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| Photo by Tauari Formiga |
BRAZIL (1) - Uruguay to Rio
2 337 Kilometres – 49 Days
10 March 2011 – 27 April 2011
MAP
PHOTOS - Part One
E-BOOK
10-11 March 2011 – Chuy, Uruguay – Santa
Vitoria Do Palmar, Brazil – 25 km
Brazil was one of the more relaxed
border crossings, and a simple stamp in the passport allowed entry into this
new and very large country. Our first day of cycling in Brazil came with bucketing rain, and
Santa Vitoria Do Palmar made a perfect spot to get out of the weather.
Amazingly enough, the town boasted a
large lighthouse at the entrance. The lighthouse was no more than a welcome
gate as Santa Vitoria was located 16 kilometres inland from the coast. The ATM
spat out a few Brazilian reals, granting a comfortable night at Hotel Brasil, sporting
an en-suite bathroom, decent breakfast and Brazilian TV. The TV wasn’t very
useful as the little Spanish picked up biking through Argentina, Chile, and
Uruguay was replaced by Portuguese - our next challenge. Still, it was evident
it wasn’t merely raining in Santa Victoria but that the entire area further
north was flooded. TV further showed the earthquake and tsunami in Japan - how horrific
and there I was complaining about a spot of rain.
Ernest wanted to update his blog, and one
more day was spent in Santa Victoria.
12 March - Santa Vitoria Do Palmar –
Curral Alto – 90 km
Getting Ernest going in the morning was
like preventing Uruguayans from drinking mate. I felt he did this deliberately
to annoy me, and it was midday before we finally biked out of Santa Vitoria.
Our late departure meant bearing the full brunt of the headwind, as well as the
heat, and I thought it a pretty stupid thing to do, but there’s no cure for
stupidity.
Brazil’s coastal southern part was flat,
hot, humid and wet, perfect for growing rice. Once again, the road led past
pastures and rice paddies, and one could easily imagine being in Vietnam.
Finally, the tiny settlement of Curral
Alto was reached shortly past 5 o’clock. Taking its location on Lake Mirim, the
fish factory was an excellent place to pitch a tent. Factory staff offered us
an empty storeroom, and albeit a tad smelly (it was a fish factory, after all) one
could close the door and keep the bugs at bay, which seemingly grew to
monstrous proportions in Brazil. (At least I learned the Portuguese word for
fish).
13-14 March - Curral Alto – Pelotas –
157 km
Ernest must’ve read my thoughts, or the
fishy smell got him going, and before ten a.m. we closed the door and thanked
the staff. A tailwind pushed us past vast areas of wetlands, rich in birdlife with
storks, herons, sacred ibises, raptors, and numerous other water birds. I didn’t
particularly care for the many snakes and kept a beady eye on the road.
The wind drove us right past the
turn-off to Rio Grande and onto remarkable Pelotas. The town featured an ensemble
of old buildings and cobbled streets and, thus, had a considerable amount to discover.
By morning, the long overdue laundry was
handed in, and we took to the streets to investigate the historic city centre.
15 March – Pelotas
I planned to depart on this day, but I
discovered our unwashed laundry behind the reception counter. Maybe the staff considered
it old clothes no longer needed. And there I imagined I’d picked up a few Portuguese
words!
We took the washing to the laundry
ourselves and the rest of the day was spent meandering the historic areas. In
the nineteenth century, Pelotas was Brazil’s primary area for producing dried
meat, a staple made by slaves to feed other slaves working on sugarcane, coffee
and cocoa plantations.
16 March - Pelotas – Camaqua – 133 km
With clean laundry we continued to Porto
Allegre. Expecting a headwind, it came as a pleasant surprise to find the wind
slight and the way gently undulating.
The area was very much Gaucho country,
and farmers on horseback rounded up cattle aided by their working dogs. I
watched in fascination as they commanded the dogs by whistling, a task they
made look easy. In my mind, there’s nothing more beautiful than watching
skilled people at work.
At the Camaqua turnoff, a petrol station
made it a convenient place to pitch the tents. However, it turned out to be a
popular truck stop resulting in a noisy night.
17 March - Camaqua – Guaíba – 104 km
Even in Brazil, mate drinking remained prevalent,
meaning hot water was readily available. Morning coffee was, thus, made easy as
one could fill your mug from the hot water dispenser.
