Working as a cleaner in Buenos Aires.

We’d left resumes at Ostinatto Hostel around the corner and they were our one and only call back! While they had no receptionist or bar positions available, a cleaner was going on a months leave from mid-April and they offered us her job. The hours were 8am to 2pm, Tuesday to Thursday and we decided to job share. Our salary was a flat monthly rate paid in two lots, which came to $3.90 an hour. Ouch. Beggars can’t be choosers!

We put out breakfast, cleaned the kitchen, rooms and at least four bathrooms, changed bedding and swept, mopped and dusted communal areas. Each morning we started from the top floor terrace, bringing our trolley of cleaning goods, mops and brooms with us. It was nice starting the day with a view over Buenos Aires (cue singing from the Evita musical).

“Hello! Buenos Aires…”

It was a real pain in the arse if someone left the lift door open, as it meant climbing up to five floors of stairs to get it working again! The middle of the building was open air; like a big shaft with balconies on all sides. It made it feel nice and airy, but once I dropped a broom over edge and it smashed a big light in the reception area. Thankfully no one was hurt and my boss Barbara didn’t seem too mad!

Other than failing health and safety standards, the cleaning tools, cloths and chemicals weren’t very pleasant. The toilet bins were decidedly very unpleasant, as in many South American countries, that’s where you put used toilet paper…

Other than sneaking a coffee and some food while packing away breakfast, we had no breaks and in most shifts I didn’t even use the bathroom; I was non-stop for six hours, and believe me I moved fast! Tristan seemed to take more breaks though and usually finished on time or early, whereas I always worked past 2pm. On the first day I finished after 4pm; I guess I’m a bit of a perfectionist!

My back has never been as sore as it was after each shift and I feared I might be doing permanent damage (I didn’t). I really wondered how people older than me managed, especially if they had children to go home to and didn’t have the luxury of a 30 second commute and a partner to run you a bath and make lunch.

As I started another job, I only did six shifts. Tristan did more though, because we realised that we were expected to work for five weeks, not the four-week ‘month’ we’d planned. This of course brought the pay rate down even further… Luckily Tristan was able to negotiate some more money.

We also shared a shift at the hostel’s bar, serving a total of four customers, wild! Whilst boring, I did get to take home some cake and left over BBQ from a wine tasting event held on the hostel’s terrace. Ostinatto Hostel really was great and I recommend it. It was clean (of course!), the roof top terrace is nice (and clean!), staff are helpful and they offer discounts and free weekly yoga and Spanish lessons.

View from behind the hostel bar.

The job gave us a real understanding of the pay and conditions domestic workers in Buenos Aires (and probably many other places) have to deal with. Certainly the staff and guests weren’t used to seeing a cleaner who was (relatively) young, white and English-speaking and some questioned what I was doing there.

The cost of living did not make up for the low pay. Sure, it was cheaper than back home but not enough to bring balance. For example, I worked an hour to buy a coffee. On minimum wage in Australia you’d get around five coffees. Having said that, I’m sure there are ‘off the books’ workers in Australia getting by on similar rates too.

Our temporary home: San Telmo, Buenos Aires, Argentina

After our overnight bus, we arrived in Buenos Aires at 9am on Sunday 1 April and for the first of many times to come I sang in my head “What’s new, Buenos Aires? I’m new!” (from the Evita musical). We rented an apartment on AirBnB in the heart of San Telmo; the city’s oldest neighbourhood or barrio. We chose San Telmo because a friend had lived there years ago and described it as similar to Melbourne’s Fitzroy, whereas the other popular place; Palermo, is more like Chapel St and home to lots of American ex-pats. It was a very quiet, drizzly morning and getting to our new home was an easy subway ride.

There’s so much to say about our two months in Buenos Aires and as I’m clearly not posting in the moment, it’ll be easier to write it in topics.

San Telmo

As the oldest barrio in Buenos Aires, San Telmo is full of character, history, grit, rejuvenation and hipsters. The bus and subway service is great and it’s pretty central to the rest of Buenos Aires. Many streets are lined in cobblestone and some seriously good and colourful graffiti art adorns its walls; a juxtaposition right there. Even its subway station is covered in creative mosaics and Arabic text.




I’ve always thought it curious how different a place seems to be when you remember how it looked and felt upon first arrival. Thinking back to the first afternoon at the crowded market and my first slightly on edge walk to yoga, it seemed different, surreal and not at all like the neighbourhood that is now up there with my ‘homes away from home’ around the world. San Telmo is where I practiced Spanish, first lived with (only) Tristan, did my weekly shopping, practiced at Buena Onda Yoga and worked as a cleaner and babysitter.

Defensa is the main street in San Telmo and on Sundays it’s closed off for a market. We only found it on Easter Sunday and thought it was a one-off, but it’s there every week in all its glory; roaming musicians and food sellers, bands on the corner, singers, puppeteers, dancers, hundreds of stalls and of course lots of tourists. By the end I felt like a real local as I’d get annoyed pushing through on my way to yoga or work! But then that’d make me happy and I remembered how lucky I am.

We lived near the corner of Independencia and Chacabuco streets and on Saturday’s until around 2pm there’s a fresh food market a couple of blocks away on Mexico St. We went every week and it was a good way for me to practice my Spanish. Even at the supermarkets, you don’t take what you want and have it weighed at the check out, but tell the staff what you’d like and they select it.

Dorrego Plaza is home to the Sunday antiques market, which at around 5pm transforms into an outdoor milonga (tango practice). The same antiques can be bought for around half the price at the indoor antiques market, which is open most days. Around the plaza and San Telmo in general, there are lots of old cafes and bars, full of wood and photos and looking like they’d been there for a hundred years (and in fact may have been).

We decided to eat out once a week and it was often to one of the many and diverse options in San Telmo. We definitely chose a good place to live! We also liked going to a cafe for either coffee and medialunas (small croissants) or to a bar for Martini Rosso with soda from one of those old spritzer jugs and free peanuts or popcorn.





One afternoon we visited El Zanjon. Originally a mansion, when yellow fever spread through the neighbourhood in the early 1870s it was abandoned and became an tenancy building, mainly for poor migrants. Tunnels were constructed to stop flooding and provide water to residents, but it was abandoned again in 1985. The current custodians revealed old tiles on the walls and discovered the tunnels after unclogging decades of rubbish. Its history identified, they decided against their plans for a restaurant and developed the building into a museum. It is definitely worth a visit. El Zanjon is privately run, has won awards and is partially funded by hiring out sections for events; it’d be a fantastic venue!

