2ridetheworld.com : diary

23-09-2005 :Brazil

Back up the short 5km sand track, we were soon back on the main road. The day was already hot. The heat mirages coming off the boiling tar blurred the horizon of this seemingly endless road. The dry arid landscape was a contrast to our sourounding further South. It wasn’t hard to believe we’d been transported back to Tanzania. Small dusty wooden homes dotted the side of scrub that was skirting the road. Without any real hassle we’d ridden into Bacabal by 3pm and were keen to get off the bikes. We were dripping with perspiration and as usual hadn’t managed to drink enough water. Bacabal looked pretty unimpressive, a mixture of oil stained workshops, small shops and dodgy looking motels. With Lisa cooling down I went in search of a pousada, we’d already grabbed a good deal of attention and camping here seemed like a bad idea right off the bat. Like most other towns in Brazil Bacamal was a maze of one way systems. 30 minutes after leaving Lisa and even with the help of the GPS, I’d gone round in circles. I was going to take a left at the lights I was already sat at, it was one of the streets I hadn’t gone down yet. As the clutch engaged and the bike eased forward a sudden jolt from the back pushed me forward, my neck jarred and both hands came off the handlebars. Insticitvely I battled to keep the GS upright. The twat culprit who’d smacked me was already making off. I’d been rear-ended by some idiot on a small Honda with a grinning pillion. I saw red. The front end lifted as I dumped the clutch. I think he was kind of surprised when I pulled up right in front of him stoping him in his tracks. 2-3 minutes of me ranting at him followed as I aggresivley pointed out I was indicating to go left and what kind of fucking idiot was he? The pillion on the back had stopped grinning and the rider just shook his head and pleaded his complete innocence of all stupidity and wrong doing. This was’t going to get me anywhere, all I was managing to do was wind myself up. Ahh ‘fuck him’, You know the saying that everything happens for a reason…well directly to my left was a hotel. I’d already been down this street 3 times and missed it each time. 30 minutes later and after agreeing a price, I’d found lisa and we were unloading the bikes. The old air-con unit sounded like it was in its last death throws, it didn’t matter, to be surrounded by cold air was a luxury. We spent the evening across the road at a small roadside café. If you drink slow enough you really can make 1 beer last an hour.
24-09-2005
It was 6:30a.m. and we’d been on the road for 45 minutes. Riding with bleary eyes was a small price to pay for the benefit of cooler riding. Today was going to be a long one if we were going to reach Belem some 450 miles away. Small towns came and went as the day became hotter. Belem didn’t seem to get any closer. The 316 was going to take us all the way. Past Capanema the dry dusty srub land at last took a turn for the lush green tropics we’d expected. Disappointingly by 5pm we knew we weren’t going to reach Belem today, although we’d been riding all day our progress had been poor. We’d spent the day ovoiding pot-holes big enough to swallow fiat puntos. On the upside we’d be seeing signs for Municipal camping and were counting down the KM’s. Every guide book we’d read had highlighted a complete lack of camping, was this a hoax? Castanhal was a bustling town and with a few turns made we were pulling into a large green campsite complete with a lake and swings for the kids. This we hadn’t expected. We were knacked. The tent was literally thrown up and we collapsed inside. Find the camping at GPS: S1 17.118 W47 55.966 It was probably a better idea to spend the night here rather than arrive in a new city at night. At least this way we’d arrive in Belem and have the day to find somewhere to stay.
25-09-2005
Belem doesn’t seem to have a centre; it’s just one heaving mass of belching heaving traffic. Playing dodgems with the manic buses was scary. Two hours after arriving we were getting nowhere fast and hotels with parking were rarer than rocking horse shit. Yet again we were wilting; the heat and humidity were getting to us. The two bike cops we’d seen earlier had made a U-turn and were heading in our direction, we’d parked up on the curb, and we didn’t have the energy for a confrontation. With a few polite words exchanged and a handful of grins from our new police friends it was clear they weren’t hear to give us a hard time. With our hotel dilemma explained we set off, yep all four of us. We felt like bloody royalty, these two guys were determined to help find us a hotel. With blue and red lights flashing we roared up one way streets, the wrong way, crossed red traffic lights and where necessary they simply stopped the traffic so we could get through and follow them. This is bloody fantastic. 20 minutes later we were parked up in front of Hotel Regente (find it at GPS: S1 27.106 W48 29.352). The confused looks from the staff and guests said it all and we have to believe the impeccable service from the reception desk may have something to do with our new escort. With our thanks given we dove into the lobby desperate for the cool air. The rest of the afternoon we simply slept. Dinner was courtesy of one of the small street vendors. Small pieces of sausage and bread. Tomorrow we’ll explore Belem and try to sort out our transportation to Manuas.
