Our pack up went pretty smoothly and within 45 minutes we’d stashed our kit and loaded the bikes. The ‘9’ would take us the short 22 miles to the town of Chuy, where we’d cross into Brazil (country No 41). We found the Uruguayan customs 2.5km South of Chuy and checked out without fuss. The Brazilian customs on the other hand was jumping. We hadn’t a clue which queue to join and so in true biker fashion…we didn’t. We just rode to the front of the customs house parked up and grinned. No one even blinked an eye. I still don’t know why, but I was apprehensive about the Brazilian border. I needn’t have been. The crossing was simple enough and the only hold up was that we’d arrived at lunch time and there was only one young guy on duty. Brazil don’t use the ‘Carnet’ and so apart from the normal personal info, passport number, county of origin, etc,etc. We completed the temporary import/export forms and signed a document that confirms that should we sell the bike whilst in Brazil than we would pay 10% of the value of the bike in TAX. 2 hours after arrival we were in. We’d wanted to come to Brazil for so long. It was surreal to be here at last.

The country side seemed to change almost immediately. Somehow larger, lusher and certainly greener. We were heading up to Rio Grande where we’d hope to find some camping. The ‘9’ snakes its way through the lagoons that lace the coastline. Lush water ways and water-laden fields to our left and right, complete with swimming livestock. As the ‘9’ rose a little higher our view improved. The water stretched into the horizon on both sides, the dark blue waters broken occasionally where a patch of scrub had managed somehow to survive. The whole area was a wildlife playground. Neither of us have ever seen so many birds of prey in one place in our lives. We haven’t a clue what half of the species were. We parked up on the right and managed to get a few photos of what we can only describe as swimming hairy pigs, hopefully we’ll have a more eloquent explanation of these beasties when we see them next.

Rio Grande was larger than either of us has expected. It was of course rush hour and we’d not eaten all day. Not the best way to be introduced to a new city. Worst of all we’d arrived like complete amateurs and had no Brazilian currency. We were both getting ‘testy’, and it would soon be dark. To make matters worse we’d not seen a single sign for any camping and our 20 minute ride around town in search of an ATM machine that would accept our card had come to nothing.

Enter the hero of the hour…George. We’d parked up in the centre of town, stumped as to what to do next, no cash…no options. How had we been this unorganised? George had introduced himself as a local shop owner and was asking enthusiastically about the bikes. “if I can help in any way, you must let me know” George remarked casually. 20 minutes later and we were ‘sorted’. Georges had introduced us to his high street neighbour who had readily offered to exchange some of our US$ for Brazilian Real. ‘Dosh’ done, right where are we staying? With that George had jumped in his car and led us to the interestingly named ‘Kiss Motel’, which, he described as cheap and very clean. With our home found for the night we unpacked the bikes and arranged to meet up with George and his wife later tonight. The least we could do was buy this a guy a drink.

The ‘Kiss Motel’, Mmmmm….where do I start. We were giggling before we’d even got upstairs. The secure parking was very secure and for that matter very discreet. We’d never stayed anywhere, where you could pull a large canvas curtain behind your vehicle to stop prying eyes from spotting you. The large round bed in the middle of the room was firm and squeek free and ‘interestingly’ decorated . We reckon they’d worked out the nightly fee of 39 Real by simply multiplying the number of hours they thought we’d be here by the going hourly rate. Sure as hell no-one normally sleeps here! We now had the giggles bad.

The tiled floor was a nice touch…so much easier to clean up than pesky carpet, which does seem to hold on to stains. A large hammock had been hung in the corner, right in front of the door. We weren’t sure if this was for post coital relaxational purposes or whether it was just a poor mans ‘sex swing’?

