Bonito, BRAZIL - 22 october 2002
My whole body was aching from the gallops yesterday and I had some flesh wounds on my legs from rubbing against the saddle. I decided not to go to the river snorkel today in order not to aggravate my wounds since I always healed badly. I spent a tranquil day today, visiting caves.
The first cave was Gruta Lago Azul and it was really interesting. As we walked further and further into the cave, the water in the cave became more and more blue. It looked eerie and impossible. We could see huge rocks and fallen logs at the bottom of the lake. At first, we figured they were perhaps at a depth of 3 or 4 metres.
But when the guide explained that the huge rock that we were looking at was 25 metres below and the fallen log was 12 metres, our minds were simply blown away. 25 metres! I tried to imagine a regular swimming pool - that is, say, 4 metres. So, this rock was located 6 times deeper!! I could not imagine that EVER, as we could we could see it so clearly. It was incredible.
Last evening, we had arrived at the hostel in Bonito really late in the night. Yet, the receptionist wanted us to book the tours we were interested in right away in order for her to make transport arrangements.
I was with Daniel from the Pantanal trip and two Israelis, Patricia and Shuki. The three of them had signed up for the Rio Prata trip today but I decided to postpone it til later. And for tomorrow, Daniel, Shuki and I signed up for the abseiling trip.
Patricia refused to do it, claiming it was too dangerous for her. She was afraid. “But you did the ARMY! It should be OK for you!!” I tried to encourage her. She simply refused.
Shuki shook his head, saying that Patricia was a disgrace to the Israeli army.
Tonight, Daniel, Shuki and I had to go to the abseiling company to learn and practise how to go up and down on the rope. When we were done, Shuki decided to pull out of the trip. He now claimed he was afraid of heights. We were practising at perhaps ten metres just now and he had problems already. So, 72 metres would be too much for him. Poor dear.
Daniel and I looked at each other, “So. The Israeli army pulled out, huh? It is left to us mere peasants now…”
Bonito, BRAZIL - 23 october 2002
And Bonito just got better thereafter…
Daniel and I were tethered together and went down slowly. Along the 72 metres to the bottom of the cave, we were surrounded by wonderful stalactites. At the bottom was a subterranean lake. There was a huge hole which let in natural light so all was not totally dark.
We finally reached the bottom. It was eerily silent and we basked in the dim light, enjoying the splendid sights around us. We got on a boat and the (if I may add, very cute) guide Nilton paddled around explaining in Portuguese and pidgin English about the structures.
I had always been enchanted by cave structures. One thing unique here was that because the lake contained calcium, it actually formed structures IN the lake, that grew from the bottom of the lake, 1 mm a year. This kind of structure was different from the usual stalagmites that one saw at the bottom of other caves formed from the dripping of water from the top stalactites.
I could not really see the bottom structures properly until we donned the snorkel gear and our wetsuits and plunged in. Then, the most amazing sight unfolded below us.
The lake was ssssoooo deep we could not see the bottom. It just turned black after a while. The structures appeared to spring out from nowhere. They were cone-shaped, sometimes standing alone, sometimes in pairs or more, some small, some had reached the top of the lake and could only grow sideways now.
As we were floating at the top of the lake, it felt as if we were floating through space. All was quiet around us. We really could not see the bottom. If a person was afraid of heights and managed to overcome his fear and did the abseil, I seriously suspected he would have another panic attack here floating on top of this bottomless lake.
As I moved around, I saw more and more such curious cones emerging from the blackness down below and standing stubbornly in silence. It really felt like being in outer-space. I had never, never, never, ever seen such wonders and felt so surreal and eerie and yet strangely exhilarated about them. It was like being in a different world. Words did no justice. It was too amazing!
Bonito, BRAZIL - 24 october 2002
The next day, I joined the river-snorkelling trip at Rio Prata. Yes, a river! Usually, one goes snorkeling in the sea, so this was especially different.
The river was so crystal clear, one could see up to 50 metres away. It was not too deep and there was a current which carried you along.
As I was small, I floated faster and kept crashing into the people in front. I had to back-paddle, swim in circles or grab onto tree trunks in order to let them go further ahead first. The fish were just right next to us, some up to 1 metre or so big. It was superbly crystal clear, again I felt like I was floating in the sky and seeing all these wonderful fish around me.
At times where the currents got really strong, I put my arms straight by my side and torpedoed down the river, twisting here and there to avoid the fallen tree trunks and uneven ground. Precioso!! We even saw shoals of maybe 80 huge black fish and chased them a little.
Underground springs emerged from the bottom of the sand and we could see huge circles of bubbling sand as the spring burst into the river. Nature is gorgeous!! I had never felt so uplifted in my life!
Bonito to Foz do Iguaçu, BRAZIL - 25 october 2002
Spent the entire day on buses to Campo Grande and then, onwards to Foz do Iguaçu.
Foz do Iguaçu, BRAZIL - 26 october 2002
I realised I might have too much Brazilian reais with me. I decided to go for a last-minute shopping spree at Foz, my last Brazilian town.
Not the best time for it, as it was Saturday and many shops were closed. Here at the border, some sales assistant started to speak to me in Spanish already. For sure, I knew Spanish a little better than Portuguese but I was really confused, wondering if that was a Spanish word or yet another Portuguese word I did not know.
I was offered a menu at a café. As I pored over it, the lady came again and asked if I preferred the Spanish menu instead. “Oh, obrigada… melhor. [Oh, thank you… better.]” I replied, almost too confidently. But when I stared at the Spanish menu, I realised I had gotten so used to my juice vocabulary in Portuguese that now I had to re-recall my Spanish with difficulty: Zanahoria??? Er… Oh, that’s cenoura, carrots!! Err… Durazno? What’s that? I forgot… Ah, pêssego! Yes, peach peach…
How do people who speak multiple languages handle so many vocabulary in their heads?
Foz do Iguaçu, BRAZIL - 27 october 2002
Today was my six month anniversary of my trip. I landed in China (without my backpack, remember? Gosh, how long ago it felt!) on 27 April. Today was 27 October. I could not have given myself a better present!
As I was heading to the Iguaçu Falls, I wondered if I should have gone with a friend I made at the hostel. But when I arrived at the falls, I was glad I went alone for I could enjoy my solitude and be in touch with my thoughts so much more.
As I turned the corner and caught the first sight of the falls, I was floored. I had mentally prepared myself for this and yet, I was floored. The immensely captivating sight of the falls (and the best was yet to come!) left me in awe, with my mouth hanging open. I refused to move. People came, did a snappy and moved on. I grew roots there and savoured.
So many thoughts went through my head then. I would share some, even if it leaves the readers thinking what a sentimental load of crap I am. I felt glorious to be alive to witness this sight. I wondered how I deserved to be here, to stand before this priceless treasure, this unmeasurable wonder. I am nothing! I can be gone tomorrow just like that, but this waterfall will flow forever and ever, like it has always been!
About three or four years ago, I had gone to the Omnitheatre in Singapore and watched a 3D show about the wonders of the world or something. One of the wonders featured was the Iguaçu Falls. At that time, when I learnt it was in Brazil / Argentina, I had thought to myself, “Oh, that is impossible!! I can never get the chance to go to Brazil or Argentina!! They’re too far, so exotic, so difficult to get there. I will not know how to travel there! Gosh, the Iguaçu falls is magnificent but I may never see it in person!!”
Never say never. This thought flashed in my head when I was there and I had to say this, “Hey!! I’m here. I’m right in front of the falls! I had realised something I had thought impossible!” It was almost the same feelings I had when I was bulleting on the Trans-Mongolian train through Siberia. I had thought that impossible too.
While I felt undeserving of the honour to be at the falls, yet, I felt I deserved it too because I made the effort to come here and my reward was THIS… plus the chance to experience these overwhelming feelings. Now, I appreciate that I can choose how I want to lead my life and that I can change the things that I can to do what I want.
I realise I am gushing now. Usually, I am not like this. I am a lot more sensible. Bear with me. The readers must think I am some sentimental slob by now, but really you had to be here yourself.
And that was just at the start of the trek.
By the time I got to the Garganta del Diablo (Devil's Throat) - the most incredible part of the falls which was shaped like a horse-shoe, my head popped into a total blank. I over-saturated myself with feelings. I ran out of thoughts. I walked all the way to right in front of the falls and drenched myself with amazement, soaking in the essence of the power of the falls. Nothing was in my head then. I just lingered in all the glorious sprays and stared into space.
Foz do Iguaçu, BRAZIL to Puerto Iguazú, ARGENTINA - 28 october 2002
The next day, just when I thought things could not get any better, they did.
From the Brazilian side, we saw the overall view of the falls from a respectful distance but at the Argentinian side, we were walking right ON TOP of the falls, the tremendous force of water gushing down at our feet.
Maybe because of the intensity of being so close to the falls, my thoughts flitted to the small, silly, ridiculous details - the patch of grass growing at the edge of the falls, right in the path of the falls: How did it survive and grow there, being whammed and trashed by the falls everyday all the time?; The butterflies: What in the world were they THINKING??? They were fluttering so so so close to the falls when a single drop could kill them! They were dancing with death!; And these swifts building their nests beneath the falls: Hey, you crazy pájaros!! Oh well, they must be proud of their prestigious home address.
At each viewpoint, I stood mesmerized, a silly grin on my face.
At the last viewpoint, which was right in front of the top of the Garganta del Diablo (the day before, I was at the bottom bit), I was staring at a profanely copious amount of brown water crashing down, mere metres from me. I felt weak in the knees in view of such power. Tears smarted in my eyes. I am so lucky to be alive to see this, I chanted. I gagged for breath. I was choked for words.
I looked around for someone and a woman (I learnt later from Ecuador - sweet dear) next to me returned my look and we connected, we knew. I paced the platform, like a confused person, shaking my head in disbelief and then, raising my head to face the sight before me again. Yes, believe it, dear. The Iguaçu Falls had shared its magic with me. I felt like soaring in the sky like those crazy swifts below.
I returned 40 mins late to my bus and found that they had left without me. Yeah, in other words, they ditched me. The day before, some people returned 2 hours later and the rest got really mad, so I think my driver feared I was going to pull the same stunt. As I was the only one to be left on the Argentinian side as I had crossed the border (the rest returned to Brazil), I guess the driver thought all the more he could leave me here.
OK, being ditched is never a good feeling but hey, I did not care. After witnessing the last MAGIC, being ditched was NOTHING.
Of course, when my rational thoughts returned and I found I had only 4 Argentinian pesos with me, I panicked a little. I later found the bus ride to town was 2 pesos. Well, things would always work out…
Monday, October 28, 2002
Monday, October 21, 2002
16 - Crouching Caymans Hidden Piranhas (Pantanal)
Campo Grande to Pantanal, BRAZIL - 17 october 2002
The group heading to Pantanal was made up of Daniel from USA, Sheena from Ireland, Mark and Florein from The Netherlands, Francisca from Argentina, Sherry from Canada and Trisha, (sorry, indulge me for a moment… for I have always wanted to do this) from the beautiful tropical island of S-I-N-G-A-P-O-R-E!!
It was a long drive to the camp-site today. During this time, we saw a great number of birds, caymans, capybaras. It was wild. It was fantastic.
The camp-site was one well-organised place. We would sleep in hammocks slung under a structure, lined with mosquito nets. There were flush-toilets and showers available. We could relax by the fire-place, a bar or at the dining tables. When meals were served, they would sound the gong.
Pantanal, BRAZIL - 18 october 2002
At around 5am, the howler monkeys started howling. Actually, it was like a siren with the sound of a growl. The growling sound grew in crescendos and diminished in descendos and went on and on, really quite like a siren. I was half-asleep and half-awake when I heard it. When I woke up, I was not even sure what I had heard.
We went for treks early in the morning and in the late evening to spot wildlife. We saw many types of birds like spoonbills, screamers, hawks, jabiru storks, etc… and mammals such as cabybaras, coatis, howler monkeys, etc… Although it was hot and tiring, I treasured the treks very much as we had seen quite a lot of animals today.
The true nature of Sherry started to emerge too. She whined on and on about the mud, about not being able to see the birds, about bugs, about everything.
While we were, at first, faintly amused by how naïve she was, for what did she expect out of a Pantanal trip, soon, her negative energy and continuous complaints really got on all our nerves.
Pantanal, BRAZIL - 19 october 2002
We were driven to the next campsite today. This was simply a tree with eight hammocks tied to the branches. What an amazing tree! Its luscious foliage provided very welcoming shade for us. Temperatures here at the Pantanal reached 40°C or so. And that was not all…
There was a river next to the tree. Although there were caymans (or alligators) in there, my guide Gabriel said he had never seen them bite anyone. So we all went in furtively. It was really hot. We were desperate to cool down.
We spotted about five or six caymans around. Some were basking in the sun, some had surfaced a notch above the water. When one of us tried to go near them, they would disappear back into the water beneath silently. We could not see what was in the water as the water was black, this being ‘Rio Negro’ (Black River) after all. It was a tad spooky to think the caymans were lurking amongst our feet and one wrong move, we might step on one of their snouts!
That night, when we shone our torch along the river, gosh… there were like thirty pairs of eyes up and down the immediate area, reflected back at us! And we had thought there were just five or six caymans!!
We headed to a nearby lake and fished for piranhas for our lunch. At first, we simply and cluelessly donated our baits to these cunning fish. Later, we got the hang of it and managed to reel in some juicy ones every five minutes or so. Yeah, the lake was teeming with piranhas.
Once, a piranha I caught dropped into the boat and started dancing around with the ferocious teeth chattering away. We screamed our heads off.
In panic, I lifted my legs away from the boat and let them hang out of the boat to avoid that piranha. Gabriel stepped on the side of the boat to try and walk over to my section to catch it. The boat tipped to the side and plunged my entire two feet into the lake!! Argh!! The piranhas in the lake almost got a taste of Chinese food…
The piranhas were brought back to the campsite and gutted. The caymans came to right by our feet when they smelled the piranhas. Ooo… treading on dangerous ground there. The cook deep-fried the piranhas for lunch. Gosh, they tasted excellent! They were surprisingly meaty. One of the best meals I had had in Brazil!
Sherry stared at her one piece of piranha and left the whole thing there, hissing, “God… I CAN’T EAT THIS STUFF!!!”
As for our evening trek, Sherry refused to go. I guess after she realised the jaguar and the giant ant-eater would not be delivered to her on a platter, and that she needed to put in effort to see some wildlife, she started to give up on the Pantanal trip. What a shame this was her attitude.
Before we left, Gabriel announced he would try to catch an armadillo for us. Sherry asked if he would bring it back to the camp-site. I looked up and almost said, “Why? You want to cook the armadillo too?”
Later, Gabriel actually caught an armadillo for us!
Its colour blended in perfectly with the background of dried grass. How Gabriel spotted it from 150 metres was beyond us. He crept stealthily across the grass, from the direction of the down-wind. At the final moment, he ran and threw himself on the ground and held up an armadillo. Just like that!
Despite the lack of mosquito nets here, I wanted to sleep in the hammock instead of in a tent to be closer to nature. I was dutifully devoured by mozzies throughout the night.
