Nannying in Buenos Aires; a Tale of Two Families, Part 2.

There’s much more to say about this nanny job! In fact, looking at the word doc it’s five times as much. Sorry!

This job was also advertised on Craigslist, but that’s where the similarities end! Actually, even there, family #2’s ad requested a German speaker who would ensure a mixed variety of developmental activities, music, art, movement and language. All good things of course, but the tone was very different!

I met family #2 on 6 May, after barely catching a bus to their gated community north of the city, known as ‘countries’. The bus was no ordinary bus, but a special, un-numbered one that leaves from designated street corners that are often confusingly close to an actual bus stop. The buses make just a few stops on their way to Nordelta (the North) and are expensive. As such, they’re only used by rich people when they venture into the city. Either them, or lucky nannies like me whom their bosses wish to save from travelling on public transport. I didn’t mind normal buses, but these were definitely nicer.

When I accepted the interview, I was told their house was 30 minutes from the city. It was actually closer to 1.5 hours. I either walked or took the subway; 30 minutes, and then took the bus for an hour. They paid for my transport and I was happy to read and look out the window. More importantly, the job paid an improved $8.70 an hour (once I got there) and promised five hours a day, Monday to Friday. I was finally going to make some (comparatively) decent money, woo hoo!

I got the job at the interview and started that very afternoon. First I had to email Tristan about it as we had no phones. I still got home to a worried Tristan, as I finished two hours later because the mum; Carolina, didn’t get back when she said she would. It wasn’t a great start but I was happy to have a steady job. The mother-in-law was there for the interview and luckily approved. Both her and Carolina were surprised that I wasn’t scared living in San Telmo. They thought it was very unsafe to live in the city. Based on the television news I can see why, but the media is hugely sensationalist.

The kids were Francisco (Fran); 8, Valentine; 6 and Kirramaria (Kirra); 18 months. Fran was a mature, kind-hearted kid, Valentine was full of beans and Kirra was cute as a button and but threw a tantrum most days. I worked from around 12.45 to 5.30, but my day was three hours longer with the commute. My hours often changed, as some days Carolina would text for me to start or finish earlier or later. After a confusing and unnecessarily heated argument in week two, she re-agreed on minimum three hour shifts; anything less wasn’t worth the travel.

Once at the community and through security, I had to ride a bike which, depending on the state of the tyres, took between 10-25 minutes. I only got paid from when I arrived at the house, so I didn’t dilly dally. The bike belonged to the family and was a fixed gear rust bucket with barely functioning brakes whose tyres went down overnight. I almost quit one evening when it was raining and Carolina wouldn’t drive me to the bus stop. My glasses fogged up so I couldn’t see, I fell off the bike when a car came along and the brakes wouldn’t work and then I missed my bus. After waiting in the cold and spending the ride home in wet clothes, I got a flu and missed a day of work. I was not happy! The kept saying they’d fix the bike, but they never did.

Their house was a double-block, two-storey, empty feeling monstrosity with a big lawn, pool, spa and private pier to the lake. They’d only moved in five months before, so there were lots of boxes and unfinished lighting et cetera. I thought it odd that such a wealthy family hadn’t gotten around to finishing the house and the little furniture they did have wasn’t great. It was a stark contrast to the fancy cars and high-end fashion they all wore. Even Kirra’s wardrobe was 100% Osh Kosh Bigosh, Guess, Gap, Polo, Ralph Lauren, blah blah blah. I have to confess though, it was nice to doll her up for an outing…

The day the kid’s friends (also German-speaking), visited & I got them all grubby drawing with side-walk chalk. Mwa ha haa.

The German Factor.

The dad’s father was German and the family preferred to identify with that rather than being Argentine (I wonder who they barracked for in the world cup final?). Carolina had learnt German and the boys went to a German speaking school. I was employed as I speak German, but it felt odd to be liked so much for my ancestry. There’s a big German community in Argentina, and while it was interesting and sometimes nice, the strength of the preference was a little disconcerting. Especially as a lot of families descend from Nazi war criminals escaping trial. Hardly something I want to be associated with. Argentina also accepted Jewish refugees, which is odd politically but also socially; imagine running into each other at the supermarket on the other side of the world?