Due to our noisy night, we were on our
way remarkably early. The weather was hot and humid, and the route became
hillier and more forested while crossing a multitude of rivers. At Guaíba,
Ernest spotted a bicycle shop and bought a new rear tyre. A conveniently located
hotel sporting air-con, cable TV and a shower made it a natural choice.
18 March - Guaíba – Osorio – 125 km
We emerged to a drizzle, which continued
throughout the day. Nevertheless, it wasn’t altogether unpleasant once we were on
the bikes as sometimes cycling in the rain can be pretty enjoyable.
Soaked and covered in road muck, Osoria came
after 125 kilometres of biking. A hotel provided a warm shower and a place to rinse
away the day’s drizzle-fuelled road dirt and hang our wet clothes.
19 March - Osorio – Capao Da Canoa – 47
km
The following day, the sun was out and
the wind in our backs as the road followed the coastal route north. The way was
dotted by small villages, all relatively quiet as the carnival was over. Kids had
returned to school following a three-month summer holiday, and just a few
holidaymakers remained.
So quiet was it, on finding a campsite
at Capao Da Canoa, the owners offered us one of the chalets at no extra charge.
How nice of them.
20 March - Capao Da Canoa – Torres – 62
km
The South Coast of Brazil was scenic,
and a pure pleasure to pedal. En route, a man and his dog on a horse-buggy caught
our attention. He had a flat tyre but, at first, I didn’t notice the problem as
he addressed us in Portuguese. But, once we passed, he made a big enough noise for
us to realise he had a problem. Fortunately, his wheel size was similar to
ours, and Ernest could give him a tube to see him on his way.
In general, Brazilians were amazed at
our lack of Portuguese. “Nao Portuguesa?” was usually uttered in total
astonishment. The fact that we hailed from South Africa was equally surprising
to them. “What, Africa?” they repeated, looking at us like we’d dropped from
Mars. If you further explained that it took four years of cycling to get there,
they laughed, shook their heads, and it appeared something they couldn’t
comprehend.
21 March - Torres – Ararangua – 60 km
The campsite where we’d spent the night
was so peaceful, I was reluctant to leave and it was, therefore, late morning before
we departed.
The wind picked up and the pleasant road
surface deteriorated, with roadworks and narrow sections. Ararangua turned out significantly
more extensive than anticipated and, in no mood to battle the wind, the town
made a perfect place to find a hotel and get out of the wind.
Accommodation in Brazil was generally pricier
than in Argentina, Chile or Uruguay. Still, this one had cable TV, air-con, an en-suite
bathroom, sparkling white linen, and a sumptuous buffet breakfast, and I
thought it was money well spent.
22 March - Ararangua - Tubarao – 62 km
Being rice harvest time in the South of
Brazil, farmers were feverishly bringing in the crop. Flocks of birds were
hanging about, waiting for an easy meal. The day turned out a grind into a
gusty breeze and, being slightly hilly, I called it a day at Tubarao.
As Tubarao was a sizable town, finding lodging
was effortless and a conveniently located supermarket provided ingredients which
became a massive potato salad.
23-24 March - Tubarao – Imbituba – 55 km
Breakfast was included in the room rate
- a good thing, as once on the road, a strong headwind made us work hard up the
hills. At least the new road was completed along that stretch, making cycling more
comfortable. It was, however, heads down, grinding into the wind for the best
part of the morning. The beach and harbour town of Imbituba came as a welcome
surprise, as it sported a decent sheltered campsite, Wi-Fi, and a lovely lawn.
The relentless wind never abated, not
even at night, and we stayed an extra day, which was perfect for doing laundry,
restocking our dwindling food supply, oiling our bikes and airing the sleeping
bags.
25 March - Imbituba – Tijuca – 129 km
Luckily, we packed up before the rain
came and a tailwind drove us north. It became a delightful ride past small communities
still using the horse and cart and past lush green hillsides until the turn-off
to Florianopolis.
Florianopolis and Sao Jose were
high-rise cities with Florianopolis on Isla de Catarina and Sao Jose on the
mainland. They were sprawling cities and skyscrapers spread as far as the eye
could see. Giving them a wide berth, we followed the coastal route with beautiful
ocean views and nearby islands.
