Tag Archive: cayman

My Wheelie Weally Works

Remember yesterday I had problems with the wheelie thingy on my new mouse, well a reboot solved the problem; the vagaries of PCs. Any way it remembered how to scroll.

The good news, I survived another Monday.

CatMouse2Andrew commented that Clorinha looked like she was “trying to hug the mouse to death.” Maybe training aids aren’t the way to go. I might add that mouse was already dead and Clorinha was just doing what cats do; maybe she instinctively knew it was a dead mouse.

There is also the horrifying thought that she might try to kill the mouse attached to the PC.

Not a lot has happened so far this morning.

I made the coffee, does that count?

Lunch, well I have two pre-weinered schnitzels quietly desiccating in the back of the fridge, so I guess that’s it. Have to use them before they are tough enough to add straps and use as emergency flip flops.


Yoda-I-smell-bacon-meme-funny-1egQI will glue them together with Brie and bacon, Cordon Bleucon… and cook them off in the oven.

Spent last night programming my new cellphone, setting the date, etc. Now that may seem rather mundane, but never-the-less a challenge when you are somewhat technology illiterate and the instructions are in Portuguese. It is the most update tech that I have, I believe that my new phone can do things that I never dreamed of. If it can make good coffee in the morning and serve it in bed, I’ll marry the damned thing.

This is a black box

This is a black box

I see the pro-Russian rebels have surrendered the ‘black boxes’ from MH17.

But the pictures showed orange thingies…

Why are black boxes orange?

There is so much in life to think about.

And this…


Is neither black nor a box, although it does have a small box attached.

I see my recent posts have 9, 10 or 11 ‘Likes’. I am convinced this fall off is because I have not included sex… no rectums, no arseholes, no vaginas…

Moving right along.

Sunny day again, not hot, not cool.  The praça is full of kids, I haven’t seen them, but the air is blue with the language of boys flying their kites, and the swings are squeaking. That’s enough evidence.

Before I go, I’ll leave you with a photo of a friend of mine. Alan lives in the Pantanal.


Sunbathing on the beach by the campsite

Alan is about three metres long, he is a Black Paraguayan Cayman, quite friendly, accepts hugs. No, really, if you’re careful you can hug him.

Off for my Nap-fu practice



Sunday Travel Tales

One of the trips that I did often was up the Tambopata River, a five hour journey from Puerto Maldonado which is 55kms from the Bolivian border.

Puerto Maldonado is a jungle town. At the airport, if your yellow fever isn’t up to date, you get a shot there and then

Long narrow boats that didn’t go fast along the windy river as the passengers gazed at the scenery which never really changed. The odd flash of excitement as the boat swerved to avoid a floating log or some such.

The scenery never changed, much – image: AV

We passed the odd river community, other boats carrying stuff like bananas down river.

Bananas – image: AV

Muddy cayman watched us, we watched them – image: AV


Muddy children watched us, we watched them – image: AV

Household chores, no washing machines here – image: AV


Mothers doing the washing, while the kids swam and bathed.

Other boats with passengers going downstream to Puerto Maldonado. Everybody was very friendly, everybody waved.

But the scenery was the same, the water was muddy and the river twisted and turned.

My first trip, I found interesting; the second and subsequent, merely a trip. Quite frankly it became boring.

But it was necessary, as we were on our way to spend two nights in a jungle lodge in the Tambopata Reserve; although the second night, we woke at 3am to take the boat back to Puerto Maldonado in the dark, only the moonlight as our guide, to get our onward flight after 8am.

Finally, we arrived and signed in at the ranger’s station, then it was onward again for another 20 minutes, a scamble up a muddy bank with makeshift steps. and…

First sight of the lodge – image: AV

That was part of the adventure, just getting there in one piece.

More on this another time.

Sunday Travel Tales

We’re leaving Cusco this week and going back to Brazil. During the week I found a photo that I thought was lost. I have been recovering some 13,000 images from a broken HD, and there it was, although some similar photos have not surfaced.

Meet Alan


Alan is a Jacré de Papo Amarelo (Black Paraguayan Cayman), he was rather a decent size, about three metres.

This story is from 1996 and amongst my first experiences in the Pantanal.

This dinosaur-like reptile lived in the lagoon beside the camp. There were plenty of his species to keep him company but they all stayed respectfully on the far side of the lagoon, it was only Alan who preferred the company of tourists. He was very photogenic.

Alan was a placid sort, lying in the sun on the grassy sandy bank.

My first meeting with the beast was after a swim in the lagoon. I had not been forewarned of his residence, merely that the others stayed over there. After my dip, I lay on the bank to dry off. It was while I was lying there in the sun, I felt a presence close by. Turning my head and opening my eyes, expecting to see another tourist, I was instead face to face, as it were with Alan who had likewise come to bask in the sun a little more than a metre away. Now for our American cousins, a metre is 3″ more than a yard; it doesn’t matter whether you use metres or yards, IT WAS TOO FREAKIN’ CLOSE!

Avoiding a blood curdling scream, which was my first thought, I managed to inch away without disturbing my neighbour until I had put enough distance between us and was able to summon up the courage to RUN!

I learned that Alan often did this. He was not menacing the tourists, he was quite a happy cayman, if indeed you can measure a reptile in degrees of happiness. Alan was never hungry because he ate the scraps from the kitchen, so he was never considered a threat to the tourists. Cayman only bite for two reasons, they are hungry, which Alan wasn’t, or you piss them off.

The guide showed me by laying close to Alan and draping an arm across his shoulders. Alan didn’t even blink.

Tourists often used to ask me why he was called Alan, was he male? I didn’t know, in fact no one in the camp knew. I always suggested that if the tourist wanted to know, was he/she brave enough to lift his tail to find out…

It remains a mystery to me to this date; for I never met a tourist brave enough.

I went for many trip to this campsite that year,  Alan was always there. The campsite was deep into the Necolândia region of the Pantanal, about six or seven hours from Corumbá on the Bolivian border. It is a beautiful place, one of the most beautiful I have ever been to.

Sadly the Pantanal is shrinking, the climate is changing just like the rest of the world. But also in 1996 a project called Hydrovia was responsible for ‘straightening out’ the kinks of the Paraguay River. It was these kinks that slowed the drainage, now the drainage is much faster and the water that created the Pantanal is diminishing. Progress has claimed another victim.

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