26-09-2005
Belem has seen better days, a mixture of newish concrete and glass buildings and rotten musty colonial buildings. The sour smell of the docks is easily recognisable. Today our mission was simple; orgainse transport to Manaus. A short 30 minute walk from Hotel regente was dock 15 where we’d ben told we could buy tickets for one of the cargo boats to Manaus. We weren’t going to have to work hard to find the tickets, they’s find us. We hadn’t even reached dock 15 and we were already swamped with ticket touts all desperate for the business. After 2 hours of bartering this is what we discovered: There are a couple of boats that work the Manaus trip, mostly delivering cargo and goods to supermarkets in Manaus. They leave on a Monday, Wednesday and Friday. We were originally quoted 1,100 reals for a cabin and the two bikes, but then the price dropped if we left on the Friday. It turns out that on the Friday two boats leave at the same time and hence a little more competition drives the price down, we ended up paying 500 Reals for a small cabin and 150 per bike totalling 800 Reals. The cabin was simply for security of our kit. If you don’t need the cabin, a hammock will set you back 150 Reals. It’s worth bearing in mind that the price includes 3 meals a day for the 5 day trip down the Amazon. It was dilemma time: we’d save money leaving on Friday but it was going to cost us to stay in the Hotel. With our problem explained our eager tout disappeared returning some 5 minutes later grinning from ear to ear. Appararently he’s arranged for us to stay on the boat from Tomorrow night right up to departure on Friday. Fantastic. With our tickets firmly in hand we had another matter to attend to. Our entry permits were running out and so a visit to the Policia Federal was in order. The stern guard stood in our path at the entrance to the large white colonial building used by the Policia Fedreal. In abrupt Portugues he explained there was a problem and to come back tomorrow. For some daft reason I asked what kind of problem they were having. The reply translated simply as…”A PROBLEM”, Well that was good enough for me!
27-09-2005
What a shit day. Here’s a quick synopsis: We waited for 2 hours in the line to get our enty permits extended, got shouted at by the official, still haven’t got a clue why? With all the paperwork completed we were asked to pay 22.08 Reals for each extension. The confusing part was they wouldn’t take our money off us??? It turns out that we needed to find a Banco de Brasil and pay our fee at a branch. The scrappy bit of paper we’d been handed earlier included a sort code and account No: how were we to know. It took us an hour to find a sodding Banco de Brazil. Back at the policia Federal building they’d all gone for lunch, it was now 1pm. By 2pm we were back in line and by 2:30 had finally received our extensions. That’sus sorted but we stillneed to get extensions for the bikes,that’ll hav eto wait until tomorrow. We needed to get a move on. We’d been told to turn up with the bikes and kit at 3:30 at dock 15 in order to get onto the boat. With a mad pack up and our bill paid at the Hotel Regente we rode down to the dock 15 to be told that the boat was docked 5km up the coast and we’d have to board there. Six men fought over a taxi, each one wanting to gain a few Reals for showing the way to the new dock. Eventually all six crammed into the small Fiat. The Fiat protested belched black smoke and simply cut out. Some 20 minutes later it had been jump started and we were under way. 5km up the road the area had taken a turn for the worse, definatley not an area to be caught in at night. The gate guard looked unimpressed with our situation. Our new guides had each explained what had been arranged and that he should let us pass. Nothing was happening. He needed to make phone calls to authorise…something and wanted 20 Reals for a phone card, yeah like that’s going to happen…NOT! This game played out over the course of the next 6 hours, The sweltering heat was compounded by torrential rain. Every 30 minutes we were promised that we’d be boarding in only 5 minutes. By 9pm I’d lost any patience I’d had. We were sodden with sweat, hadn’t eaten and had basically been pissed around for 6 six hours. ENOUGH!!! This couldn’t go on. Back on the bikes we headed for centro Belem and back to the Hotel Regente, who were a little suprised to see us. The rain hadn’t stopped we were soaked through. Dinner was watery spag bol.
