
‘Blood, Sweat and Tea’, and ‘More Blood, More Sweat and Another Cup of Tea’ by Tom Reynolds

The observant among you will have noticed that The Chronicler’s stories do not run in the order of our route. To avoid confusion, and to satisfy the map addicts amongst our friends, I’ve attached a map with placemarkers roughly outlining the way that we went. You’ll find it at the bottom of the page, below the posts. This is a new game for me, so if anyone has any hints or tips or bright ideas to make it better, please let me know – particularly how to get the infernal thing to centre on Argentina rather than the US of A! I’ve tried to centre the map before saving it, but it still reverts. Menwhile, you’ll need to drag the thing down to NW Argentina. STOP PRESS: I did it by dint of using http://maps.google.com.ar/. Seems to work. The points shown are our overnight stops.
The Navigator
![]() |
A familiar feature of the gas station – a dispenser for agua caliente, or hot water for the mate termos Also very suitable for the coffee fix. |
![]() |
The streetscene outside the immigration/tourist info office in Ciudad del Este. Paraguay |
We’ve arrived in Ciudad del Este, the hub of Paraguayan mercantile enterprise and counterfeit central. I’ve already been offered Titanic 11, sunglasses, lotto tickets all whist being stamped into the country. It’s a local election Sunday, so most of the major emporia of electronica are closed. Such that the only people around are the security guards outside the jewellers, the pharmacies, the credit unions and the petrol station.
It makes them very stark and very noticeable. Security is big business.
![]() |
The Navigator’s Posture Coach |
Yesterday’s hotel breakfast in Caaguazu was fresh crushed pineapple juice coffee and the local bread speciality: a white dried out rusk that explodes if you try to break it open. Best to dip it in a liberal dose of dulce de leche. So we headed off, some what underwhelmed but with confidence that we would find the chipa man at the side of the road, long before the call for second breakfast or an early ‘onces’. No chipas in Repatriacion, none in Oviedo, none in San Jose. None all day. We end up with a millanesa: minute steak in batter served with a wilted lettuce leaf and a styrofoam roll. Added for good measure were some deep fried dough balls of indiscriminate provenance. There’s never a healthy option on truckers’ roadside stop. So today we head off, this time with no inclusive breakfast and little hope of our chipa fix. We turn the corner out of Itacurubi, a van is coming up hill, his loud-speaker crying “ cheeee…..pas cheee…..pas”. We flag him down and inside two minutes he’s got the navigator’s ‘phone number. Bloody fast workers these Latino lotharios! We get four large round rings that turn out to have bacon chips and maize polenta in them.
Given the number of buses that pass I’m surprised that a No 57 isn’t one of them.
![]() |
A peaceful moment at a very nice gas station camping spot |
![]() |
It does have to be recharged from time to time…. |
![]() |
Fast-acting indigestion! |
An early start to beat the heat , so we’re on the road before the shops are open. This is always a risk as we might not make another shop or service station before siesta starts. Going around a roundabout we both spy a man with a cloth covered wicker basket. In unison we both chime “chipas!”. Usually baked dough of manioc flour and cheese, which can be bought by the 100 grams. In our case it’s nearer to the half kilo. Only this time he had a different version alongside the usual two bite ones. First bite in reveals the absence of cheese, and in its place is beef dripping. A lot of beef dripping! They’re still fresh and warm so you just have to stop for an early second breakfast. Third bite and you realize if you could squeeze them you could oil both bike chains. Oh, those lovely big round fatty molecules working their evil wiles on the pleasure receptors! Fourth bite and I think i might check the nutritional information, only there’s no wrapper big enough to print the fat content . A’ nanny state’-ment might be more appropriate. The sensible quarter of your brain is telling you to slow down, you’re going to pay for it late;, the devil’s quarter says gratification is now! Six bites and one and a half chipas have gone down, settling down into the bottom of my stomach, my centre of gravity has slipped a few degrees further south. Slow burning gasoline: fast acting indigestion. Pure dead brilliant!