Sao Paulo, Brazil

We weren’t going to visit this sprawling metropolis a 22ish hour drive inland from Rio. However, we were a week ahead of schedule and had Chloe’s company on the trip, so off we went. We gave it two days, but I’m sure you could spend more once you got to know it better. I felt it was largely a business city; the location for company head offices.


We found a cheap, non-crappy hotel online in Centro that was a short walk from the subway (always a plus!). I’m just now truly realising the disadvantage of not writing more immediately (as if there were advantages?). I’m only a little sure that we arrived in Sao Paulo around midday on 25 March. It’s now 24 May! Oops… (and I’m not posting until June 6!).

We walked around the mall area and for dinner went to a sushi place in a small arcade. Living in Melbourne, I’ve been spoilt when it comes to authentic multicultural food, so when I eat it anywhere else it’s always a little disappointing! The sushi itself was delicious (and included the big rolls you get in the U.S.A). What was odd was the sake served in little square bento boxes filled until it spilled over into a saucer. It made drinking difficult and wasteful! If this actually happens in Japan, let me know!

After breakfast at the hotel, we went to the UGT office; a union that Tristan hoped to make connections with as part of his role representing the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW). It was kind of nice being in a corporate setting again, especially as we met with their international relations director. While they chatted in Spanish, I read English promotional brochures and was impressed by one about human rights for migrants, Indigenous people, children and workers from all sectors.

From there we visited the Sao Paulo Metropolitan Cathedral. In 1913 it took 40 years to build and looks over a European styled park, right in the middle of a clustered city; it sneaks up on you! We hoped to go to the top of the Altino Arantes Building; built between 1939 and 1947 as the state bank. You need your passport to get in though and we’d left our’s at the hotel, so we settled for views of its fancy foyer.

Getting hungry, we took the subway and walked through crowded market streets to the Mercado Municipal de Sao Paulo; a mecca for deli foods. We found a table and tucked into soft cheese, salami, pickled onions and a small bottle of red wine. Yum.





In the 1970s, 109 people disappeared (suspected kidnapped) under the dictatorial government; generally for some small action or maybe none at all. We visited the Memorial of Resistance of Sao Paulo, which thanks to the many photos, was educational despite my lack of Spanish. It was weird to see photos of various Nazi Party groups along side other persecuted associations. We saw the cells where people were kept and tortured, and the graffiti they left on the walls.


It’d been a long day of walking so we rested for a bit in a park, once we’d secured a bench! There were small waterfalls and even exercise equipment (most parks have these, even some bus stops – awesome idea!).

The weather wasn’t nearly as hot as in Bahia, but the idea of sitting in a cool cinema was appealing so we went to see 12 Years A Slave. It was in English (with Spanish subtitles), and is a great film. See it if you haven’t already!

We’d hoped to catch up with Chloe that night and see a little of Sao Paulo from a semi-local’s perspective, but her family lived a bit out-of-town and it’d been a busy week. Instead, we went to a Ramona’s restaurant, recommended on Trip Advisor (my new favourite website). One waiter spoke English but all the staff were friendly and the food was good. The chips were a little soft and burnt, the salad a little soggy but the steak tartare was terrific (and only $15).

For our last day in Sao Paulo, we went to the Sao Paulo Museum of Art; a 1968 concrete and glass building suspended on red beams. It creates a large open public space underneath, which along with some homeless people, that day it was full of student protestors. They were calling for cheaper and more frequent public transport and from our experience they were right to do so; the trains were easy to navigate but always very packed. It was great to see so many young people articulating their needs in an organised way. Most were there as part of smaller associations; another sign of an active and organised political culture.

Across the road was Trianon Park; a gorgeous, tree-filled, slightly dark reprieve from the city, and big! I think we just scratched the surface. There’s a bridge over a main road allowing the garden to continue on the other side and it’s full of quiet spots, sculpture and winding paths.

Nearby, we had lunch at a buffet place where you pay by the weight of your food. There are lots of them around Brazil and Argentina and I think they’re a great idea. For those on a diet it lets you choose exactly what you want to eat, and know how much it weighs. It’s deceptive though – I thought my plate would have weighed less than it did!

That evening we boarded a bus for a 16 hour journey to Foz do Iguazu to see Iguazu Falls; one of the seven natural wonders in the world. Yet again, the bus was comfortable and the overnight really not that bad (plus we save money on accommodation!).

Eco Trancoso, Part 5: Deciding to leave.

Until mid-way through our second week, life at Eco Trancoso was pretty good. Frustrating organisation and bugs aside, we were enjoying ourselves. The house we were staying in turned out to belong to Petra; a German woman who turned out to be Stefan’s ex-wife (or partner) and lived in the attached house next door. Word got around that she was returning; like most other things news seemed to travel via gossip, even though there were only seven of us!

Dayton had heard negative things about Petra from a past volunteer, but when we met her it was a little like mum coming home – she made sure we had clean cloths and tea-towels, put an end to Tristan and I paying for toilet paper and even made porridge for us. Petra also showed me the citronella, clove and alcohol bug tonic. She played guitar and we had a nice evening sitting around the kitchen with Tristan playing Bob Dylan songs.

Moving house.

The day after Petra arrived, Stefan advised us that our house needed to be exterminated for termites. We had to move out. Hiring a tent wasn’t an option as he’d promised it to a new volunteer (who never arrived), so we reluctantly accepted his offer to stay in the half-finished adobe house. After asking if we could pay slightly less, he agreed. Our only other option was finding a room in town, but we liked the farm and didn’t want to hike to work everyday.

Thankfully, and maybe after talking to Petra, Stefan let us move into his place beside the kitchen. He moved into the half-finished adobe house, and we felt a little guilty. After cleaning the house and retrieving some items Petra had taken from our fridge, we moved into our new room.

Stefan’s place was fine, but we missed the outdoor shower and balcony and had little privacy. You could look into the kitchen area from the bed, and closing the door created a stifling heat inside, so we mostly just kept the fly screen shut. I’m sure someone saw me near naked at least once. It was hot! We were also 99% sure someone had gone in when we were out, although we thought we had the only key…

The small gossip train I was embarrassed to be part of told us that we’d had to leave Petra’s house not because of termites, but because she’d rented it on AirBnB (guests never arrived). Out of curiousity, I’ve looked up Petra on AirBnB and found a few properties, including unrealistic listings of the rooms at Eco Trancoso. Unsurprisingly, I also found some bad reviews and crazy sounding responses.