If we had any doubts left, the TV and the menu would finish them off. The slapping, pumping writhing and moaning on every channel, made a noteworthy break from the normal “…You’re watching CNN”. But my favourite has to be the menu. You could order, Pizza, steak, salad, or hamburger and with each one the motel had kindly suggested an accompanying sex aid…how thoughtful?. Pizza and dual action dildo looked popular; well it was rated with 3 gold stars. The hamburger was recommended with a ‘saucy little 2001 tropically flavoured tube of anal lubrication’. But if you really fancied pushing the boat out then, with 4 gold stars you could go for the steak, which was served with a plethora of brightly coloured condoms and your choice of but plug or edible undies. So much choice…so little time!!! ?

We’d hoped to leave Rio Grande at a reasonable time but Georges friend was adamant the he show us his English motorbike, which turned out to be a ‘Matchless’. The bike was stored in the middle of the living room of the house he was renovating, ‘as one does’!. It was actually in pretty good nik. With a few snaps taken we made our move. Familiar and warm hugs were exchanged with George and his wife and again we did our best to thank George for rescuing us after our spat of ‘amateur hour’ arrival in his city. It was time to go.

Richards email had already confirmed that the airport was well sign-posted and easily found; it was a good place to meet. He was right and Port Alegre had been easier to enter than most other large cities we’ve visited. 10 minutes after parking up and following a phone call made on a borrowed mobile, Richard and his trusty Honda Super Sport 450 came into sight. “Well you look like motor-biking over-landers”, Richard said in a still distinctive Canadian drawl. The smile so far hadn’t left his face.
Richard had emailed us, out of the blue a week or two ago after reading one of our post on ‘Horizons-unlimited.com’. His mail was short and sweet. It read ’Hi, I’m Richard an Ex-Canadian, Ex-pat, Ex-biker living in Brazil, with my Brazilian wife. If you fancy staying with us you’re more than welcome. We’ve hosted an array of Biking RTW’s including Erin & Chris Ratay (ultimate-journey.com, great story of an epic bike ride) Bob Morley’…the list went on. How could we possibly refuse???

Richard struck as instantly likeable, relaxed and the kind of guy who really couldn’t be bothered to take any shit. Pretty impressive character traits. (...and Richard if you’re reading this stop bloody laughing, and no I’m not being nice just so you’ll take us back after our trip North:-) ?)

Within minutes of leaving the airport Richard had easily led us back to his home; Tania (his much, much, much, much better half) was already waiting at the front door. With the bikes parked up we said our hellos. Tania is a force to be reckoned with and she certainly wasn’t going stand for any of the polite English hands shaking non-sense. The warm Hug and welcome we received was that of an old and trusted friend. It’s still humbling to be received with such trust and enthusiasm from strangers.
We spent the evening just talking and chatting about everything from Bikes and travelling to politics. What a welcome!

By 11:00am the Sun was doing it’s best to make an impression on the chill wind that was still blowing. Richard had hooked me up with a connection to his high-speed internet connection and I’d managed to update our site…a little. By 12pm two metro tickets had been thrust into our hands. We were being taken for lunch, down town Port Alegre style. It was refreshing to be walking around a new city and not worrying about where we were, or haw safe the bikes were. Richard & Tania’s daily lunchtime hang out was ’buzzing’, it wasn’t difficult to work out why. There was a buffet fit for a king in the middle of the room; it must have had 40+ dishes and the deal was simple. Eat as much as you like for 7 Real (just under £2) Ohhhhhh Yeaaaahhhh, pig heaven.

With a few more hours spent on catching up on emails and diary we needed to get ready. We had a rendezvous at ‘The Moto Café’. Thank you to all those that made us feel so welcome. ‘Moto Café’ is the place to be every Wednesday evening if you’re into bikes. We spent a great evening in enthusiastic company. What we loved about the Moto café was the sense of camaraderie. It didn’t matter a ‘sod’ whether you rode a BMW, Honda, Yami’ or Harley. The important thing was that you were on two wheels and bothered to show up and enjoy yourself.