Much later, strong winds came and blew the mozzies all away. It felt like the coming of a huge storm, like the one I experienced in Campo Grande. The wind howled and howled. The hammocks rocked ferociously from side to side. I braced myself for the first sign of pelting torrential rain. Moments like these seized me with a strange mix of anxiety and exhilaration as I knew I was absolutely vulnerable to the elements of nature and yet, I wanted to be here to witness it. However, I was rocked to sleep instead. No rain. Still, it was magic.
Pantanal, BRAZIL - 20 october 2002
More treks today. Sherry refused to go again. We spotted more obscure animals like a tamandua (tree ant-eater). When we returned, she lamented that we were SO LUCKY to see the armadillo and the tamandua. What the…??
We spent the rest of the day, relaxing by the river at this AMAZING TREE. While Sherry was negative energy personified, Francisca was the exact opposite. She was the brightest sunshine, the beacon of positive energy, la chica loca [the crazy girl] of the group. She had a great personality.
Other groups had arrived to join us here and all of us interacted with information about trips in Bonito, Bolivia, etc… There was not much to do but sleep in the hammock, chit-chat and swim. During this afternoon, a number of us really connected with one another with our love for travelling and wildlife. It was a very enjoyable afternoon for us. Francisca got along swimmingly with almost everyone. In the river, we even tried to build a human tower. We had such great fun!!
Meanwhile, Sherry whined and whined about when we were going back to the first camp-site. Sigh… She was one sad person.
Oh, Gabriel caught an anaconda that night. We wondered vaguely if this was the token pet anaconda in the camp-site to wow the tourists.
Pantanal to Bonito, BRAZIL - 21 october 2002
Francisca had slept through all the alarm-clock calls of the howler monkeys from the previous mornings. So, when I first heard the howlings this morning, I got up from my hammock and gave her a nudge, “Listen…”
The orchestra of howler monkey calls felt surreal. It rose and fell like the sound of waves. Now and then, the exotic calls of this bird and that would play a melodious solo performance with the accompaniment of the howler monkeys in the background. The symphony was exquisite and unpredictable. My eyes remained closed as to better savour the incredible orchestral performance put up by nature. It was truly MAGIC, truly memorable!
Today, horse-riding… I had never galloped before in my life. The horse-trek in Songpan, China was merely walking and some trotting. And today, I got to experience the magic of a gallop.
The first time, I was unprepared. I reached for my camera behind and touched my horse’s back by mistake and it just took off. There was a herd of cows in front of us and they scattered in two thousand directions and that got my horse (and me) into further panic.
Transforming from a fast trot to a gallop was INCREDIBLE! It felt as if I entered through a glass mirror and crossed into a different realm. Suddenly, the rhythm, the mood changed. The thunderous hooves were there, but you heard nothing. You stared straight ahead, but you saw nothing. The bouncing on the back of the horse was higher and rougher, but you felt nothing. The whole experience felt unreal.
My feet lost their stirrups all the time so I could only hang on to my dear life with my LEFT hand holding the saddle while my right hand struggled to control the horse’s rein. It was an amazing experience.
After my first try, I was hooked! It was terribly scary yet addictive. I was game for some more. It was more or less alright if I was mentally prepared for it. But so many times, I thought to myself, “Oh no! I’m going to fall!! I’m going to fall!!” But I knew if I fell, my situation would be MUCH WORSE than if I maintained this frightening position of desperately hanging onto the horse’s saddle! It was all up there in your head.
Well, 10 minutes before we reached the campsite, a lady fell off! Her foot was caught in the stirrups and she was dragged for a while!! Argh, we thought she died!! Thank goodness, she fell off finally and actually got up and walked!! Later, she fell into shock and claimed she could not remember anything. She just cried and cried. Well, not without its danger…
After these few days at the Pantanal, we bade farewell to one another. Some of us would be going to Bonito and others to Campo Grande for their onward travels. Francisca hugged and bade farewell to us almost tearfully. She kept saying it was so difficult to say goodbye to Trisha. Oh, she was so sweet. She had been superb! I guess Latin Americans were just a lot more passionate. I promised to contact her when I got to Buenos Aires, sometime in the future…
The group heading to Pantanal was made up of Daniel from USA, Sheena from Ireland, Mark and Florein from The Netherlands, Francisca from Argentina, Sherry from Canada and Trisha, (sorry, indulge me for a moment… for I have always wanted to do this) from the beautiful tropical island of S-I-N-G-A-P-O-R-E!!
It was a long drive to the camp-site today. During this time, we saw a great number of birds, caymans, capybaras. It was wild. It was fantastic.
The camp-site was one well-organised place. We would sleep in hammocks slung under a structure, lined with mosquito nets. There were flush-toilets and showers available. We could relax by the fire-place, a bar or at the dining tables. When meals were served, they would sound the gong.
Pantanal, BRAZIL - 18 october 2002
At around 5am, the howler monkeys started howling. Actually, it was like a siren with the sound of a growl. The growling sound grew in crescendos and diminished in descendos and went on and on, really quite like a siren. I was half-asleep and half-awake when I heard it. When I woke up, I was not even sure what I had heard.
We went for treks early in the morning and in the late evening to spot wildlife. We saw many types of birds like spoonbills, screamers, hawks, jabiru storks, etc… and mammals such as cabybaras, coatis, howler monkeys, etc… Although it was hot and tiring, I treasured the treks very much as we had seen quite a lot of animals today.
The true nature of Sherry started to emerge too. She whined on and on about the mud, about not being able to see the birds, about bugs, about everything.
While we were, at first, faintly amused by how naïve she was, for what did she expect out of a Pantanal trip, soon, her negative energy and continuous complaints really got on all our nerves.
Pantanal, BRAZIL - 19 october 2002
We were driven to the next campsite today. This was simply a tree with eight hammocks tied to the branches. What an amazing tree! Its luscious foliage provided very welcoming shade for us. Temperatures here at the Pantanal reached 40°C or so. And that was not all…
There was a river next to the tree. Although there were caymans (or alligators) in there, my guide Gabriel said he had never seen them bite anyone. So we all went in furtively. It was really hot. We were desperate to cool down.
We spotted about five or six caymans around. Some were basking in the sun, some had surfaced a notch above the water. When one of us tried to go near them, they would disappear back into the water beneath silently. We could not see what was in the water as the water was black, this being ‘Rio Negro’ (Black River) after all. It was a tad spooky to think the caymans were lurking amongst our feet and one wrong move, we might step on one of their snouts!
That night, when we shone our torch along the river, gosh… there were like thirty pairs of eyes up and down the immediate area, reflected back at us! And we had thought there were just five or six caymans!!
We headed to a nearby lake and fished for piranhas for our lunch. At first, we simply and cluelessly donated our baits to these cunning fish. Later, we got the hang of it and managed to reel in some juicy ones every five minutes or so. Yeah, the lake was teeming with piranhas.
Once, a piranha I caught dropped into the boat and started dancing around with the ferocious teeth chattering away. We screamed our heads off.
In panic, I lifted my legs away from the boat and let them hang out of the boat to avoid that piranha. Gabriel stepped on the side of the boat to try and walk over to my section to catch it. The boat tipped to the side and plunged my entire two feet into the lake!! Argh!! The piranhas in the lake almost got a taste of Chinese food…
The piranhas were brought back to the campsite and gutted. The caymans came to right by our feet when they smelled the piranhas. Ooo… treading on dangerous ground there. The cook deep-fried the piranhas for lunch. Gosh, they tasted excellent! They were surprisingly meaty. One of the best meals I had had in Brazil!
Sherry stared at her one piece of piranha and left the whole thing there, hissing, “God… I CAN’T EAT THIS STUFF!!!”
As for our evening trek, Sherry refused to go. I guess after she realised the jaguar and the giant ant-eater would not be delivered to her on a platter, and that she needed to put in effort to see some wildlife, she started to give up on the Pantanal trip. What a shame this was her attitude.
Before we left, Gabriel announced he would try to catch an armadillo for us. Sherry asked if he would bring it back to the camp-site. I looked up and almost said, “Why? You want to cook the armadillo too?”
Later, Gabriel actually caught an armadillo for us!
Its colour blended in perfectly with the background of dried grass. How Gabriel spotted it from 150 metres was beyond us. He crept stealthily across the grass, from the direction of the down-wind. At the final moment, he ran and threw himself on the ground and held up an armadillo. Just like that!
Despite the lack of mosquito nets here, I wanted to sleep in the hammock instead of in a tent to be closer to nature. I was dutifully devoured by mozzies throughout the night.
Much later, strong winds came and blew the mozzies all away. It felt like the coming of a huge storm, like the one I experienced in Campo Grande. The wind howled and howled. The hammocks rocked ferociously from side to side. I braced myself for the first sign of pelting torrential rain. Moments like these seized me with a strange mix of anxiety and exhilaration as I knew I was absolutely vulnerable to the elements of nature and yet, I wanted to be here to witness it. However, I was rocked to sleep instead. No rain. Still, it was magic.
Pantanal, BRAZIL - 20 october 2002
More treks today. Sherry refused to go again. We spotted more obscure animals like a tamandua (tree ant-eater). When we returned, she lamented that we were SO LUCKY to see the armadillo and the tamandua. What the…??
We spent the rest of the day, relaxing by the river at this AMAZING TREE. While Sherry was negative energy personified, Francisca was the exact opposite. She was the brightest sunshine, the beacon of positive energy, la chica loca [the crazy girl] of the group. She had a great personality.
Other groups had arrived to join us here and all of us interacted with information about trips in Bonito, Bolivia, etc… There was not much to do but sleep in the hammock, chit-chat and swim. During this afternoon, a number of us really connected with one another with our love for travelling and wildlife. It was a very enjoyable afternoon for us. Francisca got along swimmingly with almost everyone. In the river, we even tried to build a human tower. We had such great fun!!
Meanwhile, Sherry whined and whined about when we were going back to the first camp-site. Sigh… She was one sad person.
Oh, Gabriel caught an anaconda that night. We wondered vaguely if this was the token pet anaconda in the camp-site to wow the tourists.
Pantanal to Bonito, BRAZIL - 21 october 2002
Francisca had slept through all the alarm-clock calls of the howler monkeys from the previous mornings. So, when I first heard the howlings this morning, I got up from my hammock and gave her a nudge, “Listen…”
The orchestra of howler monkey calls felt surreal. It rose and fell like the sound of waves. Now and then, the exotic calls of this bird and that would play a melodious solo performance with the accompaniment of the howler monkeys in the background. The symphony was exquisite and unpredictable. My eyes remained closed as to better savour the incredible orchestral performance put up by nature. It was truly MAGIC, truly memorable!
Today, horse-riding… I had never galloped before in my life. The horse-trek in Songpan, China was merely walking and some trotting. And today, I got to experience the magic of a gallop.
The first time, I was unprepared. I reached for my camera behind and touched my horse’s back by mistake and it just took off. There was a herd of cows in front of us and they scattered in two thousand directions and that got my horse (and me) into further panic.
Transforming from a fast trot to a gallop was INCREDIBLE! It felt as if I entered through a glass mirror and crossed into a different realm. Suddenly, the rhythm, the mood changed. The thunderous hooves were there, but you heard nothing. You stared straight ahead, but you saw nothing. The bouncing on the back of the horse was higher and rougher, but you felt nothing. The whole experience felt unreal.
My feet lost their stirrups all the time so I could only hang on to my dear life with my LEFT hand holding the saddle while my right hand struggled to control the horse’s rein. It was an amazing experience.
After my first try, I was hooked! It was terribly scary yet addictive. I was game for some more. It was more or less alright if I was mentally prepared for it. But so many times, I thought to myself, “Oh no! I’m going to fall!! I’m going to fall!!” But I knew if I fell, my situation would be MUCH WORSE than if I maintained this frightening position of desperately hanging onto the horse’s saddle! It was all up there in your head.
Well, 10 minutes before we reached the campsite, a lady fell off! Her foot was caught in the stirrups and she was dragged for a while!! Argh, we thought she died!! Thank goodness, she fell off finally and actually got up and walked!! Later, she fell into shock and claimed she could not remember anything. She just cried and cried. Well, not without its danger…
After these few days at the Pantanal, we bade farewell to one another. Some of us would be going to Bonito and others to Campo Grande for their onward travels. Francisca hugged and bade farewell to us almost tearfully. She kept saying it was so difficult to say goodbye to Trisha. Oh, she was so sweet. She had been superb! I guess Latin Americans were just a lot more passionate. I promised to contact her when I got to Buenos Aires, sometime in the future…
Wednesday, October 16, 2002
15 - Babes in Bikini-Land (Curitiba, Ilha do Mel)
Rio de Janeiro, BRAZIL - 07 october 2002
Argh… The lady at the Bolivian Consular informed me there was no status on my visa application yet. Maybe next week, maybe the week after.
I had to brace myself for the likely possiblity that I might not be able to enter Bolivia. I obtained her email contact so that I did not have to keep returning to Rio in order to check on the status. I would email her and return if my visa was approved.
The weather in Rio was up to 38°C today. It was much hotter than when I was here three weeks ago. Many women were strutting around in bikinis and men, bare-chested. It was interesting to see how casual attires were here in Rio. Even on the main streets, some people were walking around bare-footed and most were in flip-flops. Ah, beach culture…
Copacabana beach had mostly gorgeous stunners in dental-floss bikinis but truly, everyone in all shapes and sizes were decked out in bikinis and not necessarily at the beaches: they were shopping at the grocery stores, taking buses, etc… Mothers with children, grandmothers with grossly sagging skin, pregnant women in their third trimester (oh well, what else could they wear?), toddlers still not weaned from their pacifiers…
OK, I admit it. I caved. When in the country, you have to do what the natives do. So, I went and bought myself a present. My best beach days in Brazil may be over as I had already traveled down the coastline of Bahia state but I did not care.
Rio de Janeiro to Curitiba, BRAZIL - 08 october 2002
I did not want to stay in Rio for weeks, waiting and waiting. I wanted to visit other places in Brazil. But Brazil is immense. If I head off too far and, Insh’allah [‘God willing’ in Arabic], I DO get my Bolivian visa, I would have to double-back to Rio. I thought it through and decided to go to Curitiba tonight - only 12 hours away. For Brazil, that was a relatively short distance.
I went to visit the other famous mountain in Rio, to see the famous statue which looked like it was about to perform a triple-somersault dive from a spring-board.
In the tram that delivered us to the top of Corcovado was a group of Chinese tourists. They, as expected, were snapping pictures of themselves in the tram, outside the tram, and on the way up the steps to the Christ Redeemer at various so-called ‘view-points’.
Once in front of the about-to-perform-a-triple-somersault-dive Christ Redeemer, they, as truly expected, posed with their arms outstretched like they were about to perform a triple-somersault dive themselves. China-kitsch-photo-poses flash-back.
It was midday. Everywhere looked smoggy. But the view was still incredible. Like when I was on top of the Sugar Loaf Mountain, one could really appreciate the unique geographical location of Rio de Janeiro. We could see more of Rio from this locale actually. I felt a burst of joy in my heart.
