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| Photo by Tauari
Formiga |
BRAZIL (2) - PART TWO
Rio - Belem
4 717 Kilometres –
119 Days
28 August 2011 - 27 December 2011
27
August 2011 - Lisbon, Portugal – Rio, Brazil
The
summer was spent in the northern hemisphere biking in Europe, starting in
Budapest, Hungary and ending in Lisbon, Portugal. In Lisbon, I stayed with
Carlos, a South African friend living in Portugal. He drove me all over the
place, and we took the bicycle to the bike shop to have it boxed.
In
the meantime, my sister Amanda wanted to join the adventure and planned on
meeting me in Brazil. Cycling Europe was fascinating, and I felt confident and
healthy (both mentally and physically) upon returning to Brazil.
A
taxi from Rio Airport took me to Wave Hostel in Copacabana Beach, situated
across the way from a bike shop, making it easy to reassemble the bicycle. The
hostel wasn’t too bad, as hostels go. Being close to the famed Copacabana Beach,
including breakfast and free Wi-Fi, one could do worse in such a popular
location.
28
August - 3 September - Rio de Janeiro
A
great deal of time was spent shopping for a Brazilian SIM card, camping gas,
and a map of Brazil indicating distances between towns northwest of Rio. The vague
plan was to follow the ocean towards French Guiana, a small country bordering
Brazil and Suriname.
In
the meantime, I ‘recced’ the route out of town, hoping to find a way that would
make a less stressful ride for Amanda on her first day. Although August is
considered winter, beaches were crowded with thong-clad sunbathers, deck chairs
and umbrellas. I could comfortably live in a place like that.
Rio
was a party town, so people generally partied all night and slept during the
day. It wasn’t something I was used to but, what the heck, as they say, “When
in Rome…….”.
Amanda
arrived in the evening, dead tired after a 22-hour long-haul flight. Although tired,
the chatter continued until the wee hours of the morning. She must’ve been
exhausted as she never uttered a word about our abode being terribly small and
that we had to share a bed (albeit a double one). Something I knew (from
childhood) she hated, seeing pillows were always placed between us whenever
there was any sharing of beds.
The
next morning was cold and overcast, and not very conducive to our sightseeing
plans. First, we took Amanda’s bicycle to the shop to be reassembled. Then we
were off to the famed Copacabana beach, the colourful markets, and backstreets
where old men played cards in the park. After midday and a quick nap, we were
at it again, this time by bus to the famous Sugarloaf Mountain. The cable car
price was a tad steep for a cloudy day, and we gave it a miss and hoped for
better weather the following day.
The
streets came alive after dark, as vendors sold touristy trinkets and bites to
eat. After a beer on the beachfront, the most inexpensive meal was two pizzas
from the bakery we cooked in the microwave at the hostel. The pizzas were eaten
accompanied by a cheap bottle of wine. The wine did what it was supposed to,
and Amanda almost fell asleep with her head on the pizza.
The
following morning, we went up Corcovado, the 710-metre-high mountain sporting a
statue of Christ. A tram ride up the steep slopes brought us to the 38-metre-tall
statue. Although immensely touristy, the views over the city were spectacular.
Unfortunately, it was too cold and windy to hang about and we soon descended to
the city’s warmth.
4
September - Rio de Janeiro – Marica – 56 km
Luckily,
Amanda’s first day of riding was on a Sunday. This meant the beach road was
closed to traffic, making it a stress-free cycle to the ferry terminal where
ferries departed to Niteroi across Guanabara Bay. Our luck didn’t end there as,
on Sundays, bikes were transported free of charge.
Waiting
for the boat, we befriended a chap who lived along the coast close to Marica. He
was in the city to buy a bicycle and planned to bike home as he couldn’t take
the bike on the bus. Instead, he offered to show us a shortcut, leading us out
of busy Niteroi onto a traffic-free route. He accompanied us until reaching his
turn-off - what a nice chap.
Not
a great deal further, a sign pointed to a campsite about three or four
kilometres off the road via a dirt road. Marica turned out to be a beautiful
place, revealing lakes, forests and a lovely lawn to pitch our tents. Amanda
was tired, but I thought she did remarkably well.
Without
nearby shops, we hauled out and cooked the noodles purchased for such an
occasion, although I didn’t think it would be needed on our first day.
5
September - Marica – Itauna Beach – 59 km
After
coffee, we returned to the main road. This was Amanda’s second day on the bike,
and she mumbled something to the effect of wanting an internet connection to
put the bicycle and panniers on eBay. LOL. Our preferred route primarily
followed the Costa do Sol, and featured views of densely wooded hills to the
interior.
Several
stops were made as Amanda needed her Coca-Cola fix. We kept our eyes peeled for
a campground in Saaremaa but found none. Following shopping at the supermarket,
a path continued to Itauna beach where a guesthouse on the famous surfing beach
of Itauna became home that night. Saaremaa was Brazil’s surfing capital and,
sporting near-perfect waves, it formed part of the world surfing circuit.
6-7
September - Itauna Beach – Arraial do Cabo – 65 km
Breakfast
was at our pousada after which our route headed north. The road ran between the
beach and a salt lake, and we rode past many a salt farm. Thank goodness, we
picked up a strong tailwind and I was happy for Amanda as she seemed tired by
then.
Arriving
in Arraial do Cabo, she felt nauseous and experienced cold shivers. I suspected
she was dehydrated as she’s a terrible water drinker. The campsite at Arraial
do Cabo was a disappointment. Even though located close to the beach, I thought
it was overpriced. Amanda retreated to her tent, not to be seen again. I cycled
to the supermarket, bought the necessary items for supper, and stocked up with
enough fluids to last the night.
Two
days were spent in Arraial do Carbo, allowing Amanda to recover before heading
off. Arraial do Cabo had an authentic fishermen’s village atmosphere. A
pleasant saunter led to the picturesque harbour and self-service restaurants.
These restaurants were the best value for money as one paid by weight. Amanda,
a fussy eater, found this extremely convenient. She could choose from a wide
selection of dishes and pay for what was on the plate.
During
the night, the wind picked up and gained strength to near gale force
proportions. It took crawling out in the night to turn the tents to face the
wind. Unfortunately, one of my tent poles broke in the process. It seriously
peed me off as it usually meant eventually buying a new tent.
8
September - Arraial do Cabo – Buzios – 35 km
Amanda
appeared much improved after a day’s rest and we cycled the short distance to
Buzios. Well done to Amanda who didn’t complain about the wind. She simply
rolled her eyes a few times. Once in Buzios, the Buzios Hostel was a great
place to fix tent poles and connect to the internet. Amanda, no doubt, was the
first to spot a sign advertising a bus trip to Salvador.
The
supermarket provided supper, which we cooked in the hostel’s kitchen.
Unfortunately, to our dismay, Amanda discovered she was a victim of card fraud.
What a disaster!
9
September – Buzios
Contacting
Amanda’s bank to report the card fraud took longer than anticipated. After
completing the time-consuming job of phoning the bank and cancelling the card,
the time was past midday. So, the remainder of the day was spent in pretty
Buzios.
Buzios,
known for its beaches, didn’t disappoint. In the early ’60s, Buzios was
“discovered” by Brigitte Bardot and her Brazilian boyfriend. After that, the
town went from a sleepy fishing community to a world-class tourist resort.
Finally, the wind subsided, allowing an enjoyable amble on the beach,
showcasing a stunning sunset.
10
September - Buzios – Macae – 81 km
Luck
was on our side and we picked up a strong tailwind. The breeze pushed us along,
and scarcely stopping, we flew past Rio das Ostras and onto Macae.
Unfortunately, accommodation was somewhat pricey, and we continued past Macae
to a pousada.
At
that time of year, the sun set early and by 17h00 one had to start looking for
accommodation. Our little pousada was extremely noisy on a busy road, but was
inexpensive, had a sea view, a fan and a bathroom.
11
September - Macae – Campos dos Goytacazes – 94 km
Amanda’s
birthday came with the benefit of a tailwind and overcast weather. A good thing
too, as it became a pretty long day of pedalling. The way provided a few
sugarcane traders selling ice-cold juice, which I loved. Nevertheless, Amanda
didn’t much care for the taste and stuck to her tried-and-tested Coca-Cola.
Towards the end of the day, and as expected, she was tired and her backside
sore but she never complained.
The
aptly named Canaan Hotel in Campos was our spot as I didn’t think my dear sister
was up to cycling around searching for a budget room. I went shopping as Amanda
claimed she could barely move her eyes and all she could do was lie staring at
the ceiling. The pizza ordered was more substantial than envisaged. After only
managing half, the remainder was packed to eat the next day.
12
September - Campos dos Goytacazes – Quaxindiba – 56 km
Sixteen
kilometres beyond Campos dos Goytacazes, the BR101 became dreadfully busy but,
luckily, a small path led to the coast. The coastal route gave us more
opportunities to find accommodation and was far more scenic than the highway.
Our
route led past large sugarcane fields, cattle ranches and pineapple
plantations. Numerous pineapple vendors sold pineapples at meagre prices. We
agreed that the sweetest pineapples on this planet were in Brazil.
At
Quaxindiba, Amanda spotted a decent-looking guesthouse. I didn’t argue as I’d
heard the phrase, “This isn’t for me” a hundred times. The accommodation turned
out far less glamorous than the outside indicated. Albeit smelly and dingy, we
took it as it came at a dirt-low price. We laughed so much at our ridiculous
situation that I had sore stomach muscles the next day.