It drizzled all day, but we were tailwind-assisted
and continued biking until Tijucas, a small settlement with both a supermarket
and a hotel. Afterwards, Ernest cycled to the market and returned with the
ingredients to make one of his favourite pasta dishes.
26 March - Tijucas – Barra Velha – 85 km
From Tijucas the route ran north, over
hills, down valleys, through tunnels, past large resort cities revealing
upmarket condos, and past humble timber homes next to rubbish dumps. A Brazilian
couple, out in a camper van for the weekend, stopped us at a sugarcane juice shop
and literally “topped us up”. Sadly, the conversation was limited due to no one
speaking the other one’s language. But, amazingly enough, we understood each
other well enough to have a simple conversation.
In Barra Velha, and with the villagers’
help, an unofficial camping site was located alongside the river. The tents were
barely up and food prepared when it started raining. Soon, a full-blown storm
hit the area, and I discovered my tent not as waterproof as it used to be. It soon
turned into a small swimming pool. Mercifully, the weather passed quickly and I
could clear most of the water.
27/28 March - Barra Velha – Joinville –
58 km
The next morning dawned bright and sunny
making it a peaceful Sunday morning. The previous night’s storm was forgotten, apart
from large pools of water. In the company of birds that came out to dry their
feathers, we sat in the sun waiting for our tents to dry. It turned out a
beautiful morning, and people came equipped with boats and fishing gear to try
their luck in the river. Eventually, the tents were dry and bags repacked. Day
campers waved us goodbye and, following a photo session with the estate agent
across the road, we biked out of Barra Velha.
A slight tailwind made for pleasant
cycling as the road turned away from the coast and headed inland, over wooded
hills. A strong forest smell filled the air, making it pleasurable riding. But,
spotting a sign to Joinville, our curiosity got the better of us and we turned off
to see what was in a town featuring such an English name.
On closer inspection, Joinville turned
out an unusual place. History had it that Joinville was established on land
given as a dowry by Emperor Dom Pedro to his sister, who had married the Prince
of Joinville, the son of Louis-Philippe of France. A deal with Hamburg timber
merchants meant that, in 1851, 191 Germans, Swiss and Norwegians arrived to
harvest wood from the forest area. During our visit, I noticed many blond and blue-eyed
residents, which I understood were of German, Swiss, Norwegian, and Italian
descent.
29 March - Joinville – Garuva – 41 km
Like the previous day, our route veered
away from the coast and headed inland over the mountains. Unfortunately, it
continued raining, and on biking into Garuva, the weather over the forward pass
to Curitiba looked even worse.
Instead of keeping it going, I persuaded
Ernest to settle for digs in the small settlement of Garuva and hoped the
weather would improve by morning. Hotel Recanto-Eliza at the edge of town was a
wonderfully comfortable choice in a lush forest setting with a river running
right past it. Feeding the fish was a pleasant way to while away the time, and
they came out in hoards to snatch it away. Unfortunately, it rained hard
throughout the night, and there seemed no end to the rainy weather.
30 March - 1 April - Garuva – Curitiba –
95 km
After breakfast, while the mist hung low
over the mountains, the road led out of Garuva en route to Curitiba. It rained the
entire day as our path climbed over hills, leading us up a 25-kilometre-long
climb and through a beautifully lush green setting. However, all uphills
eventually ended, and the rest of the day was pleasantly undulating. Finally,
Curitiba rolled into view, and we were wet, cold and tired. The Formula 1 hotel
in the historic centre, provided a hot shower and space to dry wet clothes.
Curitiba was one of the world’s best
urban planning models. I loved the story of its mayor, Jaime Lerner, who transformed
a six-block stretch of street into a pedestrian zone in the ’70s. This move was
solely the start, and later express-bus avenues featuring tubular boarding
platforms were added. Add to that recycling and planting trees and parks on an
enormous scale, and you get what Curitiba is today.
The tourist bus was a novel way of
exploring the town and one could (in one fell swoop) see all Curitiba had to
offer. From the lovely and peaceful botanical garden to the 110-metre-high
telephone tower with a 360-degree city view.
The next morning dawned overcast and
rainy, making it a no-brainer to stay the following day. The day was spent
eating cake and drinking Brazilian coffee, a pleasant way to spend a rainy day.
