*** THE CHRONICLES ***
36) Sweating the Amazonas
Versão Português - by Google.
I had just arrived in Brazil. After months of speaking Spanish I was entering a country where another language was spoken: the Portuguese. In spite of having certain knowledge of the language due to former incursions to the land of cariocas, I realized that my “portuñol” (mix between Portuguese and Spanish) wasn’t going to be of much help in this part of the country. The accent of the people of the north of Brazil was almost intelligible to me and my Portuguese was a little bit rusty after several years of not speaking it. I was familiar with the basics: always use a tone as if you were singing and if you don`t know a word, think of the term in Spanish and add an ending that sounds remotely like the local language. But of course, never end it with “oao” or “iño”. 
When I explained to the Migrations officers the nature of my trip, they seemed to understand henceI entered the country with no difficulty whatsoever.
The first thing I did reaching the frontier town of Pacaraima was to get some reales at the local ATM. Soon afterwards I was buying Garoto bonbons at a regional products stand. Garotos are a traditional trademark of Brazil and I was anxious to taste them.
Fully satisfied, having devoured half box of bonbons, I returned to my pedaling ready to begin what was going to be a long day. It was minutes past midday and I realized I had only advanced 20 km away from Santa Elena de Uairen. The first major city near the border, Boa Vista, was 220 km away from it. The first place where I could rest and regain some energy was 120 km ahead of me! It was time for me to move!
My short term goal was to get to Manaos, 1000 km away from where I was, visit the SOS Children`s Village there and then undertake the navigation of the Amazonas River in order to return to the west side of the continent from where I would continue my pedaling to Argentina. The idea of going through this part of the world was to see with my own eyes the magnitude and splendor of the famous Amazonas forest, the green lung of the planet. To my surprise, in the state of Roraima, nature had a little bit of asthma and cough since there was only tall grass and plains filled with cattle on the side of the roads. I thought to myself that this was the typical landscape of the transitional area of the Sabana and further along the way I would witness the exuberance of the Amazonas jungle. It was a matter of patience……
Even though I was devouring kilometers with ferocity, the alleged place where I could find food and a place to rest was not there to be found. A couple of peasants walking along the road confirmed my suspicions: I was 30 km away from my destination. I didn’t feel like riding my bike at night so, following a natural trail next to the road, I got a couple of hundred meters away from the highway and there, under the lull of electrons circulating through the high tension wires, I collapsed inside my tent. Even tough the sun was no longer on the horizon, the lack of wind made the feeling of suffocation to remain while my body melted in a pool of sweat. That night, my dinner consisted in sticky bonbons which I no longer found as desirable as before…
The following day I had an early start in order to profit from the coolness of morning. A transitory sensation that lasted until the first ray of sunlight appeared on the horizon and started to scald the air. It was 8 a.m. when I came across the elusive inn I was looking for the previous day. I made a halt to taste my first “bolos” and have a drink of murici juice (exotic fruit from the Amazonas) which I immediately regretted the minute its intense acid flavor run down my throat. For a minute or two I thought it had fermented or gone bad but several zips after I realized it was the original taste of the fruit. From then on I made everything within my power to avoid future encounters with that beverage. Something quite different was the cupuaçu which turned out to be one of my favorite tropical fruits alongside the açai , considered a natural energizer, more than suitable for the tiresome muscles of a cyclist. I was presented with a little bottle containing a mix of natural products from the region that allegedly would provide me with the energy to perform “all kinds of activity”. Was it for real? My vivid imagination started to picture all kinds of things…
My presence arose certain amount of curiosity yet Brazilians proved to be cool and quite different when compared to “stalkers from other latitudes”. They allowed me to enjoy my moments of solitude without having to answer the same questions over and over again. Although I admit it was funnier to answer such questions in this land since it was a bit of a challenge for me to communicate and to understand my interrogators. Pedaling through this country made me realized that the popular salute in Brazil was the thumbs up as if saying “go man go... go on”. People greeted me this way in countless occasions.
The 140 km that I rode to Boa Vista didn’t turn out to be as simple as I thought they would be. The minute I left the shelter that the inn provided me with I entered an unimaginable hell. The sunlight flayed my skin showing no mercy and no regards in spite of the sunscreen I had sprayed all over my body hours ago. The fresh water I was carrying turned into a hot infusion. The hunting for shade started!