13
September - Quaxindiba – Marataizes – 65 km
Our
route continued, partly on a dirt road and past small fishing settlements.
Sugarcane trucks abounded and, like the previous day, our path ran past
enormous pineapple and sugarcane plantations. The state of Espirito Santo was
mostly overlooked by tourists, but it was stunning and, being out of season, we
appeared the sole visitors.
Marataises
was our first beach town. Amanda’s priority was getting an internet connection
to arrange for a new bank card to be sent to her.
14
September - Marataizes – Piuma – 26 km
With
most of the bank business done, we pedalled on past Itapemirim. Amanda flopped
down on a beach not significantly further, claiming she was going no further. I
couldn’t blame her as we had four days of non-stop pedalling, of which two were
reasonably long, especially for someone not used to cycling.
A
few Brazilian reals provided an amazingly comfortable abode. The place was more
of an apartment than a room as it had two bedrooms, a lounge and a kitchen. Our
early arrival made it easy to do laundry as our establishment had washing
machines and driers.
15
September - Piuma – Guarapari – 55 km
Following
a hearty breakfast of jelly, cake, bread rolls, cheese, ham, coffee, etc. (the
Brazilians indeed ate well), we loaded our clean laundry and continued our
journey. The route led past fantastic beaches like Iriri, Anchieta and Ubu.
Guarapari
was far more extensive than anticipated and it took weaving through the busy
streets. When it started drizzling, a guesthouse was hurriedly located. The
owners were ever-so-friendly; maybe they’d never hosted foreign cyclists.
16
September - Guarapari – Carapina Beach – 84 km
Nothing
came of the predicted rain and the cloud cover made for good biking weather.
Amanda set off at quite a speed, and I couldn’t believe how quickly she became
fit.
At
Vitoria, the authorities didn’t allow bicycles across the main bridge (Ponte 3)
making it a long detour around the city to cross the river at Ponte Florentino
Avidos. Nevertheless, Amanda, with her fear of water and heights, sped across
the bridge in record time.
Vitoria
turned out quite surprising, revealing an old and modern section. At the beach,
accommodation was pricey and we continued through various congested settlements.
Arriving at the coast, Amanda threatened to stop right there. Fortunately, she
didn’t give up and managed to continue until reaching Carapina Beach, which sported
a reasonably priced pousada right at the water’s edge. The room was large but
had clearly not been cleaned since the previous occupants, and I happily hauled
out the sleeping bag.
17
September - Carapina Beach
The
next day was spent in Carapina doing little else but sleep, eat and drink. My
Portuguese was, obviously, not improving. I tried in my best Portuguese to ask
for directions, food and accommodation. Still, people generally stared at me as
if I had landed from a different planet. When shown the written phrase, they
usually repeated it, and there was me thinking, “That was exactly what I said!”
LOL.
18
September - Carapina Beach – Barra do Sahy, Putirí Beach – 50 km
Refreshed,
we headed further north. A scenic road led us through numerous small fishing
hamlets, past craft markets and nature reserves. A lovely camping area at
Putiri Beach lured us in, and although early, the site was such a good one, we
couldn’t decline.
Unfortunately,
our food search revealed nothing. Being Sunday, everything seemed deserted, and
supper was instant noodles washed down by a few beers. Unfortunately, food was
more challenging to find than beer. Soon rain came bucketing down, and by 8 p.m.
we were in the tents, hiding from the weather.
19
September - Barra do Sahy, Putirí Beach – Linhares – 80 km
The
coastal route ended, and our sole option was to head inland and join the busy
BR101 passing vast timber plantations. Unfortunately, the way was undulated,
and Amanda had to hike her bike up a hill or two. The best part of the day was spent
pedalling past ylang-ylang plantations. The sweet and exotic fragrance of the
flowers filled the air. I couldn’t think of anything better than biking with the
smell of ylang-ylang filling the air.
The
BR101 was busy but offered a wide shoulder making cycling more relaxing. The
route was littered with cold drink and crafty stalls but, unable to buy
anything, we could only snap a few pictures.
At
Linhares, it took pedalling around the not-so-glamorous town to find reasonably
priced accommodation. The shocking (or amusing) discovery was the address
Amanda gave the bank to send the card wasn’t where we thought! The inn she
booked turned out somewhere close to the ocean and not in Sao Matheus, as
intended.
20
September - Linhares – Barra Nova – 85 km
Our
only option was to head to Barra Nova to see if the card had arrived. Sixty
kilometres down the drag, a large signboard advertised the inn and, after
consulting with locals, we turned off. Twenty–three kilometres, the advertising
board stated. We pedalled and pedalled, but no inn appeared. Eventually, the
paved road ended and turned into a dirt track but still no inn. The sun started
setting, and Amanda (as can be expected) claimed she would catch a bus. Albeit
beautiful, the area was deserted, and where she would find a bus remained a
mystery. The people we encountered seemed perplexed that we wanted to go to
Barra Nova, which according to one man, was far away and across a river (no
bridge, as indicated by the rowing of arms).
Eventually,
it became dark, forcing us to wild camp (a first for Amanda). We pitched our
tents at the entrance of what appeared to be an oil refinery as they had water (to
the security staff’s great amusement). Amanda searched anxiously for a toilet
and mumbled, “I could’ve been somewhere in a hotel room.”
The
security guards at the gate weren’t only friendly but understandably curious
about what two women on bikes were doing in their part of the world. Once
again, the directions to Barra Nova varied between 10 and 28 kilometres.
21
September - Oil refinery – Barra Nova – 20 km
Amanda
survived the night without a toilet. Following coffee, we returned to the
gravel road and headed in the direction the oil refinery staff indicated. True
to their instructions, we came across a river about 20 kilometres further.
This
may not seem a problem to anyone, but this was a massive problem for Amanda,
who had aquaphobia. A man offered to paddle us across, but a more significant
issue was getting Amanda onto the boat and across the river. It took a
considerable time to locate a life jacket. Still, it didn’t do much to ease her
fear. Scared to death, she eventually got onto the tiny wooden boat containing
our bikes and panniers and arrived alive on the other side. I felt sorry for
her, but what else was there to do? Regrettably, no card was delivered, and the
inn had no internet connection to find where the card could be. Nevertheless,
Amanda swallowed a beer in about two seconds and looked more like her old self.
If
anyone wanted to disappear off the face of the planet, this would be the place
to do it. The inn was on a river and had beautiful, comfortable rooms, a lovely
restaurant and a bar, all set in a lush garden sporting palm trees and
hummingbirds. There wasn’t anything more to the settlement than the inn, a few
houses, and a pub or two. Staff doted over us like we were the Queens of
England. This was well-deserved treatment after Amanda’s ordeal of the past two
days.
22
September - Barra Nova
The
following morning, a costly taxi ride via a sandy track took us to a nearby
village. Amanda clung onto the door frame for all she was worth as we sped
along the potholed, sandy path. All in search of an internet connection and a
bank (both found). In the process, she learned the bank hadn’t even posted the
card and we retreated along the sandy track to Aratu Pousada.
Staff
informed us a twenty-five-kilometre sandy path ran to the main road and onto
the bigger town of Sao Mateus. By evening, Amanda was already stressing about
the sandy path. She feared she would’ve to walk her bike all the way, mumbling
her, by then, trademark phrase: “I’m never going to make it.”
23-24
September - Barra Nova – Sao Mateus – 40 km
The
staff wasn’t wrong about the sandy path and now and again I heard an anxious,
“Oh shit” behind me. The “twenty-five kilometres” was simply to the subsequent
settlement. At least from there, a tarmac road ran to Sao Mateus where we discovered
a hotel offering telephone and internet facilities. The following day, Amanda
had more “work” to do, and we stayed in Sao Mateus, where hopefully, she could
sort out all the card requirements.
25
September - Sao Mateus – Itabata – 90 km
Having
done all in our power to have the card sent, we departed Sao Mateus on a
breezy, cloudy morning, heading north on the BR101. On crossing into the state
of Bahia, the road deteriorated. The roomy shoulder we enjoyed until then vanished,
and the many trucks made cycling downright dangerous.
Then,
mercifully, a pousada rolled into view. Amanda did well as she stuck it out,
put her head down and did what was required. The lady from the guesthouse
confirmed that a dirt track indeed existed beside the ocean.
26
September - Itabata – Caravelas – 65 km
Following
our landlady’s direction, it became an eventful day—a dirt road headed towards
the coast past cattle ranches and tiny hamlets. Amanda spotted a man on a
donkey and muttered it being a more suitable means of transport for her.
The
tiny hamlet of Mucuri made an excellent place to have a snack. Sixty-five
kilometres and one flat tyre later, our path abruptly ended at the sleepy
fishing settlement of Nova Vicosa, revealing a picturesque fishing harbour.
Studying the map, the town of Caralvelas didn’t appear too far away, but we had
to cross a mangrove swamp.
Once
a price was negotiated, the bikes and panniers were loaded onto the small boat.
Amanda was extremely apprehensive, but at least the boat was more substantial
than the canoe of a few days earlier. She reluctantly approached the boat and
swore I had picked the smallest one in the harbour.
So,
we set off into the sunset and putt-putted toward Caravelas. Amanda anxiously
looked on when I took the wheel to enable the skipper to work the bilge pump.
There’s something intriguing about mangrove swamps, and sunset was a perfect
time to be out on the water.