I chatted with the group of Chinese tourists as a means to maintain the level of Mandarin (the highest I ever attained in my life, I think) I acquired after my 2-month stint there. Soon, true to their trigger-happy nature, they were snapping pictures WITH ME. I had inadvertently become part of their holiday snappies.
Curitiba, BRAZIL - 09 october 2002
Curitiba appeared rather unremarkable at first glance. The claim to fame for this city is the reputedly gorgeous train-ride down to the port town of Paranagua. I got myself a train-ticket for tomorrow.
Surprisingly, the lady at the Tourist Booth spoke English. Those working in the Tourist Information in Salvador (well, those I spoke to, at least) did not speak English and I had figured this lady did not either.
You know, if the person you are speaking to does not know English, he or she would look so pleased and touched by your faltering efforts to speak their language, he or she ignores the ruthless massacres done to their beloved mother tongue and beams at you with sincere delight and pride.
But if the person you are speaking to KNOWS English (but you did not know it yet) and you attempt to speak to them in their language, he or she looks at you with disgust, with scornful eyes, with an impatient countenance, with irritation and loathing, like you are the stupidest idiot in the world.
Yep, I got that latter look from lady at the Tourist Booth.
Curitiba was really unremarkable. All the way to the main shopping pedestrian malls, I saw unremarkable shops, very cheap unremarkable hair-dressers and unremarkable lanchonetes (eateries serving snacks), etc… Perversely, I kinda liked this place.
Curitiba to Ilha do Mel, BRAZIL - 10 october 2002
The train station was filled to the brim with excitable 15-year-old teenagers on school trips. Yeah, people at the P-R-I-M-E of their youth. Argh…
They were loud, disorderly, insolent. They disregarded all other passengers who had yet to board. They inconsiderately stood along the aisle of the wagon, enthusiastically snapping photos with this amigo and that. The rest of the passengers had to queue up behind them as the aisle was jammed.
At the first tunnel, they screamed their heads off. All of them. A few more decibels could drive you to wring their necks. All of theirs.
At the second tunnel, they screamed their heads off again and so on and so forth.
The best view could be seen from the left side of the train. I, unfortunately, was seated on the right side of the train. A train conductor spotted me, looking helplessly at the crowd converged on the left side of the train and beckoned me over. He offered me the store-room and I had the entire window to myself! Bless the train conductor!
As the most astonishing, breathtaking mountain sceneries swept over, my camera jammed and would not snap. I was left alternating between gasping at the view in front of me and cursing my darn camera.
You would imagine the teenagers would have worn off their enthusiasm by the thirteenth tunnel, 4 hours later, but no… there was still that ONE guy…
Once in Paranagua, I took the boat heading to Ilha do Mel at 3pm. Aside from seeing someone with a T-shirt declaring ILHA DO MEL in Caravelas and knowing that since it was right opposite Paranagua, I could head there after the train-ride, I really did not know much about it nor have any expectations from the island. It was just my excuse to crack open my bikini.
Boy, was I floored by the simple beauty and tranquility of the island. It was shaped like an ‘8’. The centre bit was entirely sand, horizon-to-horizon. It had no roads, no cars. Many walked around bare-footed. It was a great place to chill out. Muito tranquilo [Very tranquil].
A fellow boat passenger, Cathy from the USA, and I followed two ladies from the same boat to their pousada and settled ourselves in. Then, we walked along the beach right in front of the pousada, facing the open ocean all the way, to the fortress. The entire beach was flat and empty. We spotted three people in our 2-hour-long walk. We let the waves gently lap upon our feet. We stared constantly into the horizon. We heard only the sounds of the crashing waves. I was charmed beyond words by the island. I loved it here.
Ilha do Mel, BRAZIL - 11 october 2002
Throughout the entire night, I slept to the wonderful melody of the crashing waves. It was gorgeous. Places like these overwhelmed me with feelings.
The next morning, I headed out to the beach by myself and took a very slow walk to the fortress again. The magic here on this island made me enjoy my solitude, my connection with nature.
People usually headed out to beaches in their minimal beach-wear and carried as little as possible. I dragged my camera along. I was very inspired here. I wanted to be creative with my camera, photographing the beach from interesting angles. There was no one to disturb or distract me. I concentrated on looking out for objects that could express my feelings here. It was pure joy…
After hours at the beach and burning nicely, I returned to throw myself upon the delicious desserts prepared by the dessert chef, Meri, of my pousada. Heavenly. What a great place this was…
Ilha do Mel, BRAZIL - 12 october 2002
I slept at 9pm the night before and woke up at 9am this morning. 12 hours of fitful sleep. Gosh, sun-bathing by the beach yesterday really exhausted me. What a life! I attached myself to the hammock for a few more hours, reading my amorous and amoral book from the Brazilian author from Ilhéus, Jorge Amado - Dona Flor and Her Two Husbands, drinking in the fluid verses and poetry.
When I finally surgically detached myself from the hammock to go for a walk, I went dressed. Because with my slightly-burnt back, I did not fancy too much sun today. Gosh, I really regretted this move. It was the weekend. The entire island was filled to the brim with local Brazilians and everyone, naturally in teeny weeny, itsy bitsy swim-wear, stared at me as if I was diseased or something! I had never felt so self-conscious walking around fully-clothed in my life.
Ilha do Mel, BRAZIL - 13 october 2002
Cathy and I decided to walk to the Grutas on the other side of the island today. We had to climb through rocky headlands to get from one beach to another. We were unsure of our steps at some tricky spots and felt the rocks under our bare feet sharp and uncomfortable. Meanwhile, the local Brazilians had evolved to handle terrains like beaches and rocky headlands without problems. They constantly overtook us, traversing across beaches and running down the rocks with ease. We were humbly put into our place as mere tourists.
The caves were nothing much. We did not expect much anyway. It was just an excursion to another part of the island, instead of vegetating near our pousada again. The journey was the most effort we had put in since we arrived on the island. To get back, Cathy refused to walk and so we, the lazy tourists, chartered a speed-boat back to our side of the island. I wondered if I could shake off my recently-acquired languidness soon.
Ilha do Mel to Curitiba, BRAZIL - 14 october 2002
My eager return to Curitiba to get online was a disappointment. There was no reply from the Bolivian Consular. I decided to send them an email.
Well, here’s my two-cents’ worth on food in Brazil. Since I left Bahia state which had gorgeous food, food in Brazil seemed to me rather monotonous. Sure, there were the huge breakfast buffets served in my hostels. But except for more expensive restaurants with a larger variety, what were available in buffet-por-quilo [per kilo] restaurants were rice, spaghetti, beans, salad, badly-prepared beef and chicken. Fish would be a rare treat. Sauces appeared to be impossible to find. For lanchonetes, they always served the same greasy X-burger, X-egg, X-salada, X-bacon, etc… ‘Prato do Dia’ [Plate of the Day] was almost always rice with beans (I hate beans) and a piece of over-done beef or chicken.
In this quiet unassuming town of Curitiba, I encountered lanchonetes after lanchonetes, restaurantes after restaurantes, selling the same few selections over and over again. All I wanted was some variety in my diet.
I spotted some Chinese faces and veered near the restaurant to see if they sold Chinese food like what my cousins… well, THEIR cousins, in other parts of the world do. No, they sold the same X-burger, X-egg, X-salada, X-bacon, etc… I was a tad disappointed. Alright, I confess: I visited Chinese restaurants here and there pretending to be on a mission to see how Chinese food had been bastardised in other parts of the world. The truth is occasionally, I miss Chinese food and now was one of the occasions.
Curitiba to Campo Grande, BRAZIL - 15 october 2002
I finally received some news from the Bolivian Consular. My visa had been denied. VISA NEGADA. NO AUTORIZADO.
Yes, after three and a half months of earnest waiting, I found that I could not enter into Bolivia. Why? Why? Why?
My application was sent to La Paz, Bolivia from Beijing way back in July. I seriously did not believe the authorities in Bolivia did any background check on me and discovered my criminal past. (Yeah, you know about my lucrative chewing-gum smuggling ring from way back…) I believed they just sat on it and when they started receiving curious faxes from consulars asking about the status of this application, they simply rejected it.
I was devastated. I spent the rest of the day mourning in Curitiba.
By late afternoon, I accepted defeat. Until I find a South American guy to marry (and get that alternative passport), I guess I was not going to enter Bolivia on this trip. I had to plan my next course of action.
If I could go to Bolivia, I would visit Iguaçu Falls next and then go on to the Pantanal. But now that I could not, I could still go on this route and then head further north through southern Amazon into Peru, just to circle around the border of Bolivia. Yes, this is the challenging ‘ruta de la selva’ [jungle route]. Two jaguars, five anacondas and sixteen caymans later, I should emerge in Peru with, hopefully, just one missing limb. Or I could go to the Pantanal first and then head south to Iguaçu Falls and enter Argentina from there. I pondered for a long time before deciding on the latter route.
I tried to buy the ticket to Campo Grande leaving that night. The ticket-guy told me there was no ticket available. Darn!! Is this fate? Should I wait another day? Should I go to Iguaçu Falls then?
I dithered at the counter for a long time and decided to buy for tomorrow. He wanted my passport which I had left at the Left Luggage. By the time I returned with my passport, he told me there was ONE ticket leaving for Campo Grande today. How he managed to get that, I had no idea. He now gleefully wanted Coca-Cola for his effort. Ha!! Alright, I gratefully bought a can for him.
Campo Grande, BRAZIL - 16 october 2002
Campo Grande was impossibly hot and humid. I checked into a nearby hostel and immediately, was pounced upon by tour touts asking if I wanted to go on a Pantanal trip. I was too tired and too hot to go around and compare prices. I listened to the first proposal and paid up.
That night, a storm brewed. There were scary lightnings the entire night. The lightning was not just a streak across the sky. The entire sky lit up. It went totally white for a brief second and then, black again. This repeated over and over. It was a little eerie to sit in the room by myself and observe this.
The start of a heavy storm was another magical moment that I savoured. I did not know why but somehow I found that this trip had made me more in touch with my emotions and more aware of all these little magical touches that nature offered. I guess I could never be indifferent to such things in the future. This trip was slowly changing me.
Argh… The lady at the Bolivian Consular informed me there was no status on my visa application yet. Maybe next week, maybe the week after.
I had to brace myself for the likely possiblity that I might not be able to enter Bolivia. I obtained her email contact so that I did not have to keep returning to Rio in order to check on the status. I would email her and return if my visa was approved.
The weather in Rio was up to 38°C today. It was much hotter than when I was here three weeks ago. Many women were strutting around in bikinis and men, bare-chested. It was interesting to see how casual attires were here in Rio. Even on the main streets, some people were walking around bare-footed and most were in flip-flops. Ah, beach culture…
Copacabana beach had mostly gorgeous stunners in dental-floss bikinis but truly, everyone in all shapes and sizes were decked out in bikinis and not necessarily at the beaches: they were shopping at the grocery stores, taking buses, etc… Mothers with children, grandmothers with grossly sagging skin, pregnant women in their third trimester (oh well, what else could they wear?), toddlers still not weaned from their pacifiers…
OK, I admit it. I caved. When in the country, you have to do what the natives do. So, I went and bought myself a present. My best beach days in Brazil may be over as I had already traveled down the coastline of Bahia state but I did not care.
Rio de Janeiro to Curitiba, BRAZIL - 08 october 2002
I did not want to stay in Rio for weeks, waiting and waiting. I wanted to visit other places in Brazil. But Brazil is immense. If I head off too far and, Insh’allah [‘God willing’ in Arabic], I DO get my Bolivian visa, I would have to double-back to Rio. I thought it through and decided to go to Curitiba tonight - only 12 hours away. For Brazil, that was a relatively short distance.
I went to visit the other famous mountain in Rio, to see the famous statue which looked like it was about to perform a triple-somersault dive from a spring-board.
In the tram that delivered us to the top of Corcovado was a group of Chinese tourists. They, as expected, were snapping pictures of themselves in the tram, outside the tram, and on the way up the steps to the Christ Redeemer at various so-called ‘view-points’.
Once in front of the about-to-perform-a-triple-somersault-dive Christ Redeemer, they, as truly expected, posed with their arms outstretched like they were about to perform a triple-somersault dive themselves. China-kitsch-photo-poses flash-back.
It was midday. Everywhere looked smoggy. But the view was still incredible. Like when I was on top of the Sugar Loaf Mountain, one could really appreciate the unique geographical location of Rio de Janeiro. We could see more of Rio from this locale actually. I felt a burst of joy in my heart.
I chatted with the group of Chinese tourists as a means to maintain the level of Mandarin (the highest I ever attained in my life, I think) I acquired after my 2-month stint there. Soon, true to their trigger-happy nature, they were snapping pictures WITH ME. I had inadvertently become part of their holiday snappies.
Curitiba, BRAZIL - 09 october 2002
Curitiba appeared rather unremarkable at first glance. The claim to fame for this city is the reputedly gorgeous train-ride down to the port town of Paranagua. I got myself a train-ticket for tomorrow.
Surprisingly, the lady at the Tourist Booth spoke English. Those working in the Tourist Information in Salvador (well, those I spoke to, at least) did not speak English and I had figured this lady did not either.
You know, if the person you are speaking to does not know English, he or she would look so pleased and touched by your faltering efforts to speak their language, he or she ignores the ruthless massacres done to their beloved mother tongue and beams at you with sincere delight and pride.
But if the person you are speaking to KNOWS English (but you did not know it yet) and you attempt to speak to them in their language, he or she looks at you with disgust, with scornful eyes, with an impatient countenance, with irritation and loathing, like you are the stupidest idiot in the world.
Yep, I got that latter look from lady at the Tourist Booth.
Curitiba was really unremarkable. All the way to the main shopping pedestrian malls, I saw unremarkable shops, very cheap unremarkable hair-dressers and unremarkable lanchonetes (eateries serving snacks), etc… Perversely, I kinda liked this place.
Curitiba to Ilha do Mel, BRAZIL - 10 october 2002
The train station was filled to the brim with excitable 15-year-old teenagers on school trips. Yeah, people at the P-R-I-M-E of their youth. Argh…
They were loud, disorderly, insolent. They disregarded all other passengers who had yet to board. They inconsiderately stood along the aisle of the wagon, enthusiastically snapping photos with this amigo and that. The rest of the passengers had to queue up behind them as the aisle was jammed.
At the first tunnel, they screamed their heads off. All of them. A few more decibels could drive you to wring their necks. All of theirs.
At the second tunnel, they screamed their heads off again and so on and so forth.
The best view could be seen from the left side of the train. I, unfortunately, was seated on the right side of the train. A train conductor spotted me, looking helplessly at the crowd converged on the left side of the train and beckoned me over. He offered me the store-room and I had the entire window to myself! Bless the train conductor!
As the most astonishing, breathtaking mountain sceneries swept over, my camera jammed and would not snap. I was left alternating between gasping at the view in front of me and cursing my darn camera.