Because of the lack of heavy vegetation, finding a place to rest from the heat proved to be a challenge of major proportions. The never ending straight road seemed to melt into the horizon, where the mirages that resemble pools of water disappeared like the sweat of my pores the minute I approached them. I was so thankful when clouds came my way but their initial protection turned into strong winds and a heavy rain that threatened to take it all, bicycle included. Raindrops evaporated instantly causing a “sauna effect” that made the air even more suffocating than before.
I was left with no other option than pedal hard to get to my destination as soon as possible. But, of course, the more you hurry the more trouble you get! I got a flat tire… and then another… and then another! Yes! Three in a row and in the same tire! I was counting in getting spares for my bike in Boa Vista therefore my tire reserve was low and so were the precious patches I used for reparations. I thought I was going to be forced to hitchhike the rest of the 20km but luckily my last patch resisted the tramps of the road until the end of the day.
Night grew darker when entering the city. In the darkness only splattered by street lights everything looked just the same. It was a big city compared to what I had seen lately. After asking for directions I reached the town centre without any trouble. Once there, I got together with Pablo Martin, the Spaniard who had trek next to me in the Roraima expedition. We had had a good connection during the ascension and since he was studying in Boa Vista he invited me to stay the night in his hotel room. I was in need of a day to reorganize my gear and spoil Maira a little bit. The tiny room turned into a gypsy tent when I did my washing in the bathroom shower and got the camping equipment out to dry. Poor Pablo! He was so patient…
Another long hard day was ahead of me. Still being in the heart of civilization I took the opportunity to eat as much as I could in order to gain energy that I was definitely going to use later. I left town with a “full tank” and headed to Caracaraí, a little town 140km away from where I was. The landscape kept its hard-hearted monotony; the sun kept burning and my legs were reduced to dust after pedaling in such harsh conditions… At least I didn’t have to deal with flat tires!
The accommodations fares surpassed my limited budget –just as it had happened so many times back in Venezuela. So I had to find a way to get a place to sleep: I had to talk my way through it. The problem was that I had to do it in another language! Nevertheless I told my story in every Police Station and Firehouse I found along the way. That night, the firemen of Caracaraí were the ones who provided me with a little corner where to set up my tent. Having found shelter in the night I went out to get a bite. Contemplating people pass by I realized that the bicycle was the most popular means of transportation in town. Yet, there was an unique characteristic: almost every bike had a robust type of metal saddle in the back to take along another person that also had to pedal. I found that quadruped style to be both exotic and bizarre!
The pace of the garotas (Brazilian young girls) strutting down the street drew my attention. Their movements seemed to be forever linked to those of samba. They had an impressive rhythm shaking their hips….what a beauty! So much danger tough……
Even tough the plainness of the terrain allowed me to ride more kilometers per day, the harsh climate conditions forced me to adopt a new strategy so not to fry under the sun. Therefore -like I had done before in the Venezuelan plains- the ideal thing to do was to have an early start by the first ray of light and advance as much as possible before the sun started to burn hard. When the mental distress became noticeable it was time to find a place under the shade so not to be roaming about pointlessly during the worst hours of midday. Theory didn’t always apply and sometimes it was hours and many more kilometers before finding a proper place to rest. Even tough the tall grass inspired respect due to the possibility of close encounters with snakes, the true owners of the terrain were the ants. The Amazonas forest was still missing in action……
During the following couple of days I advanced many kilometers. All the signs on the road advertising hotels in Manaos were the final countdown to my desired destination. The condition of the road was more than acceptable and the traffic of trucks was ok and didn’t make me jump out of my skin. As a matter of fact, it was the only highway in the region so most commuters were coming and going on the same road. Whenever I´d stop for a snack people who had seen me on the road before would approach to me and ask what on earth I was doing on such oppressive territory with a bike and without air conditioned. Most of the time they would present me with a nice meal or something cool to drink. I guess my Portuguese lessons were starting to pay off.