Soon,
the sun started setting, the birds began settling in the treetops, the
fireflies came out, and phosphorescence began appearing in the wake of the boat
– and still, we sailed on. Eventually, it became pitch dark and the stars shone
brightly.
By
then, Amanda was extremely uncomfortable (to put it mildly). Our boat had no
lights and one only hoped the boatman knew the way. Eventually, three hours
later, Amanda excitedly spotted the lights of Caravelas across the water. Well
done to Amanda and our skipper for making it across the dark waters of the
mangrove swamps.
Thank
goodness, Caravelas had a comfortable pousada and a open self-service
restaurant. All’s well that ends well.
27
September - Caravelas – Prado – 50 km
Following
a filling breakfast at Posada dos Navegantes, we biked past Alcobacato Prado.
After Amanda’s stressful previous day, I thought it best to keep the distance
short. Fortunately, the map didn’t indicate any river crossings for at least a
day or two.
The
Brazilians were incredibly hospitable and loved to talk, but the language
barrier made it tricky. A Brazilian couple in a car flagged us down and
remarked they had seen us a few days earlier in Vitoria. They seemed highly
disappointed when realising we couldn’t speak Portuguese. My biggest regret was
not being fluent in the language of the country I cycled.
Shortly
before Prado was a river crossing via a rickety bridge. Fueled by a fear of
heights and water, Amanda was across the bridge faster than Lance Armstrong. I
was incredibly proud of my sister.
28
September - Prado – Cumuruxatiba – 35 km
We
left Prado via a stunning coastal route. Sadly, it soon deteriorated as it
headed over the hills and became sandy, rutted and corrugated. In fact, the
road was so rough Amanda lost one of her fillings. I kid you not! I thought it
a marvellous route, but Amanda had different words to describe the day. The
coastal road was well off-the-beaten-track and very remote - glorious if you
like that kind of riding.
Amanda
walked her bike up and down the rutted hills – just to be on the safe side. At
Cumuruxatiba, a sweet couple pointed us to a guesthouse. The guesthouse was one
of the best, set in a lush garden and offered a lovely sea view, all at a
reasonable price. The friendly couple later returned to inform us one could
cycle along the beach instead of the road. How nice of them.
29
September - Cumuruxatiba – Corumbau – 35 km
There
are few things as idyllic as biking along a firm beach. Regrettably, our
euphoria didn’t last long. The beach soon reached a rocky outcrop forcing us to
return to the road. Once around the rocks, a sandy track soon spat us out on
the beach, but no sooner more rocky outcrops appeared. This time it took
dragging the bikes up a steep embankment and onto the road. Local knowledge
told us to try the beach again a few kilometres later. The sand soon became too
soft, requiring dragging the bikes quite a few kilometres.
Exasperated,
we gave up, pulled the bikes up the embankment, and headed inland, searching
for a better road. Being an isolated area, only offering a sandy jeep track,
there wasn’t much one could do but walk the bikes along. I heard Amanda
mumbling: “We’ll most likely die of thirst, and no one will ever find us.” Even
I started thinking we might never reach civilisation. Exhausted, we came upon
our sandy and rutted path from the previous day.
A
Brazilian chap on a motorbike confirmed it was, indeed, the right way and a
long detour was avoided leaving a mere 12 kilometres to Corumbau, our
destination that day. However, our cash situation was dire, and the area remote
without any TV, cell phone reception or banks. At Corumbau, a bungalow was
located and, in limited Portuguese, we explained our dilemma. We understood
from the guesthouse owner one bus a day ran to a nearby settlement and an ATM.
We further understood the bus departed at six in the morning and returned at
around two-thirty.
30
September – Corumbau
We
were up early the following day to catch our 3-hour, 70-kilometre bus ride. The
bus trip was a pleasant experience as it wasn’t merely Saturday but also month
end. The bus was crammed with villagers dressed in their Sunday best, heading
into town to do their monthly business. The trip was a jovial affair as old men
in hats and ladies in heels and floral dresses extended greetings to all who
boarded the bus. They all seemed acquainted; even we spotted the lady from a
guesthouse where we had enquired the previous night.
In
town, our fellow passengers dissipated, and we searched for the bank. Drawing
money took a fair amount of time as barely half the terminals functioned. The
queue thus extended out the door. Wandering around the small community, one
couldn’t help but bump into fellow passengers. Soon, the time came to return
and nearly all of the morning’s passengers were on the bus again. We were greeted
like old friends. Our fellow travellers were loaded with shopping bags
containing anything from chicken feed to groceries.
There
appeared no rush as en route the bus stopped at a bakery. Once all were on the
bus, we rattled along the rough dirt track to collective ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ as the
bus bounced through the potholes.
1
October - Corumbau – Trancoso – 50 km (+12 km by beach buggy)
After
thanking our host, Maria, our route continued along a sandy path until ending
abruptly upon reaching a dense mangrove forest. No other option remained but to
continue via the beach. To the villagers’ delight, we dragged our bicycles
along the sand and, no sooner, all joined in to help.
In
the process, we were ferried across a river by what appeared to be a 6-year-old
girl (still seemingly sucking on a dummy) - not the best thing for Amanda’s
nerves. All this was done without asking for money, and it only seemed like
their Sunday afternoon fun.
No
road existed to Caraiva, but a beach buggy ferried people to and from Caraiva.
The sand was too soft to cycle, and we flew across the loose sand with our
bikes strapped onto the buggy. Halfway, Amanda threatened to get out and continue
by foot as she wasn’t comfortable with the buggy drifting across the sand so
close to the water’s edge.
At
least she didn’t have to jump out of a moving vehicle as our buggy ran out of
fuel. We waited patiently in the shade of a palm tree as our barefooted driver
ran to a nearby house to find petrol. He, eventually, dropped us at Caraiva,
where we had to, yet again, cross a river to get to a road of sorts.
Caraiva
was a tiny coastal hamlet on the Rio Caraiva. It had no TV, mobile phone
connection or banks. However, the slow pace of life attracted a few old-time
hippies who lived a quiet life in Caraiva. No bridges were nearby (and no
cars), and all goods had to be ferried across the river (even the horses seemed
to know this and swam across at leisure).
Once
on our bikes, our path turned into one of the worst encountered routes as it was
a sandy, rutted, and muddy track, making cycling downright tricky. More
surprising was that right there, in the middle of nowhere, was an art studio
making lampshades out of candle wax. We lingered a while before setting off,
passing vast papaya fields (I guess it’s the only plant that could grow in such
sandy soil).
Trancoso
revealed a luxury hotel at a fraction of the price it would cost in high
season. Being out of season, guesthouses offered rooms at a hugely discounted
rate. Ours offered a hammock, air-con, mosquito nets and a lovely breakfast — a
just reward for a day’s hard work.
2-3
October - Trancoso – Arraial d’Ajuda – 40 km
Instead
of continuing by following the dirt path, we opted for the paved road. The
paved road was a bit further, but we had enough of dirt roads. Later, we
seriously doubted our decision as it revealed numerous steep hills. Amanda was
in no mood for hills and swore she would take a bus. After one of those hills,
Amanda refused to get on the bicycle and wanted to phone a taxi. She plopped
herself down by the side of the road, and it took sweet-talking to get her on
the bike, promising we would turn off to Arraial d’Ajuda making it a short day.
Arraial
d’Ajuda was a lovely coastal community sporting paved roads and a grassy
central plaza. Reggae music blared from tiny, colourful shops surrounding the
square and old-time hippies lazed around at incense-filled bars. What an
excellent place to hang out.
The
next day was spent doing the usual housekeeping. However, when Amanda pointed
out one had to close the bedroom window using a plank, I knew she was well
rested, and it was time to move along.
4
October - Arraial d’Ajuda – Belmonte – 80 km
A
leisurely four-kilometre descent brought us to the ferry port, where a barge
ferried passengers and cars across. By then we had experienced numerous kinds
of crafts across countless rivers. Still, the sight of the overloaded barge
didn’t instil a great deal of confidence. Once on the opposite bank, our route
continued past palm-filled beaches with bright yellow plastic chairs.
As
if one river crossing wasn’t enough, we came across another river where a barge
operated. On the opposite side, the road wound through a dense forest and past
remote beaches to Belmonte.
In
Belmonte, a skipper approached us, offering us a ride across the mangrove
swamps to Canavieiras. A fee was negotiated, and arrangements were made to meet
at 8 o’clock the next morning (dearly hoping his craft would be seaworthy). Our
abode was a basic guesthouse at a budget price, and one couldn’t complain about
the lack of facilities.
5
October - Belmont - Una – 56 km
The
skipper turned out to be the water taxi to Canavieiras and I was sure we were
overcharged. The swamps could only be crossed at high tide, which assured
Amanda the water wasn’t deep. We waited in the company of fellow passengers
until the tide came in. Once the bicycles and panniers were loaded (they even
had life jackets), the boat headed off through the humid jungle.
Against
all odds (according to my dear sister), the ferry made it to Canavieiras.
Priority was to locate a bike shop as Amanda’s tyre was torn close to the rim.
As even the smallest community had a bike shop, finding one was easy. The shop
was ever-so-generous, gave a good discount, and fitted the new tyre at no extra
charge.
The
reasonably short distance to Una was on an excellent paved road, past
densely-wooded areas and plenty of small hamlets. Una was slightly inland and
reached via a moderately hilly ride. As usual, villagers were curious about our
doings. The friendly lady running the pousada suggested we put our bicycles in
the room. Onlookers keenly carried our bikes up the vertical stairs (something
we didn’t protest about). Soon the rain poured down, making it a great place to
hide during the night.