28-09-2005
By 12:15pm we were parked up in front of the loading gates, only to be told that the gate guard along with customs had just gone on lunch. Lunch was 2 ½ hours, all we could do was sit, wait and sweat. By 2:30 pm I was talking with customs, it took another 2 hours for them to understand what we needed and another hour for them to work out they didn’t have the paperwork to give to us…brilliant. They’ve ended up writing out the permit and explanation in long hand on the back of our original vehicle entry paperwork. Only time will tell if this is accepted upon our exit of Brazil. With customs done, kind of, we simply waited and watched as a seemingly endless amount of cargo was loaded onto the rusting floating boat we were to call home for the next 9 nights. It was dark before we were able to begin loading the bikes. The tide differencial here is substantial; we needed to wait for high tide in order to get the bikes on board. We finally heaved them onto the boat at 7:15pm. Loading the bikes hadn’t been included in our fee so we ended up paying another 20 Reals. So here we are; the bikes are tied up on the deck below, we’ve made new friends with most of the boat crew and we’ve set up our Capestorm hammocks at the front of the boat in the hope of catching some breeze. It feels so surreal to be here sat in our hammocks on board this boat. The distant noise of the city occasionaly getting through: The dark night broken with the dim orange light of dirty underpowered light bulbs strung from the beams of the warehouses lining the dockside. The grumbling noise of the oil tanker 500m off to our right is set in for the night and we’re sat here mesmerized by the shimmering light of the moon reflecting off the oil laiden water of the dock. In the distance we can see the thick greenery of the jungle on the opposite bank. Wow!
29-09-2005
Life on board starts early for the crew with more cargo to load. Our bleary eyes were opened by 5:30am when Emanualle (the cook) said ‘Bom Dia’ and asked us if we wanted breakfast. As the day got hotter the boats water line slowly lowered as 800 bright orange bags of onions were thrown, heaved and hoisted onto the lower deck of our boat. Dozens of boxes of garlic, potatoes and bags of beans all manhandled into the cargo hold. We wondered how much more the boat could take. Over the next few days onboard the smell of onions permeated everything: this smell shall always remind us of this boat. By 9am we’d arranged with dock security to be able to leave and return to the boat. Once on board you’re officially not meant to be able to come and go for obvious security reasons. We needed to get into town for supplies, food and some batteries. We also treated ourselves to a quick visit to the very posh shopping area in the converted docks…….only because the air-con there was just fantastic! The afternoon was entertaining. I’d noticed a small scab on my leg a day or two ago and simply figured I’d caught myself on something…it didn’t hurt. Hang on though, on closer inspection and with Lisa poking at it this scab it was now moving: it turned out to be a tick half buried in my leg…nice. When prodded its tiny legs wiggled as it dug deeper. To Lisa this was entertainment itself! However, you must be very careful when trying to remove these ticks. It’s no good trying to just pull them off as you end up leaving the head and half the body inside and then risk getting it infected. So we ended up drowning the thing in petrol and then trying to dig it out. Well it’s a different way to kill an hour or so?
30-09-2005
By 12pm passengers had started to board even though departure wasn’t scheduled until 6pm. Space on board is a premium and with most passengers using hammocks it’s a good idea to claim your space early, especially if you travelling with family. By 5pm the deck was awash with vibrant colours. Hammocks of every colour, size and desription. There was a buzz on board. We’d soon be leaving dock. As dusk turned to night we left Belem. A vast electrical strom was erupting over the city, like God’s own firework display saying farewell. The boat heaved and metal groaned as we hit deeper water. Loose cargo rattled 2 decks below. This is it, we’re on our way. The Amazon beckons. A few miles out and the last of the cities flickering lights disappeared on the horizon and we were at last submersed in the tropical night of the River. The rhythmic chug of the engines lulled tires eyes closed but not before both of us climbed the narrow metal stairs to the top deck. We simply laid on our backs and watched a million stars light up a pitch black sky. Lisa opted for the hammock again. She finds the Cabin a little claustrophobic. By 9pm I was in the cabin and wondering what tomorrow will bring?