Arriving at Novo Paraiso I went straight to the local Police Stationto ask if I could stay the night. At first I thought I wasn’t expressing myself clearly and as a result they were taking me to the jail cell but they were actually offering me a private room with a comfortable bed to rest…and yes!...air conditioned! I thought I was delirious but no….it was for real! Consequently I was celebrating 23000km on the road with a nice mattress where to lie my body and a cool place to rest.
My luck failed on me in Vila do Equador but I least was able to hang my hammock in one of the rooms of the empty police headquarters. It was the first time that I had to rely on this type of accommodation and I soon realized that it wasn’t comfortable at all. The idyllic image of me lying in a hammock under the palm trees in front of the sea and surrounded by beautiful women fell to pieces to a much harsh reality: the sticky humidity and my sore muscles made it a less than pleasurable night. Faraway, where the plains ended and the Amazonas rain forest started to show, the howling monkeys could be heard.
The following day was a special day, October 21st 2008. I was 25km far from the Equator line and I was about to cross it with my bike for the first time. It was a long time coming: the change of hemispheres, the GPS showing all those zeros, having one leg and one wheel on each side of the world…
I started to pedal early in the morning. It was a particular warm day and when I reached the slightly deteriorated monument that divides both hemispheres I took pictures to immortalize the epic moment. For some strange reason the sun was hotter than usual. It was 8 am and it was already burning like hot lava. It was an incredible high temperature. My excitement didn’t help much either. I began to worry. The water was impossible to drink and shade was nowhere to be found.
After a while I went back to my pedaling and headed to Jundiá, the settlement that marked the entrance to the native reserve of the Waimiri Atroari. This tribe had accepted the construction of the highway in exchange of the creation of a protection area in their natural habitat in order to preserve the region and put a halt to the advance of cattle raise. There were strong restrictions in terms of circulation in that section of the highway and it was forbidden to pass by from 6pm to 6am. Making a stop was unthinkable and taking photographs of the natives was not encouraged.
The Waimiri had forged upon themselves the fame of being aggressive against the white men who dared to go by their territory. Because of this, I had been warned about the possibility of not being allowed to pedal across the 120km of their reserve.
Being an area of relative autochthonous state, I was about to experience the distinctive vegetation of the rain forest for the first time. There was a chance to see other types of fauna –aside ants- and who knows….I might have a close encounter with the natives although I had been advised not to. Would they throw poisonous darts at me? Would I be pierced by an arrow? Would I end in a boiling pot? All these fantasies and more were boiling in my head without realizing there was another thing about to boil: my own body!
I was riding along some short steeped slopes that with 25 Cº less would have been a piece of cake but in such heat demanded a titanic effort. It was then when the oddest thing happened. The sweat that emanated from my pores like the gush of a whale stopped all of a sudden. I felt my body overheating and with no response to the last impulses that my brain commanded. In spite of wanting to move the pedals, my legs refused to do so. They were on strike and it seemed like every part of my body was collapsing in solidarity with my tiresome limbs.
I still don’t know how I managed to get to Jundiá. After drinking a few zips of cold water I got myself a little room in the only inn around the place and proceeded to faint. For the following 36 hours I remained in a catatonic condition with a fan in front of my face and in permanent agony. My whole body ached as if elephants had stepped all over me (but there were no such animals there, right?). I was running high in fever, 40Cº, and the fried meat rolls I had had for breakfast was causing a revolution in my belly.
Warm showers (cold water was impossible to get except in a fridge), evacuation of solids, checking body temperature, drinking zips of water and resting in bed….that was my routine every two hours. I was a little frightened since I was in a region where a sole mosquito could give me dengue, malaria, yellow fever or any other exotic disease you could imagine. I feared for my physical integrity. I was already foreseeing the inscription on my gravestone: “Here lies Damián Lopez, a.k.a. Jamerboi. He attempted to pedal from Alaska to Ushuaia but a mosquito made sure he wouldn’t pass half of the world.”
Luckily I was taking with me a first aid book. After revising my symptoms I concluded I was suffering from a major heat stroke aggravated by an annoying and unexpected diarrhea. I proceeded to self medicate relying on every pill I would find. I must have got it right. If not, you wouldn’t be reading these lines. Nevertheless I am not so sure about the secondary effects of my own treatment.