Brazilians
customarily favoured a big lunch and only a light meal in the evening. A saunter
to the bus station, mercifully, revealed a few street vendors from which to
snack. Cake was always available and made a sweet treat.
6
October - Una – Ilhéus - 61 km
By
morning, the rain had abated making the day hot and humid. Our route led
towards the coast, past Ecoparque de Una, where the golden-headed lion monkeys
could be seen. Regrettably, one had to arrange a visit beforehand.
I
wasn’t prepared to drag Amanda up a seven-kilometre dirt road to the park gate
that might or might not be open. Nevertheless, a good descent took us towards
the ocean, from where a flat coastal path led to Olivencia and on to Ilhéus,
where, hopefully, a new bank card would be waiting.
Hotel
Ilhéus was easy to find, but sadly we learned no post had arrived. Hotel Ilhéus
turned out quite interesting. Centrally located in the old part of town and
built in the 1930s, it sported a vintage elevator and few electrical points. It,
nonetheless, offered hot showers and excellent river views. The hotel was built
to accommodate wealthy cocoa traders and, originally, had a bank and cocoa
deposit on the ground floor, a party saloon, and a casino. It must’ve been
quite a fancy place in its day but was, by then, showing its age.
7-12
October - lhéus
With
the help of friends in South Africa, at last, news came about Amanda’s bank
card. We decided to stay in Ilhéus until the card arrived, as having it sent to
a forward address proved far too problematic.
Ilhéus
was a pretty coastal town, offering an ensemble of historic buildings dating to
its cocoa heyday. I wasn’t sure though whether we would be able to keep
ourselves occupied for seven days. When we enquired about a disconto in
anticipation of our extended stay, the receptionist laughingly pointed out that
whilst we didn’t speak Portuguese, we sure knew the word “disconto”.
lhéus
was the hometown of Jorge Amado, a well-known and popular writer in Brazil. His
novels, like Gabriela, Clove and Cinnamon, and Dona Flor and Her Two Husbands,
portray the life and customs of the north-eastern region of Brazil. If nothing
else, at least his books would keep us busy. In the meantime, all the old
buildings in town were visited. An amble up the hill to the Church of Nossa
Senhora da Piedade proved worthwhile. Situated high up on a hill overlooking
Ilhéus, it resembled a fairy castle more than a church.
Once
all the sightseeing was done, our days were spent eating ice cream, grilled
cheese, and quail eggs on the beach. At night, the beachfront traders provided
cheap nibbles and thick milkshakes. Ilhéus was a reasonably small town but quite
lively. The cobbled alleys came alive at night with food, bars and street
theatres.
Ilhéus
had a fascinating history being the principal city along what was known as
Brazil’s Cocoa Coast. The town dates to the early 1500s, when it thrived due to
the sugarcane trade. Its real boom came in the late nineteenth century with the
introduction of cacau (cocoa). Plummeting world sugar prices and the abolition
of slavery caused the sugar plantations to decline.
The
cocoa trade (known as “ouro branco” or white gold) lured formerly enslaved
people and entrepreneurs to the lush hills surrounding Ilhéus, all searching
for their fortune. A few cocoa barons (known as “coronéis” or colonels) with
vast plantations became immensely wealthy and powerful.
They
ruled over their workers, and the region, until the 1980s. Shortly afterwards,
a disease known as “vassoura de bruxa” (witch’s broom) decimated the cocoa
trees and left the region’s economy in ruins, from which it had only recently
begun to recuperate.
Today,
traces of the colonels’ legacy can still be seen by wandering among the
majestic mansions and civic buildings in Ilhéus’s historical centre. One can
read about their exploits in the novels (particularly The Violent Land) by
famous Brazilian author Jorge Amado. (Source: Moon Travel Guides)
13
- 14 October - Ilheus
By
far, the cheapest meal was at self-service restaurants. These, usually, offered
a large variety of food and even desserts. Customers could dish up whatever,
and as much or as little as they desired, as the price paid was by weight. Unfortunately,
these restaurants were usually only open between 12h00 and 14h00. This is
because Brazilians tend to have a big lunch and only a snack in the evening.
At
night, we searched out the espetinhos vendors. One could find these vendors
just about everywhere: tending their portable charcoal barbeques, selling their
espetinhos (small kebabs). The aroma of the grilled meat usually told us
exactly where they were. Espetinhos could be skewers of beef, sausage, chicken
or even cheese. These skewers were served smothered in a hot sauce and a sandy,
flour-like concoction (which we usually skipped).
In
the unlikely event one couldn’t find an espetinhos vendor, there were always
the acarajé traders. Acarajé was a dish made from peeled black-eyed peas formed
into a ball and then deep-fried in palm oil. This was by far the most famous
street food and served split in half and stuffed with a tomato and onion salad,
a spicy sauce and pasta made from corn (I think). Often shrimps were somewhere
in the dish as well.
Both
these dishes were considered snacks and were immensely popular as they were
cheap. I preferred buying from the lady on the plaza as she didn’t deep-fry her
acarajé but cooked the ball in a banana leaf. Her acarajé also contained no
shrimp and had a more distinct coconut flavour. To top it all, chocolate cake
was usually available somewhere.
15
- 16 October - Ilheus – Itacare - 74 km
Following
eight full days, Amanda’s bank card still hadn’t arrived. A decision was made
to continue, returning by bus to Ilheus when the card arrived. Once out of
Ilheus, a chocolate factory lured us in - it was, after all, Brazil’s Cacao
Coast.
As
was the custom by then, our route ran through a thick, lush coastal forest.
Hidden in the woods was an artist’s house featuring slightly wacky art. As the
road was hilly and Amanda didn’t feel well, she waved down a bus, and bused
herself to Itacare, while I continued by bicycle.
The
hills created stunning views, including miles of snow-white, half-deserted
beaches stretching as far as the eye could see. Reaching Itacare, Amanda had
already booked into a hostel. Luckily, she came strolling towards me as I rode
into town. I would never have found the hostel otherwise, as the place was
hidden away on one of the side streets.
An
additional day was spent in Itacare, a surfing/hippie coastal community sporting
many tattooed, pierced and dreadlocked people. All seemed laid back and without
a care in the world. They must’ve been smoking the good stuff, making it a
perfect place to hang out.
17
October - Itacare – Camamu - 58 km
Nearing
central Brazil, the weather became increasingly hazy, hot and humid, and
settlements became more remote, rural and traditional. Our route became
hillier, and after 15 kilometres and at a bus stop, Amanda stayed put.
Arrangements
were made to meet in the next village, and I left her in the care of a few schoolchildren
and set off over countless hills. Finally, about five kilometres before Camamu,
while stopping at a viewpoint, I saw Amanda going past in a bus and felt better
knowing she was all right.
Camamu
was a small fishing community surrounded by mangrove swamps, and it was easy to
find both the centre and Amanda, who opted for digs in the town centre.
18
October - Camamu – Valenca - 71 km
Amanda
decided to take the bus and we arranged to meet in Valenca, the next most
prominent place. The road ran through dense forests revealing tiny settlements
hidden behind palm trees and banana plants. The day offered all the images one
conjured up when thinking of central Brazil. Jungle-clad hillsides, mangrove
swamps and remote villages, where women did laundry in streams and carried
their wares in baskets on their heads.
Pedalling
through these small settlements, people instantly stopped what they were doing,
spun around, and stared motionless, mouths agape. Dogs barked nervously and
kids ran for the safety of their homes.
I
reached Valenca around midday, leaving plenty of time to investigate this tiny,
but bustling, fishing community offering a lively riverfront lined by food traders
and juice stands. En route to our accommodation, we unexpectedly got drenched
by a sudden downpour, but at least it wasn’t cold.
19-26
October – Valenca
After
breakfast, and ready to leave, Amanda discovered the card delivery company was
trying to get hold of her. She learned the card wasn’t delivered to the hotel
in Ilheus (as arranged) as we weren’t physically there. At least the bank
refunded the fraudulent transactions, and the card was somewhere in Brazil. It
would, however, take another 72 hours to be delivered. As no deliveries were
made over weekends, the anticipated delivery date was the following Monday. So,
we settled in for a long and tedious wait.
Beautiful
islands were nearby, but we didn’t want to leave the hotel in case the card
arrived before the weekend. In the meantime, boatloads of islanders arrived in
Valenca to do their shopping. The market was jam-packed with exotic fruit and
vegetables, a few I had never seen. A stroll beside the river brought us to the
boat builders, which Valenca was famous for. Under palm trees amidst sawdust
and huge pieces of wood, they were hammering and sawing away at
half-constructed boats. It gave the impression that they maintained fifteenth-century
techniques.
Over
the weekend, we ran head-on into the Church of Our Lady of Perpetual Help
Festival. Hundreds of people, all dressed in white, headed up the hill towards
the church. The celebration was accompanied by all the trimmings: an amusement park,
toffee apples, food sellers and music. The festival ended in a mini-carnival
complete with beer, music blaring from car boots and people dancing in the
street - all incredibly festive. A huge open-top truck carrying a band moved
slowly through the streets, and people followed behind, swaying to the beat and
generally having a good time.