Tides change…

Petra and Stefan fought often, and loudly! We could hear them across the farm and I swear the ducks and chickens would run away. I felt sorry for Stefan. Petra seemed to own some of the land and while Stefan made it clear that she wasn’t involved in Eco Trancoso, she ate our food and seemed very micro-managy. While Gilbert also shared our food, it was explained to us that this was part of his deal in selling (or loaning?) Stefan his land. Afterall, he was old and had no one to cook or shop for him (we wondered what he did on weekends). Keep in mind that we paid for the food in the kitchen and were the only ones who cooked (other than one or two meals).

To her credit, Petra actually did something to restore internet access, but after the first afternoon the modem disappeared and there was talk of us paying for internet. She also yelled that Gilbert was not to use it; I’d only seen him use it once to Skype with his daughter.

As volunteers weren’t on duty on weekends, it wasn’t until about 1pm one Saturday or Sunday that we realised that the chickens hadn’t been let out of their pen. They’re normally out by 7am so that they could peck around, eat scraps and importantly, have access to water. After I’d released them, Petra laughingly said that she’d thought of it earlier but that as she didn’t really like them anyway, she’d ignored them. Right…..

At this stage we had another week and a half to go, but with Chloe leaving in a few days we were beginning to think we should join her, especially as we’d be taking the same overnight bus to Sao Paulo. Dayton had another few weeks and Sage was leaving in a month.

Finding a way out.

An annoying fact about most regional buses in Brazil is that without a national ID number, you have to book and pay in person and in advance at the main bus station. Ours was a half an hour drive or two local buses and a ferry away, so when Petra offered to get our tickets when she was driving past, we accepted. She said it would cost us $5 for petrol, and the next day it was $5 per person. Given that going there ourselves meant transport costs and taking a day off work (which added cost to the accommodation), her’s was the best option.

Petra was going to town Friday afternoon (I think), so needed our bus details by then. Tristan and I were still undecided when during a class with Stefan, Petra said she was leaving early and needed the details in half an hour. Until class finished, Tristan and I surreptitiously wrote notes to each other and had a quick chat afterwards. Weighing up the pros and cons, we decided that we’d probably gotten as much as we would out of Eco Trancoso and that anything more wasn’t worth the hassle.

It was pretty nerve-wracking to tell Stefan, but he understood and we paid him what we owed. That’s when things got ugly. Apparently when we first arrived and he agreed we could begin paying three days later, he thought it was just for food, not also accommodation. Given that our request was due to the $115 we’d had to spend when we couldn’t contact him and that food would only make up $15, it was odd that he’d remembered it that way. Even with accommodation, it would have stopped short of covering half our costs.

We got into a huge argument about whose fault it was that we’d to pay for a hotel and taxi and whether he had a duty of care to volunteers (he denied this, stating he didn’t invite them). In the end, and after calling Tristan a fascist (hilarious!), Stefan saw we weren’t giving him any more money and we’d all had enough of arguing. Petra tried to calm the situation. She knows how disorganised Stefan can be, but I don’t think she knew about the financial aspect of our argument.

Our farewell at Gilbert’s house.

The farewell we’d planned for Chloe on Saturday evening turned out to be one for us too. We decided to have it at Gilbert’s house as he had a BBQ and the environment was much nicer; we’d already spent a few evenings there. Gilbert’s house is crazy. He built it himself expecting his children to come and live with him but they never did. It’s four or five storeys of adobe and wood flooring, sparse kitchen, coloured walls, ornaments from around the world, books in different languages, a shower and toilet separated by sheets, a few mattresses and hammocks and resident bats in the stairwell. It was a photographer’s dream and if I get my shit together I’d love to do a little exhibition one day; ‘Gilbert’s House’.

Now, Gilbert, Stefan and Petra didn’t get along. According to Gilbert (who’s more than a little eccentric), when he was away one time Stefan took apart his kitchen to use the wood on the farm. He also thought Stefan and Petra were alcoholics who had fried their brains in the sun (this may be; we did have an awful lot of wine bottles to use in future adobe houses). True or not, Gilbert wouldn’t have either of them in his house and when asked, said that no volunteers had ever had a smooth time at the farm.

So while we were all off at Gilbert’s, Stefan and Petra were not. Oddly, Petra had made a salad for us to take to Gilbert’s with us – maybe she wanted an invite we weren’t able to give. It might explain why that night was our last at the farm. It was a fun night though; we barbecued a big fish we’d bought fresh from the market and indulged in caipirinhas (delicious lime and vodka drink). We all did a little yoga in his near unfurnished house and I sat in the lush green grass overlooking the forest he’d grown. The grass turned out to be a hive of sand flies, but I didn’t notice at the time!

Moving house (take two).

Through Chloe, we’d heard of Petra’s offer to drive us to town to catch our bus, so that we didn’t have to hike there with our luggage (it was worth the $5 each she was charging). On Sunday morning, I was making breakfast and we were all chatting nicely. Since I hadn’t actually spoken to Petra about the lift or thanked her, I wanted to ask what time she’d be able to drive us to town. Before I could finishing saying “Petra, so our bus leaves at 1pm tomorrow…” she began laying into me about how she wasn’t our tour guide.

For about three minutes and in front of everyone but Stefan, Petra shouted at me about how we were just tourists and if we need so much babysitting we should have stayed home. She said we left her house filthy, called us liars for not paying Stefan and complained that what we paid for her house wasn’t enough as she charged X on AirBnb (forgetting, I suppose, that we worked on the farm for at least 5 hours a day and that Stefan had set the price).

Petra then switched to shouting in German (somehow always more scary), to tell me that Tristan was an arsehole and she had no problems saying that to his face (she didn’t). With some more accusations and slurs, she went off to yell at Stefan, who sulked passed us a bit later looking apologetic. So we didn’t regret our decision to leave!

It was pretty upsetting so we left immediately to spend the night at Gilbert’s (he’d previously offered his place to others). We cleaned Stefan’s place, grabbed our luggage and found Stefan to say farewell. It was brief; Tristan gave him his key, said we were going and received a ‘humpf’ in response. We didn’t bother asking for our money back for that day’s food and accommodation.