You would imagine the teenagers would have worn off their enthusiasm by the thirteenth tunnel, 4 hours later, but no… there was still that ONE guy…
Once in Paranagua, I took the boat heading to Ilha do Mel at 3pm. Aside from seeing someone with a T-shirt declaring ILHA DO MEL in Caravelas and knowing that since it was right opposite Paranagua, I could head there after the train-ride, I really did not know much about it nor have any expectations from the island. It was just my excuse to crack open my bikini.
Boy, was I floored by the simple beauty and tranquility of the island. It was shaped like an ‘8’. The centre bit was entirely sand, horizon-to-horizon. It had no roads, no cars. Many walked around bare-footed. It was a great place to chill out. Muito tranquilo [Very tranquil].
A fellow boat passenger, Cathy from the USA, and I followed two ladies from the same boat to their pousada and settled ourselves in. Then, we walked along the beach right in front of the pousada, facing the open ocean all the way, to the fortress. The entire beach was flat and empty. We spotted three people in our 2-hour-long walk. We let the waves gently lap upon our feet. We stared constantly into the horizon. We heard only the sounds of the crashing waves. I was charmed beyond words by the island. I loved it here.
Ilha do Mel, BRAZIL - 11 october 2002
Throughout the entire night, I slept to the wonderful melody of the crashing waves. It was gorgeous. Places like these overwhelmed me with feelings.
The next morning, I headed out to the beach by myself and took a very slow walk to the fortress again. The magic here on this island made me enjoy my solitude, my connection with nature.
People usually headed out to beaches in their minimal beach-wear and carried as little as possible. I dragged my camera along. I was very inspired here. I wanted to be creative with my camera, photographing the beach from interesting angles. There was no one to disturb or distract me. I concentrated on looking out for objects that could express my feelings here. It was pure joy…
After hours at the beach and burning nicely, I returned to throw myself upon the delicious desserts prepared by the dessert chef, Meri, of my pousada. Heavenly. What a great place this was…
Ilha do Mel, BRAZIL - 12 october 2002
I slept at 9pm the night before and woke up at 9am this morning. 12 hours of fitful sleep. Gosh, sun-bathing by the beach yesterday really exhausted me. What a life! I attached myself to the hammock for a few more hours, reading my amorous and amoral book from the Brazilian author from Ilhéus, Jorge Amado - Dona Flor and Her Two Husbands, drinking in the fluid verses and poetry.
When I finally surgically detached myself from the hammock to go for a walk, I went dressed. Because with my slightly-burnt back, I did not fancy too much sun today. Gosh, I really regretted this move. It was the weekend. The entire island was filled to the brim with local Brazilians and everyone, naturally in teeny weeny, itsy bitsy swim-wear, stared at me as if I was diseased or something! I had never felt so self-conscious walking around fully-clothed in my life.
Ilha do Mel, BRAZIL - 13 october 2002
Cathy and I decided to walk to the Grutas on the other side of the island today. We had to climb through rocky headlands to get from one beach to another. We were unsure of our steps at some tricky spots and felt the rocks under our bare feet sharp and uncomfortable. Meanwhile, the local Brazilians had evolved to handle terrains like beaches and rocky headlands without problems. They constantly overtook us, traversing across beaches and running down the rocks with ease. We were humbly put into our place as mere tourists.
The caves were nothing much. We did not expect much anyway. It was just an excursion to another part of the island, instead of vegetating near our pousada again. The journey was the most effort we had put in since we arrived on the island. To get back, Cathy refused to walk and so we, the lazy tourists, chartered a speed-boat back to our side of the island. I wondered if I could shake off my recently-acquired languidness soon.
Ilha do Mel to Curitiba, BRAZIL - 14 october 2002
My eager return to Curitiba to get online was a disappointment. There was no reply from the Bolivian Consular. I decided to send them an email.
Well, here’s my two-cents’ worth on food in Brazil. Since I left Bahia state which had gorgeous food, food in Brazil seemed to me rather monotonous. Sure, there were the huge breakfast buffets served in my hostels. But except for more expensive restaurants with a larger variety, what were available in buffet-por-quilo [per kilo] restaurants were rice, spaghetti, beans, salad, badly-prepared beef and chicken. Fish would be a rare treat. Sauces appeared to be impossible to find. For lanchonetes, they always served the same greasy X-burger, X-egg, X-salada, X-bacon, etc… ‘Prato do Dia’ [Plate of the Day] was almost always rice with beans (I hate beans) and a piece of over-done beef or chicken.
In this quiet unassuming town of Curitiba, I encountered lanchonetes after lanchonetes, restaurantes after restaurantes, selling the same few selections over and over again. All I wanted was some variety in my diet.
I spotted some Chinese faces and veered near the restaurant to see if they sold Chinese food like what my cousins… well, THEIR cousins, in other parts of the world do. No, they sold the same X-burger, X-egg, X-salada, X-bacon, etc… I was a tad disappointed. Alright, I confess: I visited Chinese restaurants here and there pretending to be on a mission to see how Chinese food had been bastardised in other parts of the world. The truth is occasionally, I miss Chinese food and now was one of the occasions.
Curitiba to Campo Grande, BRAZIL - 15 october 2002
I finally received some news from the Bolivian Consular. My visa had been denied. VISA NEGADA. NO AUTORIZADO.
Yes, after three and a half months of earnest waiting, I found that I could not enter into Bolivia. Why? Why? Why?
My application was sent to La Paz, Bolivia from Beijing way back in July. I seriously did not believe the authorities in Bolivia did any background check on me and discovered my criminal past. (Yeah, you know about my lucrative chewing-gum smuggling ring from way back…) I believed they just sat on it and when they started receiving curious faxes from consulars asking about the status of this application, they simply rejected it.
I was devastated. I spent the rest of the day mourning in Curitiba.
By late afternoon, I accepted defeat. Until I find a South American guy to marry (and get that alternative passport), I guess I was not going to enter Bolivia on this trip. I had to plan my next course of action.
If I could go to Bolivia, I would visit Iguaçu Falls next and then go on to the Pantanal. But now that I could not, I could still go on this route and then head further north through southern Amazon into Peru, just to circle around the border of Bolivia. Yes, this is the challenging ‘ruta de la selva’ [jungle route]. Two jaguars, five anacondas and sixteen caymans later, I should emerge in Peru with, hopefully, just one missing limb. Or I could go to the Pantanal first and then head south to Iguaçu Falls and enter Argentina from there. I pondered for a long time before deciding on the latter route.
I tried to buy the ticket to Campo Grande leaving that night. The ticket-guy told me there was no ticket available. Darn!! Is this fate? Should I wait another day? Should I go to Iguaçu Falls then?
I dithered at the counter for a long time and decided to buy for tomorrow. He wanted my passport which I had left at the Left Luggage. By the time I returned with my passport, he told me there was ONE ticket leaving for Campo Grande today. How he managed to get that, I had no idea. He now gleefully wanted Coca-Cola for his effort. Ha!! Alright, I gratefully bought a can for him.
Campo Grande, BRAZIL - 16 october 2002
Campo Grande was impossibly hot and humid. I checked into a nearby hostel and immediately, was pounced upon by tour touts asking if I wanted to go on a Pantanal trip. I was too tired and too hot to go around and compare prices. I listened to the first proposal and paid up.
That night, a storm brewed. There were scary lightnings the entire night. The lightning was not just a streak across the sky. The entire sky lit up. It went totally white for a brief second and then, black again. This repeated over and over. It was a little eerie to sit in the room by myself and observe this.
The start of a heavy storm was another magical moment that I savoured. I did not know why but somehow I found that this trip had made me more in touch with my emotions and more aware of all these little magical touches that nature offered. I guess I could never be indifferent to such things in the future. This trip was slowly changing me.
Sunday, October 6, 2002
14 - One Long Bus-Ride Too Many (Ouro Preto)
Caravelas to Ouro Prêto, BRAZIL - 03 october 2002
I paid for the night. These people were simply too nice to take advantage of.
At breakfast, I met Tony from England. He was heading off today too. I mentioned I was going to Ouro Prêto, which meant I had to go to Belo Horizonte. Since the only bus to BH left at 9pm from Teixeira de Freitas, I had the whole day to wait here.
He suggested going to Vitória which was perhaps 3 hours away and there might be buses to BH. He himself was heading to Rio from there. Vitória is the capital of the next state Espírito Santo and he figured we could spend the afternoon wandering around the city for a while, see something different, before catching the night-buses. Hmmm… that sounded like a great idea. So, we left together for Teixeira de Freitas on the morning bus.
The ride to Vitória was not 3 hours. The ticket guy told us 6 hours. But it actually took 8 hours. We arrived after 8pm. There was no chance whatsoever to wander around town.
After all the small towns I had been to, where after a short drive through some dusty buildings, a quick turn and we were in the Rodoviária, here in Vitória, being a huge city, it took about 1 hour of driving through traffic before we finally pulled up at the Rodoviária. Gosh. Another long tiring day on the bus.
To my surprise, there was a bus straight to Ouro Prêto and it was leaving in 45 minutes’ time. Excellent timing, I thought.
Ouro Prêto, BRAZIL - 04 october 2002
OK, I was feeling a little sick and tired of all the long bus-rides. But such is the size of Brazil. The interesting places are spread out way too far. I had limited myself to Salvador as the northernmost city I would go because I wanted to be back in Rio de Janeiro in three weeks. Loads of people had sung praises about the places further north like Natal, Fortaleza, Jericoacoara. But I knew it would be very expensive and time-consuming to head up there and back in three weeks.
After the coastal towns, I made a token stop in a colonial-flavoured town in the interior of Brazil, with a gold-mining history. Ouro Prêto is set in the cool mountains. The Rodoviária was at the top of a hill and walking down, I was accosted with a superb view of lovely red-roofed colonial houses on undulating streets, pretty mountain scenery and rising clouds.
It was 5am, very early. A guy who was opening up his shop greeted me. He immediately followed me, suggesting this hotel and that. While I was polite, I was a little wary of such offers, as I heard that they earned commissions from bringing guests to certain hotels and the commissions came from me as I would be charged a higher price for the room.
I declined politely but he was all smiley and insistent. The first hotel he shouted up to replied that it was full. I told him I was heading to the Youth Hostel. He needed not to tag along as I knew the way.
He was not easy to dissuade. He followed me to the hostel and rang the bell, woke up the guy and only left when he got me settled in the room. He even introduced himself and shook my hand. Gosh, he could not have earned any commissions as the room prices were stated clearly on the wall. So, he simply wanted to get me settled in a place. Now, that was really sweet of him. I was really very touched by all the wonderful Brazilians who had treated me with so much kindness and hospitality.
I was the only one in the Youth Hostel. When I woke up at 10am, I saw a huge spread of breakfast waiting for me. They had prepared three flasks - one for coffee, one for milk, one hot water for tea - and a huge jug of orange juice. I know it was their job but I felt rather bad they went through all the trouble just for me.
Ouro Prêto, BRAZIL - 05 october 2002
Ouro Prêto is quite a touristy town. But so so so pretty. At first glance, it reminded me of Taxco in Mexico, with the steep cobble-stoned roads, the charmingly-restored colonial houses, the churches standing at the top of the hills in the distant. Most shops around the main square sold tourist souvenirs.
My room faced one of the most beautiful churches in Ouro Prêto, no less - Igreja de São Francisco de Assis and overlooked the downhill part of town. Gorgeous, enchanting view everywhere.
A soapstone market was right next to my hostel too. There is a soapstone quarry nearby, hence the souvenirs. They were heavy but were different from those kitsch, colourful, useless souvenirs I had seen in Salvador and around here. I loved them. I bought a few items. Yes, they were heavy and fragile. I would have to post them home once I get to Rio.
I visited a gold mine, Minas de Passagem, a section of which was now opened to tourists. To get down, we had to sit in a rickety trolley-car that plunged down deep into the tunnels. The guide earnestly gave me a tour in Portuguese. I was the only tourist with him. He rattled on and on about how gold mining was done. I actually understood him a little and even managed a question or two in my ‘Spanguese’. There was an eerie blue subterranean lake in the mine. No swimming or drinking allowed though, due to the minerals in the water.
Ouro Prêto to Rio de Janeiro, BRAZIL - 06 october 2002
Today was Brazil’s Election Day. As it was also a Sunday, apart from the tourists shops, almost all the other shops and restaurants were closed. I wandered around town and actually came upon the office where the election was being carried out. It was not busy, though.
Ouro Prêto is not very big, but hilly. Walking around required quite a bit of effort but the views offered were usually impressive. I had almost covered every street on the LP map by afternoon.
For want of somewhere else to go, I took a local bus to Mariana, a town 12km away. It took me 35 minutes to get there. It was even more dead than Ouro Prêto. As it was not set up for tourists, absolutely nothing was open. The election fever there was more apparent here. Tiny campaign papers, printed with the numbers the politicians wanted them to punch in, were strewn all over the ground. Sweepers were busy today. It took me 20 minutes to decide this was a really boring town. But the bus back to Ouro Prêto came only after a 30-minute wait.
Yet another night-bus to Rio de Janeiro. It was almost three weeks already. I hope I sleep well tonight. I also hope I get my Bolivian visa.
I paid for the night. These people were simply too nice to take advantage of.
At breakfast, I met Tony from England. He was heading off today too. I mentioned I was going to Ouro Prêto, which meant I had to go to Belo Horizonte. Since the only bus to BH left at 9pm from Teixeira de Freitas, I had the whole day to wait here.
He suggested going to Vitória which was perhaps 3 hours away and there might be buses to BH. He himself was heading to Rio from there. Vitória is the capital of the next state Espírito Santo and he figured we could spend the afternoon wandering around the city for a while, see something different, before catching the night-buses. Hmmm… that sounded like a great idea. So, we left together for Teixeira de Freitas on the morning bus.
The ride to Vitória was not 3 hours. The ticket guy told us 6 hours. But it actually took 8 hours. We arrived after 8pm. There was no chance whatsoever to wander around town.
After all the small towns I had been to, where after a short drive through some dusty buildings, a quick turn and we were in the Rodoviária, here in Vitória, being a huge city, it took about 1 hour of driving through traffic before we finally pulled up at the Rodoviária. Gosh. Another long tiring day on the bus.
To my surprise, there was a bus straight to Ouro Prêto and it was leaving in 45 minutes’ time. Excellent timing, I thought.
Ouro Prêto, BRAZIL - 04 october 2002
OK, I was feeling a little sick and tired of all the long bus-rides. But such is the size of Brazil. The interesting places are spread out way too far. I had limited myself to Salvador as the northernmost city I would go because I wanted to be back in Rio de Janeiro in three weeks. Loads of people had sung praises about the places further north like Natal, Fortaleza, Jericoacoara. But I knew it would be very expensive and time-consuming to head up there and back in three weeks.
After the coastal towns, I made a token stop in a colonial-flavoured town in the interior of Brazil, with a gold-mining history. Ouro Prêto is set in the cool mountains. The Rodoviária was at the top of a hill and walking down, I was accosted with a superb view of lovely red-roofed colonial houses on undulating streets, pretty mountain scenery and rising clouds.