No
one in their right mind would believe me if I told them Amanda’s bank card saga
had been going on for over a month and a half. The incompetence of some people
boggled the mind. Each day she was told it would be delivered the following
day. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when she was told a special
delivery could be made at US$500, and the card would then be delivered the
following morning. To cut a long story short, a deal was made and guess what?
No card was delivered the next morning. I thought it was time to forget about
the card, but, understandably, Amanda wanted to pay her way.
27
- 28 October - Valenca – Nazare – 47 km
We
optimistically waited until 13h00 but no delivery was made. Finally, a decision
was made to leave Valenca for Nazare. Of the nearly two months Amanda had been
in Brazil, she only managed to cycle one month. We left a note informing the
staff to phone us when, or if, the parcel was delivered.
Being
a hot and humid day made it exhausting cycling. Amanda felt faint and shaky and
decided to take a bus. None could accommodate the bicycle, and eventually, we
slowly continued to Nazare.
We
found a surprisingly historic town in the middle of nowhere. Portuguese
settlers arrived here in the second half of the sixteenth century. The city
still had a central plaza featuring lovely old churches and tons of narrow
cobblestone lanes. Colourful houses, packed tightly together, lined the
hillside. A pousada in one of the alleys sported a large balcony overlooking
the town and the Jaguaribe River.
A
pleasant surprise awaited us the next morning as we learned the parcel had been
dropped off in Valence. A mini-bus taxi took us to Valence to collect the
long-awaited card. Eish!
29
October - Nazare – Mar Grande - 61 km
With
the new bank card safely in Amanda’s panniers, we set out in the direction of
Salvador. Again, the weather was tropical, but Amanda was in high spirit and
biked well. I still had to convince her perspiration was typical under those
circumstances and she wasn’t coming down with a deadly virus.
Mar
Grande was reached around midday and a guesthouse was sought instead of
crossing the bay straight away. For Amanda, crossing the bay was a primary
concern, and we made our way to the port to check it out. The fact the sea was
rough didn’t do much to ease her fear. Our guesthouse was somewhat unusual, and
although basic, it remained a fascinating setup providing a considerable
garden, plenty of arty things, and a swimming pool. The pool was a blessing to
cool off and escape the pursuing mosquitoes.
30
October - Mar Grande – Praia Stella Maris - 31 km
First
thing in the morning, we were on the ferry across the bay to Salvador. Salvador, the first capital of Brazil, from 1549 to
1763, turned out quite a charming colonial city, revealing a history dating to
the slave trade.
So,
we pedalled on, following the coast with its endless beaches until reaching
Praia Stella Maris. At a petrol station to use their toilets, a guesthouse
owner gave us his card, and on checking it turned out quite a nice place so we
stayed the night.
31
October - Praia Stella Maris – Praia do Forte - 64 km
At
the guesthouse were two Polish guys competing in the Brazil Ride. They had been
to South Africa to ride the famous Cape Epic earlier in the year. Being
cyclists, they were intrigued by our adventure and chatted for quite a while.
The
road was kind to Amanda, and we slinked into Praia do Forte without any
incidents. Still, it was surprising to find such a touristy place. Praia do
Forte was a tiny village well known for its turtle conservation. Curio stalls
selling turtle paraphernalia lined the streets. Unfortunately, guesthouses
jacked up their prices accordingly, and it took riding around before locating
the least expensive of the bunch.
1
November - Praia do Forte – Baixio - 78 km
The
route was flat, but Amanda found the heat debilitating. She felt faint and
unsteady but, following a few rest stops, managed to continue. The people of
Brazil were incredibly kind. While resting at a petrol station, a kind
gentleman befriended us. He presented us with a lovely pair of silver earrings.
His card indicated he was a jeweller. How kind of him.
Though
hot, little option remained but to continue, and eventually we found a turnoff
to a beach. Not knowing what to expect, we biked the eight kilometres and
discovered the tiny fishing settlement of Baixio. A ground-floor room along a
sandy path from which we could access hammocks and a pizzeria was precisely
what was needed. The pizzas we ordered were surprisingly good, thin-based
accompanied by heaps of toppings - my favourite. Amanda passed out under the
not-so-useful fan and stayed there for the remainder of the day.
2-3
November - Baixio – Sitio do Conde - 51 km
Amanda,
unwell, preferred taking the bus to Conde, the next community on the map. As soon
as she boarded the bus, I continued by bicycle. The route was hilly and it was
perhaps a good thing Amanda took the bus as it bucketed down almost all the
way. Once in Condo, I found Amanda at the bus stop.
Condo
was smaller than envisaged and it was better to cycle the six kilometres to
Sitio do Conde, a lovely laidback beach village. With practically no one
around, we were spoilt for choice. A reasonably priced hammock-adorned abode,
right on the beach made a good place from where to watch the pounding waves,
barely a few metres away. So enjoyable was it, staying the following day came
naturally as it was a “swing-another-day-in-a-hammock” kind of place.
4
November - Sitio do Conde – Estancia - 89 km
A
tropical storm came in during the night and, by morning, we had serious doubts
about whether to continue. Amanda (cleverly) decided to take the bus, and we
arranged to meet in Estancia. I biked along the ever-so-hilly road but luckily
encountered a lovely tailwind.
Once
across the border into the tiny state of Sergipe, and with twenty-five
kilometres to go, I had a flat tyre. Fixing it, Amanda’s bus came past, and I
saw a little white hand waving out the bus window. By the time I got to
Estancia, she already located a room (as well as a few cold beers). I could get
used to such luxury and was getting ideas of encouraging her to take the bus
more often.
5
November - Estancia – Aracaju - 78 km
The
weather was much improved and came with a good tailwind. Outside Estancia, was
an opportunity to turn off the BR101 onto a secondary road leading to the
coast. My tyre must’ve been wearing thin as I didn’t have one, but two, flat
tyres. As always, a whole bunch of helpers made fixing it both a lengthy and
fascinating process. One needed to explain where you were from, where you were
going, and just what you were doing in their neck of the woods, and that on a
bicycle.
On
the outskirts of Aracaju, a conveniently located guesthouse saved us from
heading into the city centre. Once settled in, we visited the supermarket to
get our usual quota of beer and snacks. The cooler weather was much more
agreeable to Amanda, and she rode well. She didn’t even mind the cycle to the
supermarket.
6
November - Aracaju – Pirambu - 53 km
In
the morning, I fixed all the damaged tubes in case there were more flat tyres.
On Sunday morning, the streets were quiet, making biking through Aracaju easy.
A coastal road led to the tiny fishing settlement of Pirambu.
Although
only midday, rain made it a perfect spot to hide from the weather. Pleased
about our decision, we sat watching the rain pouring down. The rainy weather
brought out enormous frogs. At least the wind kept the mosquitos at bay, but
they returned with a vengeance as soon as the wind subsided.
7
November - Pirambu – Brejo Grande - 70 km
It
rained throughout the night, but the weather cleared by morning. The map
indicated a shortcut via the beach but I didn’t expect the day to be quite as
tricky as it turned out. The rain of the previous two days made for muddy and
slippery conditions which required walking the bikes up the rutted hills while
struggling through wet and soft sand. Seeing women on bicycles appeared a
rarity; villagers thought us as fascinating as we found them. It felt like
there was no end to the muddy mess but, eventually (and covered in mud), we
reached River Sao Francisco at tiny Brejo Grande.
8
November - Brejo Grande – Portal do Coruripe - 55 km
Breakfast
consisted of mashed cassava, milk, and a good cup of Brazilian coffee. I
watched the world go by in this small settlement. Rickety buses and horse carts
came clattering past. Ladies returned from the river carrying their freshly
laundered washing, mothers accompanied their kids to school, and farmers helped
each other get tractors going. Two youngsters were trying to herd a calf, but
the calf wanted nothing of it. They pushed and they shoved, but the calf had
other ideas.
On
departing, the pousada owner wanted no money for the room or breakfast. How
generous of him. Thanking him profusely, we headed to the river to find a boat
to take us across. Amanda was shocked to see that, once again, she had to board
a tiny wooden water taxi. The River Sao Francisco was quite a substantial river
with many myths. Nevertheless, we never saw the legendary water beast, said
half-human and half-animal, who lived at the bottom of the river and I
understood snored.
Safely
on the opposite side (and in the state of Alagoas), the path continued on a
paved road. Our route ran close to the coast, past vast palm tree plantations,
sporting glimpses of the ocean in the distance. The area was well off the
beaten track, the villages small, and the horse and cart still in everyday use.
A
car wash in Coruripe made it a perfect place to wash the bikes. They sprayed
and scrubbed, and eventually the bikes came out sparkling clean. The sleepy
fishing community of Pontal do Coruripe was merely five to seven kilometres
away. Featuring narrow cobbled lanes and a small central square, Pontal do
Coruripe was a quaint community where ladies sat outside their homes, weaving
or chatting with neighbours.
Seeing
that the previous night’s accommodation was free, we splashed out and got a
lovely guesthouse featuring a sea view.
9-10
November - Pontal Coruripe – Barra de São Miguel - 60 km
Being
November and summer in Brazil, it was no surprise to find, once again, a hot
and hilly ride into the wind, but Amanda cycled like a pro. The best part of
the day was reaching Sao Miguel and finding a bungalow sporting a swimming
pool, stacks of palm trees and a hammock.
By
evening, I put my smelly shoes on the veranda and woke to find the dogs had
eaten my single pair of footwear. Buying a new pair required borrowing Amanda’s
shoes to visit the store. The rest of the day was spent doing the usual rest
day chores as well as trying to get Amanda’s bank card activated.