We had a peaceful night sleeping on a mattress under a mosquito net at Gilbert’s. However, he did warn us that if we heard people in the night not to answer as it could be ‘bandits’ who’d previously robbed him. I suppose that if they heard people (and a female), they couldn’t be taken by surprise, or may do more than thieving.

We woke happily in the morning, met Chloe for our taxi to town and said our goodbyes to Gilbert, Sage and Dayton. The bus arrived and the three of us headed to Sao Paulo, arriving the next morning; Tuesday 25 March.

All I can think about Eco Trancoso is that Petra has something over Stefan, who must have been truly screwed over by volunteers in the past; that they drank heavily, damaged property and took more than their fair share of food. Given the disorganisation and lack of duty of care, I honestly felt like we were the first volunteers there. From what I can gather, the farm has been hosting volunteers for at least two years.

After we left I heard from Sage that while she was still volunteering at the farm, she was staying at Gilbert’s. Petra had rented Stefan’s place on AirBnB and chastised Sage for spending time in the kitchen. She was told to leave the kitchen immediately, as she couldn’t be there while the guests were because they needed privacy. Sage needed to prepare and eat meals, had a right to use the internet and being a camper, she had no where else to go. Pure craziness.

Next stop, Sao Paulo!

Eco Trancoso, Part 4: Learning new skills – Permaculture & Eco Construction.

Our most important reason for being at Eco Trancoso was to learn the theory and practice of permaculture and eco construction. Stefan is largely self-taught and researches online, but I think he also learnt from Gilbert; the elderly Madagascan who is also a horticulturist (we pieced together that Stefan’s land used to belong Gilbert, and that he’d worked with communities in Africa).

From my understanding, Stefan’s goal is to turn Eco Trancoso into a centre where students can stay in sustainable accommodation, take courses in permaculture and eco construction and put their learning into practice by contributing to projects. It’s a great goal and one I hope he achieves.

The land isn’t naturally fertile, as it sits atop a hill and is on the coast and exposed to winds. Before Gilbert and Stefan got there, I imagine it was mostly barren, with low-lying, shallow rooted shrubs – that’s what the area around the farm is like. Whilst there’s clay further below the ground, the earth is sandy so specific trees and bushes need to be planted to get a garden growing (for example, a type of black wattle).

I learnt this and other really interesting big and small picture lessons about permaculture from Stefan during three classes. After the first week, we’d ask him about learning more (we didn’t really have a good grasp of what permaculture even was), so he began classes. Apparently we were the first volunteers he’d had who wanted to learn the theory, which surprised me as Eco Trancoso’s website talks about offering study.

I won’t get into it here, but I learnt enough about permaculture to want to apply it to any garden I have in the future. Look it up. It makes perfect sense; especially in a world that’s facing resource scarcity. I think the problem with Eco Trancoso is that the land is very difficult to work with, there are a lot of projects happening at once, volunteers come and go and I’m not sure Stefan follows his own advice (Gilbert didn’t think so either). But in any case, we were ready to work!


The role of animals and making fences.

The animals are a big part of permaculture; what and where they eat and the advantages and disadvantages of their footprints and waste. For example, Tristan and I dug an irrigation trench from the place where the horse; Bonobo usually pees. It followed the natural curve and slant of the ground and ended near a small banana tree grove.

We used horse and chicken poo to fertilise plants and help nurture better soil, along with fallen leaves that had been sitting for a while. They form a natural structure that new soil and organisms can grow in, so I had to carefully move them with the pitchfork so as to not disturb them to much.

To give Bonobo more space, three of us were tasked with fencing off a large area, covered with small bushes and a couple of trees. We dug fence post holes using a nifty excavator tool and packed in posts that Stefan had found or been donated. Then we wound and nailed wire between the posts, pulling them taught. Unfortunately when it came to hammering in nails to hold the wire, some of the posts were rotted, fell apart and had to be taken out.

I’m all for up/recycling materials, but they need to be functional. It was very frustrating to have done work in the hot sun, only to dig them up again. If they’d been packed in properly, the posts were almost impossible to pull out and many broke off anyway, making it really hard to dig out crumbling wood! Stefan came and went, and kept assuming we had brought out the tools, when we needed to be shown which were needed. However, I now know how to build fences, and Tristan and I repaired the ones around Bonobo’s pen.

Making adobe bricks.

Dayton had been at Eco Trancoso for a few months already, so Stefan had him show me how to make bricks for building an adobe house. Using a pick axe, we dug clay from a large, swimming pool sized hole, trying to avoid too much sand. Then we wheel-barrowed the clay to the ‘mud bath’.

The clay goes into the bath along with increments of water and of fresh reed grass cut up with a machete – fun! Even more fun was getting barefoot into the bath to stomp around and get all the bumps out of the mix. Putting mud on your skin also helped deter the bugs. The aim was to mix a cement that was smooth and not too wet or dry. When ready, it was scooped up and wheel-barrowed to a concrete path in a sunny, covered spot by the kitchen.

We used a wooden frame to make two bricks at a time; rinsing it off after each use. To avoid air pockets, the cement was thrown and patted into the frame. When the frame was full, it was pulled slowly upwards, leaving the bricks to dry. One of us was on ‘brick duty’ at a time, and we each met our daily quote of 30 bricks. Hooray! None of us ever heard a word of thanks or recognition from Stefan, but when we asked he said the bricks were fine and most dried out in a few days.

The second time I made bricks I wanted to check something so I found Stefan. He explained that I’d been doing it wrong, and that there was more of a process than Dayton had taught. While it wasn’t detrimental to the bricks I’d already made, it would have made it easier so it was pretty annoying. I was there to learn the correct processes; not hand me downs. Plus, I found out it was fine to dig clay from the bottom of the hole, and not only the sides, which would have done my back a lot of favours!

Building an adobe house.

We were tasked with laying bricks to finish the en suite walls of a one bedroom adobe house. Before we arrived, others had been busy trying to finish the house as it was where Stefan had intended to accommodate Tristan and I. As it was under construction and without electricity, plumbing, locks or furniture, I was glad that he’d had a change of heart and put us in a house with all its floors and walls!

Tristan had already spent a couple of days laying bricks, so he taught me how. We used the same adobe cement mix used for the bricks, and nailed and weighted strings provided a guiding line to keep everything straight. It went fine until we wanted to check the guide with Stefan, spent 20 minutes finding him and then realised we were ever so slightly off track. Work was quickly rectified though, and by the time we left we’d almost built a whole section of the bathroom – pretty satisfying.


