Pantanal: 4-8 May

An overnight bus ride from Foz de Iguazu put me in Campo Grande, slap bang in the middle of Matto Grosso do Sul province. As we pulled into the station, I saw yet another grey concrete town, drab and charmless like hundreds of others in emerging countries like China, Turkey, or Indonesia.

As I shouldered my pack a throng of tour guides and travel agents surrounded me, each hawking an "exclusive and authentic" Pantanal experience. Tired and crotchety, I made a beeline for the loo to collect myself and consult the trusty Lonely Planet. I scanned the page and decided to seek out Gil's Pantanal Discovery. It sounded like the real deal: deep in the bush, basic but close to nature, and, most importantly, he'd been operating for 15 years and had glowing reviews. But I didn't have to look far; Gil accosted me outside the gents and soon I was on a bus to Agua do Piranhia.

The Pantanal is an enormous seasonal wetland roughly the size of Holland and Belgium. In the rainy season (October - March) the Rio Paraguay gradually swells until it finally breaks its banks and inundates the Pantanal. The vast flood waters attract thousands of birds and waterfowl. It also creates small sandy islands of forest and bush where animals hide from the water and forage for food. And thus the Pantanal has become an ecotourism hot spot.

Fazenda Natureza became my home for the next few days. I quickly adapted to the down-tempo pace of life on the farm. We rose early for day break at 5.30am and set off exploring the forests and swamps with Marcel, our bird-fanatic-cum-guide. He led us through the undergrowth past palms and thickets, through knee deep waters and giant reeds, in search of the best animals. Later, around 8.30, we'd arrive back in the camp for a breakfast of fresh papaya and pineapple, strong black coffee, and slightly stale bread rolls. Afternoons drifted by in hammocks with a good book or chatting as we escaped the fierce equatorial sun. And just before the sun went down we'd saddle up for a wander through the swamp to watch the birds swoop and cry as the dying sun turned the water a crimson orange.

The wildlife was astounding. Our treks on foot took us to a very small area of the vast wetland, but still we saw a huge variety of birds and animals. Of course, some of this came down to having an expert eye - Marcel spotted a bare-faced ibis where I saw bark - but often time you just stumbled upon them. There were giant caiman (a relative of the alligator) lazing down by the water's edge, wild boars sniffing the ground for grubs, howler monkeys barking in the tree tops, and hyacinth macaws squawking from the tree tops. I found the size and grace of the Jabiru storks mesmerising. I watched the red crested woodpecker for hours as he tapped the tree trunks to call his mates closer. I gawped at the toucans, perched high in the trees, their orange and red beaks like flashes of fire. I found it completely entrancing to see nature so close, to stumbled upon the animals in their own environment, to relate to it on its own terms.

It turned out that Natureza was the real McCoy - it was a hour by dusty truck from the main road, and then another hour through the swamp by tractor. Natureza was certainly rustic - a dribbling pipe from the ceiling was our shower, electricity came just a few hours a day from a spluttering generator, the food was hearty but basic, and the mosquitoes amongst the most vicious I've ever experienced. But the place had its own, almost romantic, charm.

I enjoyed watching the grandfather-son-grandson team deploy their entrepreneurial spirit to keep the place running. One morning after breakfast, I found Hugo (pronounced Ugo) elbow-deep in grease by the generator. "The seal is broken," he explained, "so it's all full of water it stopped working. But I can fix it," he grinned. He then proceeded to pull the thing apart, extract the worn gasket and replace it, give it a general polish, dump loads more grease on it, and then swiftly put it back together. To my surprise after a few cranks of the starter wheel and amidst a could of smoke, the old machine spluttered to life. Marcel and I quickly nicknamed Hugo "MacGyver" because he was forever finding ingenious ways of keeping the sky blue 1976 Toyota jeep running, or the 1950s tractor purring.

After three days, I had adjusted to the pace of life and my immediate surroundings. I was happy to be without mobile phone and internet access. Life was simple. I just got up and saw what the day brought. The mosquito bites, the pervasive dust and dirt, the boring food - it all seemed unimportant. I wasn't going to accomplish much, and that was okay. In the Pantanal I experienced extraordinary wildlife and nature. But I also found an experience which contrasted starkly with my "normal" life, forcing me to appreciate the dizzying speed at which I choose to live every day.