11
November 2011 (11/11/11) - Sao Miguel – Barra de Santo Antonio - 85 km
Departing
was in spitting rain and, now and again, it required hiding from the rain,
waiting until the worst was over. Reaching Maceio, the capital of Alagoas, was
reasonably early but we only stopped to buy cold drinks.
Soon
after getting underway, a lovely Brazilian man stopped to chat, and the
disappointment on his face discovering we couldn’t speak Portuguese was clearly
visible. Still, it was possible to explain where we were from and what we were
doing. He must’ve been impressed as he gave us some much-needed cash. How
awesome is that? Not considerably further, we met Tauari Formiga and his
friend, who spoke English. They also enjoyed travelling by bicycle, and a few
pictures were taken. In fact, the photos he took remained some of my favourite
ones of the entire trip. The Brazilians were amazing, super friendly and
exceptionally generous.
Barra
de Santo Antonio had no accommodation - solely one expensive eco-resort.
However, they must’ve pitied us as they reduced the price by half, making it
more affordable. We stayed in a top-of-the-range chalet offering crisp white
linen, TV, air-con and excellent showers. Eco-resorts were popular in Brazil,
but I didn’t see any difference, except they didn’t supply toilet paper –
merely a “bum-gun”.
12
November - Barra de Santo Antonio – Maragogi - 60 km
Following
a hearty breakfast at our top-of-the-range digs, we saddled up, but Amanda had
a flat tyre before clearing the gate. The dirt road became increasingly rutted
and muddy. Unsure if we were on the right path, directions were sought at a
security booth. The staff assured us this was indeed the right road and one could
follow the track over what appeared to be private land. Following instructions,
we soon ran out of road altogether.
There
wasn’t anything to do but drag the bikes along the sandy track through palm
trees until reaching a river where crossing was by using a small ferry. On the
opposite side, a more comfortable ride awaited via a paved road past scenic
beaches and small one-lane fishing hamlets.
In
Porto de Pedras, one, once again, had to use a ferry. Poor Amanda. At least the
ferry was more substantial, which made her feel slightly more secure. A
cobblestoned road led further north past numerous fishing settlements.
Brazilians
appeared to have made this a long weekend as the following Tuesday was a public
holiday. In stark contrast to the villagers on horseback, well-off city
slickers showed off their big toys and fancy cars.
13
November – Maragogi – Ipojuca - 90 km
Our
digs in Maragogi must’ve been one of the cheapest (and best) guesthouses as
truck drivers favoured it - a sure sign of a good deal. Breakfast consisted of
cassava resembling what was known at home as “krummelpap”; good carbs for the
road.
Amanda’s
gear cable broke, and she struggled in her granny gear to a bike shop where
they did a temporary job that would hopefully get us to the next big town. But,
again, the helpful owners wanted no money. Nevertheless, a slight tailwind
helped us in making good time.
Sadly,
the road deteriorated and the shoulder became rutted and potholed. At one stage
a bus came careening down on Amanda and, in the process of avoiding it, she
went off the road, hit a pothole and had a terrible fall. She was immensely
courageous, and while blood dripped down her arms and legs, she wiped the dust
off and got back on the bike. We had approximately 10 kilometres before finding
a guesthouse where she could wash herself off and clean her wounds. We laughed
as all I had to bandage her arm was a headscarf - at least the scarf was
colourful and had pretty tassels.
Her
fall was, in fact, far more severe than what we at first expected. The bicycle
was never the same afterwards, and she struggled with an injured shoulder and
knee for at least a year thereafter.
14
- 15 November - Ipojuca – Recife - 46 km
The
next day, and even while injured, Amanda cycled to Recife. I thought it
possible she broke one or more ribs.
Recife
came as a slight shock after such a long time in the countryside. The city was
large and swarming with tourists. Being Republic Day in Brazil and a public
holiday, all the popular places were fully booked and we settled for a pricey
hotel. The weather was sweltering and humid, and holidaymakers crowded the
beaches.
16
November - Recife – Olinda - 20 km
Pedalling
out of Recife, a bike shop caught our attention. Amanda had her gear cable
fixed, and I bought a new tyre as mine was wearing thin.
Shortly
after departing Recife, we came upon Olinda. This former state capital was
declared a world heritage site, and rightly so. Olinda was an intriguing place
featuring candy-coloured houses along steep slopes. Churches were atop high
hills, and narrow, cobbled streets ran at odd angles. The remainder of the day
was spent exploring this delightful city.
17
November - Olinda – Goiana - 69 km
Departing
Olinda was via a coastal road where a ferry from Maria Farinha took passengers
across the river to Nova Cruz. Then, an excellent paved road took us to the
ill-fated BR101. Luckily, this section of the BR101 was far better than we
feared and provided an extensive shoulder, making cycling considerably safer.
Our
route to Goiana ran through Igarassu, which sported an unexpected but
fascinating historic centre offering beautiful old buildings and churches. In
Goiana, the first accommodation we spotted was reasonably priced and even had
icy cold air-con.
18
November - Goiana – João Pessoa - 55 km
The
day turned out a frustrating ride. Amanda’s chain broke, but luckily we were
only about a kilometre from a small tyre repair where they did the necessary
repair work. They hammered and banged and eventually the chain was on, allowing
her to reach João Pessoa. Amanda’s fall a few days earlier left her and the
bicycle far more damaged than anticipated, which became more apparent as time
passed.
João
Pessoa was a miserable-looking town. The traffic was horrendous and the roads
narrow, and I feared for Amanda as she nervously dodged trucks and busses.
Biking into a busy city in peak hour traffic can be unnerving. Nevertheless,
there was little one could do but push on until reaching the centre or
accommodation. Finding a bike shop was a priority, and that was exactly what we
did. Unfortunately, the first place we inquired turned out to be a house of
ill-repute and the second full. The third one was out of our budget, but we
took it anyway.
Once
settled in, I trundled to the supermercado as Amanda was fed up with the whole
affair. Not wanting to walk, cycle or talk, she flopped onto the bed and I
didn’t hear a word from her the entire evening.
On
closer inspection, João Pessoa wasn’t all bad. Known for its baroque and art
nouveau architecture, a few beautiful old buildings were scattered around.
19-20
November - João Pessoa – Cabo Branco Beach - 9 km
After
discussing our situation, we concluded that we had to take a break. A short
amble led to the beach, where the plan was to stay the following two days. My
sister needed a break, and luckily we found a lovely guesthouse to do that.
Brazil’s
beach volleyball circuit is a big affair, and they arrived in town at the same
time as us. Large trucks brought scaffolding, and stands and courts were
erected in record time. Food traders lined the streets, and the music was going
ten to a dozen. We got caught up in all the festivities and loved it. People
didn’t only cheer on their favourite players but danced to the music, flew
kites and enjoyed the beach—just one more brilliant day in Brazil. Our stay was
enjoyable and it was great to stroll along the coast or relax at our abode,
watching the action.
21
November - Carbo Branco Beach – Mamanguape - 83 km
Our
day was one of mixed emotions. We departed Carbo Branco, intending to bike to
Natal. Twenty kilometres later, our path reached a river where a barge ferried
people across. Once on the opposite side, and after about 10 kilometres, our
cobblestoned road came to an abrupt halt without any sign of the route
indicated on the map.
With
no other option, we headed to the main road. At least the way was scenic, past
vast palm tree plantations and a tiny shop, where the owner fixed fishing nets
and sold coconut juice. Being sweltering, I finished my juice in one large
gulp. On departing, the owner wanted no money. He pointed us to a shortcut,
which turned out to be a sandy track.
Still,
our alternative route took 30 kilometres off the day’s distance. Although slow
going, it remained better than cycling an additional 30 kilometres. The road
ran through sugarcane fields, and the flies were out in full force, enough to
annoy the best-natured person. Eventually, I hauled out and donned the
mosquito/fly head-net, making life more bearable.
Once
on the main road, we were delighted to find a perfect road revealing a wide
shoulder and regretted not taking it in the first place. Ten kilometres from
our destination, and thinking we were making good time, Amanda had a flat tyre.
The fixing process also revealed a bent derailleur, no wonder she’d had
difficulty changing gears. In fact, the whole derailleur was loose as the screw
holding it to the frame was missing. At least we made it to our destination,
during daylight.
22-24
November - Mamanguape – Natal (By bus)
Using
public transport isn’t something I like to do, but at times there is no other
choice. In the morning a bus took us to Natal, where I was sure one could find
a place to fix Amanda’s bike. Thank goodness, the town had a decent bicycle
shop where they fixed the bicycle as best they could. Afterwards, we continued
to the beach to locate accommodation.
Once
again, Amanda tried contacting her bank as she had no PIN for her new bank
card. They assured us they would phone us in the morning, but nothing happened,
and we stayed an additional day. In the meantime, we had our visas extended,
and were granted a further 45 days stay.
25
November - Natal – Touros - 93 km
Natal
was a big and busy town and, while trying to find a minor road, I took a wrong
turn and landed on a dirt road seemingly going nowhere. Our path eventually
spat us out on the intended route thirty kilometres further. However, the rest
of the way was perfect: on a good road accompanied by a tailwind.
All
would’ve remained perfect if not for Amanda having a puncture four kilometres
from Touros. It wasn’t a big problem, but Amanda expected a major disaster as
she’d had endless bicycle trouble. Instead, Touros turned out a charming
fishing hamlet offering a lovely square where villagers gathered in the evening
to watch public TV. Kids played ball on the beach and others nibbled on street
food.