It was 5am, very early. A guy who was opening up his shop greeted me. He immediately followed me, suggesting this hotel and that. While I was polite, I was a little wary of such offers, as I heard that they earned commissions from bringing guests to certain hotels and the commissions came from me as I would be charged a higher price for the room.
I declined politely but he was all smiley and insistent. The first hotel he shouted up to replied that it was full. I told him I was heading to the Youth Hostel. He needed not to tag along as I knew the way.
He was not easy to dissuade. He followed me to the hostel and rang the bell, woke up the guy and only left when he got me settled in the room. He even introduced himself and shook my hand. Gosh, he could not have earned any commissions as the room prices were stated clearly on the wall. So, he simply wanted to get me settled in a place. Now, that was really sweet of him. I was really very touched by all the wonderful Brazilians who had treated me with so much kindness and hospitality.
I was the only one in the Youth Hostel. When I woke up at 10am, I saw a huge spread of breakfast waiting for me. They had prepared three flasks - one for coffee, one for milk, one hot water for tea - and a huge jug of orange juice. I know it was their job but I felt rather bad they went through all the trouble just for me.
Ouro Prêto, BRAZIL - 05 october 2002
Ouro Prêto is quite a touristy town. But so so so pretty. At first glance, it reminded me of Taxco in Mexico, with the steep cobble-stoned roads, the charmingly-restored colonial houses, the churches standing at the top of the hills in the distant. Most shops around the main square sold tourist souvenirs.
My room faced one of the most beautiful churches in Ouro Prêto, no less - Igreja de São Francisco de Assis and overlooked the downhill part of town. Gorgeous, enchanting view everywhere.
A soapstone market was right next to my hostel too. There is a soapstone quarry nearby, hence the souvenirs. They were heavy but were different from those kitsch, colourful, useless souvenirs I had seen in Salvador and around here. I loved them. I bought a few items. Yes, they were heavy and fragile. I would have to post them home once I get to Rio.
I visited a gold mine, Minas de Passagem, a section of which was now opened to tourists. To get down, we had to sit in a rickety trolley-car that plunged down deep into the tunnels. The guide earnestly gave me a tour in Portuguese. I was the only tourist with him. He rattled on and on about how gold mining was done. I actually understood him a little and even managed a question or two in my ‘Spanguese’. There was an eerie blue subterranean lake in the mine. No swimming or drinking allowed though, due to the minerals in the water.
Ouro Prêto to Rio de Janeiro, BRAZIL - 06 october 2002
Today was Brazil’s Election Day. As it was also a Sunday, apart from the tourists shops, almost all the other shops and restaurants were closed. I wandered around town and actually came upon the office where the election was being carried out. It was not busy, though.
Ouro Prêto is not very big, but hilly. Walking around required quite a bit of effort but the views offered were usually impressive. I had almost covered every street on the LP map by afternoon.
For want of somewhere else to go, I took a local bus to Mariana, a town 12km away. It took me 35 minutes to get there. It was even more dead than Ouro Prêto. As it was not set up for tourists, absolutely nothing was open. The election fever there was more apparent here. Tiny campaign papers, printed with the numbers the politicians wanted them to punch in, were strewn all over the ground. Sweepers were busy today. It took me 20 minutes to decide this was a really boring town. But the bus back to Ouro Prêto came only after a 30-minute wait.
Yet another night-bus to Rio de Janeiro. It was almost three weeks already. I hope I sleep well tonight. I also hope I get my Bolivian visa.
Wednesday, October 2, 2002
14 - One Long Bus-Ride Too Many (Ilheus, Caravelas)
Ilhéus, BRAZIL - 28 september 2002
Again, another night-bus where I did not sleep well. I hopped onto a local bus marked CENTRO. The local buses in Brazil had a stupid turnstile for passengers to pass through after paying.
I had my backpack, so I could not pass through the turnstile. I wanted to sit where the unpaids were sitting (the old folks and those with special passes and very fat people, I supposed) and simply turned the turnstile to increment the passenger count, but the inflexible fare-collector disallowed it. He rather peeled himself off his seat and helped carry my backpack across.
Still, he was very nice to ask me where I was heading, attempt to study my LP map, discuss with another passenger and decide I should be getting off right about here. This kind of helpfulness was deeply appreciated, especially since we could not speak each other’s languages.
I had long f-ed my Portuguese phrasebook, buried it deep in my backpack. I simply added a Portuguese twang to my Spanish, substituting the odd word in Portuguese if I knew them. When I spoke, most of the time, they seemed to know what I wanted. When they spoke, I usually was quite clueless, although I was improving in this area.
I recalled the time when I got off the train in Vienna, Austria and wanted to find out if a particular tram went to Westbahnhof. I asked two guys, “Er… tram… Westbahnhof?” At once, one guy pulled his friend away as if I was a leper and waved me away, “No English”. Well, I did not ask if you spoke English, idiots. ‘Westbahnhof’ was in German after all.
I found my pousada after a short wander around town in the drizzle. I was the only one in the whole pousada. I collapsed onto my bed and snoozed until after 1pm.
Night buses did not appear to be working for me. I seemed to require about half a day of catching up on my sleep when I arrived. But, it was alright today as Saturdays here in Ilhéus appeared to be as dead as Sundays. No shops were opened. No activities were spotted.
At a small restaurant, again, I was met with kindness and friendliness. The unassuming town of Ilhéus was really warming up to me. The owner attempted to explain to me what the food was, although I had not asked him to do so. A lady devouring her lunch nearby, kept poking me and asking me if the food was ‘bom’ [good]. A pretty little girl, whose mother popped in to buy a snack, sat at my table and greeted me nonchalantly, “Oi” [Hi].
As I walked around the quiet town around the peninsula, I heard blasts of fireworks and loud music from cars. These cars were running campaigns for the upcoming VOTA BRASIL election on 6 October. They were playing catchy jingles and blaring political messages. Perhaps the politician with the best jingle wins.
There had been numerous billboards, posters, flyers, flags put up and distributed by the campaigners to promote the politicians’ names and numbers. Brazil used numbers for electronic voting. So, besides the jingles, politicians with the most memorable set of numbers might just win, those with ‘1234’, ‘1111’, etc…
They did not stop at billboards, posters, flyers. They painted on walls, pasted behind road signs, everywhere with a space. To me, the campaigners were the worst vandals. And I bet, after the election, they would just leave them there.
Itacare, BRAZIL - 29 september 2002
I had heard high praises for the beaches in Itacare. It was about 2 hours by bus from Ilhéus. I had no clue that the best beaches were actually along the way to the town of Itacare.
Once I arrived, I followed the crowd and ended up on a crowded beach which was lined with restaurants and bars and packed with people. OK, this was not quite what I had expected but I was too lazy to go hunt for the perfect beach and simply made myself comfortable on a spot, lay down and slept.
That evening, before I ordered dinner, I gingerly asked for the price. “R$7”, the lady replied. I did not bring too much money along because I was spending the day at the beach but R$7 I had. I ordered ‘peixe, por favor’ [fish, please].
What was served to me was HUGE. I was so hungry, I tucked into the food at once before it dawned on me that there was no way this huge portion (perhaps, once again for two persons) cost a mere R$7. I now asked the old man who had served me how much the dish cost. “R$12”, he smiled. “R$12?????” Gosh, the worst nightmare of a diner… I did not have enough money with me. I explained to him I thought it was R$7. He said everything was R$7, except the fish.
Argh… I sat there, stunned. I even asked him sheepishly if I could just eat up half of the fish and pay R$6. Hahaaa… dream on. He looked at me with pity for a moment, then he simply smiled and said, “Coma… coma…” [Eat, eat] Gosh, they were SO NICE!
I ate with a heavy heart until I remembered I had brought my VISA card along. This morning, I had decided at the very last minute to bring it along. I had actually forgotten about it for a moment. After food, I asked if I could leave my bag here as a deposit for him, while I hurried to the cash machine. He insisted it was not necessary and let me go retrieve the cash. Brazilians are fantastic!!
When I returned to my pousada in Ilhéus, I chatted a little with the owner of the pousada. He was also very nice. I then regretted having bought the bus ticket out of Ilhéus for tomorrow. There was no one in the pousada except me and it seemed, the owner felt a sense of pity to see me go so soon. Yeah, perhaps I should have stayed longer to get to know Ilhéus a little better.
The only thing I knew about Ilhéus was that it is the home-town of one of Brazil’s most famous writers - Jorge Amado, and I had walked past the ‘rua’ [road] named after him many times.
Ilhéus to Caravelas, BRAZIL - 30 september 2002
I was heading south to Caravelas which was the jumping-off point to Parque Nacional de Abrolhas for some whale-watching. It apparently was the right season for whales to pop by.
It was an 8-hour ride to Teixeira de Fretas. I finished 100 Years of Solitude in two bus-rides. It is a fantastic book. I was totally in awe. Márquez might have just earned himself a new fan.
I arrived, had a late lunch and had to wait about 2 hours for the next and last bus to the coastal town of Caravelas.
The bus drove through the total darkness. Yet, despite the speed and the blackness of the surroundings and the people, the driver managed to spot the odd persons here and there along the road and regularly stopped and picked them up. It took 2½ hours to get to Caravelas.
What a long day of travel today. I flung myself onto my bed after a quick shower and plunged into a deep sleep. Best deal so far, R$15 (US$5) with private bathroom, TV and breakfast.
Caravelas, BRAZIL - 01 october 2002
And there was even an attached balcony which I only noticed when I awoke this morning.
Caravelas is a much smaller town than Ilhéus. I meandered around. An old lady, sitting by the doorway, smiled at me. She called out, “Japão? [Japan?]”. I shook my head, não. Nevertheless, she extended her hand, shook mine, stroked my arm, hugged me and kept repeating, “Qué linda, qué linda”. Err… loosely translated as “How pretty, how pretty”. Ahem.
More people passed by me with greetings and huge smiles. Caravelas was as friendly as Ilhéus.
After booking myself on a tour to the Parque Nacional de Abrolhas for whale-watching tomorrow, I went to the beach in the next town.
A typical Brazilian gesture I noticed is the thumbs-up sign. The Brazilians used that to say ‘all is cool’, ‘no problem’, ‘hey, I’m fine, how are you doing?’, etc… That was the sign given to me by the bus-conductor when I asked him to tell me where to get off.
Beach was not the prettiest but it was quiet. There were only a handful of people. I was practically alone. Perfect.
Parque Nacional de Abrolhas, BRAZIL - 02 october 2002
We left on the speedboat at around 8am. Most of us sat on the front part of the boat. As the boat sped through the waters, the waves got choppier and choppier and the ride got rougher. The boat flew sometimes and upon landing, huge splashes engulfed us. Soon, we were thoroughly soaked, our eyes stinging with salt-water. I had to wrap my camera inside my waterproof jacket to protect it.
We slowed down. Someone spotted a whale or two. Yeah, right over there. They surfaced just a notch and then, the tail flipped up and went silently down. Wow… I tried to imagine the sheer size of the mammal under our boat. It must be huge. And so gentle and elegant too… I was totally awed.
Before we arrived at the islands 3 hours away, we came upon more pairs of whales, usually mommy and baby. Some squirted water from their blow-holes. Some did little waves with their fins. I was waiting for breaching – that is when they jump out of the water and slam down. It would be awesome to see that.
We were paddled to an island which had colonies of birds which, unfortunately, due to ‘não compreendo o português’ [I do not understand Portuguese], I never found out the name of the birds. They were sitting there in their nests, brazenly staring at us. Some even tried to chase us away. Many had fledgings which were molting their baby feathers. They were nearly the size of their parents. It was fantastic to be so close to these birds. Frigate birds and vultures were flying above us as well.
Thereafter, the boat took us to another island and we went snorkelling or scuba-diving. Brazil is not famous for their reefs. If one had seen the reefs in the Red Sea or the Carribean, one would not be impressed here. But, let's not compare.
We returned at 5pm and I hurried back to my pousada as the last bus back to Teixeira de Freitas was at 6pm and I wanted to catch that to catch the 9pm bus to Belo Horizonte. I returned and showered hurriedly. When I was ready to leave, the pousada staff informed me that my small bag was kept in a safe and the elderly owner was the only one with the key and SHE had gone to Teixeira de Freitas. Huh?? Oh no… I had informed her I was returning at 5pm for my baggage.
We waited anxiously for her at the door-step. Then, I saw the 6pm bus pull away from the Rodoviária. Sigh… I waited til 7pm, before I decided that I just had to leave things as they were and not push it. I checked back into my room and stayed another night.
When I was having my dinner at a restaurant, the elderly lady came looking for me, gushing with apologies. I was with some German friends whom I met on the boat-ride today and they could speak Portuguese. They explained that the lady would not charge me for my room tonight as it was her fault I could not leave. Awww… that was so sweet. I told her not to worry as I did not buy any bus-ticket. She was finally pacified.
I was glad I stayed one more night and had a good rest. My skin was burning up with all the sun today and I was also thoroughly exhausted.
Again, another night-bus where I did not sleep well. I hopped onto a local bus marked CENTRO. The local buses in Brazil had a stupid turnstile for passengers to pass through after paying.
I had my backpack, so I could not pass through the turnstile. I wanted to sit where the unpaids were sitting (the old folks and those with special passes and very fat people, I supposed) and simply turned the turnstile to increment the passenger count, but the inflexible fare-collector disallowed it. He rather peeled himself off his seat and helped carry my backpack across.
Still, he was very nice to ask me where I was heading, attempt to study my LP map, discuss with another passenger and decide I should be getting off right about here. This kind of helpfulness was deeply appreciated, especially since we could not speak each other’s languages.
I had long f-ed my Portuguese phrasebook, buried it deep in my backpack. I simply added a Portuguese twang to my Spanish, substituting the odd word in Portuguese if I knew them. When I spoke, most of the time, they seemed to know what I wanted. When they spoke, I usually was quite clueless, although I was improving in this area.
I recalled the time when I got off the train in Vienna, Austria and wanted to find out if a particular tram went to Westbahnhof. I asked two guys, “Er… tram… Westbahnhof?” At once, one guy pulled his friend away as if I was a leper and waved me away, “No English”. Well, I did not ask if you spoke English, idiots. ‘Westbahnhof’ was in German after all.
I found my pousada after a short wander around town in the drizzle. I was the only one in the whole pousada. I collapsed onto my bed and snoozed until after 1pm.
Night buses did not appear to be working for me. I seemed to require about half a day of catching up on my sleep when I arrived. But, it was alright today as Saturdays here in Ilhéus appeared to be as dead as Sundays. No shops were opened. No activities were spotted.
At a small restaurant, again, I was met with kindness and friendliness. The unassuming town of Ilhéus was really warming up to me. The owner attempted to explain to me what the food was, although I had not asked him to do so. A lady devouring her lunch nearby, kept poking me and asking me if the food was ‘bom’ [good]. A pretty little girl, whose mother popped in to buy a snack, sat at my table and greeted me nonchalantly, “Oi” [Hi].
As I walked around the quiet town around the peninsula, I heard blasts of fireworks and loud music from cars. These cars were running campaigns for the upcoming VOTA BRASIL election on 6 October. They were playing catchy jingles and blaring political messages. Perhaps the politician with the best jingle wins.
