Chapter 28:  Amazon, Brazil.

Thursday, September 2

The bus windows continually rattled throughout the night, but nothing would deny me my rest.  I felt quite a relief after leaving Venezuela.  My thoughts wandered back to what Simon noticed about the families we’d encountered.  How earnest and friendly they were.  Their generous smiles never disappeared despite all the perils.  On the buses you noticed how all the young children were well behaved.  For such long journeys they were so attentive and expressive.  They were a beacon of hope and optimism for their families and the country.  There was a belief that they would remain a happy and friendly people their parents so obviously were, despite the uncertain times they were living in.  The people on the bus to Manaus were also a pleasant bunch.  A young girl in the seat in front of me kept popping her head up and then hiding.  She would start laughing when I just missed her.

The atmosphere was so reassuring but later in the evening there was a patrol stop.  The police guard took my passport away.  Was my mood about to be deflated?  Not at all.  The guard returned to me within minutes.  With a big smile and best wishes, he handed my passport back to me.  I nodded off as the sun rose over the swamps and jungle.  We were down past the Equator and it was already an incredible 36 Celsius at 8am.

Apart from the aggressive, tailgating taxi driver who took me to the Hotel Ideal in Manaus, Brazil already appeared to have less of a machismo character.  The hotel was ideally located in Zona Franca, close to the port terminal on the Rio Negro.  It cost 48 R$ for a single room with air conditioning.  Even the floor and walls felt too hot to the touch in my room.  Instead of resting I was at it again like on my arrival in Venezuela.  I decided on a breakfast then went to try a cash withdrawal.  Again, I floundered.  The only respite the various banks offered was a cool escape from the stifling heat outdoors.  The machines just wouldn’t accept my card though.  In one bank I spoke to a foreign exchange clerk.  She attempted a draft transaction through the clearing bank, but my request was refused.

At least this time I kept things in perspective.  There was an anxious looking lad in front of me.  He had managed to escape Haiti’s post-earthquake ruins to try and start a new life.  I had no alternative but to buy a phone card and call my bank.  This time I got through to Silva in Mumbai.  He immediately identified an obvious issue.  There was a block on my card.  Apart from Argentina, Chile, Peru, Ecuador and Colombia, there weren’t any flags and permissions for me to use it in other South American countries.  He rectified the matter and cleared my card for use.  After all the bother it was a simple issue.  I could now travel on with more certainty.

After lunch I made my way back to the hotel.  The bustling streets were lined with market stalls.  I arrived at Porto Flutante where I enquired about Amazon riverboat cruises to Belem on the Atlantic Coast.  There was one leaving the following day.  I checked the details and bought a ticket.  I was so dopey after three nights without a proper bed.  In the late afternoon I bought the essential hammock at Casa das Redes and took some snacks back to my room.  After sorting out and offloading some of my stuff, I finally chilled out.  The door remained shut to keep the hot air out!

Friday, September 3

I fell into a long, deep sleep.  From 5am I remained lightly snoozing after switching off the noisy air conditioning.  I’d slept on a rapidly evolving idea.  I considered the basic plan for the rest of my journey and decided to leave out Bolivia.  Taking the route from Brazil, through Paraguay, to Bolivia and back down through Northern Argentina would hardly leave me enough time to rest.  It would also be a race against time to make my flight back home.

I’d started taking my Malarone pills when I left Ciudad Bolivar. There were no mosquitoes bothering me yet, but I had to be prepared as advised.  I also had the repellent just in case.  After a breakfast of fruit, coffee, and bread I collected my laundry at reception and bought some bottled water and batteries.  I was quite refreshed and rather excited about the day ahead.  I imagined a delirious, live link commentary as I walked the half kilometre down to the port!  The N/M Cisne Branco (White Swan) was there bobbing up and down in anticipation.

I boarded at 11, crossing the ramp onto the middle deck where I registered my name and presented my ticket.  The sailing would last four days.  All the food, apart from breakfast, had an additional charge.  That explained the rather cheap 200 R$ ticket.  One of the officious looking crew took my red and white cotton hammock and tied it up to the poles for me.  I prepared for a whole new dimension to my travels.  I felt so excited.

The boat quickly filled up with passengers, and dock workers loaded the lower deck with a cargo of bottled beer.  The big boat, or small ship, left port.  It then turned back a few hundred metres along the northern shore of Manaus.  We waited a further three hours to set sail east down into the River Amazon.  More passengers and cargo came on board.  Three blasts of the ship’s horns signalled its imminent departure.  The middle deck hammocks were all a tangle and an eager noise increased.  I briefly jumped out on to the concrete jetty to buy some more water and snacks.  I quickly hopped back on board and climbed up to the top deck where the bar was being stocked with crates of Skol beer.

There were a few other travellers hovering about.  I got talking to Tiago and Helena from Boston, Massachusetts.  They were on a three-month trip around this huge country.  Tiago had family in Brazil.  He knew a considerable amount about the country and enthused about its size, resources, and colour.  Fabrizio, from Basle, Switzerland, joined us and we had a few beers.  It was a hot day.  I stayed on the top deck taking in the dripping sun and admiring the wide river as evening approached.  They were a lively bunch on the top deck.  It seemed a friendly and gregarious atmosphere.  I had to keep my wits about me and remained sensible despite drinking quite a few beers.

