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Published: June 12th 2006
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Abismo Anhumas
The long climb out I don´t know why, but was hit by a bout of melancholy when I reached Rio. The weather wasn´t great, I was feeling homesick, Sugar Loaf was closed for repairs and a couple of thieves tried to scam me with the ´there´s something on your shoe´ trick (I am still hoping that what I found on my shoe was indeed caramel and not real excrement). I didn´t fancy throwing myself into party mode with the 18-year-old-pre-university travelling set, so generally mooched around Rio for a few days eating in nice restaurants and reading a lot. I´m increasingly impressed with the tautness of Grisham´s plotting, but think that hanging is too good for Cussler. King is oddly engaging, Rowling comforting, Clancy a dullard. I suspect that Tom Clancy is the sort of person whose presence at a party causes others to find compelling reasons not to attend. He probably also wears US Navy baseballs caps and sports a smug expression above his pudgy distended stomache (actually, I already know this for a fact from the picture on the back of his unsurprisingly tortuous history of the nuclear submarine). More on reading material in a future blog.
My mood was lightened somewhat
Pre-historic giant anteater
25m underwater in the Abismo by an unplanned meat feast which involved a smartly dressed waiter depositing a number of grilled chicken hearts onto my plate without being asked. He could probably smell the carnivore in me. Nevertheless, I still felt the urge to move on.
On the basis of a quick look at a couple of photos on a computer screen in a travel agent´s office, I decided to head to Bonito, back in the the state of Mato Grosso to the West of the country where I had just come from. I was looking for more adventure and keen to get away from the anonimity of Rio. I was also missing my mosquito friends and wanting to give them another shot at my extremities. Interesting places I have now been bitten: elbows, knees (front and back), top of head, palms of hands. Taxi, flight, flight, bus to Bonito (10 hours).
Bonito was a relaxed little town, almost devoid of foreign tourists. Indeed I only met two non-Brazilians during my time there. The first was a Portuguese old-timer who spoke nothing but Portuguese (we discussed as best we could the barbarism of the Spanish as evinced by their manner of bull fighting).
The second was the descendent of a British Prime Minister who got spectacularly drunk - so much so that I am unable read the email address that he scribbled in my notebook. There was a third chap who we christened ´The Brit´. He was actually Brazilian, but drank beer like he was dousing a fire in his throat and was unable to dance.
The small group of mainly Cariocas who accompanied me on my tours included two attractive ladies from Rio of a similar age to me and one affiliated matriarch who spoke impeccable english and adopted me for my time there. She acted as a translator, tour guide and general fixer, as well as buying me a gift of a pair of flip-flops (´You´re in Brazil and don´t have flip-flops?! We´ll have to do something about that...´). She was somewhat indignant about her compatriots´ lack of linguistic ability, and spent a good deal of time berating guides for not knowing the English for ´sabre-toothed tiger´ and ´tectonic plates´. My discomfort was momentary, as the excursions were diverse and fascinating.
Bonito styles itself as an eco-tourism resort town, which basically means it serves as a base for various
trips into the remarkable surrounding countryside. It seems incredible that the place is not more well known to the outside world, as some of the highlights of my entire journey happened near Bonito. Wracking my brains for a more idyllic tourist destination in South America, I was hard pressed to come up with one.
Day one, and I find myself floating down the Rio Sucuri in a wetsuit and snorkel, ogling the enormous fish in the crystal clear water (caused by an unusual mineral content, I believe). We navigated the 2km course in a couple of hours, hastening our pace towards the end as a game 70 year old man began to feel cold and we thought he might pop his clogs. On later days, I visited the Blue Lagoon Grotto, rafted one of the rivers, and visited and a ranch that had been converted for tourism with trails, a pool and a restaurant. This last trip was wonderful. We hiked through the forest, stopping occasionally to jump in the plunge pools of the many waterfalls that cascaded down the hillside. The pool at the ranch was straight out of James Bond, filled with huge freshwater fish milling around.
A couple of large pens to the side of the pool contained more fish, with open grates to let them in. I enjoyed a snorkel with the creatures to round off a perfect day. I assume that when tourists are not around, the pools are filled with piranhas and sharks and watched over by an unnerving character stroking a cat.
The best was left until last, with a trip into the Abismo Anhumas. A short drive from town lies this extraordinary cave. The entrance is innocuous enough: a hole in the ground a few metres across. Underground, however, the cave opens out into a cavern the size of a football pitch. To enter, one rappels 72m down onto a platform sunk in the cave. Stalactites and stalagmites emerge from the ceiling and floor of the cave, which is yet another 80m down, submerged under water. Not content with the nail-biting rappel, I decided to scuba dive under the murky water. Little light penetrates the cave, save for the brilliant shaft from the hole in the roof. Under-water is almost pitch black, with the faint outlines of huge cones of calcified rock stretching up from the floor. Swimming around these
strange towers felt like exploring a flooded city, and occasionally I stumbled across a skeleton of an animal that had been unfortunate enough to enter the cave without the aid of a rope. One especially large specimen belonged to a prehistoric anteater. After drying off, we explored the cave further with the aid of a small inflatable boat, before the exhausting jumar out (30 minutes of arm breaking toil to ascend the ropes again).
The evenings in the little town were relaxed and boozy: we dined as a group on alligator and countless types of fish. The local brand of Cachaça fueled proceedings, and the Brazileros lived up to type by dancing at any opportunity. An extremely friendly bunch of individuals, everyone tried their best to involve me in their conversations. At one stage the town´s fleet of motorcycle taxis all pitched in to help find my misplaced diving log book. On another occasion, one of the climbers from the Abismo complimented me by declaring to the group that I bore a resemblance to Rubens Barrichello, Formula 1 racer and national hero. He was quickly corrected by a colleague of his who stated instead that I looked more like
Phil Collins. Bastard.
Towards the end of my stay, I surprised my table of chums by yelling out loadly during the middle of a story about Ecuador. For the first time I had understood almost every word. Brazilian Portuguese is a fascinating language, full of grunting, groaning and unexpected ejaculations (the whorehouse of South America languages, if you will). I´ve not really had time to get my spoken Portuguese up to scratch, but the total immersion has improved my comprehension no end. I also have an unusually advanced knowledge of the Portuguese for animals, fruit and geological formations.
Back in Rio, I caught my breath and visited the Corcovado (with the Christ statue), which I´d avoided previously due to bad weather. Great view, but packed with aging tourists and the usual hassle (being filmed for a DVD of the excursion, people selling crap, strict timetable, etc). I saw an old American chap fumbling with a huge sack of medication he was carrying. Like some silent movie comic, he would drop a pill, spend 60 seconds attempting to pick it up, succeed, only to drop another pill in the process. This went on for 20 minutes or so. I
Boca da Onça
James Bond pool at sunset was struck by how glad I am to be making this trip at this stage in my life, and also by the dullness of tourist attractions stuffed with pill popping oldies. I wanted a rather more exciting view of Rio...
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Hickling
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Spooky Abismo
Ian, have you noted the random interloper is you in 30 years time? (different hat though)