Speaking to and even teaching Kirra in German was fine; it was helping Fran with his homework that was a challenge. Back home I hate Google translate, but here it was a blessing! However, even that couldn’t help me with the maths homework. A calculator could though! Just as long as I didn’t have to explain how an answer was achieved…

Guille; The Cleaner.

I also used Google translate to help me communicate with Guille (pronounced Giji). As I didn’t start until 12.45, she cared for Kirra until I got there and worked 9-5, five days a week. The house did not get that dirty! After talking to family #1 (in San Telmo), they said that many families hire a full-time cleaner more for status than for need. So silly.

Guille also cooked dinner for the family, which must have been dry and unappetising by the time they ate it at least two hours later. I’d rather just cook myself! Guille also cooked lunch for Kirra and I, which we all ate together. It gave me a chance to practice Spanish, but at the end of the day my brain could hurt from speaking three languages!

After counting my pay in the kitchen one time, Carolina reprimanded me as Guille might see and get offended because in her words, they ‘pay her much, much less’. Hrm… When the whole house got sick, I did make Guille go home rather than stay, but I regret not also telling her to ask for more pay. She also cleaned for another family on the weekends.

Guille and I.

I think both parents worked at the family company (something to do with a flour mill?), so when the boys got sick they stayed safely at work while Guille and I cared for them. Inevitably, we both got terribly ill (Guille twice) and had to take more unpaid days off work, as did Tristan. Eventually the parents did get sick and I didn’t feel all that bad, especially as we suspect it was due to the water system.

The fake lakes had a green ooze on them, and family #1 had told me that the ‘countries’ sometimes operate off the books, so their utilities can fail. Serves them right for not only cloistering themselves from the rest of society, but for doing so in such a way that they don’t get taxed properly. I even heard that the government fly helicopters overhead to ascertain the population and assets.

In their defense, Carolina was helping Guille’s niece; Solange, into school. Sadly, her mum was a drug addict who came and went, so Guille often cared for her. Sol hadn’t started school because they needed her mum’s signature, which was also needed for either Guille or the State to take guardianship. At the time her mum wasn’t to be found… Sol joined Kirra and I for a few days and while she was a bit difficult to discipline, she’s a sweet kid.

Day to Day.

On an average day I arrived, tidied up some toys, woke up Kirra and had lunch with Guille. Kirra was making great progress feeding herself; I hope Guille or the next carer didn’t underestimate her. We’d play inside for a while (often with water or playdough), dance to music and spend at least some time outside. We either explored the backyard or walked to the playground or to feed the ducks. While the ‘country’ looked very pretty, going outside meant lathering yourself in bug repellant because the mozzies were fierce! I suppose it’s due to the fake lakes and that the area is essentially swamp-land.

The backyard.

Perfect ducks for the perfect (looking) lakes.

At around 4.30pm the boys would get home, get out of their uniforms and have a snack. One day the dad; Alfredo, was home and asked if I’d been putting sugar in their Nesquik milk drinks. Of course I hadn’t, but I was told that they all have 1-2 teaspoons of sugar, even Kirra! I wasn’t really in a position to voice my opinion. Alfredo also allowed the boys to put 4 spoons in their tea (yup, caffeinated), right before Fran had to do homework. Fran could barely concentrate and Valentin would not stay away, so we got little done. Poor Fran was so high it was actually quite funny. They were good boys though, and quickly decided to barrack for Australia in the world-cup! Not that we lasted long…

If Kirra was sleeping due to a late nap or was out for lunch with Carolina, I’d organise the playrooms. This meant spending countless hours sorting through lego. Inevitably, the boys would up-end the containers and I’d start again another day. Eventually Carolina got flatter containers and I managed to convince the boys to stop emptying them and use our system (eg, curved pieces in one, flat in another). I never thought I’d put so much thought into lego, or be blogging about it months later!