2 April - Curitiba – Parana/Sao Paulo
State Border – 111 km
Thank goodness the weather cleared, and even
though drizzling occasionally, it wasn’t bucketing down like the previous night.
The route remained hilly, but felt mainly downhill (it must’ve been the two
rest days). Unfortunately, Ernest had two flats from truck tyre debris and
discovered his rear rim cracked. Luckily, the road was in perfect condition, making
it easy pedalling until the light faded. The overcast and rainy conditions made
for a short day’s cycling before pitching the tents on a grassy patch on a hill
behind a petrol station. Unfortunately, when the tents were up, it started
raining again. Mercifully, the petrol station shop provided a convenient supper.
3-5 April - State Border - Registro –
110 km
Following the usual breakfast of coffee
and biscuits, our route took us through a national park, which meant stunning
scenery and big hills. The road continued across numerous tropical-looking
rivers and through forests overgrown by ferns, moss and creepers, revealing only
the odd wooden home peeking through dense bushes. Finally, a 20-kilometre descent
led to lower ground. The weather was more tropical and humid and home to vast
banana plantations. Registro provided a comfortable hotel - so large was the
room one could dry clothes and tents.
Interestingly enough, Registro was named
so as in its heyday it was the port where early settlers had to register the gold
they shipped from Brazil to Portugal. I love these little snippets of history.
In the morning, Ernest washed the bikes
at the car wash around the corner. Nevertheless, there was a method to his
madness as he needed a new rim. He spent the rest of the day spoking the wheel,
a lengthy process that he was good at by then. The rim was slightly different from
his previous one, which required shorter spokes. Ernest returned to the bike
shop the next day and we spent an additional day in Registro.
6-7 April - Registro – Peruibe – 109 km
More than happy to get on the bike, the
day turned out superb biking as the way mainly led downhill, the scenery was sublime
and a slight tailwind made it easy biking. We ate fruit from roadside stalls
and filled our bottles at mountain streams.
After about sixty kilometres, I persuaded
Ernest to turn off the crazy trucking highway and head southeast towards the
coast. Ultimately, a route ran over the mountains, reaching the shore at
Peruibe (meaning ‘shark’ in the Tupi language). Out of season, camping was
available on the beach, where one could fall asleep listening to the sound of
the waves.
Ernest wanted to straighten his new
wheel and fix punctured tubes, and an extra day was spent kicking back in, what
felt like, my private little paradise.
A day at leisure allowed for sniffing
around and discovering all the exciting sights and attractions. In the process,
I found the Abarebebê Ruins. In the sixteenth century, the story was that
Portuguese settlers enslaved the Tupiniquim Indians to work in sugarcane
plantations. Father Leonardo Nunes (Abarebebe, as the indigenous people called
him) was against this practice. The first church in the region was built on the
rock of Abarebebe, where he was often seen walking.
8 April - Peruibe – Guaruja – 122 km
The further north we proceeded, the
lusher the landscape and the more vicious the mosquitos. The coastline was
picture pretty revealing white sandy beaches; this was, after all, Brazil’s
Costa Verde. After missing the shortcut to Guaruja, the alternative road turned
out hilly but stunning and ran around the port of Santos.
Guaruja was, in fact, an island as the
area was surrounded by water. Being a touristy beach town, it provided plenty
of hotels but no camping. Instead, people strolled the beachfront and sat at
sidewalk cafes; the balmy weather made it perfect to be out. At first, I
thought of climbing to the viewpoint, but I had no energy.
9 April - Guaruja – Bertioga – 37 km
A scenic road led to the ferry port and ran
beside white sandy beaches and idyllic palm trees. Unfortunately, the path reached
the ferry to the mainland far too soon.
Once off the boat, the weather took a
turn for the worse and came with thunder and lightning. Our route into Bertioga
led past the Forte Sao Joao de Bertioga, constructed in 1532 by Portuguese
settlers, making it Brazil’s oldest fortress. Construction started in 1532, but
the fort was only completed in 1702. Today, it’s a prominent landmark in town.
Still, we didn’t explore as the weather was terrible and we thought it best to find
shelter. Luckily a budget room appeared just as it started bucketing down.
10 April - Bertioga – Boicucanga Beach –
70 km
Ernest and I weren’t getting along,
making life an absolute misery. Though the route featured picturesque beaches, al
fresco oyster bars, and lush forests, I was in a foul mood and unable to enjoy
it. Then, towards the end of the day, I spotted a pousada opposite a beautiful
beach. I thought it would make a more pleasant evening. It was, however, not
the case and money wasted.
