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A long way from home - Travel in S AmericaI remember my first big bus ride-a youth soccer team excursion from my humble town of Rotorua to the big smoke of Auckland city. It took approximately five hours, with the last hour seeming to last an eternity; twenty restless boys sitting slumped in chairs, sinking further and further into apathy-the initial excitement of the trip having long ago expired, the lollies and food supplies devoured, the travelling games run dry! Never did I imagine the epic journeys I would take in my future explorations of the greater world. Travelling on a budget in South America necessitates many an uncomfortable hour in a vehicle ; to get from the Argentinean side of the Iguaçu Falls to Campo Grande, Brazil my girlfriend and I rode 19 hours by bus, and although the buses these days are more comfortable, and the mind and body more disciplined to travelling, such a journey is enough to whittle anyone down to that small boy' again. But we were willing to make such an arduous journey to be able to do a Pantanal safari expedition. From Campo Grande we took a four hour rollercoaster-like ride on a bumpy dirt road in the back of a safari truck, near suffocation from a combination of exhaust fumes and dust, without fluids to dampen our thirst, or even a roof top to ease the ravaging Brazilian sun. We had left behind civilisation as we knew it, and were to embark on an adventure in the heart of the Pantanal, Mato Grosso and thus it seemed fitting that we arrived in base-camp as the sun bid farewell the day. Battered, dusty and forlorn we unloaded our packs from the truck then took a moment to take in our new surroundings: standing amongst a cluster of trees was a handful of simple thatched huts enclosing a dozen hammocks each, a camp fire that provided the only source of light, and all around could be heard a cacophony of sound from monkeys and birds emitting shrill plaintive cries. Following the dinner gong, we headed to dinner-feijoa beans, rice and chicken, a combination that would be our staple diet for the duration of the camp. Taking my first mouthful I heard a crack, and spat out a tooth that had so untimely chosen to break free only a month after my last dental check-up in New Zealand, any other day it would have caused me great concern, but realising the extreme isolation of our camp from any other town, I indifferently pushed it aside and carried on eating! Returning to our sleeping quarters my girlfriend and I fumbled around in our packs trying to find our sleeping attire. Luckily a fellow camper came in with a torch, shining light onto our hammocks, our packs, and a tarantula the size of a saucer perched atop my shoes! The three of us stood there aghast-my girlfriend with her hands over her eyes, and the torch-bearer and myself wrapped around my girlfriend. Alerted by the commotion a camp-guide came in and calmly scooped up the spider, informing us that like most animals the tarantula would not attack unless in danger, he did however go on to tell us that the poison from nine tarantula bites is enough to kill a fully grown man! And so with a dull resounding thump resonating in my jaw, and the uncertainty of what other creatures were sharing our hut with us, we tried to sleep; consciousness dissolves, is it sleep or another kind of oblivion? A radiance of opal fire and gold filled the sky the next day, streaming into our hut and gently waking us for the day's activities. At 6am we set out of camp on a horse trek. Throwing caution to the wind I led my horse away, letting her pound like thunder and bolt like lightning on the open savannah range; whether this resembled actual event at all I'm not sure, but I do know that on that day I was an extremely happy Kiwi! At dusk we rode back into camp, no longer sitting in our saddles with a supple ease, but nonetheless proudly wearing our battered behinds like badges! With each new day the confidence of the group noticeably grew, approaching the daily tramps and activities with more and more gusto. Such bravado diminished slightly the next day however when we waded out into chest-high water of a lake, wearing nothing but our togs and armed only with a makeshift fishing pole, on a mission to catch piranha! Although we were informed that there is sufficient food in the lake at this time of the year to negate any concern of human attacks, I personally was reciting my own more reassuring mantra! After landing our first few catches and finding them to be only 10 or so centimetres long, we became a lot more confident and even nonchalant; heck, after braving tarantulas and riding horseback across savannahs, we scoffed at such pitiful catches. As if in reply to our insolence from the sea-gods, I then reeled in the biggest catch of the day, a glistening black piranha of 30 centimetres long, with teeth 1 cm long! Admittedly slightly anxious as I slowly brought it back into shore, I couldn't help a ghost of a grin spreading across my face as I sensed the group looking on at me in awe! On the final night we all sat around the campfire, comrades in arms, unwinding and recalling the events of the last few days, a mixture of emotions in the air-pride from all that we had challenged and overcome, happiness being in the company of newfound friends, and also sadness to be leaving this all behind and moving on. For four days and three nights Tara and I had lived pure adventure of the cowboy and indian kind, but for now, these cowboys were looking forward to a bath and an ice cold beer.
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