Firstly, to all you folks reading up on us in Austria, we appreciate your support. All 36 of you. So the week started in high spirits. We crossed to the Argentine side of the falls to be greeted by Mr Man at hostel, who tells that his other profession is a masseuse, because he finds it, and we quote, "sensual." The creepiness is heightened as he enjoys cleaning the pool, talking to the debris in phrases such as "come to me baby," and offering to give us a massage after dark. We'll pass. Another time maybe. To reiterate the Falls were INCREDIBLE, totally different experience offered on the Argentine side. We were perched right on the end of the waterfall, above the heaving abyss below. We felt very small in comparison, and even put up with looking like a pair of nitwits in respective blue and orange ponchos. Mind blowing experience, a MUST for anyone planning to go.
Moving on from the falls we embarked on our extremely well bartered bus journey to BA, involving  luxurious cama seats and even champagne. We were in our element. However we were stopped six times throughout the journey for regular passport checks and even had the sniffer dogs on board for a short while. Cloccy was cacking her pants- aware of the large selection of oreos hidden within her backpack. We arrived in BA, so excited and smelling horrendous. Honestly the coolest city alive, so wacky and so much happening all at once. Finding our hostel was another story, walking past it about 4 times before realising it had been there all along. Nice one. Arriving at the front desk we were met by 'Alberto,' a greasy man, with long locks and nipple piercing otherwise friendly enough and were told "welcome to Milhouse, a place to party" cheers mate but all we want to do right now is cleanse. He also told us our room would not be ready for four hours.
Therefore we decided to sunbathe on the rooftops of BA and burn in true English style.
First night was spent DOWN WITH DA LADS, sipping on beer and watching the football, the only girls in the room. Naturally, we attracted the attention of all the miserable squits who happened to be lurking in the shadows. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a chair swings passed our faces and plonks itself in our direct line of sight. If I hear the question, "Wherrrre are you from?" one more time, I swear, I'm going to stick my 20 hour old sock in his cake hole. Yes, you were thinking correctly, it was the group of Israeli blokes eyeing us up like lettuce, or - in our case- prime rare fillet steaks, the moment we walked through the door. There was no introduction, no "can I buy you a drink?" just pure harassment and invasion of space. We felt attacked and naturally became defensive, I brought out the fists whilst occy brought out the feet. Furthermore, Ocs and Rosie's alter egos were born. Tired of explaining our life stories no fewer than 30 times an evening, Fatima and Daniella were born, members of girl band "Sexual Malfunctions," shot to fame through our number one single, "Chillin with ma Day Sack." I also managed to pass Occy off as Alex Salmonds daughter and myself as 'Miss Cambridge 2013.' Weary from our identity fraud, we hit the bunk beds, to arise at 4 in the afternoon the following day. A tough life.
Saturday, ready to parddaaay hard and hit the all famous clubs of BA. Ocs and I put on our gladrags and headed on down to club Terazzas, one of the biggest clubs on the scene. We arrived, both bursting for the loo after one too many 'Eva' cocktails at Milhouse. After seeing the queue for the ladies loos we decided to explore the club and found a private section, the bouncers personal lavatory. Occy managed to relieve her bladder whilst I sat impatiently outside when Mr Big shot bouncer comes along, with a pistol and severe expression on face. To be plain we had to do a runner and move swiftly on to the mens where we also got kicked out. With Terrazas six dance floors, we had no option but to sing for our supper. A flick of the hair and a free bottle of champagne later, we braved the outside dance floor and boogied the night away under the stars until sunrise. A magical evening.

Buenos Aires has proven to be a huge success and we have definitely made the most of it, checking out the local polo match, eating at Siga La Vaca- the best steak eveerrrrr, and being overcome by the moment and adding an additional piercing to our bodies! Before I knew it, I was staring at a spear through my stomach while Rosie had to endure a rod through her nose. What were we thinking? We desperately made our way to Recolecta, Argentina's famous cemetry to pray for our sins. Closed. To add insult to injury, I proceeded to pour half a bottle of iodine over Rosie's face which gave her the appearence of a slightly moustachey Simpson for the afternoon. Our last day in BA though tops off everything. We decided to take a tour of the amazing La Boca, with its quirky neighbourhood and colourful houses and felt very part of the Argentine life, watching Tango over lunch and overseeing a local football match. We didn't want to leave at all. However, I'm sure some were glad to see the back of us, including "Lars" the Norweigian scapegoat who we bad mouthed on several occasions, and the poor dear who Rosie flashed in our dorm after I accidentally used her towel as a bath mat. Not popular. Next stop, Bariloche.