Each day Carolina would leave a list of things she’d like me to do. For example, listen to ‘Baby Einstein’ CDs (actually not bad), sort the kids clothes, sew name labels on school uniforms, fix a broken night-light, replace old shoelaces, make bread with Kirra or take her on their little boat. I never got around to the latter two, and I also failed my mission to fix a broken kids bike. You know, not being a bike mechanic and all…

Happier to be ‘The Help’.

My feelings toward Carolina weren’t great after our fight about shorter hours or her making me ride in the rain. However, to add insult to injury, when I used her fancy, age-customised scales I saw that she was three years younger than me. I’d nannied ten years previously and was already feeling a little down about doing menial nanny work again, so taking orders and being given obvious advice from someone younger, richer and more ‘settled’ than me kind of sucked.

In the end though, I don’t envy the life of family #2. For all their money, they’ve isolated themselves in a soulless, mosquito ridden gated community in a swamp. Taking the bus along the highway, I saw smelly swamp, gated community, more smelly swamp and another gated community. Other than a few superficial-looking ones by the entrance, there’s no cafes, bars, restaurants or shops (I think Carolina did a lot of online shopping). To receive visitors they have to organise a pass for them days ahead of time, or have them leave their car at the entrance and pick them up.

I heard that people are often hijacked in their cars as they return from work and make a bee-line for their community. It makes sense. Of course the ‘countries’ are targets for criminals, being, as they are, a concentration of wealth conveniently located in one place. There’s even a market for selling passes and the security codes to people’s houses. To get my pass I had to provide my passport details and the name and date of birth of not only my stepfather, but my biological father (not mother…, hello sexism).

The families really do put a lot of trust in their hired help. We know the codes, have access to their property and belongings, do their dirty laundry, are often left alone and generally, we know we’re being underpaid and working under often unfriendly conditions.

I suppose they know this though, because at the end of each day I joined a line of other domestic workers waiting to have our bags checked. I don’t know what they were looking for. Silver candlesticks? How do they know whether something belongs to me or the family? If I was stealing small items like jewelry they’d be in my pockets or deeper in the bag they only ever really glanced into.

I’ve come to the sad conclusion that the bag checks are more psychological than practical. Even so, I find it hard to believe people are so evil; would they check bags just to make workers feel like crap? Perhaps it’s just the security staff pacifying the residents. But then, the residents must be dumb enough to think bag checks actually do anything… For me, all the checks did were threaten to make me late for my bus and wait in the cold for 30-50 minutes… They sometimes succeeded.

Mistrusting the help might also explain why at least the house I worked in was totally bereft of ornaments, art, knickknacks, lamps or really anything nice. It could be because they’d moved in five months ago, but there was literally nothing. I didn’t even see a jewelry box or nice perfumes. Was everything hidden? What’s the point of owning nice things if you have to keep them out of view?

It was an interesting experience with family #2. I for one know that I prefer to live with culture and people around me, eat non-dried-up dinners, enjoy my garden sans bug attacks, drink virus-free water and feel safe enough to display my possessions and drive home from work. They can have their ‘country’ life!

Needless to say, I feel less guilty about leaving family #2. Carolina and Alfredo took the news well though and wanted me back if I returned to Buenos Aires. After only 3.5 weeks I was still sad to leave the kids (especially Kirra), and I made the boys promise to keep their lego containers organised!

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.

Looking for work in Buenos Aires.

Before I arrived, my plan was to find work as an English teacher, nanny or even better, as a copy-writer. If that didn’t work, I’d be happy working in a bar or café, as a cleaner or as life model for art schools. I gave up the latter idea after a quick and predictable look online and consideration of my Spanish skills. While I’d life modelled a little back home, it’s definitely one field where’d I’d very much like the comfort of fully understanding what’s going on (and being able to speak up should the need arise).