There had been numerous billboards, posters, flyers, flags put up and distributed by the campaigners to promote the politicians’ names and numbers. Brazil used numbers for electronic voting. So, besides the jingles, politicians with the most memorable set of numbers might just win, those with ‘1234’, ‘1111’, etc…
They did not stop at billboards, posters, flyers. They painted on walls, pasted behind road signs, everywhere with a space. To me, the campaigners were the worst vandals. And I bet, after the election, they would just leave them there.
Itacare, BRAZIL - 29 september 2002
I had heard high praises for the beaches in Itacare. It was about 2 hours by bus from Ilhéus. I had no clue that the best beaches were actually along the way to the town of Itacare.
Once I arrived, I followed the crowd and ended up on a crowded beach which was lined with restaurants and bars and packed with people. OK, this was not quite what I had expected but I was too lazy to go hunt for the perfect beach and simply made myself comfortable on a spot, lay down and slept.
That evening, before I ordered dinner, I gingerly asked for the price. “R$7”, the lady replied. I did not bring too much money along because I was spending the day at the beach but R$7 I had. I ordered ‘peixe, por favor’ [fish, please].
What was served to me was HUGE. I was so hungry, I tucked into the food at once before it dawned on me that there was no way this huge portion (perhaps, once again for two persons) cost a mere R$7. I now asked the old man who had served me how much the dish cost. “R$12”, he smiled. “R$12?????” Gosh, the worst nightmare of a diner… I did not have enough money with me. I explained to him I thought it was R$7. He said everything was R$7, except the fish.
Argh… I sat there, stunned. I even asked him sheepishly if I could just eat up half of the fish and pay R$6. Hahaaa… dream on. He looked at me with pity for a moment, then he simply smiled and said, “Coma… coma…” [Eat, eat] Gosh, they were SO NICE!
I ate with a heavy heart until I remembered I had brought my VISA card along. This morning, I had decided at the very last minute to bring it along. I had actually forgotten about it for a moment. After food, I asked if I could leave my bag here as a deposit for him, while I hurried to the cash machine. He insisted it was not necessary and let me go retrieve the cash. Brazilians are fantastic!!
When I returned to my pousada in Ilhéus, I chatted a little with the owner of the pousada. He was also very nice. I then regretted having bought the bus ticket out of Ilhéus for tomorrow. There was no one in the pousada except me and it seemed, the owner felt a sense of pity to see me go so soon. Yeah, perhaps I should have stayed longer to get to know Ilhéus a little better.
The only thing I knew about Ilhéus was that it is the home-town of one of Brazil’s most famous writers - Jorge Amado, and I had walked past the ‘rua’ [road] named after him many times.
Ilhéus to Caravelas, BRAZIL - 30 september 2002
I was heading south to Caravelas which was the jumping-off point to Parque Nacional de Abrolhas for some whale-watching. It apparently was the right season for whales to pop by.
It was an 8-hour ride to Teixeira de Fretas. I finished 100 Years of Solitude in two bus-rides. It is a fantastic book. I was totally in awe. Márquez might have just earned himself a new fan.
I arrived, had a late lunch and had to wait about 2 hours for the next and last bus to the coastal town of Caravelas.
The bus drove through the total darkness. Yet, despite the speed and the blackness of the surroundings and the people, the driver managed to spot the odd persons here and there along the road and regularly stopped and picked them up. It took 2½ hours to get to Caravelas.
What a long day of travel today. I flung myself onto my bed after a quick shower and plunged into a deep sleep. Best deal so far, R$15 (US$5) with private bathroom, TV and breakfast.
Caravelas, BRAZIL - 01 october 2002
And there was even an attached balcony which I only noticed when I awoke this morning.
Caravelas is a much smaller town than Ilhéus. I meandered around. An old lady, sitting by the doorway, smiled at me. She called out, “Japão? [Japan?]”. I shook my head, não. Nevertheless, she extended her hand, shook mine, stroked my arm, hugged me and kept repeating, “Qué linda, qué linda”. Err… loosely translated as “How pretty, how pretty”. Ahem.
More people passed by me with greetings and huge smiles. Caravelas was as friendly as Ilhéus.
After booking myself on a tour to the Parque Nacional de Abrolhas for whale-watching tomorrow, I went to the beach in the next town.
A typical Brazilian gesture I noticed is the thumbs-up sign. The Brazilians used that to say ‘all is cool’, ‘no problem’, ‘hey, I’m fine, how are you doing?’, etc… That was the sign given to me by the bus-conductor when I asked him to tell me where to get off.
Beach was not the prettiest but it was quiet. There were only a handful of people. I was practically alone. Perfect.
Parque Nacional de Abrolhas, BRAZIL - 02 october 2002
We left on the speedboat at around 8am. Most of us sat on the front part of the boat. As the boat sped through the waters, the waves got choppier and choppier and the ride got rougher. The boat flew sometimes and upon landing, huge splashes engulfed us. Soon, we were thoroughly soaked, our eyes stinging with salt-water. I had to wrap my camera inside my waterproof jacket to protect it.
We slowed down. Someone spotted a whale or two. Yeah, right over there. They surfaced just a notch and then, the tail flipped up and went silently down. Wow… I tried to imagine the sheer size of the mammal under our boat. It must be huge. And so gentle and elegant too… I was totally awed.
Before we arrived at the islands 3 hours away, we came upon more pairs of whales, usually mommy and baby. Some squirted water from their blow-holes. Some did little waves with their fins. I was waiting for breaching – that is when they jump out of the water and slam down. It would be awesome to see that.
We were paddled to an island which had colonies of birds which, unfortunately, due to ‘não compreendo o português’ [I do not understand Portuguese], I never found out the name of the birds. They were sitting there in their nests, brazenly staring at us. Some even tried to chase us away. Many had fledgings which were molting their baby feathers. They were nearly the size of their parents. It was fantastic to be so close to these birds. Frigate birds and vultures were flying above us as well.
Thereafter, the boat took us to another island and we went snorkelling or scuba-diving. Brazil is not famous for their reefs. If one had seen the reefs in the Red Sea or the Carribean, one would not be impressed here. But, let's not compare.
We returned at 5pm and I hurried back to my pousada as the last bus back to Teixeira de Freitas was at 6pm and I wanted to catch that to catch the 9pm bus to Belo Horizonte. I returned and showered hurriedly. When I was ready to leave, the pousada staff informed me that my small bag was kept in a safe and the elderly owner was the only one with the key and SHE had gone to Teixeira de Freitas. Huh?? Oh no… I had informed her I was returning at 5pm for my baggage.
We waited anxiously for her at the door-step. Then, I saw the 6pm bus pull away from the Rodoviária. Sigh… I waited til 7pm, before I decided that I just had to leave things as they were and not push it. I checked back into my room and stayed another night.
When I was having my dinner at a restaurant, the elderly lady came looking for me, gushing with apologies. I was with some German friends whom I met on the boat-ride today and they could speak Portuguese. They explained that the lady would not charge me for my room tonight as it was her fault I could not leave. Awww… that was so sweet. I told her not to worry as I did not buy any bus-ticket. She was finally pacified.
I was glad I stayed one more night and had a good rest. My skin was burning up with all the sun today and I was also thoroughly exhausted.
Friday, September 27, 2002
13 - Empire of the Sun-Tanned (Parque Nacional da Chapada Diamantina)
Parque Nacional da Chapada Diamantina, BRAZIL - 24 september 2002
After breakfast, we left by a road behind the pousada. It was a gentle walk for a long while before we started climbing slowly up slanted rocks amongst the vegetation.
I had wrecked my watch when I got to Utrecht in the Netherlands. So, without a time-piece, I had no idea how long we climbed. In a way, it was good. I just concentrated on taking the next step.
The region was surrounded by mountains with horizontal slates of rocks and thick foliage. We alternated between walking on rocks and cutting through bushes. We passed another group consisting of two guides and four Brazilian ladies with huge backpacks. Soon, we passed another two Brazilian men. They looked like they walked into a trekking shop and told the staff, “We want to go trekking. What do we need to buy?” and proceeded to buy a whole load of gizmos and gears, outfits and gloves, bottles and hats, compasses and more just-in-case gizmos.
Some steep scrambling later, we got to the top of a section with overhanging rock and stopped for lunch and a nap. Awesome view through and through. Straight ahead of me, between two mountains, there was a short length of the horizon all to the way to where the earth curved away.
We walked on for a long time, passing more rivers. The water here was brownish because of the reddish rock mass. We were told the water was safe to drink and so we drank them neat. As we filled up our bottles with the river water, the colour reminded me of urine, ha!
We made our way to a deep plunge-pool and a very pretty waterfall. After all the sweat and tough workout, the pool sure looked inviting. We plunged in, pronto. I swam up to the waterfall and sat behind it. Hmmm… It felt just like sitting in the rain.
The two Brazilian men, I call them Dumb and Dumber, arrived in their flashy, long-sleeved trekking tops and long-pants and gloves. Imagine, their perspiration had no chance of evaporating and cooling down their bodies. They must be really hot now.
But Dumb stripped down into his swim-trunks and climbed gingerly up the rocks to where we were sitting as we dried ourselves. He sat there and considered for a long time, saying that he ‘dared not swim’.
Dared not swim? Hmmm… if he could not swim, he would say he ‘could not swim’. But ‘dared not swim’?? Perhaps, his English was a little wonky. Eventually, he psyched himself up and allowed himself a short swim and scurried back to shore.
Dumber changed into his swim-trunks and just stared blankly at the pool. He never plunged in. Not even a toe went near the pool. Strange.
Brazilian Ladies arrived, in various stages of undress and by the time they reached the pool, their glorious string bikinis were revealed. There was no stopping them.
Pit-stop for that night was under some overhanging rocks, right by the rushing river. All of us, except the guides, slept near the river, under the stars. I felt wonderfully at peace here, lulled by the sound of the gurgling river. It reminded me of the night in Mongolia when Pablo, Goretti, Tina, Jus and I slept by the river.
In the middle of the night, we knew why the guides slept under the overhanging rocks. It rained. In the darkness, we knocked into and tripped over rocks, got a whole foot into water, blundered into walls to resettle ourselves under the overhanging rocks.
Parque Nacional da Chapada Diamantina, BRAZIL - 25 september 2002
No wonder Brazilian Ladies had such huge backpacks. They had something to wear for the night and something different and extremely fashionable to wear for today’s catwalk around the mountains.
The rain continued in the morning. But Crispian reassured us it would stop in an hour’s time. True indeed. Soon, we got our gears together and started rock-hopping.
Bon Jovi was so insightful - Slippery When Wet. The route today involved quite a bit of scrambling, clamouring and balancing on the slippery rocks across the river. Sometimes, there was something to hold on to. Other times, it was a real balancing act. A wrong move, I could slip and smash my skull to smithereens. Moments like these made me wonder why I do such things. One really had to be agile, sure-footed, quick-minded. All the rocks looked slippery - take your pick.
As I made my way precariously on the rocks, strangely, my thoughts went frequently to my teeth. Yeah, I kinda like them. I really do like them a lot. I hope to keep them intact. Then, I remembered my brain. I sorta like to keep that intact too.
We happened upon Dumb and Dumber. Dumber was drenched to the bones. Ooops, he must have done the slipperoo.
We reached our pit-stop pretty soon. There was a group of hippie-sorts and their molls, smoking joints permanently. The dread-locked guys wore woollen Jamaican caps and huge shirts. The glassy-eyed girls pranced around in bikini tops. They greeted Crispian with familiarity. Perhaps they lived out here at the pit-stop.
We left our things and made our way through more slippery rocks on the river and on slippery mud across the forest to reach the Cachoeira da Fumaça. There was a lot of jumping off and climbing up rocks, using upper body strength to yank yourself up.
Unlike the last forest I was at in Manu, Peru, there was no chorus of singing insects in the forest air. Besides mosquitoes, there seemed to be few types of insects in this forest. In a way, it was good. That meant we could grab and tug whatever tree, root, crevice, we needed without fear of armies of fire-ants or other exotics running up our arms. At some precarious points, I even held onto blades of grass, like a life-line. Silly, I know.
We reached the waterfall after 2 hours. I was not so much physically exhausted as mentally exhausted with all the micro-seconds-long decisions of which rock to hop on, how to climb up this huge one, which root to pull, which branch to grab, etc…
All this to see the second-highest waterfall in Brazil. The water seemed to be falling in slow-motion. Compared to its height, it was a mere trickle. The water also appeared to be blown into oblivion about three-quarters of the way down. Sometimes, the water made it to the bottom and we could see bigger splashes. Still, lying on the rocks underneath, it was a satisfying sight.
The chatters of the Brazilian Ladies arrived before they did and stirred us awake. There was not enough room for two groups so Crispian led us back. Along the way, we passed Dumb and Dumber. They again stopped Crispian to ask for directions. Straight ahead, dudes.
Back at our pit-stop, Egor and Carolina found a flat ‘beach’ (no sand here, just a flat piece of rock) by the river, swam and relaxed. I walked down further and found myself a nice spot - another flat, peaceful ‘beach’ with small waterfalls and a big area to swim in and absolutely no one else around. I swam and slept on the rock until it started to turn dark. It was perfect. Just me and my thoughts and nature…
The area below the overhanging rocks was smaller, compared to last night’s pit-stop. With the ladies, the hippies and us, we barely had room to walk around without stepping on one another’s sleeping bags. Yeah, tonight, all of us were wise enough to sleep under the shelter. Night fell by 6pm. There was nothing much to do except to lie down in the darkness and sleep after dinner. Strangely, Dumb and Dumber did not grace this spot with their presence.
Parque Nacional da Chapada Diamantina, BRAZIL - 26 september 2002
Once again, it rained. Unlike yesterday’s rain, however, this one did not let up. It poured and poured and poured. Brazilian Ladies, in yet another set of matching trendy attire, started to crack jokes about Dumb and Dumber as they were currently Missing-In-Actions.
We sat on our mattresses and watched the rain. The ‘cave’ started to flood. I looked at Malte from Germany. His government, recently re-elected too, had some experience fighting against floods in August, hadn’t they? So, could he be so kind to try and stop the flood now, bitte? He scooped some sand and a twig and blocked the area right in front of my feet. Danke.
When I ventured outside for a pee, I was thoroughly shocked by the thunderous river now. The calm and peaceful ‘beaches’ we laid on yesterday were now gone. The rocks we clamoured across had disappeared under the violent cascades. Dumb and Dumber were SO not coming back to this pit-stop. There was no way to cross the river today.
At 12:30pm, Crispian told us we were heading out. The water falling in front of the overhanging rocks, came from the top vegetation and rocks and was accumulated and looked heavy. But, once outside, the rain was actually not that bad by now. We headed up and up today to see the top of Cachoeira da Fumaça.
Rock after rock, step after step, we ascended without stopping. I felt giddy at times and had to stop for drinks. It was really quite difficult for me. Sometimes, I needed a hoist or a push from behind to tackle the huge rocks. Then, after a while, even for simple rocks, I could not process in my head how to handle them. I tottered like a drunk at some point. I tripped over roots or small rocks. No helicopter rescues, honey. I just had to keep trying.
