CYCLE TOURING BRAZIL (1) - Uruguay to Rio

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.