I also learnt how to build wine bottles into a wall to create a feature that will look cool and draw more light into the bathroom. They went on top of an existing wall, just under the ceiling, and were filled with water to better capture light. We put chlorine in to prevent mould, and sealed them with cork.

Unstable scaffolding aside, putting 1cm of adobe mud between bottles was a bit tricky. I was thankful for my small hands! Each layer had to be as thin as possible, but strong enough to hold the bottles in place. This is because cracks and gaps form as the mud dries, so layers are added after the previous one dries. I did three layers over a week. It was great to see the result, but I was sorry I didn’t get to finish it completely (due to us leaving early).

At one point I needed a little more cement but it wasn’t worth making a new batch. Leftover cement was kept in buckets and covered with water to stop them drying out, and I spotted an old one. After smelling it to ensure it wasn’t mixed with manure, I lifted the bucket only to have the rusty handle break (this was common and I was glad I’d had my tetanus vaccination!). As the cement splashed on my face, I realised; it was manure after all. This was the grossest thing that happened.

Working on the house was fun, especially since I got to listen to music and use the adobe mud to protect my arms and legs from bugs. Making the bricks was great too, as it involved varied tasks and squishing mud between my toes. This really helped after my toe was bitten by a mysterious, evil, blood sucking little black worm. I’d seen one stuck to my leg before but quickly swiped it off. This one must have been there a while as it took several flicks to get it off and it hurt like hell. With a surge of adrenalin I sprinted to the kitchen and poured alcohol all over it. The pain subsided and the small gouge took about a month to heal. No one had ever seen or heard of the worms. The mystery continues.

The duck pond.

A duck pond had been built but the ducks had ripped up its plastic lining while scrambling in and out. A duck without water is… well, I’m sure that there’s a saying for it and that it’s partially why the ducks were getting sick. Chloe dug a whole and inserted a round plastic tub around a metre deep and across. It’s edges were broken and sharp so we worried about the ducks feet, but our initial concern was simply getting them in. They’d seemed to forget they were ducks!

To coax the ducks into their new pool, we shooed away the chickens and held corn kernels over the water. Only two went in, and only because they teetered too close to the edge trying to get the corn, and fell in. It was pretty hysterical. Only one duck liked it enough to stay in for a minute and none ever did so voluntarily. We tried in vain to catch them, so resorted to splashing them. They seemed happier being wet though, and liked preening themselves. I hope they’ve found their ducky natures by now.

Chloe is a talented artist, so she painted a gorgeous giant mural on the kitchen wall. It instantly made the place feel more welcoming.

Key-hole gardens and nursery.

Some of the others worked on key-hole gardens, which were designed for dry climates and originated in Africa. They built a shade and nurtured new soil. Sage spent a morning creating the key-hole shape with bricks only to be told they’d been laid incorrectly and had to be redone. Stefan believed this was part of letting volunteers experiment with different techniques, but I believed we had to learn the right ones first; especially when working under a harsh sun. Like me, Sage suffered severely from the bugs and often worked head to toe in clothes. The day before we left Stefan decided to start the day an hour earlier to avoid the hottest hours; a wise move, particularly as the next project was digging swells into the land to create ebbs and flows for irrigation and planting.

A small plant nursery was in the most shaded and lush part of the farm. Cuttings from various plants were put into plastic bags with soil and later transplanted to the key-hole garden and around the farm. Tristan and I planted six passionfruit sprouts and by the time we left all but one were growing well. It’d be interesting to go back to Eco Trancoso in about ten years to see how they, and the farm and Stefan’s goal, are coming along.

As well as trees and plants that provided shade and nurtured the earth, Stefan also planted banana, mango, passionfruit, cashew, cinnamon, a bean stalk and probably others I’m forgetting. It was the wrong season, but we were lucky to enjoy the garden’s limes, ginger and delicious palm kernels.

With all the media around not using palm oil, I instinctively hesitated to eat palm kernels before realising that of course there are no orangutans there! You notice how very oily they are as soon as you pick them, and I liked using the oil for lip balm. To eat them, you can either roast or boil them. Once I learnt to scrape the flesh off the stringy middle with my teeth, I loved them – the taste is mild and a bit nutty.

Another common plant was citronella, which deterred the bugs and was used to make an anti-bug tonic by crushing it with cloves and alcohol. I think it worked pretty well! I also tied bunches of the plant’s blade like reeds and burnt them; every night I walked around our house waving it around like some religious ritual. I still have the tiniest bit left and it’s much better dried – I’ll miss it when it’s used up!

I decided that when I have a garden one day I’d love it to consist of plants that have a purpose; whether it’s eating their fruits or vegetables or making tea or insect repellant with their leaves.

Eco Trancoso, Part 3: Experiencing Trancoso’s delights.

Being at Eco Trancoso wasn’t all nasty bugs and sad animals. My next post will be about the permaculture and eco construction work we did, but first I want to write about Trancoso itself. Note: I still haven’t found a cable to enable me to post the better photos from my camera, so iPhone pics it is.

Bahia’s Beautiful Beach.

After lunch on our first day Sage showed us the walk to the beach. It’s a pretty walk and ends going through a small jungle, but due to another hill it’s not the easy stroll described on the website. The farm is on the top of a hill so getting anywhere is a bit of a hike, but we got used to it and the views are wide and stunning.


The beach is what Bahia is famous for and it’s truly one of the best I’ve seen. The sand is clean and there’s no rocks, seaweed or (mostly) people. Even so, a few times we were lucky enough to be approached by guys selling melty cheese on a stick, sprinkled with oregano. They melt it right in front of you on coals in a little portable BBQ. I could have easily eaten ten each sitting.

We spent every other afternoon at the beach, happily using the wooden shelters, body surfing (the waves could be huge!) and being bug free. It was fun to spot the near translucent crabs and one day some of the others helped a big turtle get back into the sea. If we wanted to use the boogie board though, we had to find Stefan and ask him to get it as he kept it in his house…


There were some hotels 10 minutes down the beach and occasionally we walked over for a beer and to swim in the river. After the isolation of the farm and our beach spot, it felt like returning to civilisation. The beach here flows into a river, so at low tide a pool is formed and when the tide changes you can stand on the crest and be buffeted from the waves in one direction and from the fast-moving river in the other. The tides really do change the shape of the beach. In the morning, it’s lovely to lie in the channels that form about 30 metres from the water.