I spotted a shoal of porpoises swimming close to our craft as the sun went down.  Apart from that, the murky expanse offered little other wildlife to admire.  There was plenty of life on the top deck as the music continued.  The drinks flowed and people began energetically dancing the night away.  The dinner orders were also being taken by the bar staff.  I enjoyed a ham and cheese toastie and got talking to Jordan, one of a group of guys from Vancouver.

After a couple more cans of Skol, I returned to the middle deck and squeezed into my hammock.  Amidst the heavy engine noise of the boat and the loud laughter and foot stamping from the dancers upstairs it was easy enough to rest.   I chuckled to myself.  There were people in hammocks above and below me.  It was certainly a new experience on a proper Friday night.

Saturday, September 4

My little blue book of diary notes was full, so I continued scribbling stuff into my new notepad.  We sailed further down the wide River Amazon.  Clumps of twigs, grass and reeds plus other floating debris often appeared on the surface.  The mid-channel passage afforded distant views of the wooded riverbank.  Both the top and middle decks had chest high, narrow railings.  Food was conveniently served on pull-out tables behind my hammock.  Sweet coffee and bread were served for breakfast.

My backpack and guitar were secured to a pillar beside my hammock.  There was little room to move around on the middle deck until a few of the passengers disembarked on stops further down river.  The boat docked at Porto de Parintins as the morning heated up into a steamy day.  Strong sunshine sent a silver like reflection onto the river.  Vendors boarded the boat to sell refreshments.  A couple of the regular drinkers on the top deck went ashore to stock up on rum. They were nearly caught out when we left the port without them, but a locally piloted speedboat brought them into the middle channel.  They clambered back on board to lots of cheers.

There was a merry atmosphere.  The music was fine but sometimes a little too loud.  A guy was calling someone on his mobile phone as he stood right next to a pounding speaker!  People continued dancing as a golden sunset greeted our happy crew.  It was Saturday night.  I remembered to order dinner and sat down to eat stewed beef, rice, pasta, and chicken.  I’d remembered the disinfecting tablets that were given to me in Lima and felt confident enough to drink water from the cooler.

Whilst reading Wild Swans during the evening I got talking to Alessandra and her mother.  They were in the hammocks below and beside me.  They were reading a magazine featuring a veteran Brazilian pop star.  He was very famous they said.  Like The Beatles? I asked.  Ah, si, exclaimed Alessandra, and she then reeled off the names of the Fab Four!  There was quite a language barrier due to my lack of Portuguese, but we managed.  Alessandra and her mum spoke no English.  My limited Spanish helped though.  I was picking up obrigado or obrigada (feminine and masculine for ‘thanks’) and disculpe (sorry).  Alessandra and her mother disembarked at Santarem.  They’d lived there all their lives.  We embraced and the mother said I was a good one!  She winked and chuckled as Alessandra flashed a gorgeous smile.

I caught up with Tiago again.  He and Helena had tickets just for Santarem, but time was of an essence for them.  Reaching Belem, Tiago reckoned, would make access to transport easier.  I helped convince them both to stay on board.  There was far more space once the Santarem-bound passengers disembarked.  The boat was moored up as the crew and top deck party people headed onshore for a night out on the town.

Sunday, September 5

I enjoyed my best sleep in a hammock!  As dawn broke soon after 5.30am there was still plenty of activity on and off the boat.  A large cargo of bottled beer was dispatched onto the small dockside and coffee and bread were served up on deck.  It was a scorching hot day, almost identical to Saturday.  Groups huddled around the bar were still drinking.  The forro music was played at a more tolerable volume.  After a lunchtime stop further down river, a pigeon flew on board.  It remained underneath the rescue equipment and life rafts until the next stop, where it disembarked!

Before dinner there was a huge commotion.  An alligator suddenly popped its head out of the choppy waters beside the boat.  The large reptile, in its motionless state, vanished as suddenly as it had surfaced.  I had a thick meat and vegetable soup for dinner.  Tiago and Helena continued to stay on board.  They were looking rather sheepish in case the crew clocked them.  I continued reading Wild Swans, a very powerful and true story.  The heart-breaking and painful recollections of life during China’s Cultural Revolution were harrowing.  Later in the afternoon, we approached a narrower channel of the Amazon.  The surrounding jungle came into closer view.  Many passengers climbed up the steps to the top deck to admire a stunning sunset.  There were even less hammocks following an early evening port of call where riverside workers busily loaded the bottom deck with melons and coconuts.

I checked out my remaining time in South America.  The final few weeks would be simplified.  I would travel down to Rio de Janeiro, Iguazu, possibly Montevideo, Uruguay, and definitely return to Buenos Aires.  Yes, I thought it to be for the best.  It could have been another five or six days before I arrived in Rio.  With 20 days left and several days there I’d be playing with a fortnight, so it was Iguazu and then back into Argentina.  With that resolved, I reclined into my hammock.  I messed about with some lyrics for a tune, We’re going back to Bolivia.  There’s a mountain to climb, so do it justice.  Salt flats to visit, a death road to ride….. a sample to slide….. I stayed so long in Cusco Town……..and played a song, and wrote it down.