When I finally arose from my convalescence I was the ghost of what I had been days ago. I was terribly emaciated and feeling weaker than ever. The first thing I did was to shake violently a thousand ants off my front saddlebag. They turned out to be the kind of ant that the minimum contact with your skin would cause a major rash with an unbearable itch. I learned this the hard way when trying to grasp some cookies…I had to run and went under the shower while uttering a hundred curses in a perfect Spanish… I don’t think these annoying insects needed a translation!
After a day of rest I decided to continue my journey. I had three days of pedaling ahead of me before reaching Manaos where I would visit the local SOS Village and have the chance to recover from my frail physical health and my exhausted mental state!
The frightful reserve of the Waimiri Atroari was waiting for me…. Would I be granted permission to pass through it or would I have to ask a truck driver to take me along with him? I made a halt at the freight control booth. I intended to make inquiries and obtain clearance to go on pedaling across the reserve. Having no response whatsoever I decided to continue riding along the highway. In any case, I would be forced to stop when passing…but nothing happened! As if my means of transportation weren’t any different to a motorcycle or a car, I passed by in front of the empty control booth and finally entered the true Amazonas!
There were signs all over the place reminding of all the prohibitions concerning the passing through the reserve. But I wasn’t going to ride all those kilometers without even making a halt. I kept pedaling making short stops every now and then, always looking for shade and begging the clouds would stay on the horizon by some sort of miracle. I guess that was the reason why I was riding as fast as I could, trying to avoid the heavy downpour of previous days.
The highway was a compendium of holes that resemble a war zone. Some ditches had the size of a car: truck drivers were dodging holes around driving like drunks. I couldn’t help taking pictures of the place since it was a unique opportunity to portray nature up close. I figured the photo-related restrictions were subject to the natives that on the other hand, never showed their faces all along the way. As for the beasts of the Amazonas I guess they preferred the darkness of night to the devilish heat of day.
I pedaled the last few kilometers under a relentless sun. I was hoping to find a place where to stay the night. The last 30km that I had to ride until finding a truck inn drained any trace of energy I had left within my battered anatomy.
Hardly uttering a word I managed to set my hammock at the local restaurant called “Siga bem camionheiro”. After having a refreshing shower and a nice meal I sat down and watched people pass by while the tv played those famous Brazilian soap operas time after time.
There was a constant image replaying over and over again in real life. Each time that a truck arrived, its driver (usually of large abdominal proportions) would get off wearing a trunk suit, flip flops and a towel on his shoulder. After saying hi, they would get a shower and then sit down to grab something to eat while talking rowdily. Many of them approached to take a glance at Maira and asked me where I was coming from. When I explained that I was coming from Boa Vista they would make inquiries about my passing through the reserve:
- Você atravessou com onmibus? ( Did you pass through on the bus?)
- Não, eu fiz com a minha bicicleta (No. I rode my bike)
- Sozinho? Você está maluco! É muito perigoso. ( On your own? Are you crazy?! It´s very dangerous!)
Apparently the dangers concerning the Waimiri tribe were real or at least were “well advertise”. Whatever it was I wasn’t aware of. Was it maybe a matter of luck?
The plainness of the terrain had grown into a more craggy topography. Even though there was no comparison to the demands of certain territories of Bolivia or Peru, the intense heat made every climbing more difficult than it seemed. My energy was drying up while the kilometers, being melted down by the sun, lengthened.
I was back to the region of farming and where cattle abounded. The greenish of the Amazonas seemed to be an illusion. In exchange of the missing landscape, the profusion of houses and places where to find some rest was bigger making it easier to obtain bottles of cold water.
The town of Presidente Figuerido turned out to be a sort of oasis in the middle of the desert. I got myself a room and after drinking large amounts of liquid I proceeded to pass out on a rickety bed.
I was only one “tortuous day” away from Manaos. I had an early start dodging all the Friday night drunks that were still roaming the streets. I had 130km ahead of me. The nearer I got to the city the harder my pedaling turned out to be. The slopes seemed to hold a grudge against me and the sun was their merciless accomplice, directing its rays towards me. I put my towel over my head to obtain a little bit of shade since I was feeling worryingly drowsy and nauseous.