In the afternoon, people play volleyball and practice yoga on the hard, sandy beach facing out to sea. People watching the people watchers was interesting too. One time a woman was happily yogaing to a small group of men confidently standing around her, some taking photos. If I was more prepared to look like a pervert I would have joined them; the photos would have been great. When the river becomes deeper at high tide, kids and teenagers take running jumps into its brown waters, just metres from the blue of the ocean.

Trancoso Town.

When we hiked into town it was mainly to use free wifi in one of the cafes. Other than our first few days, the internet wasn’t working at the farm. It doesn’t sound like much, but I’d intended to use some of my free time to write this blog and research and plan the rest of our trip. It was especially annoying when organising our next adventure, as we had to walk to town and back just to spend a couple of minutes checking travel confirmations. Initially we were only allowed online from 4-6pm; we’re not sure why. When we explained that this meant having to come back early from the beach or town, or between the two, and that neither were a quick walk, Stefan agreed to change the time to straight after lunch.

Anyway, going to town was cool and allowed us to enjoy meat, dairy, cheap beer and other goodies (the farm is vegetarian, mostly vegan – I am not). A market stall sold the most mouth-watering, home-made chocolate I’ve ever had and the acai was delicious and refreshing. Acai is made from frozen native berries and while I’d seen it at music festivals in Australia it was really pricey, so I never bothered. Of course, there was also delicious street meat.

There’s almost two defined parts of town; the one where locals live, eat and shop and the tourist part. We probably spent more time in the former. The horses meander unawares.


A lot of Brazilian tourists come to Trancoso, especially rich people from São Paulo and it seemed many came for weddings in the church. This meant envying posh restaurants and resorts and browsing boutique shops an art galleries. The town’s landmark is an old, small church near the cliff and looking over the quadrant.


At night the area is lit up beautifully with lanterns and interesting, recycled light fittings. For example, one was made of coffee cups and another from the bottom of soft drink bottles. We took a moto taxi (motorbike) home a couple of times when it was dark and we couldn’t be bothered with the hill. At $3 each and lots of fun in and of itself, it was definitely worth it.

Happy Horse riding.

Four of us volunteers had expressed interest in horse riding, so Stefan introduced us to Fernando who runs treks from a ranch. It’s been owned by the same family for generations, and the 90-year-old patriarch still goes there everyday and watches his great-grandchildren learn the ropes. We arranged to meet at the ranch entrance and Stefan explained the way; the directions were really simple.

When we got to where we were meant to be, we couldn’t see Fernando. For the next 40 minutes we asked locals for help and were grateful that Chloe spoke Portuguese (her dad’s Brazilian and she’s in the process of getting her citizenship). You’d think a ranch would be easy to find, but no one seemed to know. Eventually, Fernando found us in the plaza – where he’d arrange with Stefan to meet us….

With Fernando and horses found and my grumpiness laid aside, we were soon trotting through the streets and towards the beach. First, we trailed through jungly areas and out onto a cliff to view the expanse of perfect beaches down below. When we got there, we had the option of cantering and galloping. I’d been riding about six times before but had never worked up the courage to canter, even though I heard it was more comfortable than trotting.

As soon as my horse began to canter I wished I’d done it years ago! No more painfully bouncy boobs (or balls I’ve been told!) and a lot more fun. As long as I made sure I wasn’t directly behind another horse (where I’d get a face full of sand), it felt amazing to race along the beach. At one point I even swung my hat in the air, holding the reins with one hand. Yee hah! It was great going into the waves a bit and we took the horses into the nearby river for a drink.

When we passed through the quadrant, we tied the horses to some trees and shared a beer. It’s very common to order a litre of beer and share it in small glasses, it’s cute and keeps the beer colder for longer. Afterwards, it felt easy and familiar to get back on my horse and ride to the ranch. If and when I have my dream house in the hills one day, I’d love to have a horse to ride into town (as well as for treks).

Eco Trancoso, Part 2: Getting to know you…

Our efforts to make it Eco Trancoso on Saturday morning came through largely due to luck, as Stefan was online at the same time that we were. Within half an hour, he met us in town so that our taxi could follow him on his motor bike. We quickly realised there was no way we could have walked there with our luggage, even in the daylight. Half the 20 minute walk is up a really steep, gravelly hill.

We arrived just before lunch and met the other volunteers; Dayton (21, from California), Sage (19, from Toronto) and Chloe (32, from London). Dayton had been there since January and Sage and Chloe arrived a couple of days before us. We also met Gilbert; a nicely eccentric elderly Madagascan man who lived next door and joined us for meals. We weren’t sure why, but more on him later. It was great to be there and we were excited to get to know the area and start work on Monday.

Stefan had apologised for our difficulty getting to the farm; he thought he’d put his mobile number on the website and that the directions were clear. As the unexpected taxi and hotel had cost us about $115, we asked Stefan if we could start paying him from Monday instead of Friday. It would set him back about $58, so we were still out of pocket. Thankfully (but a little begrudgingly), Stefan agreed.

Accommodation.

While the others were camping, we accepted Stefan’s offer to stay in a cute, double story one bedroom house on the farm for $9 a night each. We had private use of an outdoor shower and it was blissful to watch the butterflies and shower amongst the leafy trees. You could just see the ocean from the balcony and we enjoyed afternoons reading in the hammock – as long as we lathered ourselves in insect repellant!

If we’d camped, it would have been about $2 a night each for equipment hire. Food was $5.50 a day each and the only other cost was 50 cents per roll of toilet paper. Our arrival aside, this was probably the first bad sign.

Incorporating toilet paper into the cost of accommodation would make for a nicer community feel, especially as we discovered that of course Stefan was paying less per roll then he charged us. It was kind of humiliating to ask for more toilet paper when you needed it. Plus, those who camped had to leave their rolls at the outdoor toilet, so they kind of shared anyway (their tents were a couple of minutes walk away and a pain to go back and forth from whilst working). It was so petty, I hate even dedicating a paragraph to it! Ugh.

Food.

In return for the cheap accommodation and vegetarian food, we worked on construction and permaculture projects from 6.30am-12.00pm Monday to Friday. Our days started with fresh coffee and crackers with tasty guava jam, ‘second breakfast’ was at 8.30am and lunch was at midday. The second bad sign was that the coffee was kept in Stefan’s house, so we had to ask for it before making each pot.