So it[s been a funny sort of week, and Im currently unable to locate an apostrophe or question mark on this keypad. Not too disasterous. I write to you, team, on Argentine soil- Rosie and I made it over the border without being shot\ handed to sniffer dogs as pedigree chum. Note to self, exclaiming `Jeez, I`m so chuffed we havent been imprisoned yet,`at migration control is probably not the best way to keep a low profile. I have to admit, we were rather glad to leave Florianopolis and the non.stop.rain behind us, although not before being conned onto a pirate `party` boat ( 50 Reales to spend the day flaring our arms to `Living da Vida Loca` with a bunch of 60 year olds, and hence throwing ourselves over board), Rosie discovering a new found talent for Hip Hop after several caiparinhas and having to rescue her neck from being inhaled by some slobbering Spaniard and me loosing myself in a moment of irritation and throwing my flip flop at a body guard for refusing me entry into a club oweing to my present choice of foot wear. Cheers, mate. We then embarked on our first long-haul bus ride of the trip, during which I had to endure Rosie`s putrid breath in my right ear for 18 hours and had to put up with Portugese-dubbed Snow White on repeat. The reward was waiting for us at the end of the tunnel, however, as... well Im going to hand you over to Rosie now as Im literally lost for words (further more I have flies buzzing round my head which may be an indication that I need to shower...desperately.) After arriving in Foz do Iguazu at 7 in the morning, we had to wait for another hour for the local city bus that would take us into the centre. Feeling over-tired, grundgy and having nearly lost the will to live, a glimmer of light appears at the bus station. God himself, in human form. I am not kidding when I say this, all you ladies out there will know what I mean, this man (or supernatural being) was UNBELIEVABLY GOOD LOOKING. Sod Florianopolis- its all about Foz bus shelter. When our bus finally arrived, he hopped on with us and yes he helped us with our bags and yes he decided to come to the same hostel as us, which by the way was in the middle of nowhere. IS THAT FATE OR IS THAT FATE. Question mark. Anyway, our next 2 days involved seeing the falls which were an incredible wonder of the world. Ocs and I only had one poncho to share between us so looked like a pair of idiotic siamese twins wandering around taking photos alongside the chinese with their exceptional technical tablets. I`d just like to say Mr Man or `Golden God`as we`ve now christened him came for supper with us, Octavia and I tried not to be oursleves and held back on the seconds...I`d just like to point out he was called Nick and had a great set of teeth. Slightly dodgy-he worked for a software company and wore a top inscribed with the word `dork` on it. But we can bypass that tiny blip. Ocs and I are currently in mourning over his absence and have taken to sniffing the discount ticket he handed us so kindly this morning. What a babe. He is also a good century older than us. As one always says, you can look but can`t touch. Now going back to normality...Foz was pretty cool and we only got lost once, this happened to be on the way to the Farmacia where Octavia had to play a game of charades in order to get some `Verrugas` solution for her gammy toe. This involved her literally planting her infected plate over the counter into the poor pharmacists face so he could get the correct medication. Happy days. Tomorrow we take an excursion to see the other side of the falls and maybe plunge underneath them in a boat. God be with us. Ta ra for now.

After gaining some serious skills in the samba club, Ocs and I emerged sweating and in hysterics. Upon leaving the club, Occy was approached on the stairs by a couple of local lads who held out a mysterious paper thin white element to her, Occy, feeling jolly, piped up "Ooooo, a breath mint, for me? How kind!" Quickly, I strike and remove the, and I kid not, slip of LSD away from Octavia's unknowing grasp. Baps saves the day- and Occy learns a valuable lesson, a very funny moment of the night nonetheless. Unfortunately, our time in Florianopolis has not been sunny, quite the opposite so we had several days of giving up all hope of escaping the hostel as, at one point, Ocs and I found ourselves wading knee deep through water in the streets on our way back from the shops. We just love the rainy season.