Monday, September 6

There was little else to do but take some sun on the top deck.  It really wasn’t that difficult!  The boat was cruising at a leisurely rate of knots to match the pace of the 200 or so passengers remaining on board.  I drank some Fanta grape juice, read Wild Swans and occasionally chatted.  I got into an engaging conversation with Marco from Flamengo in Rio de Janeiro.  He was an amiable character.  We chatted in Spanish.  He had a folksy manner about him.  Life was for living, said Marco, and he was certainly winning.  With an eager eye for the ladies Marco was certainly quick to join them underneath the top deck showers at the stern end!

Jordan from Vancouver joined me for a while.  I asked him about his travels.  He was journeying through Brazil with his friends.  He missed home and loved Canada’s wilderness.  He recognised nature’s dangers, whether on the Amazon, or, in the Canadian wilds.  A friend of his brother’s had been mauled to death by a cougar on a recent camping trip in British Colombia.  After travelling, Jordan wanted to break into the world of work.  There was a possible moneymaking stint in the Alberta oil/tar sands.  It was a contentious, environmental issue but I decided not to press him on it.  My stomach started to hurt again.  I mentioned I’d been drinking the coolant water.  Jordan kept well clear of it.  He vouched for bottled water and vitamin pills to take him through the four days to Belem.

There were some fine tunes blaring out on the top deck.  One song had a particularly euphoric movement to it.  By late afternoon the boat arrived at a much narrower stretch of river.  There were mothers and children rowing their boats out from their shoreline shanties in the deep, green jungle.  They waved and called for clothing.  Many sealed bags were thrown over to them in a ritualistic gesture of giving.  I’d never seen so many happy, smiling faces all at once.  They reflected a wondrous, sunset scene.  An incredible storm brewed up after dark.  Horizontal lightning and violent overhead thunder cracks shook our craft.  The crew pulled down the side tarpaulins and the lights remained on all night.  There was no danger.  The storm later subsided, and the night became calm once again.

Tuesday, September 7

I struggled with an increasingly upset stomach.  I probably wasn’t alone, but the toilets were a stinking mess by now.  Another of the Vancouver lads, called Mark, started chatting.  Like his friends, he’d just graduated and was celebrating with this travelling adventure.  He was reading David McNally’s Another World is Possible – Globalization and Anti-Capitalism.  Post-graduate clarity often reveals what a mess the world finds itself in.  Perhaps it can also optimistically highlight ways of making a difference.

The Rio Amazonia opened out.  A group of us stood looking ahead from the bow on the middle deck.  The dramatic, skyscraper skyline of Belem appeared on the eastern horizon.  Despite my stomach, I felt elated to have reached the Atlantic Coast.  I’d travelled thousands of miles, all the way from Merida, in just eight days!  We docked.  The midday heat was incredible.  The crew checked our tickets.  Thankfully, Tiago and Helena managed to get away without any hassle.

I shared a taxi into the town with the Vancouver boys.  They asked me about my guitar and what music I liked and played.  With them being Canadian, I mentioned Neil Young.  Jordan’s eyes lit up.  Down by the River was his favourite Neil Young song.

The Amazonia Hostel was full, but the receptionist directed us three blocks to Hotel Fortaleza in the Comercio district.  There were rooms available, and I took a single.  Despite acute tiredness I remained alert.  After a lovely cool shower, I also felt refreshed enough to arrange my next travel plans.  I discussed the options with Helena the hostess.  She reckoned bus prices to Rio weren’t that much less than flying.  I wasn’t so keen about the £114 quoted for a plane ticket.  I also wanted to see the land and check out the people and places.

Urban buses were thin on the ground and the streets were largely deserted.  It was Brazil’s Independence Day.  However, I was able to catch a city bus from Avenida President Vargas.  It took me to the main bus station three kilometres east of the centre.  The station remained open despite the bank holiday.  An English-speaking man behind the counter was so helpful.  TransBrazilian had Rio-bound buses leaving Belem twice a day.  The next one was at 3pm on the following day.  I paid 190 R$ (£65) for a special offer ticket.  I then bought some snacks, including a large pro-biotic Danone Actimel yogurt, from the big supermarket opposite the station.  My stomach remained unsettled.  I took a bus back to the hotel.  On the urban buses in Belem conductors sat in highchairs like Wimbledon tennis umpires.  They were highly efficient in taking ticket payments and announcing the correct stops for every passenger.

Back in the hotel I suddenly developed severe bath ear.  I sounded so full of cold and talked in a rather strange voice as Helena laughingly remarked when we chatted in the foyer.  She recommended a nearby food bar, one of the few places open.  I first found a pharmacy to check out some medication for my belly ache.  I was also experiencing floating boat syndrome.  It felt like I was still bobbing up and down!  In preparation for the 50-hour bus journey down to Rio I went to bed very early.