Instead of working in the farm, once a week we took it in turns to cook meals for the seven of us and on the weekends we cooked for ourselves, but usually shared. Stefan didn’t contribute, though he did wash the dishes once or twice on the weekends. We had to ask Stefan for more groceries at least once a week and he seemed surprised each time. Perhaps he was used to shopping for fewer people.

Food was especially important as Sage is vegan, but all of us needed nutritional food; we were doing hard labour in a hot climate and needed protein. The chickens didn’t really lay eggs, at least where we could find them! I actually enjoyed doing the cooking and experimenting with what was available. I loved getting ginger fresh from the ground and making tea with leaves from the cinnamon tree. It was also great that we made fresh bread each week; I learnt a really easy recipe to take home with me.

In the first week Tristan and I suggested we allow some time after lunch each day for people to raise issues or clarify work. The first thing was kitchen hygiene. Like many houses in Brazil, there was no hot water. This was fine, but we had to remind Stefan to buy detergent a few times, especially as everything was stored outside so bugs and lizards crawled on them. Compounding this was that tea towels were also kept in Stefan’s house, so we often ran out of clean ones. I liked that old rags were used as cloths, but they were kept for much longer than they could be useable or hygienic.

More importantly, the chickens and ducks were given scraps in the same pots and dishes that we ate from. The plastic ones that were more easily pecked into really bothered me. Worse, some of the ducks were sick and had been (rightly) quarantined from the others in their own area. At the meeting, Stefan agreed to make sure we always had detergent and that the animals had their own dishes.

Animals.

Our other duties included cleaning the laundry and feeding the ducks, chickens and horse; Bonobo. There was confusion when we did these duties, partially as Bonobo had temporarily run off. There was also confusion about how to do them. Stefan had shown me on my first day, but I had to explain it to the others (he wasn’t always easily found on the farm and often went to town).

I felt bad for the animals as they survived on scraps and not all volunteers made sure they had water. On the weekend when none of us were on duty, I often did it myself. It was especially hard when Bonobo returned, as he was skinny and it didn’t seem like he was getting enough food or water. Until we reinforced fences elsewhere, he was confined to a small pen with a dirt floor. He ran away twice more before we left and didn’t trust Stefan, partially because he was badly treated when younger. When we left, I missed not staying longer to build on the trust I’d developed with him.

My new enemies; sand flies and mozzies!

The mosquitos were terrible, but nothing compared to the sand flies! As I write this it’s been a month since we left and there’s still one scratchy scab left and I have some scars on my arms. It was so bad, people asked what was wrong with my legs and I honestly think that the bugs sucked about 30% of enjoyment from the experience.

The farm has no indoor areas and the only communal space with seats was the kitchen dining table. So, to eat, spend time with people and learn theory, we were exposed to the nasty bugs and in the evenings we had to dress covered from head to toe. It didn’t help that the chickens and ducks were fed scraps close to the kitchen area, attracting more bugs.

Citronella coils and insect repellant helped a little, but not much. I’ve always suffered more from bugs than others though, and recently learnt this could be because I’m deficient in B12, which bugs don’t like. While not bug proof, at least we had our house to retreat to; the others just had their one person tents. When Chloe or Sage were suffering from the heat, bugs or just not feeling well, we let them have our place to themselves for the afternoon.

One evening we had the girls and Dayton over for drinks, touting the ‘no spirits’ rule with gin and tonics. Beer and wine were allowed on special occasions. It really did feel like being back at school camp sometimes. (NOTE: it wasn’t. Eco Trancoso is for adults and the application stresses the importance of having lived independently).

I have to mention that I like camping, love animals and am not a fussy eater! My next post will be more positive, I promise.

Trancoso, Bahia, Brazil – Part 1: Arriving at Eco Trancoso.

I may have been putting off writing this post. I don’t regret my two weeks at Eco Trancoso one bit – I was inspired, made friends, learnt about permaculture, was taught techniques I’ll use back home and experienced a beautiful part of this world. However, we did leave a week earlier than intended.

When I began planning the trip, I wanted to spend some time in one place to start with. It’d be good to get my bearings, meet some travellers with tips to share and get my ears used to the new language (even though we began in Brazil, where they speak Portuguese, not Spanish). A cheap, helpful and interesting idea was to volunteer at Eco Trancoso; a permaculture and eco construction centre in Trancoso, in Brazil’s beautiful state of Bahia and a 20 hour bus ride north of Rio.

In around November, we filled out a brief application form which was accepted by the project’s brain-child; Stefan. We spoke with him via Skype a few weeks later, and agreed to arrive the afternoon of 7 March.

We took Stefan’s advice and got bus tickets from the station in Rio a few days beforehand. When we emailed Stefan the details, he advised that we’d probably miss the last local from where our regional bus would drop us off. With only one bus leaving Rio a day, we’d booked the only bus available. Kindly, Stefan recommended a hotel to stay at should we miss the local bus. Luckily, we met some Germans taking a similar route, changed buses, caught the last local bus and made it to Trancoso early Friday evening. Hooray for us!

When we arrived in town, we spent around half an hour calling the only number on Eco Trancoso’s website. Having no luck, we decided to use the address and directions to take a taxi. There were directions to walk there in 20 minutes but it was dark. We’d been travelling for 25 hours and were looking forward to arriving at our home for the next three weeks.

During this we met a French woman; Martine (who agreed that the walk was unsafe). At first, we thought we’d been incredibly blessed because she thought she knew Stefan and gave him a call. Awkwardly, when he arrived we realised that it was a different French Stefan, but one who helped us get a reliable taxi. Both Martine and Stefan gave us their mobile numbers to call if we needed anything and we planned to call them for a thank you drink once we’d settled. To our shame, we never did.

In the taxi, the address took us to a gated community that needed an entry code. We thought this was weird, because Eco Trancoso is more or less a farm. The taxi driver tried the number several times, again to no avail. We all shouted at the gate, tried random code numbers and briefly considered jumping over the fence to find someone, but in the end our only option was to head back to town for the night. The taxi driver’s cousin owned a hotel so we went there; as to whether we were ripped off or simply took our only semi-reliable option is anyone’s guess – we were tired, hungry and annoyed.