We are writing to you now from Florianopolis in the pouring rain, having eaten what we can only assume was placenta for lunch and pot noodle for breakfast, missing the buffet by no more than 4 minutes this morning. Things are getting desperate. Calling the mothers, we miss you. The beginning of our trip was admittedly filled with greater jollity. Our first day we spent on the beach, basking in the sun and laughing at Rosie spluttering in the shallows. It was also the first time Rose and I tried to surf, which was about as successful as cooking this afternoon. Having got ourselves wedged in the bus turn-ball with our boards, almost decapitating an array of innocent bus goers and spraying sand in the bus drivers' eyes, Baps and I scrambled off apologetically and hit the waves. First wave approaches, Occy is poised for the attack. The board slips straight from under my arse and whacks me in the face; the wrist strap and adjoining rope snap. Everyone watching. The shame. We further this embarrassment by later singing loudly to the Chicago soundtrack and attempting to emulate Robbie Williams and Nicole Kidmans "Something Stupid." In hindsight, not the best way to make friends. We treat ourselves to an acai yoghurt, unavailable in Britain and SO GOOD, and supposedly aid weight loss. Evidence is pretty thin on the ground thus far. That night, after insisting that the supermarket Bolognaise sauce contained meat and ending up - well, wrong- and dining on rice, egg and tomato sauce; Rosie and I have our first taster of Samba that evening. And I have never laughed so much in my entire life. Full of slinky Spaniards and prowling Portugese, we discover that even insisting that we are lesbians does little to dissuade the locals: " May I have your girlfriend for this dance." Thanks, but no thanks. Put it this way, you know if your partner has eaten cabbage for supper.

A three quid flight the next day (god bless Judiś TAM discount card) brings us to Florianopolis, home to, and I quote, "the most beautiful people on earth." We disembark practically drooling at the mouth; the thought of a swarm of male Brazilian elite too much to bear. At the airport we decide to take the cheap option and get a bus to our hostel. Clever kids. Whilst waiting in the bus shelter we get approached by a Florianopolin wearing sleezy shades and shitflicker shoes who attempts to bundle us into his sinister vehicle at the price of 40Real. Not cool. Occy and I look at one another and decide to take action. This kids not taking US down a dirt track. Occy started sniffing suspiciously around the 'cab' checking for license plates. We found none. With her bag half hanging out of the blackened boot Occy turns to me and says "Baps. Its your call. Do you want to get into the death wagon with this slimeball?" To which I reply, "this kids a birk and will clearly take us to some cellar." Letś bear in mind that this dudeś English was red hot. Without further ado, Rosie and myself decline forcefully and, feeling both mature and sensible adults, return to our pews at the bus station. Moments later, enter kid number two. The five minute wait has already made us irritable, so in spite of previous success, we allow ourselves to take the plunge, and put our lives into this manś hands, or should I say, leather strewn boot of his car. We make our way bravely to Tucano house for 20Real, desperately trying to memorise every sign post we pass in the event of calling the RAF and saying our Hail Maryś when Akonś "I want to make love right now" is turned up on his radio.

Who do we meet, but the Argentian cretins themselves, adorned with tank tops, tattoos, and suspicious linen trousers. Escorted to a party on the beach, Rose and I sweat like no tomorrow and attempt to mirror some sexy salsa moves. And fail. A desperate escape back to the hostel after STI kid goes in for the kill leads us to cake and Haribo worms for breakfast. Delish. A lazy day on the beach is followed by an evening on fleeing from the merry men of the South, who we run into on no fewer than four occasions. What are the odds? We take a hike up to Lopes Mendes beach which was GORGEOUS, and subsequently burn. To compensate we eat an entire packet of pasta between us and brave the town once more, becoming acquainted with the likes of Andre and Felipe, who, although a tad less IN YOUR FACE, still come on a little too strong for the English bred young ladies. We scarper once more. The clock strikes twelve, and O F Cobb turns 19, sipping on a passion fruit caiparihna and overlooking the Brazillian sea on the peer. Not. too. shabby.
Leaving Ilha Grande was sad but we were ready for the next stage ´Floripa!`We started our journey back to Rio with not too many delays on the way. It was such a relief to be back in Leblon and after a sweaty morning of travelling we were so ready for a shower and some Judi love. However, the porter did not have Judi`s key, by this stage Ocs and I were on our last legs and ready to collapse. An exceptionally nice man from the apartment above Judi offered us to stay in his house for a while as we waited for Judi`s return. Ocs and I leapt to our feet as we were led to this extremely smart apartment overlooking Rio`s most spectacular views, he gave us his fruit bowl in which we completely indulged ourselves. The first major breakthrough of Tats` birthday!  Judi got back and treated us to the most amazing Thai takeaway and we slumped in front of Argo- a great finish to Occys birthday, we´d had enough Caiparihnas to last us a lifetime and now were ready for a Coke and bed at Judis for what was to be our last leg of luxury in South America.