Past noon I was able to visualize the sign “Bem-vindo a Manaos” (Welcome to Manaos). At that point, this destination was as desired as the final arrival of the last stage of the Tour de France. I entered the chaos of the streets (there are 2 million people living in Manaos) and let Maira take me to the SOS Children`s Village. It was time to bring my pedaling to a halt and regain some energy.
Those “golden days” were gone and Manaos was now a modern city and the axis of urbanity around the region. It was hard for me to think of the immensity of the place within such a natural context that was both so near and yet so different to the surrounding cement buildings. If I hadn’t seen the landscape riding my bike, I could have easily affirmed that this was a city like any other. But it was not. The magnitude of the rainforest spread next to it. I was about to go into the wild the next couple of days on my way to the heart of the Amazonas River.
After spending some rewarding days with the children in the SOS Village, it was time for me to leave and start the preparations for the logistics of the next stage of my journey. Traveling by boat in the Amazonas was quite an adventure but traveling with all my stuff and equipment and getting away with it was a major challenge.
I moved to a friend´s house for the next days. I had met Fabiola Valdez years ago in Canada and now she was living here. Next to her daughter, her husband and herself I had the chance to visit the many attractions of the city including its beautiful beaches, shopping malls –where I replaced much of my worn down clothes- historic buildings and of course, its gastronomic places. Ever since I had crossed the Brazilian border I was longing for a tasty “espeto corrido”- a traditional local restaurant serving all kinds of meat where you are given a dose of proteins that lasts for months!
I also had the opportunity to appreciate some of the typical animals of the region. It was at the INPA (Instituto Nacional de Pesquisas da Amazônia), Fabiola`s work place. Seeing those creatures I was thankful most of them had refused to show their faces along the road.
Sailing through THE AMAZONAS
The ordeal of my fluvial trip through the Amazonas started when my friends took me to the local port. Trying to obtain information over the phone concerning the vessels that sail to Tabatinga – Colombia and Peru´s border town- was extremely hard. Doing such thing in person was even more confusing. Dozens of booths outside the port terminal offered all kinds of destinations. Little pictures of the boats were exhibited. Getting your ticket there was, of course, cheaper than buying it inside the official port installations. The trick was that you were taken to the ships in little boats in order to avoid all the taxes charged while passing through official controls inside the terminal. After taking a good look at my luggage, I opted for the official version, especially after seeing where I had to descend and all the maneuvers I had to perform in order to get into these boats. Having gone the alternative way I would have become piranhas´ food!
The female employees behind the counter window seemed to be deeply affected by the intense heat and the surrounding humidity. After several attempts and with an impossible lethargy, I found out I had three different options to make this trip. The hours of travel were uncertain, the safety conditions were too. The only certain fact was the price which was far from cheap. I was left with no choice. Without knowing which boat would be the best to sail on I left it all to luck and toss a coin: the Voyageur III turned out to be the chosen one. It looked like the humblest and the simplest one so I thought it would be easier to negotiate the transportation of my baggage.
Trying to avoid unpleasant surprises, I got clearance to enter the pier and got next to what it would turn out to be my home for the following six days of navigation. Luckily I spoke to the owner, Andy who assured me that there would be no hassle in putting my bulky luggage in the cargo section.
Traveling on the typical Amazonas three storey ships has its peculiarities. The concept of a berth or bunk it’s a luxury reserved to a few in these latitudes. The hammocks are the number one choice. And that`s why there are dozens of places in Manaos where you can buy them in any size, shape or color. Due to the lack of highways, the river boats are the number one massive means of transportation and the hammocks are key elements within every bulk of luggage.
The 6th of November, under a heavy rain, I returned to the local port. Thanks to Esner´s precious help I managed to transport all my baggage onto the Voyager III. The ship was like a boiling pot of people. My saddlebags were put into three sacks of potatoes in order to cut down the number of bulks. As I was expecting, they tried to charge me an extra for my luggage. I flatly refused. We agreed to revise my case later, when Andy, the ship´s owner arrived. Whistling low I disappeared into the crowd that was slowly starting to cram the hammocks area.