In the first week, we printed basic resumes in English and Spanish and distributed them to hostels, bars, cafes around Palermo and San Telmo. We also checked ex-pat websites and Craigslist Buenos Aires everyday and contacted anyone who had a job we thought we were remotely capable of doing. Months before, I checked and created a profile with some nanny agencies. The lack of them told me that nannies in South America are very unofficial. In terms of job vacancy ads, Craigslist won out in every semi-skilled, no-Spanish -required field I considered.

Tristan had an advantage in that he speaks almost fluent Spanish, and I spoke basically none! After about four weeks, this helped Tristan get a job as a waiter at ‘Complejo Tango’; a dinner and show place a half hour bus ride away and popular with tourists. Work was thin and he had to call and remind them he was available. Even then, he only worked six shifts at $10.70 a six hour shift, plus dinner and around $40 in tips. He also made around $15 going to three supermarkets, checking the price of certain items and reporting back to an interested online company. Weird, but comparatively lucrative!

Writing and editing.

My fantasy plan was to find some writing or editing work to add to my experience in communications before I head home and apply for a ‘real’ job. I gave my résumé to a few tourist agencies, posted a profile to Craigslist, followed up on job ads and contacted people wanting help editing academic papers.

I was very excited to receive an enthusiastic invitation to an interview for a copy-writer position at what looked like a big company. Sadly, I didn’t have the necessary work rights (I had no work rights!). The only other lead I got in this area was through a U.S.A based hip hop production company wanting a copy-writer for their website. We exchanged positive emails but they never skyped me for the interview. Oh well.

Teaching English.

A friend had taught English in Buenos Aires eight years previously for only $1.35 an hour. Even so, I figured that surely rates had risen and that the cost of living would make up for it. I intended to hit the Universities and put up ads to teach from home, thinking that schools wouldn’t take anyone unqualified or who would be leaving in two months (though this could always be ‘worked around’ via a sudden need to leave…).

I ditched this plan for a few reasons. 1) I’d feel bad taking on students only to leave shortly thereafter. 2) It’d take quite a while to build up enough students to earn the money I’d need. 3) I’d need the time and resources to prepare lessons. 4) If the student didn’t speak a little English already, my Spanish was basically non-existent so teaching would very difficult. With the help of our Spanish teacher, we considered working as English conversation group aids but by then had other jobs and were soon to leave.

Dog walking.

I loved this idea so much that I brainstormed business names (of course all pretty lame) and planned my flyer distribution. Hiring someone to walk your dog is probably a little dumb and it only really became a profession after the global financial crisis. I’ve worked for rich people before though, so it’s not as if I haven’t indulged their sometimes silly whims before. More importantly, I think dogs are great companions with underestimated therapeutical benefits and that as long as you treat them responsibly (for example by hiring a walker!), you can keep one in an apartment without being selfish.

The scale of dog walking in Buenos Aires means that as well as the dog getting exercise, they’re socialising. Every day I saw walkers with between five and twenty dogs each, and usually big ones! It was quite a sight seeing them walking around town and the dogs always looked happy and well-behaved. They’d pick them up from their apartments while the others waited tied to a pole below. Most walkers headed to the parks where they’d often let the dogs off their leashes; did I mention well-behaved?

Thinking of myself as a bit of a dog whisperer, I was keen to spend my days with various pooches, exploring the city and getting in some exercise. I didn’t even need to speak much Spanish! I would not be one of those few walkers I saw leaving their dogs tied up somewhere while they went off doing other things. I’d be a great dog walker!

This plan fell through because, like teaching English, unless one of the few small companies were willing to share their clients with me, it would take too long to build up business and make enough money. Even if I did get clients, the only information on rates I could find indicated that people paid around $7 to have their dog walked for four hours. Apparently it’s quite lucrative once you get going, but it would be very slow starting. No wonder people walk 20 dogs at a time!

