LA in MG Days 2 & 3 : Belo Horizonte : Tues 10th & Wed 11th Dec

Sarah and I worry a lot about whether time is passing us by too quickly. Its two weeks tomorrow since we left Belfast. We have crammed in a lot whilst endeavouring to do as little as possible, nervous that our ambitions might outrun our funds far too early. Planning to see some of the more notable tourist attractions is beginning to add up. Of course we were aware that we were trying to squeeze a continent in less than six months, but the reality is that, without an infinite fund of cash, we are trying to do something no one else we have encountered could possibly have the stones to do. Most people are doing a fortnight, some up to six weeks. People look at us like we are mad. Even we have started to wonder about the sensibility of our itinerary. A week in Paraguay is being eked out to nearly three. Bolivia looms large on the horizon. Machu Picchu is in sight.

Spend Tuesday morning toying about with the internet following a half-arsed breakfast in our latest residence. Limp orange juice and the dregs of bread left by the other guests has us ravenous by 1pm. We stalk the Boucher Road of South America far enough to find another all-you-can-eat buffet, where we stuffed ourselves full of Minas Gerais's typical treats. This time I was able to enjoy steak and onions as well, and a glass bottle of coke. I was in tourist heaven.

Deviate from the main road and catch a bus to our nearest super-mall, spend a while spotting cheap things we daren't carry around for the next five months, drop into a Carrefour and wander the aisles, undisturbed by our diet now consisting for cheap panettone, Brazilian lager, and hot dogs. We buy some fruit to make ourselves feel better. There is a stack of mango and papaya that takes the exoticism away and replaces it with gross commerce. I nearly buy a fish that I can't identify, just because I can. I find wine so cheap it could only be used for cooking. I feel like I am at home, briefly.

Plans to spend the evening playing Amstrad games on my laptop is interrupted by a friendly voice asking if we are Brazilians. Sarah is ecstatic, I am dubious, but our new companion is a innocent sort of being called Bruno, with aspirations of being Bruce Dickinson, and he practices his no-so-rudimentary English on us whilst I spar with a few ill-pronounced words in Portuguese. We become firm friends, with promises to show us around his home city of Sao Paulo next week. He is the first person to actually have anything nice to say about this city.

Bruno is staying in the hostel with work colleagues; they go to local shopping centres and do some charity mugging, or 'chugging' as it used to be known. I didn't know how to translate 'chugging'. We had been gently chastised by one of his many girls early in the day, accused of having 'the gringo look', that is of looking permanently happy, of seeing only the wonder of this expansive foreign country, and not having the weariness of Brazilians, endlessly frustrated by their stupid fecking rules. I don't know how to explain that I am like this all the time. The girl later pointed out that our accent is cute. I don't know how to explain that either.

Eventually crawl into bed, and rise earlier today, only to once again discover the breakfast buffet has been decimated. Not such a problem when you are armed with a panettone. A pity the coffee is made by dissolving a bag of sugar into it. First bad coffee we have had here. I drink it but it just doesn't satisfy. I suspect Sarah may suffer some sort of caffeine withdrawal soon, her blood has run brown for a while now.

Wander the streets of central BH looking for something of note. Fail to find anything. The skies empty on us, but we shelter at the last minute at a shopping mall having gone in a circle three times already. My sense of direction has died and been buried, I give Sarah the map and we go directly to 'Go'. Not much to take photos of, more Santas out in the sun, and instead of a buffet we settle for a pizza deal where we are attacked by wasps. We beat a retreat and catch the bus back here for a rest.

The skies open again. We have been waiting for our hand washed clothes to dry for days now, and every time we think its sorted, the rain starts once more and everything smells like mildew. Its unpleasant and a waste of our coconut-scented liquid soap. Our camp hostel attendant has graciously brought our clothes in. Brazilians really do seem to be a good-natured people. Their capacity for caring for the people around them is exemplary.

At 6pm we had sheet lightning and explosive thunder without rain. Then the rain started and it hasn't stopped yet, five hours later. You feel like it would be flooding in Belfast by now, but the people here seemed to have gotten their heads around the implications of not being 'rain ready', and a river of water running down the road doesn't turn any heads. Everyone seems a little weary tonight. Sarah has a headache from the atmospheric pressure. We have spent too much time looking at things on laptops and not enough time doing ridiculous things. No regrets yet though.

Up at 8am to go to Diamantina for four days, a fair change from this sprawling metropolis and its tower blocks. Reading Hunter S Thompson's The Rum Diary, good fuel whilst travelling.