The prevailing chaos at the port was pretty much under control yet it had that typical atmosphere of any Latin terminal of any kind. The different areas of the ship were well distributed in a very simple way: the lower part was the storage room where every inch was filled with all kinds of goods. The main deck was the area for passengers: it was an open space full of rods where you could hang your hammock easily. The official capacity was of 200 people: a fact that was hard to believe. The pricey berths were located in the bow of the ship. The precious diner was there too and so were the toilets. The upper storey was like a big terrace where you could enjoy the view while drinking a beer at the bar located there. Time after I realized that was the locals´ favorite activity: to drink beer!
I arrived to the main deck with much anticipation in order to find a good spot where to hang my hammock. Half the room was already full with these “portable beds”. I took a quick look and recognize the different groups there: families with parents and kids moving all over the place; the drunks who were displaying bottles of cachaça over the floor from early on, the rowdy ones shouting like crazy; couples sharing double hammocks and so on. I set up all my stuff in the family section: having so many children around implied the presence of adults to keep an eye on them. That gave me some sort of reassurance concerning the guarding of my few yet crucial belongings. The demographic density started to increase until it got worrisome. There was practically no room and you had to stay up guarding your space so not to lose an inch. A few seconds of distraction were enough for someone else to come and take your space with no regards whatsoever.
Finally and after a couple of hours of delay, the odyssey started. During the following days of navigation the routine would be pretty much the same every day: sleep, read, eat, admire the surrounding landscape, talk to people, sleep, read, eat….
Breakfast, lunch and dinner were undoubtedly the most awaited moments of the day. There was a bell ring announcing the opening of the diner doors where after patiently queuing you were given a plate where to serve yourself the menu of the day. The good thing about it was that this kind of self service allowed you to eat as much as you wanted. A high point for a starving cyclist such as I !
The variety of the menu was based on the typical Brazilian standards and consisted in white rice, feijoao (black beans), salads, red meat, chicken and fish... Not to shabby, right?
There was an abundant reserve of potable water (at least it looked that way and didn’t cause any undesired effect) and bread was served with every meal. The coffee was light and hardly substantial –typical of all Brazil. Luckily I was already used to drink it without complaining. Passengers who were familiar with the proceedings, took their own plates which guaranteed a quick service. As the days passed by, the number of plates mysteriously decreased making the rounds of service slower.
The showers were in the same floor and place than the toilets. A pretty handy thing this was! The water came from the very same river we were sailing on. In spite of its brownish color it was a dose of freshness during the heat of the day. Yet, to my surprise, the nights were chilly enough as to cover your body with a blanket.
I had had the prevision of asking family and friends for books to mitigate the passing of the hours. Deeply immersed in those pages and working also on the solution of sudokus, time went by slowly but inexorably.
The upper deck had a permanent audience, continuously embedded there. Cans of beer circulated ceaselessly and amongst cards and exiting conversations, the everyday characters spent their navigation days. A television was blasting the same Brazilian music over and over again. I presume that when the level of alcohol increased, the auditory capacities of the passengers decreased since the volume was so high it was almost unbearable. It was like having a speaker in my head…even tough I was on the lower deck!
Following a rooted Brazilian custom, only local music was played: samba, chorinho, forró, the boi - typical of the Amazonas copse-…and the amazing Victor and Leo “ao vivo”. This famous duo was enjoying great success with their songs which were played over and over again on every local radio. A certain song was engraved on my brain after hearing it so many times and it definitely turned out to be part of the soundtrack of the voyage. The song “Vida boa” was like a sort of hymn to me that I ended singing it out loud and still rattles inside my head…
Watching people on this ship made me notice something special about Brazilians. In spite of how hard their realities were and the everyday hardships they had to deal with, there was always a smile on their faces. This feeling of joy was contagious. Thumbs up; the natural, spontaneous and graceful movements when dancing; the “tudo_bem” (everything is all right): these were all trademarks of Brazil and I was feeling really ok with it.
The surrounding landscape never let me down: brown water of great volume, exuberant green vegetation on the shores and bright blue skies that every now and then allowed the grey clouds to invade their space. Going against the current demanded to sail next to the coast line which allowed us to appreciate even more the magnificence of the rainforest which now could be admired in all of its splendor. Unreal sunsets with burning skies moved me to tears. At night, I would contemplate the countless stars that flooded the sky while seating next to Maira on the bow of the ship. We were in “another kind of world” and I was enjoying every moment to the top.