01-10-2005
We woke at around 5:30am and walked barefoot on the cool metal deck. The hazy pink light of the days first rays were evapourating quickly revealing lush, thick impenetrable jungle on both banks…this is just what we’d imagined. Impossibly huge palms and ferns dipped their dark heavy foliage into the muddy waters. A musky, perfumed smell hung heavlily in the humid dank air, which was still, except for the movement created by our passing. Small wooden homes complete with palmed lined roofs litered the banks, each balanced precariously on undersized wooden pedestals lifting them clear of the waters and each with a makeshift jetty lashed together with old rope or vines. Small wooden canoes bobbed on the wake created by the boat and tugged their lashings, threatening to beak loose and drift. The canoes here are the only form of transport and the river the highway and byway. Children no older than 5-6 paddled furiously towards us, eagerly trying to reach the waves created by the break water at the boats bow. Shrieks of excitement let loose as their seemingly fragile canoes were tossed about and water splashed into the air. This was happen for the rest of the day as we’d pass. 3 larger canoes manned by ernest looking teenages were paddling scarily close to the crashing water of our speeding boat. These guys were on a mission. This was a rehersed procedure. The boy at the front of the canoe held a 1 metre long grappling hook and was desperately trying to snagg something solid on our hull. With a strong purchase found he braced himself for the aggresive snatch as our boat tried to wrench his shoulders from their sockets. With his arms still in place and with their canoe now planeing at the same speed as our boat he gritted his teeth and physically pulled the canoe up alongside the boat, climbed on board and whilst his 3 commrades battled to steady the now planeing canoe he lashed the small wooden craft to the side of the ship and with a number of clever knots lifted the front clear of the water spray. We were stunned. One wrong move and these kids could have been propeller food, cut to shreds. All this for a free ride upstream and the chance to sell some provisons…anything from oranges, cheese, palm hearts, water melons and handcrafts. We spent the day marvelling as we watched others perform this same Nautical stunt work. Mid-afternoon saw one guy get it wrong. A father with his two very young sons. His mistimed rope grab threw him backwards and his canoe dived nose first into the mirky water and directly under another already braced and tied canoe. With adrenalin powered limbs he battled to correct the situation as his young sons tried to bale the rushing waters now threatening to sink the canoe. A few minutes later they cut their losses and released the tied rope. Better to cut and run and hope for better luck another day. A light tap on the shoulde caught our attention it was Jonish one of the crew. The hand gestures towards his mouth indicating that food was ready and we should follow him. To our surprise we were still being invited to eat with the crew, whilst all other passengers waited upstairs and fought for table space. The small crew table resided at the back of the boat only a few metres from the massive Scania motors and right next to the tiny kitchen. Conversation was never an issue…it was simply impossible with the engine noise drowning out everything, besides sign language crosses so many many barriers. And so this became our routine as we’d squeeze past the onions, eggs, garlic and cargo and ease ourselves under and around the small metallic table for our helping of cold spaghetti, rice, beans and fried meat with onions. As we slowly ate cold muddy water would run over our feet. A large hole from this deck down to the rudder spewed water up in a never ending cascade. Whilst a selction of old rustiy chains and worn ropes assisted the broken hydraulics that turned the rudder itself. Upon the top deck with the Amazon flowing by, the only real bug bear that spoilt an idyllic day was the awful music they put on just after lunch and just after dinner. We always thought that the Brazilians were renowned for their great music….well we hate to disappoint you….most of it is (well for us) terribly bad samba that sounds like a mix of bad lift come shopping mall music crossed with ‘80’s country. With full bellies and our earlier guests having left with their canoes, we settled back in our hammocks to enjoy the evening views as the Sun said farewell sillehouting a jungle horizon. Lisa was begining to freak. Moths the size of small sparrows had taken an interest. She was putting on a brave face but when the 3rd one joined in on the act she had to disappear.


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