11 April - Boicucanga Beach – Sao
Sebastiao – 41 km
I left early, leaving Ernest to his own
devices. The Serra characterised Brazil’s Costa Verde do Mar, a 1,500-kilometre-long
mountain range, making it not simply an immensely scenic ride but also a hilly one.
I felt mentally and physically tired, and struggled up hills usually easily
scaled, even pushing my bike up a few. Nevertheless, it was gorgeous, and I
wish I were in a better frame of mind to enjoy it all.
Ernest later caught up as he always did.
I was unsure why he did that - maybe his actions were purely to annoy me. I,
again, discovered a lovely guesthouse overlooking the Canal of Sao Sebastiao
and Ilhabela Island and thought a pizza would improve my mood. Unfortunately, my
order of a large vegetarian pizza from the pizzeria across the road came with
tuna. This was obviously not my day!
12 April - Sao Sebastiao – Maranduba –
52 km
My knees were sore from the countless
hills the previous day. Fortunately, it dawned a bright and sunny morning. I
still felt fatigued but, once underway, felt a great deal better. Gone were the
sore knees and it became a beautiful day past waterfalls and caves. Nevertheless,
a small campsite on the beach stopped me in my tracks and I couldn’t bring
myself to cycle past such a lovely spot. Its white beach and tiny islands off
the coast resembled a small paradise.
13 April - Maranduba - Ubatumirim – 61
km
There was no rushing that stretch of coastline,
and I ambled on (Ernest in tow) from one beach to the next and crossed the
tropic of Capricorn. It was, in fact, the third time I had crossed this line by
bicycle. I found it quite ironic that between Brazil’s two largest cities was a
beautiful coastline featuring some of (I’m sure) Brazil’s finest beaches, and
mostly unknown to foreign tourists. Moreover, the beaches seemed even prettier
the closer one got to Rio. The ocean was a bright blue-green and at least 25˚C.
Wonderfully comfortable, to say the least.
Towards the end of the day, I turned off
the road via a sandy path and came upon a rustic beach offering all the
necessary facilities. Camping was on a small grassy patch overlooking a long
stretch of beach, and it felt like I could sit there forever, watching the
small waves roll in.
14-15 April - Ubatumirim – Paraty – 49
km
Paraty turned out a lovely surprise
after nearly missing the turnoff. The town was blessed by a beautiful beach and
a historic old town, still revealing cobblestone roads so rough I had to walk
the bike. The local campground was across the street from the beach. Food and
drink carts were right on the water’s edge, making it a perfect place to watch the
calm, warm water of the Atlantic.
Paraty was picture pretty and a great place
to spend an additional day doing laundry and lounging about. So pleasant was it,
I could easily have stayed one more day.
16 April - Paraty – Tarituba – 37 km
We waited until our clothes had dried before
heading out. Scarcely on our way, an interesting-looking turn-off lured me off our
route. The detour revealed an idyllic beach and a cottage in a jungle setting
on the water’s edge.
We offloaded the bikes and sat on the
beach eating our “pastel” (a fried pastry with a filling). I thought it was one
of the most idyllic settings in Brazil. By evening, a sweet aroma filled the
air, crickets chirped, and the moon shone brightly. Sadly, mosquitos came out,
and one had to retreat indoors.
This was what cycle touring was all
about. Regrettably, my cycling partner preferred to do distance, primarily by
following the highway - a dreadfully monotonous task. Each tour in their own
way and I liked discovering new things without a destination in mind. Ernest
was out to “cycle around the world” and wasn’t interested in exploring. Our
different views of cycle touring, and life in general, didn’t make for harmonious
cycling, and I thought it best to go my own way.
17 April - Tarituba – Angra Dos Reis –
66 km
Breakfast was served under the trees
outside our cottage. A full spread of bread rolls, ham, cheese, salami, coffee,
juice, fruit and biscuits was served, and I felt like a royal family member. But,
all good things came to an end. I thanked the owner and we continued our
journey.
The road was slightly hilly but offered
unique views of the Costa Verde. Even the nuclear power plant looked idyllic
amongst the lush forests. Being entirely different from the rest of the coast,
Angra Dos Reis was quite a surprise. Houses clung to the wooded mountainside
overlooking the picturesque bay, and narrow cobblestone streets weaved through
the old part of town.