Yoga in Buenos Aires

Ten minutes from home was my yoga studio; Buena Onda Yoga. Run in English, it’s founded and frequented by American ex-pats, has three studios across the city and the one in San Telmo is above a vegetarian restaurant. I practiced around four times a week for five weeks until I got a job with conflicting hours. The instructors played nice music and were happy to tailor classes to people’s needs or wants.

The street my yoga studio is on: the middle white building.

At $88 for an unlimited monthly membership, it was a great deal and I really missed it when I started working, and still do! The restaurant does cheap and delicious weekday lunches and your membership also gets you discounts on boot camp classes, cooking workshops and I think their retreats.

Steps to the yoga studio.

Lunch entree: mini pumpkin soup, toasts with dip and home made lemonade.

It was so nice to have a regular place to be and see familiar faces. Especially welcoming were the hugs and kisses, which is pretty common in Argentina anyway. I find it unique and almost astounding that these days you can be almost anywhere in the world, but once you step onto any yoga mat in any yoga studio, it’s pretty much the same. You hear the same words, feel the same stretches, tensions and reliefs and see the same shapes made by the yogis around you. It’s a terrifically assessable home away from home.

Suspecting that the yoga community would be a good way to connect to my new home, I started yoga two days after arriving. My suspicions were correct! After the first class I had the details for some Spanish schools and teachers, advice for getting work and an invitation to lunch. I made friends! Michelle sadly left three weeks later but not before we went to a party at her apartment, stayed out til 5am at a club and were introduced to other people.

There were plenty of other yoga studios around Buenos Aires and at least one other that spoke English but I didn’t get around to visiting them. Buena Onda in San Telmo was more than fine. While the public transport was easy, it was usually muggy and crowded!

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!

Foz do Iguazu, Brazil and Argentina

After the overnight bus from Sao Paulo, we arrived around 9am on March 28. It was a 10-15 minute walk to our hotel, Pousada El Shaddai, a little down a hill (meaning an uphill walk back), but otherwise perfect. It had a pool, kitchen, breakfast, friendly staff and a double room for the same price as a hostel dorm. Note: we only veer from hostel dorms if a double is around the same price, and it often is. After a quick shower, we hunted down and ATM and cash exchange place for a couple of hours; both sides of the falls only accept cash and we needed Argentinian pesos for the next day. We found a local bus and headed to the Brazilian side of the falls.

Iguazu Falls are bigger than Niagara Falls but for some reason don’t get half the attention. If you like rafting, rappelling and other adventures allow time to do these on the Brazilian side as there aren’t really any across the border. We went on a boat ride at the top of the falls and had the zippy boat to ourselves; well worth the $15! I love the eerie calm before the violent, thunderous crash of water below.

In Buenos Aires, I finally got a cable so I can download photos from my camera but it doesn’t work; Kindle’s are not all they’re cracked up to be… So, sadly you still have to suffer through random iPhone photos. In this case I didn’t use my phone at all but I want you to see just how amazing the falls are, so the following are google image pics (apologies to the photographers!).

Along the walkways are curious quatis, or coatis; they are not shy about trying to take your food! We walked out close to where the water falls and of course got very wet – bring a rain cover or change of clothes if the weather’s not warm!

We got back in the evening and bought groceries to cook dinner at the hotel. We hung out by the pool and chatted to a group of people from Iran, Netherlands and Brazil and confirmed our Argentinian visa online (really easy).

Another local bus took us to the border where we went through customs and got on another bus for Puerto Iguazu. We stored our luggage at the station and hurried to the Argentinian side of the falls. We were pretty short on time and regretted not getting up earlier but it was definitely worth the visit, especially the walk out to the Devil’s Throat.

After what to me was a long, sweaty run proving just how unfit I am, we made it in time for our overnight bus to Buenos Aires. It was our third overnight bus in 6 days and the best, like a plane! The staff insisted we accept little cakes and served us hot meals, dessert, wine, champagne, whisky! We watched three movies, cuddled up warm with blankets and enjoyed the large, almost fully reclining seats.

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).