After a shower, we got some burgers and beers in the buzzing Quadrant (plaza). We watched people dancing, browsed the small market and randomly saw a white horse majestically strolling through. It had no saddle and didn’t seem to belong to anyone but no-one paid much attention, it was like an apparition! Brazil has a big horse culture and in towns like this, horses are free to meander around; everyone knows who they belong to and leave them be.

The next morning, we woke early and had delicious papaya and honeydew milkshakes. I’ve never liked papaya back home but it’s much better here, and while I’d never think to mix melon with dairy, the honeydew milkshake was also yum. Then we strolled through the quaint quadrant and down to the cliff top to check out the view – paradise awaited us!

Before we could explore further though, we had to make it to Eco Trancoso. As soon as it opened, we went to a tourist agency advertising for eco tours and that they spoke English. They didn’t, and nor had they heard of Eco Trancoso, but we used their internet and finally got in touch with Stefan. We were almost there!

Burgers, Blocos, Bums and Santa Teresa.

In Copacabana we had a favourite burger place. After around 10pm, a wagon magically appears in a backstreet and becomes surrounded by hungry people. It’s hear that we learnt that standing politely by, waiting for the cooks acknowledgement gets you nothing but hungry. Loudly interrupting them gets you an X Todo burger; cheese, chillis, peas, beef pattie, bacon, ham, lettuce, tomato, tiny crispy fries and a quail egg. Mmm mmm.

Being Carnival, of course it was a great time to be in Rio. There’s a real buzz in the air and everyone’s out for a good time (it is the party before lent after all). However, the blocos we so welcomed on day one first turned on us in downtown Carioca. We were there to see Confeteria Colombo and suspect we got within metres of it, but a bloco had other plans, namely trapping and pressing sweaty gyrating bodies on us. The authorities were prepared; many stores were boarded up and roads were closed. Despite a few moments of claustrophobia, I was glad for the experience and we did make it to our second goal; the nearby Metropolitan Cathedral (definitely one of a kind).

The next time we came up against a bloco was in Santa Teresa. After begging a taxi to take us there despite rumours of the bloco, we got as far as we could before proceeding on foot. It’s a lovely neighbourhood though; my favourite in Rio. We were there to pretend to be rich. I’d booked a massage at the tranquil sanctuary of Santa Teresa Hotel and my plan to weasel into their fancy schmancy pool area paid off. After getting directions from some friendly Germans (thanks mum!), we spent the afternoon in luxury. The massage was great and afterwards I had use of a private bathroom and sun speckled, air-conditioned deck where I was brought juice and fruit salad.

We spent another afternoon on the Lagoa; a lake in the south of the city with great views of Rio surronded by mountains, peaked by Sugar Loaf. I went back to my childhood when we paddled out on one of those duck shaped boats and got yet another kitschy song in my head when we went to nearby Ipanema. It’s a cool beach, gorgeous at sunset and there were loads of people in happy Carnival mode, but it didn’t live up to its reputation and we preferred the far less touristy Copacabana beach.

What did live up to its reputation were the Brazillian gstrings. Women of all ages and sizes wear them and I think it’s great. There’s no judgement and bums look better with less on them anyway. I even got a ‘bummier’ pair myself when we got to Trancoso (not the full bum floss!).

America … well, California.

Flying into San Francisco on Superbowl day, the soundtrack for the seven hour drive north to Arcata was mostly over excited game commentators, charismatic evangelicals or patriotic country music. All equally disarming. We kept up our energy with burgers and large take away percolated coffees with ‘cream’. Yup, we were in America.

Arcata, Humboldt County (hehe, County. Like in the movies!).

I love Arcata. I’m a hippie at heart and Arcata may just be hippie headquarters. Apparently, a bunch of hippies were following a Grateful Dead tour in the 70s and never went home after one of the band members died somewhere nearby. That doesn’t explain all the young hippies though… the force must be strong.

Arriving at night Arcata greets you with giant illuminated peace symbols in house windows. Dream catchers hang from porches and there’s op shops, record stores and organic bakeries. Of course, there’s the obligatory gaggle of dirty hippies singing and playing guitar in the town square. Supermarkets are filled with probiotic, antioxidant blah blah blah drinks and food. It’s all a bit too hipppyish for me but they don’t hurt anyone and I even tried kombucha (not bad as long as you keep reminding yourself it’s meant to be good for you).

The whole place smells faintly of weed, helped along by the skunks. Skunks do smell bad if their spray’s too close, but it’s easy to see why skunk is another word for marijuana in America.

We were there for a week and I’d alread decided which of the many yoga studios, and even what class, I would go to months ago. Om Shala didn’t disappoint. Even the short drive there and back on my own, in the dark, on the ‘wrong’ side of the road didn’t faze me.

Om Shala shares an entrance with HumBrews; a cool bar any night of the week. If I lived here I suspect I’d be using that door a lot. Most bars have pool tables and are down to earth with good microbrewery beers and fried pickles. The old cinema has weekly, not-necessarily-quality-but-that’s-the-fun sci-fi night where entry’s free if you buy food (we saw ‘Eegah!’).

Arcata reminds me of the Dandenong Ranges outside of Melbourne, if you replaced the trees with giant redwood trees and added a butt load of moss. It was pretty cold and rained on a couple of days, which was welcomed as California’s going through a drought.

We took a day trip through the Avenue of Giants, where the redwoods are truly enormous and the forest out of a fairytale. It was pretty quiet and in the down season, but a few places were open to buy touristy wood carvings, be amazed by big foot sculptures and be challenged to find him (or is it her?).

We visited a light house in Trinidad and walked to the beach through sand dunes in Samoa (haha, wishful thinking on the place names). Samoa is an old pulp mill town and we had breakfast at the cookhouse where the lumberjacks and mill workers used to eat.

I found it hillarious; Califorrnian Tristan didn’t get it. The cookhouse is a large dining hall made and full of wood, with red and white checkered table cloths and a weathered, slightly bossy but friendly blonde waitress. They only serve one meal and it’s eggs, sausage, toast, biscuit (like a scone), gravy (delicious peppery white sauce), a pot of coffee and a jug of juice. Yum.

We stayed at Tristan’s brother’s place in a gorgeous little wood tiled cottage in the forest and one night at an airbnb place only because I was allergic to his cat. It was our first of many airbnb stays to come and was great. We stayed in the spare room of a group of uni students. For $45 we got a room, breakfast, use of the house and garden, nice towels and bedding.