18 April - Angra Dos Reis – Mangaratiba
– 66 km
Albeit a scenic coast, the road was all
but flat. I churned my way hill after hill, and sweated buckets in the hot and
humid conditions. Nevertheless, the hills provided stunning views. One could
see colossal oil tankers anchored in the sheltered bay, waiting their turn at
the off-shore oil rigs.
At the turnoff to Mangaratiba, our route
headed up one more large hill and I thought it best to head into town. After a
few kilometres, the small, picturesque village of Mangaratiba, spread out along
a steep peninsula, rolled into view. Unfortunately, Mangaratiba didn’t offer budget
accommodation or a place to pitch the tents as the town was one of the
jumping-off points to the touristy Isla Grande. Returning to the highway, a
more suitable option was located on the outskirts of town.
19 April - Mangaratiba – Barra Do Tijuca
– 93 km
The route to Rio was hilly, but later
flattened out somewhat. At Santa Cruz, a minor road turned off the highway and
followed the coast. Following one last hill and dodging roadworks and heavy
traffic, our path eventually spat us out at the beach. Barra Do Tijuca was near
Rio and, contrary to where we came from, the entire area was built up. Remarkably,
Tijuca had a campsite.
20 April - Barra Do Tijuca – Rio De
Janeiro – 55 km
Barra Do Tijuca was located on the southwestern
outskirts of Rio, and what a relief to find a twenty-kilometre-long cycle path
running next to the beach in the direction of the city.
At the spectacular Jao bluff, no
bicycles were allowed onto the bridge which ran through two tunnels connected
by an elevated highway over the ocean. We pedalled across the bridge anyhow. Our
illegal route spat us out close to the famous Ipanema and Copacabana beaches
where another bicycle path was situated. After snapping a few pics of these
famous beaches, the hunt to find accommodation was on.
To our surprise we found it at the start
of Easter Weekend in one of the world’s most prominent holiday destinations.
All budget accommodation was choc-a-block full, but a room/flatlet was
eventually uncovered only a few blocks from Copacabana Beach. Our digs came at
quite a cost, and the condition was that it had to be taken the entire weekend,
allowing for plenty of time to discover the city.
21-24 April - Easter Weekend - Rio De
Janeiro
Rio was spectacular, with abundant
natural beauty and many interesting people. I still claim it’s one of the world’s
most beautiful cities. I walked the beach, swam in the ocean and took a bus to
all the touristy places. But, of course, the beaches were crowded, and one
could hardly move. Still, it remained a beautiful city.
Soon the time came to move along.
Personal problems between Ernest and I forced me to make a long-overdue
decision. It wasn’t an easy choice as I enjoyed myself in South America. Still,
I felt I had to put distance between Ernest and myself.
25
April – Rio
I
moved to a cheaper hostel while deciding what to do next. After much deliberation,
a flight was booked to South Africa. However, they needed a cash payment.
Unfortunately, I could only draw half the money at a time and had to wait until
the following morning to draw the remainder.
The
rest of the day was spent chatting with people at the hostel. What a remarkable
place a hostel can be. People from all over the world gathered there and had
fascinating stories and reasons to travel.
26
April – Rio
It
felt like I wasn’t meant to leave, as all sorts of difficulties arose as I tried
to organise my “escape”. Firstly, I discovered one of my fellow travellers had
dipped into my wallet and helped themselves to my money. How and when it
happened, I wasn’t sure. I thought it all quite weird as not all the money was
taken, only about half. There wasn’t anything I could do but return to the ATM
and draw the necessary funds to pay for the ticket.
The
travel agent booked the flights, and I was told to collect the tickets later. On
my return, I learned they couldn’t reserve an Air Malaysia flight in Brazil and
refunded the money. The trip from Rio to Buenos Ayres was scheduled but to the
wrong airport and the booking was cancelled and a new ticket issued. The Air
Malaysia ticket (Buenos Ayres to Cape Town) could be bought online. Still, my
visa card had a security setting that prohibited online purchases. I decided to
go out on a limb and buy a ticket at the airport once in Buenos Ayres.
With
that, I left the Americas, and it would be four months before I returned to
Rio.