Chatting with the locals was one of my favorite activities. The majority of the passengers were locals. Out of 200 people only five of us were foreign or “gringos”. Sebastian from Germany; James from England; Richie from Ireland and Eva from the Netherlands were members of that group that stood out from the rest. We had a great time with these guys: James and Richie´s mimicks of Victor & Leo were a blast. They had a high and acid sense of humor which I loved. I also had the chance to deal with the insecurities and uncertainties of Eva who was a carrying a heavy load on her shoulders and was traveling around the world searching for her destiny.
I had already made friends with a group of moms of my “neighborhood” and I spent hours talking with them and playing with their children.
To make the most of my time (there was plenty of it) I devoted myself to ameliorate my technique in assembling strap bracelets. This activity drew the public´s attention. Wearing a bunch of those in my arm and making new ones at the sight of everybody who would pass by, I was thought to be a sort of craftsman or hippie traveling through the Amazonas selling his creations. Several times people would ask the price of the bracelets and they hardly understood when I explained that I was only practicing and that at any case I could give them away: three of my artistic creations were then scattered in the Amazonas.
Chatting with some local guyswho worked as fishermen I learned about the hardships that people had to endure in thoselatitudes to make a living. It was a harsh life with a high level of superstition: certain things were simply not done, such as killing dolphins, sincethat carried a curse that could endanger your own life. A true incentive for the 
preservationof the species! They also narrated juicy stories about piranhas; I learned names of fish I ´ve never heard about and they even told me about a creepy encounter with a black boa of fantastic proportions such as those seen in the movie Anaconda. Not to mention the feared Carandirú, a little fish that has the hobby of entering the body through the urethra making it extremely difficult to remove due to the hook-shaped thorns of his body. Shivers ran down my spine even imagining it! One thing I was sure about was that I wasn’t going to dive in those waters…no matter what!
From the third day on, the ship stops began. It was amazing to see the urbanizations flourishing next to the river and only communicated via waterway transport. Some were movingly precarious; others had a major level of development. When approaching certain villages, the presence of curiaras- with they noisy motors running- started to proliferate like mosquitoes on the hunt. Every halt meant a commotion of goods and passengers and chaos at the local pier. It was the time to be alert by keeping an eye on your own luggage since it was the perfect moment for someone to steal it. As a matter of fact, a young woman was caught up trying to steal belongings from a couple of incautious minds –including Eva. She was later forced to disembark.
People kept boarding the ship at every village port and the hammocks kept increasing- like mushrooms in spring.It was my belief that the number of passengers was highly outnumbered since it was almost impossible to 
accommodate any other soul. Hammocks were hanging everywhere even at the deck halls. The slightest movement produced a collision with your neighbor who could be grazing all over you with his head, feet or any other part of his humanity. The snore concert was a ripper and the occasional neighbor couple cuddling up seemed to ignore the meaning of the word intimacy. It was a sort of human carnival but in spite of a certain level of discomfort it was worth going through the experience.
One of the few things I was sorry to see was the overall carelessness for the environment. Practically 
disregarding every ecological policy, all the rubbish produced by the passengers ended in the river. Anything from beer cans to dippers was disposed to the brown waters of the river as if nature was somehow able to absorb such impact. A dreadful image that got even worse when I noticed that the cleaning personnel were also disposing of trash onto the river…Poor fish! I was embarrassed of the human kind!
After six days of navigation, we punctually arrived to Tabatinga. There would be peace and quite no more and it was time to figure out how to get to Iquitos, Peru. My heavy bulk of luggage made logistics complicated. The “gringo team” led by Eva and the other guys gave me a hand and helped me carry my bags to Santa Rosa -on the other side of the river- where I would embark towards my next destination.
The differences between the three villages were noticeable: Santa Rosa was a humble village that was simply the point of departure for boats going to Iquitos; Tabatinga was the typical frontier town, slightly chaotic and with no further appeal; Leticia was quite the opposite, a modern town where the government efforts to encourage people to remain in this far isolated part of the country were evident. Motorcycle taxis were all over the place and you could feel the warmness of the Colombian people.