26
November - Touros – Joao Camara - 63 km
Before
getting underway, I attempted to draw money but the ATM didn’t want to spit out
any cash. I was slightly concerned as Amanda still couldn’t access her money.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything I could do but try elsewhere.
Although
hot, a tailwind made easy pedalling and reaching Joao Camara, I headed to Banco
do Brazil but the ATM was offline. Eventually, one of the other banks accepted
the card. With a sigh of relief, we searched for a guesthouse and located a
reasonably priced one as well as supper.
27
November - Joao Camara – Macau - 104 km
The
map indicated a fair distance to Macau and no settlements between Joao Camara
and Macau. The day started with a good tailwind, and things went OK - apart
from Amanda having two flat tyres.
The
area was unique being a hot, impoverished, drought-stricken region, not
something I’d expected to see in Brazil. Inhabitants have moved away, and only
ruins remain where houses once stood. In addition, Macau was extraordinarily
windy, and seafoam blew across the road like snow. We hurriedly offloaded our
panniers and rushed to the busy central plaza, as our long day of biking left us
starving.
28
November - Macau – Porto do Mangue - 75 km
The
bike shop fixed all our punctured tubes and, feeling refreshed, we set off anew
into the wind. Unfortunately, the lack of a bridge across the river meant
veering inland to find one.
I
didn’t expect the day to be quite as challenging. The sun baked down while we
ground into a strong headwind, pedalling hard but getting nowhere. The
drought-stricken area continued as we rode past dry and barren fields. The wind
whipped up dust and old plastic bags, adding to the desolate scene. There was
little to see but a few dried-out and sun-bleached skeletons.
Eventually,
Amanda gave up, sat down and was determined to take a bus. Unfortunately, no
bus came and later, she got on the bike and continued into the wind.
Eventually, we reached Porto do Mangue, where we couldn’t have been happier -
out of the wind and off the bikes. Kudos to Amanda, who made it despite feeling
weak and nauseous.
29
November - Porto do Mangue – Grossos - 54 km
The
stretch between Porto do Mangue and Grossos was brutal and unforgiving.
Conditions were harsh, and the sun and wind were relentless as we battled past
a stark, desert-like landscape. Amanda didn’t feel well, and it was better to
make it a short day.
Following
one more river crossing, we pedalled into tiny Grossos, where luckily we
located a guesthouse.
30
November - 1 December - Grossos – Icapui - 46 km
A
mistake was made in skipping breakfast, and Amanda soon felt tired and was in
no mood to cycle a long distance. However, a tailwind helped us reach Icapui
early. The town sported a beautiful beach and bungalows overlooking the ocean,
making it an excellent place to hang out and recuperate. So lovely was it that
we stayed an additional day. We lazed about doing as little as possible, not
even the laundry.
2
December - Icapui – Canto Verde - 65 km (plus 27 km by car)
Following
a day’s rest and a good breakfast, we both felt energetic and upbeat and the
day started promising. Still, a mere twenty kilometres into the day, Amanda’s
front hub packed up, and we had to flag down a vehicle to give us a ride to
Aracai. A friendly but huge man gave us a ride and, due to his size, only one
could ride in the front. Amanda opted for a windy ride in the back of the truck
to Aracai. Our driver was kind enough to take us into town and dropped us at
the door of a bike shop.
I
couldn’t believe our luck. The bike shop was professional and had no problem
fixing Amanda’s bike. It took waiting in line, as the shop was quite busy. I
watched in amazement as villagers arrived with their rusty old bikes in
pressing need of TLC, which they got at this friendly bike shop. Each person’s
bicycle was treated with due care. Cleaned and oiled, customers were soon off
on a much less squeaky bike. Eventually, our turn came and we received equally
good service.
We
ambled into Canto Verde quite late and were pleasantly surprised to find a tiny
fishing hamlet amongst dunes and palm trees. Lodging on the beach completed the
picture - had it not been windy, it would’ve been paradise.
3
December - Canto Verde – Prainha - 92 km
By
8h00, the weather was already boiling, but the day brought a strong tailwind.
Even stopping almost every 10 kilometres for water felt insufficient. Arrival
in Prainha was early and a place where we uncovered a lovely pousada featuring
a swimming pool to unwind before heading into the city the following morning.
The
area was notoriously windy, as the kitesurfing schools and wind farms
indicated.
4
- 6 December - Prainha – Fortaleza - 34 km
Our
slow departure was due to the knowledge that Fortaleza was merely a few
kilometres down the drag. The area reminded me of Egypt’s Red Sea coast due to
the dunes and wind farms. However, Fortaleza was a large and busy city
featuring a lovely beachfront.
An
inexpensive abode close to the beach suited us fine. By evening, a meander
along the promenade was a pleasant place to fill our bellies from the multitude
of mobile traders. The beachfront was crowded with people rollerblading,
skateboarding, running, cycling, or simply sitting on one of the benches
overlooking the ocean. All were out enjoying the cooler evening air, as by 10
p.m. the temperature was a cool 24°C - simply perfect.
Fortaleza
was further home to a very professional bike shop, where I bought a new front
tyre and had the bike washed and oiled. I nearly didn’t recognise the bicycle
on collecting it. We spent our time doing little more than lounging about and
sauntering along the beachfront. The laundry we handed in could only be
collected the next day, allowing us an extra day of rest in Fortaleza.
7
December - Fortaleza – Paraipaba - 94 km
Soon
the time came to leave the concrete jungle and resume our ride. The wind can be
a friend or a foe; on this day, it turned out a friend, and we sped downwind,
powered by an excellent tailwind.
The
state of Ceara was kind to us: primarily flat with a favourable wind – there’s
not much more a cyclist can ask for. Signboards pointed to a hotel in
Paraipaba, and as one got closer, the more regular the boards became, almost
every kilometre. Seeing that many signs, one could hardly not head there. The
accommodation was cheap and clean and the price included breakfast.
Our
meander to the supermarket revealed a central square busy with people and
beautifully lit by Christmas decorations. A few food traders dotted the square,
and people enjoyed a beer or chatted with their neighbours, which seemed a way
of life in Brazil.
8
December - Paraipaba – Itarema – 129 km
The
section between Paraipaba and Itarema was a long, hot stretch. There wasn’t
anything to see, except eateries and dirt roads turning off to the various
beaches, but we continued until reaching Itarema.
Amanda
was understandably exhausted and in no mood to search for accommodation. The
first room had to do, and it wasn’t the best place being above a restaurant and
via a steep and rickety staircase. At least the room was large, featuring a
window one could open for fresh air. No fresh air was needed as the room had no
ceiling, only roof tiles and one could watch the night sky through the cracks.
The ceiling fan made an almighty noise but could scarcely be switched off as
the mosquitos would carry us away if we survived the heat.
9
December - Itarema – Acarau - 26 km
Amanda
claimed her legs were too lame to cycle after the previous day’s long distance.
A room in Acarau was thus an excellent place to kick back. Amanda still had the
energy to update the website, as it didn’t require leg work.
10-11
December - Acarau – Jijoca de Jericoacoara – Jericoacoara - 49 km (+24 km by
jeep)
It
became one of those unexpected and remarkable days. Fifty kilometres beyond
Acarau was Jijoca de Jericoacoara, where jeeps and beach buggies lined up to
take people to the nearby nature reserve and the small community of
Jericoacoara. Jericoacoara, or Jeri, as it’s known, was a hard-to-reach place.
The single way in and out was by jeep or buggy.
Not
wanting to miss out, we jumped on a jeep (bikes and all) and headed over the
dunes to the coast. The village was island-style, situated amongst dunes and
along sandy streets lined with bars and guesthouses. The area was windy and a
famous surfing and kitesurfing spot. Jeri was one of the few places in Brazil
to watch the sunset over the ocean.
At
night, portable cocktail stands came out, allowing us to watch the sunset,
cocktail in hand. The dunes around Jeri were spectacular at sunset and a fun
place to visit with a camera.
The
jeep taking visitors to the subsequent settlement didn’t run on Sundays, which
was an excellent excuse to stay an extra day. So, we chilled on the beach and
didn’t complain about waiting.
12
December - Jeri – Chaval - 57 km (+40 km by jeep)
Early
morning, we were ready to leave the park. Although told the jeep would collect
us at 6h30, the time was 8 o’clock before getting underway. The trip was
eventful as the jeep was crammed (we counted 20), our bikes, surfboards,
luggage and even a giant teddy bear which took up a great deal of space. The
jeep sped along the beach, over dunes and through rivers. Two ferry crossings
later, we got to Camocim and Amanda breathed a sigh of relief.
Our
early arrival made continuing to Chaval possible. A remote guesthouse on the
banks of a mangrove-lined river offered overnight accommodation.
13
December - Chaval – Parnaiba - 86 km
The
following day the scenery changed entirely. The dunes disappeared and massive
rocks appeared. Amanda spotted a small café to have breakfast, seeing breakfast
wasn’t available at the guesthouse. After bread, coffee, and a good tailwind,
we reached Parnaiba early.
Parnaiba
was significantly larger than imagined and marked the edge of a vast delta. We
had a few options, of which biking around the delta to Sao Luis was one.
Unfortunately, the distance was 600 kilometres, whereas if we could find a boat
to the small town of Barreirinhas, Sao Luis’s distance would be about 250
kilometres.