Finally, we petered out onto flatter grounds at the top. We went through grasslands, now marshy and muddy because of the rain. And also, courtesy of the rain, it was foggy everywhere. It felt like walking in the clouds. We squelched through the mud. Sometimes, my entire boot sank deep in and I had to yank it out with effort and without falling unglamourously into the mud.
We came upon the thunderous river that would eventually become the second highest-waterfall in Brazil. I was a wee bit chicken, trying to cross this scary river barefooted. Crispian held my hand and got me across. Now, we came upon the top view of the waterfall we saw yesterday. I had commented it was a mere trickle. Well, it was alpha-male today. It was a loud, booming, voluminous, authoritative, no-nonsense, giant-of-a-waterfall today. It was an amazing sight! Wee-woah!!!!
After a short time admiring it and freezing away, we returned and went through more swamp-lands, even wading through knee-deep water. Finally, we did a quick run-and-hop downhill all the way to Capão, our destination. We arrived, dead-tired and an hour before night-fall. Phew… There was a jeep that drove us back to Lençóis and I could think of nothing except to get out of my clothes and jump into a shower. What an amazing trip!!
Lençóis to Ilhéus, BRAZIL - 27 september 2002
Malte would leave for São Paolo today and Egor, Carolina and I headed to Salvador. I busied myself, reading 100 Years of Solitude on the bus. I had started a tiny bit on the 26-hour bus-ride to Salvador but with the tinted windows, it had been too dark to read. Now, there was good light and I could not put it down. I got through half the book or so by the time I reached Salvador. What a genius story-teller Márquez is!!
When we arrived in Salvador, like my first arrival in Salvador, it was raining cats and dogs. I bought a bus-ticket to Ilhéus, leaving tonight at 10:45pm.
Now, what was a girl, with more than 8 hours to kill, to do in the rain, with the Rodoviária (bus-station) located right next to the huge shopping mall, Iguatemi Shopping? Yes, the girl goes shopping. Well, I have to admit, after about five months of travelling, I was kinda sick of my clothes already and was itching to buy new ones, especially since clothes in Brazil were rather cheap, and not to say, looked pretty and sexy on those Brazilian stunners.
After breakfast, we left by a road behind the pousada. It was a gentle walk for a long while before we started climbing slowly up slanted rocks amongst the vegetation.
I had wrecked my watch when I got to Utrecht in the Netherlands. So, without a time-piece, I had no idea how long we climbed. In a way, it was good. I just concentrated on taking the next step.
The region was surrounded by mountains with horizontal slates of rocks and thick foliage. We alternated between walking on rocks and cutting through bushes. We passed another group consisting of two guides and four Brazilian ladies with huge backpacks. Soon, we passed another two Brazilian men. They looked like they walked into a trekking shop and told the staff, “We want to go trekking. What do we need to buy?” and proceeded to buy a whole load of gizmos and gears, outfits and gloves, bottles and hats, compasses and more just-in-case gizmos.
Some steep scrambling later, we got to the top of a section with overhanging rock and stopped for lunch and a nap. Awesome view through and through. Straight ahead of me, between two mountains, there was a short length of the horizon all to the way to where the earth curved away.
We walked on for a long time, passing more rivers. The water here was brownish because of the reddish rock mass. We were told the water was safe to drink and so we drank them neat. As we filled up our bottles with the river water, the colour reminded me of urine, ha!
We made our way to a deep plunge-pool and a very pretty waterfall. After all the sweat and tough workout, the pool sure looked inviting. We plunged in, pronto. I swam up to the waterfall and sat behind it. Hmmm… It felt just like sitting in the rain.
The two Brazilian men, I call them Dumb and Dumber, arrived in their flashy, long-sleeved trekking tops and long-pants and gloves. Imagine, their perspiration had no chance of evaporating and cooling down their bodies. They must be really hot now.
But Dumb stripped down into his swim-trunks and climbed gingerly up the rocks to where we were sitting as we dried ourselves. He sat there and considered for a long time, saying that he ‘dared not swim’.
Dared not swim? Hmmm… if he could not swim, he would say he ‘could not swim’. But ‘dared not swim’?? Perhaps, his English was a little wonky. Eventually, he psyched himself up and allowed himself a short swim and scurried back to shore.
Dumber changed into his swim-trunks and just stared blankly at the pool. He never plunged in. Not even a toe went near the pool. Strange.
Brazilian Ladies arrived, in various stages of undress and by the time they reached the pool, their glorious string bikinis were revealed. There was no stopping them.
Pit-stop for that night was under some overhanging rocks, right by the rushing river. All of us, except the guides, slept near the river, under the stars. I felt wonderfully at peace here, lulled by the sound of the gurgling river. It reminded me of the night in Mongolia when Pablo, Goretti, Tina, Jus and I slept by the river.
In the middle of the night, we knew why the guides slept under the overhanging rocks. It rained. In the darkness, we knocked into and tripped over rocks, got a whole foot into water, blundered into walls to resettle ourselves under the overhanging rocks.
Parque Nacional da Chapada Diamantina, BRAZIL - 25 september 2002
No wonder Brazilian Ladies had such huge backpacks. They had something to wear for the night and something different and extremely fashionable to wear for today’s catwalk around the mountains.
The rain continued in the morning. But Crispian reassured us it would stop in an hour’s time. True indeed. Soon, we got our gears together and started rock-hopping.
Bon Jovi was so insightful - Slippery When Wet. The route today involved quite a bit of scrambling, clamouring and balancing on the slippery rocks across the river. Sometimes, there was something to hold on to. Other times, it was a real balancing act. A wrong move, I could slip and smash my skull to smithereens. Moments like these made me wonder why I do such things. One really had to be agile, sure-footed, quick-minded. All the rocks looked slippery - take your pick.
As I made my way precariously on the rocks, strangely, my thoughts went frequently to my teeth. Yeah, I kinda like them. I really do like them a lot. I hope to keep them intact. Then, I remembered my brain. I sorta like to keep that intact too.
We happened upon Dumb and Dumber. Dumber was drenched to the bones. Ooops, he must have done the slipperoo.
We reached our pit-stop pretty soon. There was a group of hippie-sorts and their molls, smoking joints permanently. The dread-locked guys wore woollen Jamaican caps and huge shirts. The glassy-eyed girls pranced around in bikini tops. They greeted Crispian with familiarity. Perhaps they lived out here at the pit-stop.
We left our things and made our way through more slippery rocks on the river and on slippery mud across the forest to reach the Cachoeira da Fumaça. There was a lot of jumping off and climbing up rocks, using upper body strength to yank yourself up.
Unlike the last forest I was at in Manu, Peru, there was no chorus of singing insects in the forest air. Besides mosquitoes, there seemed to be few types of insects in this forest. In a way, it was good. That meant we could grab and tug whatever tree, root, crevice, we needed without fear of armies of fire-ants or other exotics running up our arms. At some precarious points, I even held onto blades of grass, like a life-line. Silly, I know.
We reached the waterfall after 2 hours. I was not so much physically exhausted as mentally exhausted with all the micro-seconds-long decisions of which rock to hop on, how to climb up this huge one, which root to pull, which branch to grab, etc…
All this to see the second-highest waterfall in Brazil. The water seemed to be falling in slow-motion. Compared to its height, it was a mere trickle. The water also appeared to be blown into oblivion about three-quarters of the way down. Sometimes, the water made it to the bottom and we could see bigger splashes. Still, lying on the rocks underneath, it was a satisfying sight.
The chatters of the Brazilian Ladies arrived before they did and stirred us awake. There was not enough room for two groups so Crispian led us back. Along the way, we passed Dumb and Dumber. They again stopped Crispian to ask for directions. Straight ahead, dudes.
Back at our pit-stop, Egor and Carolina found a flat ‘beach’ (no sand here, just a flat piece of rock) by the river, swam and relaxed. I walked down further and found myself a nice spot - another flat, peaceful ‘beach’ with small waterfalls and a big area to swim in and absolutely no one else around. I swam and slept on the rock until it started to turn dark. It was perfect. Just me and my thoughts and nature…
The area below the overhanging rocks was smaller, compared to last night’s pit-stop. With the ladies, the hippies and us, we barely had room to walk around without stepping on one another’s sleeping bags. Yeah, tonight, all of us were wise enough to sleep under the shelter. Night fell by 6pm. There was nothing much to do except to lie down in the darkness and sleep after dinner. Strangely, Dumb and Dumber did not grace this spot with their presence.
Parque Nacional da Chapada Diamantina, BRAZIL - 26 september 2002
Once again, it rained. Unlike yesterday’s rain, however, this one did not let up. It poured and poured and poured. Brazilian Ladies, in yet another set of matching trendy attire, started to crack jokes about Dumb and Dumber as they were currently Missing-In-Actions.
We sat on our mattresses and watched the rain. The ‘cave’ started to flood. I looked at Malte from Germany. His government, recently re-elected too, had some experience fighting against floods in August, hadn’t they? So, could he be so kind to try and stop the flood now, bitte? He scooped some sand and a twig and blocked the area right in front of my feet. Danke.
When I ventured outside for a pee, I was thoroughly shocked by the thunderous river now. The calm and peaceful ‘beaches’ we laid on yesterday were now gone. The rocks we clamoured across had disappeared under the violent cascades. Dumb and Dumber were SO not coming back to this pit-stop. There was no way to cross the river today.
At 12:30pm, Crispian told us we were heading out. The water falling in front of the overhanging rocks, came from the top vegetation and rocks and was accumulated and looked heavy. But, once outside, the rain was actually not that bad by now. We headed up and up today to see the top of Cachoeira da Fumaça.
Rock after rock, step after step, we ascended without stopping. I felt giddy at times and had to stop for drinks. It was really quite difficult for me. Sometimes, I needed a hoist or a push from behind to tackle the huge rocks. Then, after a while, even for simple rocks, I could not process in my head how to handle them. I tottered like a drunk at some point. I tripped over roots or small rocks. No helicopter rescues, honey. I just had to keep trying.
Finally, we petered out onto flatter grounds at the top. We went through grasslands, now marshy and muddy because of the rain. And also, courtesy of the rain, it was foggy everywhere. It felt like walking in the clouds. We squelched through the mud. Sometimes, my entire boot sank deep in and I had to yank it out with effort and without falling unglamourously into the mud.
We came upon the thunderous river that would eventually become the second highest-waterfall in Brazil. I was a wee bit chicken, trying to cross this scary river barefooted. Crispian held my hand and got me across. Now, we came upon the top view of the waterfall we saw yesterday. I had commented it was a mere trickle. Well, it was alpha-male today. It was a loud, booming, voluminous, authoritative, no-nonsense, giant-of-a-waterfall today. It was an amazing sight! Wee-woah!!!!
After a short time admiring it and freezing away, we returned and went through more swamp-lands, even wading through knee-deep water. Finally, we did a quick run-and-hop downhill all the way to Capão, our destination. We arrived, dead-tired and an hour before night-fall. Phew… There was a jeep that drove us back to Lençóis and I could think of nothing except to get out of my clothes and jump into a shower. What an amazing trip!!
Lençóis to Ilhéus, BRAZIL - 27 september 2002
Malte would leave for São Paolo today and Egor, Carolina and I headed to Salvador. I busied myself, reading 100 Years of Solitude on the bus. I had started a tiny bit on the 26-hour bus-ride to Salvador but with the tinted windows, it had been too dark to read. Now, there was good light and I could not put it down. I got through half the book or so by the time I reached Salvador. What a genius story-teller Márquez is!!
When we arrived in Salvador, like my first arrival in Salvador, it was raining cats and dogs. I bought a bus-ticket to Ilhéus, leaving tonight at 10:45pm.
Now, what was a girl, with more than 8 hours to kill, to do in the rain, with the Rodoviária (bus-station) located right next to the huge shopping mall, Iguatemi Shopping? Yes, the girl goes shopping. Well, I have to admit, after about five months of travelling, I was kinda sick of my clothes already and was itching to buy new ones, especially since clothes in Brazil were rather cheap, and not to say, looked pretty and sexy on those Brazilian stunners.
Monday, September 23, 2002
13 - Empire of the Sun-Tanned (Salvador, Lencois)
Salvador, BRAZIL - 19 september 2002
We arrived in Salvador at about 3pm in the rain. Our favela tour guide had told us it never rained in Salvador. How wrong he was.
After settling ourselves in Pelourinho, the well-restored old city centre, we headed out for a walk and encountered a group of boys making music known as Oludum. This is music, with African origins, created from various sorts of drums. The music had great rhythm and charismatic ‘oomph’. The drummers looked like they were having the best fun.
Salvador was turning out to be very vibrant and spontaneous, with loud booming music at every corner. It has quite an Afro-Brazilian culture here, unlike in Rio. The majority of the people here are of African origins. Naturally, there are some mestizos and mulattos but I hardly saw a white Brazilian whom I could say was a local. I guess that was how the racial mix was like up north in Brazil.
Well, unfortunately, we could not really enjoy the night-life of Salvador tonight as it rained incessantly for the rest of the night.
Salvador, BRAZIL - 20 september 2002
Deepa and I meandered more around town today. Salvador’s Pelourinho is quite touristy. We learnt that this previously downtrodden district had been restored and cleaned up for tourism’s sake. Shops along the streets here mostly sold tourist souvenirs. These houses were plastered up evenly and painted in all sorts of pastels shades. Police were stationed at every corner to protect the area.
Once out of the immediate district, we saw crumbling buildings, cracked walls, peeling paint-work, foliage-covered walls, broken windows, lopsided balconies, missing shutters…
Capoeira, as I had explained earlier, was resurrected here in the state of Bahia. So, naturally, I expected to see some fighters-dancers out for a ‘play’ here. Deepa desperately wanted to see one. She had not seen one before. In the end, she paid and went to the capoeira school to see it. I wandered around the street and by night-fall, at the main square, as predicted, there was a circle of capoeira players so I watched for free.
This evening was perfect. The near full-moon was breathtaking in the clear sky. We sat al fresco at the tables set up on the uneven cobble-stoned roads, amongst the pastel colonial houses and enjoyed some ‘live’ music and drinks. The entire town was alive with locals, not just tourists, enjoying their share of music, drinks and dance for the evening. Every bar or restaurant had loud samba or oludum playing.
In a very humble local eatery that did not even have a menu, the locals broke into spontaneous dancing. And what I meant by locals here were fat, aging, tubby aunts and uncles. Not the slim and skimpily-clad youths. The energy in this town was electric.
At some corners, typical in this state, women in white Bahian, bouncy, lacy dresses and white head-wraps (they looked like they were wrapped in layers of doilies, actually), were sitting and deeping-frying Bahian snacks in dendê oil. Surely, your road to heart attack.
Salvador, BRAZIL - 21 september 2002
We attended a Candomble session tonight. It was quite an experience. This was a religious ceremony where they communicate with their gods and baptize a boy of 12 years.
The men were in charge of the complicated drum-beats (sometimes with hands for a god, and other times with drum-sticks for another god) and provided the main singer.