By mid-evening we’d been introduced to Heloise a good friend of Richards who was working the bar. Her short cropped hair had already got Lisa’s attention so when the chance came to start up a conversation it was jumped at. It wasn’t difficult, yeah, yah our Portuguese is crap, but Heloise is a part time English teacher…it helps!

By the end of the evening our plan for tomorrow had been hatched. Heloise family home is in the mountains around Gramaldi, about 80km North-West of Port Alegre. She was looking for an excuse to go and use it… we were it , and happy to oblige.

We enjoyed a leisurely ride out North-East of the City and our first opportunity to get a glimpse of the rolling green mountains that Brazil is famous for. We’d arrived outside of Garibaldi by later afternoon after stopping for lunch en-route and following Heloise’s directions had turned off the main route and on to a dirt track. The whole area is wine growing land with over one thousand vineyards in this region alone, unbeknownst to us Heloise had relatives who owned one of the best and had arrange for us to meet them and tour the estate. We spent the next hour immersing ourselves in the wine making process and were made to feel welcome. With our tour over it was time to taste. It a tough job buts someone’s got to do it.

With our thanks expressed we made tracks to Garibaldi and weaved our way round the zigzagg of cobble-stoned streets and up to Heloise’s family home, which since her parents death is used only occasionally. The entertainment for the evening was me being stopped by the Police with Heloise on the back. They weren’t terribly happy about our shop-run and the fact that neither of us were wearing helmets. Heloise was doing her best to assure the cops that I was a dumb tourist and wasn’t familiar with the law and a few other things I didn’t understand. Whatever she said it worked. I ended up with a verbal warning. And the cops in the back of the car grinning and giving the bike a thumbs-up.

With the Sun shinning it was time to go and explore a little of the countryside around us. Following Richards lead we weaved our way down the mountain side towards the small town of Veranopolis, stopping short by 7 miles. Richard had brought us to see his favourite bridge. The bridge did give stunning views but more importantly Richard had been tantalized by the massive arches supporting the huge structure and was pretty convinced that they were wide enough to ride a motorbike across. As it turned out he was right, unfortunately the local road agency had got wise to that idea and by now had blocked off access to the arches from the road. With concrete pillars up, there was no way to squeeze the bikes through and get the bikes onto the huge curves. Mind you it seemed a shame not to go up by foot and have a look…so we did. The photos give you an idea of the view. It was certainly a different way to cross a bridge.

With our high wire antics done and a coffee enjoyed from a small roadside café we made a quick stop off at a local distillery, Casa Buco reputed for producing the best Cachaça, (a very potent sugar cane liquor) in the country. Mind you they’ve been practising since 1925. Wow, this stuff could blow your head off. The neat stuff was too much for me to handle, but mixed with crushed ice, granulated sugar and fresh limes it was bloody addictive. The bottle that Heloise bought was finished of within days of getting back to Port Alegre.

It was time to get packed up and head back. Heavy rain had been forecast and slippy mountain roads wouldn’t be fun and so by 8:00pm we played with the cities evening rush hour traffic and parked up back at Richard and Tania’s.

The last few days have been a great chance for me to get some diary and web page stuff done. Lisa’s been using the internet connection to plan our route North. We’d planned to leave several days ago but Lisa was bed ridden with a chronic migraine, so bad that her vision was blurred. I’ve come down with what I hope is just a cold, but I’ve been feeling steadily worse over the last few days. With the constant and heavy rain outside and the easy and fun company inside we’ve not been desperate to Launch ourselves North, just yet.

20-07-2005….2 YEARS & 2 MONTHS ON THE ROAD. WHERE HAS THE TIME GONE?

If we feel up to it we’ll make a move tomorrow. In the mean time Richard and Tania’s company is infectious. I’m using the time to really have a good go at some of the web-jobs I’ve wanted to get around to for a while now. I’m also finishing off an article for ‘Men’s Health Magazine’ in South Africa.