Once
a guesthouse was located, finding a boat was a priority. Boat trips were more
popular than anticipated and several agents offered delta trips. We arranged a
boat for the next morning to the small and remote settlement of Tutoia. Once in
Tutoia, we would decide what to do next. The map didn’t show any roads, but it
made sense that there must be a way out if people lived there.
14
December - Parnaiba – Tutoia - By boat
Our
boat departed at 1 o’clock, and there was no rush as the ferry port was barely
10 kilometres away. A flat and smooth ride took us to the harbour, where one
could stock up on beer, water and snacks. The journey was fascinating, and
offered more wildlife than we envisaged. The delta was teeming with birds,
crabs and even (what seemed like) small crocodiles. However, the most
incredible sight was the fish which appeared to run on water.
Our
boat cruised through the mangrove swamps, past small islets. We even spotted
monkeys way up in the trees. Eventually, reaching massive dunes, our skipper
stopped, allowing us to snatch a few pictures. The delta was a vast 2700
square-kilometre expanse of islands, beaches, lagoons, dunes and mangrove
swamps and we about saw it all.
A
few hours later, on arriving in Tutoia, our skipper kindly accompanied us to a
lovely pousada on the river. Tutoia was on a small island with no road to
Barreirinhas. However, villagers informed us that one could cycle to the
subsequent settlement from where, aptly named, Toyotas ran over the dunes to
Barreirinhas.
15
December - Tutoia – Paulino Neves - Barreirinhas - 35 km (+55 km by truck)
From
Tutoia, a decent-paved road ran the 35 kilometres to Paulino Neves, and, as
told, the route ended in Paulino Neves. We soon located the converted Toyota
trucks that ferry people to and from the community via sandy tracks to
Barreirinhas.
The
ride was bumpy on a rough track, over dunes offering a stunning backdrop. My
dear sister made such a racket that one would’ve thought she had reached her
final days. No sooner had we departed than she hit the floor, yelling. I stared
in utter astonishment and had no idea what to do. Reassuring her we would be
fine and reminding her the driver drove the route twice a day, had no impact.
Terrified, she clawed onto the seats, yelling “Oh nooooooo!” at every sway of
the truck.
Finally,
the jeep arrived in Barreirinhas, gateway to the national park, and it thus
sported plenty of guesthouses. We celebrated being alive by drinking a few
beers. At least we had passed the rough bits and could continue by bike to Sao
Luis. What an adventure the past two days were.
16
December - Barreirinhas – Humberto de Campos - 118 km
As
the road was flat, and blessed with a tailwind, we used the favourable
conditions well and cycled to Humberto de Campos. Not that any other option
remained as there wasn’t anything between the two towns. Fortunately, the route
was dotted by plenty of tiny roadside eateries to fill our water bottles.
At
the entrance of town was a comfortable guesthouse at a dirt-low price. The lady
running the pousada looked perplexed that two foreigners chose her pousada.
Nevertheless, she swept and dusted for hours before allowing us in. Afterwards,
our little meander into the village drew much attention. Finally, amidst many
stares and giggles, we discovered a bite to eat.
17
December - Humberto de Campos – Rosario - 116 km
Before
heading to Sao Luis, the guesthouse owner served us coffee and bread rolls.
After that, it became a long and exhausting day, offering nothing but low
shrubs. Not merely was it far, but the weather was scorching.
Ninety-five
kilometres further Amanda had enough. She soon got a ride to take her the last
few kilometres to Rosario. She didn’t have to feel guilty as no sooner had she
departed than a large truck stopped and offered me a ride. In the truck were
four French cyclists, who also struggled in the extreme weather. I politely
declined and rode on to Rosario, where Amanda was waiting.
18-19
December - Rosario - Sao Luis - 74 km
We
cycled into the island city of Sao Luis, dead-tired following a long and hot
day into the wind. The road was in poor condition and extremely busy. I hated
situations like this as it made it stressful riding. The shoulder was
non-existing, and busses, trucks and cars careened down on us like bats out of
hell. The heat was too much for my sister, who took a bus to the city centre.
We arranged to meet at Pousada Vitoria, which turned out to be a good choice.
The pousada was well situated in the historic centre. This family home offered
a charming courtyard and homely knick-knacks.
The
following day was spent barely doing anything, apart from laundry and a trundle
to the port to find when boats departed for the trip across the Bay to
Alcantara. Unfortunately, the bay was tidal, and ferries could only cross to
Alcantara at high tide.
20
December - Sao Luis – Alcantara - By boat
The
information we gathered stated the boat departed at 9 a.m. But at the port, we
found all boats still sitting high and dry, and we were told to catch the ferry
at a different port. We jumped on our bikes and raced through the traffic to
find the pier we were pointed at. Eventually, and in time, we came upon the
boat, dragged our bikes across the sand and boarded. The boat finally sailed at
10h00 but struggled through the narrow canal.
The
sea was rough, and my dear sister had a trip straight from hell. The crew
gathered around to try and calm her down, but when you suffer from a fear of
water, there is nothing anyone can do or say to ease your anxiety. To cut a
long story short, we arrived safely on the opposite side. Phew!
Alcantara
turned out immensely interesting: built by slaves for the rich, the city was
mostly in ruins, but fascinating nevertheless. When we were done exploring, it
was too late to reach the next town. By chance, we came upon accommodation on
the outskirts of Alcantara. The set-up was unique, revealing treehouses and
plenty of art.
21
December - Alcantara – Bequimao - 84 km
From
Alcantara to Belem was our last and final stretch. With the road cutting
slightly inland, it would be our last glimpse of the ocean until Belem. The
route was reasonably hilly, but a tailwind helped, and the landscape was lusher
and greener. We even encountered a few showers. The cloud cover was more to
Amanda’s liking, and she cycled strong all day.
A
“hotel” in Bequimao indicated the end of the day’s ride at a fraction of the
price we had paid the previous night. Supper was at our hotel, and the food was
surprisingly tasty, considering the dirt-cheap price.
22
December - Bequimao – Santa Helena - 94 km
I
slept so well, Amanda had to wake me for breakfast. A cloud cover made it
comfortable biking as we biked past tiny settlements exceedingly wild-west in
style. The countryside also became increasingly watery, revealing the odd water
buffalo, something not seen further south.
The
road wasn’t great, but we managed all right. Traffic was more careful of cyclists,
which was good as the shoulder vanished occasionally.
23
December - Santa Helena – Gov. Nunes Freire - 74 km
By
morning, Amanda decided to hop on a bus as she wasn’t feeling well. I was off
like a rocket, partly due to a strong tailwind and partly due to our staple of
rice and beans. The way was reasonably flat, providing comfortable riding, but
it was poorly maintained and revealed potholes the size of small craters.
However, it acted as an effective speed control as cars and trucks snaked along
trying to avoid the worst.
Cycling
into Gov. Nunes Freire, I looked around but couldn’t find my sister anywhere. I
became increasingly worried as there continued to be no sign of her. Finally, I
booked into a visible hotel and hoped she would spot it on her way into town.
Amanda
soon arrived in a pick-up truck. Unable to find a bus in Santa Helena, she
biked forty kilometres and then flagged down a ride. She seemed chuffed with
herself, despite still not feeling 100%.
24
December - Gov. Nunes Freire – Boa Vista do Gurupi - 72 km
Amanda,
still unwell, thought it best to take a bus to Boa Vista. I couldn’t figure out
what was wrong, but clearly, she couldn’t cycle. The road was dead quiet and a
pleasure to cycle.
I
found Amanda waiting at a little restaurant in the tiny hamlet of Boa Vista do
Gurupi. Luckily, the restaurant had a few rooms outback. I was anxious about
her health as I had no idea what was wrong. We discussed the situation and
decided to take a bus to Belem the following morning, allowing her to see a
doctor. Hopefully, we could find a more comfortable place to rest.
25
December - Boa Vista do Gurupi – Belem - By bus
I
doubted getting a bus on Christmas day in Brazil, but it barely took an hour
and we found ourselves in Belem. Arriving in Belem by bus was a tad
disappointing. Amanda discovered her derailleur bent, and had to walk the bike
to a nearby hostel.
The
hostel was full, and we booked into a hotel behind the hostel. It needs
mentioning the hotel had a two-day special, resulting in not costing much more
than the hostel.
26-27
December – Belem
The
Amazon has two seasons: rainy and dry. This was the rainy season and we could
expect daily rain. Belem also marked the end of Amanda’s cycle trip. From
Belem, the plan was to take a boat along the Amazon River to Manaus, from where
she planned on returning to South Africa. Belem turned out not as wild-west as
expected. The town was relatively modern, revealing lovely parks and a
population of 1.5 million. From Belem, the view of the Amazon River was
unimpressive: simply a vast muddy river.
I
headed straight to the busy port and market to see if they sold anything of
interest. The market had more than enough herbs to cure any ailment.
We
relocated to the hostel after a two-day stay in our upmarket hotel. The hostel
was an old rubber baron mansion: a stunning place offering lovely wooden
floors, four-metre-high ceilings and crystal chandeliers.
I
was excited as this was the day we bought our boat tickets to Manaus on the
Amazon River. Tickets came in a wide price range, depending on the vessel.
Taking into account Amanda’s fear of water, we chose a large and stable boat. Researching
our boat online, Amanda thought it best to find something more substantial. By
morning we thus headed to the boat office and upgraded our tickets to a larger
vessel.