The women (and a few men) danced slowly in tiny movements in a circle in the yard. The floor of the yard was strewn with a type of leaves.
The dancing, singing and drumming went on for hours. Some younger, inexperienced disciples (who had to dance with their backs hunched and heads hung low) might fall into a trance earlier. A girl did that, actually. She had to be led out and revived because it was not the time for the trance yet.
The 12-year-old boy was brought out, first covered with white dots to immune him against illnesses. Later, he was brought out again, covered with yellow, pink and blue dots. We were to throw a sort of leaves at him as he passed by.
Slowly, the women and the disciples entered into a trance and the main matriarch of the event started hopping on one leg at some point. That meant she was possessed by a particular god called Ossain who was painted on a picture as hopping on one leg.
They were watched over and guided by some mentors who were not in a trance, just in case the entranced got a little lost in their walking or started grabbing their jewellery and hurt themselves.
Then, with their eyes closed, the entranced swooped out of the yard one by one, somehow knowing where the open gate was.
After a very long wait, they returned with very colourful and intricate costumes - bright blue, yellow, red, sequined-dresses and head-gears which had beads or shells draped across their faces. They held implements on their hands like axes and metal-snakes.
OK, we did not always understand what was going on. It was very complicated. Many gestures steeped in meanings. It was also a very long session. It started at 10:30pm and lasted beyond 1:30am when we left. No way they faked this for tourists. This was a religious ceremony and was not widely promoted as a tourist event. Still, I appreciated it and found it interesting. Some tourists had looked very bored with the repetitive dancing, gotten fed up and left in taxis earlier. Well, this was not a performance for them to like or dislike. This was a complex ceremony which had its origins from Angola and Nigeria, with too many things beyond our understanding.
Salvador to Lençóis, BRAZIL - 22 september 2002
Deepa is an art student. She wanted to do some sketches today to while away the time. Hmmm… I had bought a sketch-book in Irkutsk, Russia and I last used it on the Trans-Mongolian Railway. Yeah, I would crack mine open too.
We spent the day, idling around and sitting at the square, sketching the local people. It was awkward for me not to include details for the sketches. But this was what sketches were about. No way I could include details as people walked away or changed positions ever so often. A teenage boy was very amused with our sketches. He peered from behind our shoulders and laughed in delight whenever he identified whom we were sketching.
We had been eating at buffet-by-weight restaurants (cheaper) in Salvador but the food was unexciting and sometimes, not very fresh. So, as it was our last day together in Salvador, we decided to treat ourselves and order a la carte.
I only realised this much later, but most of the items on menus in Bahia were for two people. But we did not know it then, and she ordered fried fish and I ordered a Bahian speciality - Ximxim de frango (that is chicken cooked like a curry and swimming in dendê oil). Dendê oil which is red palm oil, a local ingredient here, is s-t-r-o-n-g stuff and extremely high in saturated fat. So, when I expire due to a heart attack later in my life, as my whole life flashes before me, I would surely recall this afternoon, sitting under the Salvador sky, eating chicken cooked in dendê oil.
So, imagine our surprise when the food was served with rice, salad, beans, and portions big enough for a party! We were embarrassed by the decadent display of such copious food and proceeded to partake of it quickly before more people spotted our greed. We did not do a bad job by finishing up all the fish and ¾ of the ximxim.
That night, we parted. I made my way to Lençóis tonight while Deepa travelled south to Caravelas for whale-watching.
Lençóis, BRAZIL - 23 september 2002
Lençóis, a small, quiet town, is set in the wooded mountainous region west of Salvador, near the Parque Nacional da Chapada Diamantina. The main tourist business here is trekking and day-trips to the rivers and waterfalls in the National Park by many agencies.
I arrived at, maybe, 5am in a disastrous condition. I stumbled off the bus groggily and into a group of hotel and tour touts. Many inquired if I wanted to do trekking today. Were they crazy? I hardly slept a wink last night on the 6-hour bus-ride with air-conditioning set to full-blast. All I wanted to do now was to find a place to sleep.
A guy said free transport to wherever I wanted. No way… “Sim [Yes]”, he insisted. OK, I climbed into his van, telling him the name of my pousada. Naturally, he drove me to another and suggested this was better, for the same price, no mosquitoes.
Não, obrigada [No, thank you]. You said you would take me to wherever I wanted. “No problem, no problem…” he drove on and dropped me by the pousada that I wanted. “Maybe you join tour today [sic]. We go to Glass waterfall [sic]. You meet at Hotel Alcino at 8:30am. Maybe… yes? Hotel Alcino…”
I could not remember what I uttered. A trek to the waterfalls at 8:30am today??? He was SO kidding me…
I slept til way after 11am. The grinning receptionist at my pousada asked what kind of tour I was interested in today. “Hoje? Não… Hoje tranquilo, tranquilo… [Today? No… Today tranquil tranquil…]” I told him.
I was keen on the 3-day tour to the Cachoeira da Fumaça, also known as the Glass Waterfall. At 420m, it is the second highest waterfall in Brazil. He said he was not sure if there would be a group. I would be able to know by 8pm tonight.
I headed out. Lençóis, after Salvador’s loud and wild music, parties late into the night, and reputation for mugging, was incredibly quiet and felt thoroughly safe. Birds were chirping. The town was tiny, sleepy and magically silent.
I walked around and sat around without anyone really paying any attention to me. People were friendly but a little restrained… if I managed to get eye-contact and greeted them. It was really different from Salvador. So sleepy. So tranquil. It was not long before I wanted to head back to my pousada to sleep again but I willed myself against it.
A man was crushing sugar canes through a rattling machine to squeeze out sugar cane juice. I got myself a cup for a perk-me-up.
I traipsed down to Rio Lençóis. The riverbed was a reddish mass packed with round, white, yellow, pink rocks. It was a very unique and beautiful landscape. Locals were washing their laundry and swimming in the pools with brown water. It was really pretty. There were small waterfalls here and there. Some pools were so deep, the locals plunged head-long right in.
By night, there was indeed a group formed - Malte from Germany, Egor and Carolina from France and I. We met our guide Crispian who could only speak Portuguese, and were briefed in Portuguese on what to pack for tomorrow.
Gee… now I did not feel quite ready for a trek.
We arrived in Salvador at about 3pm in the rain. Our favela tour guide had told us it never rained in Salvador. How wrong he was.
After settling ourselves in Pelourinho, the well-restored old city centre, we headed out for a walk and encountered a group of boys making music known as Oludum. This is music, with African origins, created from various sorts of drums. The music had great rhythm and charismatic ‘oomph’. The drummers looked like they were having the best fun.
Salvador was turning out to be very vibrant and spontaneous, with loud booming music at every corner. It has quite an Afro-Brazilian culture here, unlike in Rio. The majority of the people here are of African origins. Naturally, there are some mestizos and mulattos but I hardly saw a white Brazilian whom I could say was a local. I guess that was how the racial mix was like up north in Brazil.
Well, unfortunately, we could not really enjoy the night-life of Salvador tonight as it rained incessantly for the rest of the night.
Salvador, BRAZIL - 20 september 2002
Deepa and I meandered more around town today. Salvador’s Pelourinho is quite touristy. We learnt that this previously downtrodden district had been restored and cleaned up for tourism’s sake. Shops along the streets here mostly sold tourist souvenirs. These houses were plastered up evenly and painted in all sorts of pastels shades. Police were stationed at every corner to protect the area.
Once out of the immediate district, we saw crumbling buildings, cracked walls, peeling paint-work, foliage-covered walls, broken windows, lopsided balconies, missing shutters…
Capoeira, as I had explained earlier, was resurrected here in the state of Bahia. So, naturally, I expected to see some fighters-dancers out for a ‘play’ here. Deepa desperately wanted to see one. She had not seen one before. In the end, she paid and went to the capoeira school to see it. I wandered around the street and by night-fall, at the main square, as predicted, there was a circle of capoeira players so I watched for free.
This evening was perfect. The near full-moon was breathtaking in the clear sky. We sat al fresco at the tables set up on the uneven cobble-stoned roads, amongst the pastel colonial houses and enjoyed some ‘live’ music and drinks. The entire town was alive with locals, not just tourists, enjoying their share of music, drinks and dance for the evening. Every bar or restaurant had loud samba or oludum playing.
In a very humble local eatery that did not even have a menu, the locals broke into spontaneous dancing. And what I meant by locals here were fat, aging, tubby aunts and uncles. Not the slim and skimpily-clad youths. The energy in this town was electric.
At some corners, typical in this state, women in white Bahian, bouncy, lacy dresses and white head-wraps (they looked like they were wrapped in layers of doilies, actually), were sitting and deeping-frying Bahian snacks in dendê oil. Surely, your road to heart attack.
Salvador, BRAZIL - 21 september 2002
We attended a Candomble session tonight. It was quite an experience. This was a religious ceremony where they communicate with their gods and baptize a boy of 12 years.
The men were in charge of the complicated drum-beats (sometimes with hands for a god, and other times with drum-sticks for another god) and provided the main singer.
The women (and a few men) danced slowly in tiny movements in a circle in the yard. The floor of the yard was strewn with a type of leaves.
The dancing, singing and drumming went on for hours. Some younger, inexperienced disciples (who had to dance with their backs hunched and heads hung low) might fall into a trance earlier. A girl did that, actually. She had to be led out and revived because it was not the time for the trance yet.
The 12-year-old boy was brought out, first covered with white dots to immune him against illnesses. Later, he was brought out again, covered with yellow, pink and blue dots. We were to throw a sort of leaves at him as he passed by.
Slowly, the women and the disciples entered into a trance and the main matriarch of the event started hopping on one leg at some point. That meant she was possessed by a particular god called Ossain who was painted on a picture as hopping on one leg.
They were watched over and guided by some mentors who were not in a trance, just in case the entranced got a little lost in their walking or started grabbing their jewellery and hurt themselves.
Then, with their eyes closed, the entranced swooped out of the yard one by one, somehow knowing where the open gate was.
After a very long wait, they returned with very colourful and intricate costumes - bright blue, yellow, red, sequined-dresses and head-gears which had beads or shells draped across their faces. They held implements on their hands like axes and metal-snakes.
OK, we did not always understand what was going on. It was very complicated. Many gestures steeped in meanings. It was also a very long session. It started at 10:30pm and lasted beyond 1:30am when we left. No way they faked this for tourists. This was a religious ceremony and was not widely promoted as a tourist event. Still, I appreciated it and found it interesting. Some tourists had looked very bored with the repetitive dancing, gotten fed up and left in taxis earlier. Well, this was not a performance for them to like or dislike. This was a complex ceremony which had its origins from Angola and Nigeria, with too many things beyond our understanding.
Salvador to Lençóis, BRAZIL - 22 september 2002
Deepa is an art student. She wanted to do some sketches today to while away the time. Hmmm… I had bought a sketch-book in Irkutsk, Russia and I last used it on the Trans-Mongolian Railway. Yeah, I would crack mine open too.
We spent the day, idling around and sitting at the square, sketching the local people. It was awkward for me not to include details for the sketches. But this was what sketches were about. No way I could include details as people walked away or changed positions ever so often. A teenage boy was very amused with our sketches. He peered from behind our shoulders and laughed in delight whenever he identified whom we were sketching.
We had been eating at buffet-by-weight restaurants (cheaper) in Salvador but the food was unexciting and sometimes, not very fresh. So, as it was our last day together in Salvador, we decided to treat ourselves and order a la carte.
I only realised this much later, but most of the items on menus in Bahia were for two people. But we did not know it then, and she ordered fried fish and I ordered a Bahian speciality - Ximxim de frango (that is chicken cooked like a curry and swimming in dendê oil). Dendê oil which is red palm oil, a local ingredient here, is s-t-r-o-n-g stuff and extremely high in saturated fat. So, when I expire due to a heart attack later in my life, as my whole life flashes before me, I would surely recall this afternoon, sitting under the Salvador sky, eating chicken cooked in dendê oil.
So, imagine our surprise when the food was served with rice, salad, beans, and portions big enough for a party! We were embarrassed by the decadent display of such copious food and proceeded to partake of it quickly before more people spotted our greed. We did not do a bad job by finishing up all the fish and ¾ of the ximxim.
That night, we parted. I made my way to Lençóis tonight while Deepa travelled south to Caravelas for whale-watching.
Lençóis, BRAZIL - 23 september 2002
Lençóis, a small, quiet town, is set in the wooded mountainous region west of Salvador, near the Parque Nacional da Chapada Diamantina. The main tourist business here is trekking and day-trips to the rivers and waterfalls in the National Park by many agencies.
I arrived at, maybe, 5am in a disastrous condition. I stumbled off the bus groggily and into a group of hotel and tour touts. Many inquired if I wanted to do trekking today. Were they crazy? I hardly slept a wink last night on the 6-hour bus-ride with air-conditioning set to full-blast. All I wanted to do now was to find a place to sleep.
A guy said free transport to wherever I wanted. No way… “Sim [Yes]”, he insisted. OK, I climbed into his van, telling him the name of my pousada. Naturally, he drove me to another and suggested this was better, for the same price, no mosquitoes.
Não, obrigada [No, thank you]. You said you would take me to wherever I wanted. “No problem, no problem…” he drove on and dropped me by the pousada that I wanted. “Maybe you join tour today [sic]. We go to Glass waterfall [sic]. You meet at Hotel Alcino at 8:30am. Maybe… yes? Hotel Alcino…”
I could not remember what I uttered. A trek to the waterfalls at 8:30am today??? He was SO kidding me…
I slept til way after 11am. The grinning receptionist at my pousada asked what kind of tour I was interested in today. “Hoje? Não… Hoje tranquilo, tranquilo… [Today? No… Today tranquil tranquil…]” I told him.
I was keen on the 3-day tour to the Cachoeira da Fumaça, also known as the Glass Waterfall. At 420m, it is the second highest waterfall in Brazil. He said he was not sure if there would be a group. I would be able to know by 8pm tonight.
I headed out. Lençóis, after Salvador’s loud and wild music, parties late into the night, and reputation for mugging, was incredibly quiet and felt thoroughly safe. Birds were chirping. The town was tiny, sleepy and magically silent.
I walked around and sat around without anyone really paying any attention to me. People were friendly but a little restrained… if I managed to get eye-contact and greeted them. It was really different from Salvador. So sleepy. So tranquil. It was not long before I wanted to head back to my pousada to sleep again but I willed myself against it.
A man was crushing sugar canes through a rattling machine to squeeze out sugar cane juice. I got myself a cup for a perk-me-up.
I traipsed down to Rio Lençóis. The riverbed was a reddish mass packed with round, white, yellow, pink rocks. It was a very unique and beautiful landscape. Locals were washing their laundry and swimming in the pools with brown water. It was really pretty. There were small waterfalls here and there. Some pools were so deep, the locals plunged head-long right in.
By night, there was indeed a group formed - Malte from Germany, Egor and Carolina from France and I. We met our guide Crispian who could only speak Portuguese, and were briefed in Portuguese on what to pack for tomorrow.
Gee… now I did not feel quite ready for a trek.
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