 200 foot boulder was a 4 foot drop and a deep pool that required some strong swimming to maneuver out of before being pulled under a fallen tree. Ken, alone, bravely took the risk for an exhilarating ride while Becky watched from a sissy's perch at the end of the slide. We have no photo evidence of his awesome feat as both of us forgot the camera back at the pousada. Of all the times of our trip we've been caught without a camera this one was the most regretful.

Ken felt the need for a reward as well as a warm up when the rain began to fall again. So we sloshed back up the trail a tad further to a rickety swing-bridge hanging precariously over the river. Across it a simple jungle bar awaited where a lovely young woman made him a very potent caipirinha, warming him to the core and pumping him with enough courage for another run at the slide. Fortunately the last bus back to town was due and the only inebriated sliding he got was down another muddy trail back to the bus stop.

In the end we cut our stay in Paraty short 2 days when the forecast showed no let up of wet weather. We'd done our best to eat at nice restaurants and wander through the ankle-wrenching cobblestone streets between showers trying to enjoy the towns quaint colonial charm. But it would have been much more enjoyable and way more enchanting done under dry skies.

Thinking we might escape the dismal days by moving further inland we did a daytime bus trip to Rio and then a quick overnight run to the old gold mining town of Ouro Preto. As we were arriving at the insanely early hour of 6:30am we had actually secured lodging via internet 2 days earlier...or at least we thought we had. Lucky for us the communication got scewed up and there were problems with the reservation which drove Ken to run all over town in that early hour (did we mention Ouro Preto is a really hilly town?) to find a place for us to call home for a week. Lucky it all worked out, because we landed on Consuelo's doorstep...she of the Café Arte Pousada...without a doubt our best stay in Brazil.

We arrived to an early drizzle that dashed our hopes of evading the wet stuff, but shortly after moving into Consuelo's welcoming home the clouds cleared and the sun broke through to give us the brightest day in a week. Other than a few brief nightime thunderstorms the bulk of our explorations of this beautiful and historic area was accompanied by perfect warm temperatures under mostly sunny skies.

A host of uniquely appointed churches, a fabulous geological museum, a trip down into an old mine, scores of gem shops and fabulous restaurants featuring the local specialties of the State of Minas Gerais kept us fully engaged for a week. But the highlight of our stay was an enjoyable Saturday evening spent with Consuelo and a handful of her friends and family members. To celebrate her cousin's visit to town from Rio she whipped up a pot of delectable soup and we ate and laughed for several hours with the most interesting gathering of women we've had the pleasure of meeting. A special moment we'd have missed without the flexibility of our travel style.

Rio De Janeiro was our next and ultimately final stay in the beautiful country of Brazil. We'd been watching the weather there for weeks and it showed the same dismal days of rain that the rest of that part of the coastal Brazil was receiving. The rain coupled with all the warnings from everyone about Rio's theft/assault dangers and the sky-high prices that accompanied a stay during Carnaval week caused us to make a decision we have since regretted. We did what research we could by internet and decided Montevideo, Uruguay would be much cheaper and a more people friendly place to spend Carnaval. So we arrived in Rio with plans to spend one week and airline tickets for a flight to Montevideo. What a shame. We both fell instantly in love with Rio.

Our apartment was one block from Copacabana Beach and several from Ipanema Beach. The weather disagreed with the forecast giving us bright sultry days. Stepping one foot onto the beaches we were hooked and hooked hard. Neither of us had realized how much we missed the seaside and the sun and the cool breezes that always seem to sooth a wearied soul. Waves breaking on the beach, reading a book in the shade of an umbrella while sipping a caipirihna and watching the girls watch the boys watch the girls, well you know...Ken was in 'Fia Dental' heaven at last!

'Fia Dental'?, you ask. That is what Brazilians call those oh-so-revealing thong bikinis worn by almost all the local women on the beaches of Rio. Age and weight made absolutely no difference to who amongst the female population wore these barely-there swimsuits. A little flab around the belly....no problem. An oversized butt...who cares. Nineteen or ninety, there were no restrictions on what age got to wear them. Ken got a little nervous when 14 year olds hit the beach clad that barely, though. The acceptance of their bodies was both inspiring and infinitely more refreshing than the uptight modesty of women in the USA. Truth be told Becky bought 2 skimpy numbers herself and wore them proudly. (anyone interested in pics?...LOL)

That's pretty much the story of our stay in Rio. Other than a last day dash up to Sugarloaf Mountain and a fun 'tourist's view' of a Carnaval party out by one of the favelas on Saturday night we happily hung on or near the beaches the entire week, day and night. Had prices been at least halfway affordable and our visas good for a few days longer and had the weather forecasts been more optimistic when we arrived we would have stayed on through Carnaval to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary...as per our original intention.

But faced with some bad information on Montevideo and those prearranged plane tickets in hand, we made the first bad call of our trip to South America. In our 25 years of travel it is quite possibly only the second time we've regretted a destination decision. Hindsight is definitely, like they say, 20/20. If we could do it all over again we would have dug down deep into our pockets and, as much as we hate overpriced places, stayed. Instead we took 2 short flights to Montevideo and then spent slightly over 2 lackluster weeks trying to seek out the Carnaval celebrations we'd had our hearts set on.

It was not to be. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being off the charts fabulous, Buenos Aires (along with the rest of the country) scored an 9.8, Rio de Janeiro scored an 8.8, but Montevideo (for reasons you can read about further in "To Catch a Thief"/Uruguay) scored a mere 3. Not that's it's not a great city filled with nice people. It just that it was neither what we anticipated nor heard about as far as the Carnaval festivities. We were looking for jovial parades followed by feisty street parties, drum corps, heightened gaiety and drunken debauchery. Instead we got night after night of sedate performances at subdued venues around town...nary a parade to be seen. If not for the 5 day visit from our B.A. friends Doris and Andrea the entire stay would have been a bust.

But this is story is about Brazil and giving it's write-up the ending it deserves. Despite the soggy days, the less than perfect bus rides and the anxiety caused by all of the well-intentioned warnings to be careful, Brazil was nothing but welcoming. The people, being much more demonstrative than either the Argentines or the Uruguayans, were friendly and engaging. The national foods and drinks were unique and delicious, the landscape varied and lovely. If luck has it we will be back in the years ahead to explore the rain forests of Amazonia and the seductive shores of Bahia. Until then we will can only rely on the memories of those succulent meals, the diverse countryside, the robustly refreshing caipirinhas, the endearing natives and those delightful itsy- bitsy, teeny-weenie bikinis.