The following day I got myself a place in the Express Boat Service and in twelve short hours I completed my journey. Having embarked on the traditional boats it would have taken me three days of navigation. I was now arriving to Iquitos, the heart of the Peruvian Amazonas and point of departure for a new stage of my pedaling.
See you next time!
Good Trails
Damian
500 YEARS…OR 500 DECEITS
While being on the boat navigating through the Amazonas I was able to take a second read on Uruguayan writer Eduardo Galeano´s “The Open Wrists of Latin America”. I had had the chance to read it before starting my journey. After having pedaled through half the American continent I was eager to revisit such literary jewel hoping to have a new perspective given by the hundreds of roads I had been on.
My friend Natalia Lopez made it possible for me to get a copy when arriving at Manaos and during the hundred hours drifting through these “Amazon wrists” I plunged into it´s pages once again. To relive the injustice suffered by our people during the last 500 years and to revise our past with it´s legacy of inequality and misery filled me with anger to the point of indignation, bringing tears of rage to my eyes.
The ongoing story of a sad present for many and a privileged status for a few was an immutable fact that I had been able to witness while pedaling through hundreds of places, a raw image that seemed to be common currency in the South hemisphere without the rest of the world caring much about it.
Even tough at times it looked like there was no sign of a better future, this work of art is a true balm for our collective memory in order to learn from past mistakes and face the present with the dream of a much better future. Change is in our hands and a few ones can make the difference.
Anyone feeling curious about Latin America should read this book. There´s a radio series that broadcasts a number of audio files inspired in this very same book and that I invite you to check:
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And as a bonus track…the memorable series “Memory of Fire” hosted by it´s author Eduardo Galeano. Enjoy!
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myths |
women |
art |
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AKNOWLEDEGMENTS:
To Pablo Martin, for your friendship in those days trekking the Roraima and for your doggone hospitality at Boa Vista.
To Gilson de Lima e Silva, for sharing your lunch with me on way to Caracaraí.
To Comandante Romildo Santana, for allowing me to stay at the Caracaraí Fire Station.
To Sergeant 2nd Military Police of Roraima, José Renaide Guimaraes, for letting me spend the night at the Police Station of Novo Paraiso.
To Raimundo Nonato, for that lunch that you treated me with at Nova Colina.
To Gleide Gonçales, for your kind conversation and presenting me with the evangelical music cd of your daughter at Vila do Equador.
To Fabiola Valdez and Bianca, for their friendship, hospitality and logistics support in Manaos: without it I´d be lost. Thank you so much!
To Esner Magalhaes, for aiding me in the transportation of my luggage and for his generosity during the days I stayed in Manaos.
To Sebastian Boehm, James Boorman, Richie Barter and Eva, for those sweet moments shared while navigating the Amazonas and for giving me a hand carrying all my stuff all along the triple border of Peru, Brazil and Colombia.
To Natu, for sharing that feeling that still trespasses all distances…
STATISTICS
During this stage:
Days on the road: 39
Days on the bike: 9
Days of navigation on The Amazonas: 11
Kilometers traveled: 1017 km
Average km per day: 113 km
Hours on the bike: 67h14m (2d19h14m)
Velocity average: 15,1 km/h
Climbed meters: 5.098 m
Max. altitude: 953 m sea level, Brazil-Venezuela frontier (15-10-2008)
Since the beginning:
Days on the road: 538
Days on the bike: 279
Kilometers traveled: 23.574 km (1.960 km in dirt roads)
Average km per day: 84.5 km
Hours on the bike: 1.470h57m (61d06h57m)
Velocity average: 16,0 km/h
Max velocity: 81,5 km/h going down at Sunwapta Pass, Canada (15-08-2007)
Climbed meters: 221.874 m
Max. altitude: 4.059 m sea level, Pico del Aguila, Venezuela (04-08-2008)
Size of the scare I got when dealing with a heat stroke: major!!!!
Number of times I listened to Victor & Leo´s live cd: so many times I learned the lyrics by heart and in Portuguese!!! Que vida boa…oh oh oh…