hewoooo everyone! we are sorry to have been lying low for a wee while- but finally, here it is, our first post in South America!! We've been here a week now which is bizarre, and you"ll be happy to know that we're still alive and kicking and, contrary to popular expectations, we still have all our limbs attached and Rosie hasn't been married off to a native quite yet. After nearly not making it through security, running into a fat bloke, nearly leaving my boarding card on our first flight; Ros-bean and I got stuck into our movie marathon on the plane, and eventually touched down after irritating the majority of the passengers by my insistence that Rosie took a whiff of my feet. HELLO RIO!!!! Despite no sleep and smelling faintly of cat nip, Rosie and I were bundled into a car and whisked off into the heart of the Brazilian jungle by a family friend who lives out here and is very kindly having us to stay.
After a two hour drive into the mountains and a leisurely Brazilian pasty stop, we eventually arrived at our final destination. Absolute paradise. Judi's country retreat was a buzzing jungle of purple lent flowers, 'old mans beard' and a gorgeous river. Ocs and I were welcomed by seven dogs yapping at our feet, an extremely strong Caiparihna made by Judi and a much appreciated dip in the pool. We definitely succeeded in filling our stomachs up with excesses of curry and peanut butter sandwhiches throughout our stay in the mountains as well as lazing in the hammocks and idolising the 40 year old lawyer Darcy from New York; Judi's guest and a very cool person to know.
Our first few days of Rio were no less jam-packed. Rosie and I officially took our first steps out into the independant world, sweating, shuffling suspiciously and looking like total morons in bum bags and socially inacceptable sneakers. Spot the Brits. Off we set to the beach in all our finary, Rio's famous and excpetionnally glamourous Ipanema, where men strutt with nature-defyingly enormous abs and girls whose bodies make us want to hurl ourselves off a building. To console ourselves, Rosie and I did what we do best in times of body insecurity: we ate. And I'm telling you, the gateau price out here is dangerously low. Rom nom. We then waddled across the city to visit Pao de Acucar at sunset, which was breathtakingly beutiful, especially as we found ourselves in the middle of a storm- the cable car ride down was a barrel of nervous laughter. We then took touristing to the next extreme level and woke up at 7 in the morning to jolly along thorugh the jungle in a unnervingly ancient tram to the outstretched arms of Christ the Redeemer, which was again stunning once we had poked all the other tourists in the eye and out the way. We then hit the botanical gardens, emerging quite at peace with nautre, to discover that we hadn't been in the botanical gardens at all, but a small private park. Good one. We arose the next day after a sushie feast that night, and had a rather unfortunate run in with the washing machine; an event which proved quite plainly, that we need help. We proceeded to walk around lost, ate some more, sat on the beach sipping on giant coconuts, came back, snacked and then went out for a meat feast. Best. day. of. our. lives.
ILHA GRANDE. Renowned as the mini Ibeza of Brazil. Please. Setting off at the crack of dawn was tough, Occy and I emerged from the apartment still stuffed with beef and still wanting food. First catastrophe of the day- our cards refused to work which meant no cash for Oc-dough and myself. Putting this initial fear aside we managed to make it to Angra Dos Reis and when our cards STILL didn't work, we freaked out, sat down, and ate a packet of crisps. Finally we managed to man up and get some cash that would hopefully last us for the next few days. Whilst waiting for the ferry boat across to Ilha Grande we stumbled across some suspicious looking cretins from Argentina. Assuming they didn't understand English, Occy piped up "that guy in the white vest has got STI written all over his forehead." He heard. We ended up having to spend the next 2 hours on the boat with them, sharing our ipods, talking about Harry Potter and general small talk such as "do you play a musical instrument?" It was starting to get dull. Arriving on the island was exceptionally cool, it appeared to be a very bohemian place, plenty of dudes with dreadlocks- clearly Bob Marley fans. Our hostel Studio Beach had a great atmosphere although very different to staying with Judi. Ocs and I had to quickly fall into the routine of sharing a ten dorm and one measly bathroom the size of a cupboard. Oh so hygienic. Our dorm had lockers for valuables and being the keenos that we are Ocs and I immediately put away our belongings, securing them tightly with our coded padlocks. Ten minutes go by, Occy decides to she wants her camera out of her bag, goes over to the locker, tries to open her padlock. Nothing happens. Occy trys again, with a bit more force, to no avail. We find the padlock is jammed with all of Occy's valuables inside, what a way to finish a fantastic day. The end result was our hostel owner having to saw off Octavia's padlock into pieces and nearly chopping his fingers off in the process. Well done us.
The night is still young. Rosie and I decide to make ourselves look more presentable and slightly less resembling a pair of unkempt meerkats. This seems to have worked, as we are soon acosted by a swarm of Brazillians. More on that story later....