Up the Brazilian Coast

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So, the next leg of the journey begins, bright and early with a departure from Rio and a sad goodbye to Matt, with several fresh faces on the truck, which itself is different along with our new driver, Euan and our tour guide Mark. Newbies include a couple of Aussie couples (Matt & Sonya, Dean & Jana), another Aussie , Andy, 3 dudes from Hong Kong (Chung, Yiu and Jonny), Doug (Laandoner), Tracy (Geordie, lives in NZ), Heather (Canadian), Nathan (another southerner) and Jenni (Finnish but lives in Canada). En route we were briefed on the running of our new truck, Magaly, who is bigger and more modern than Jack with better locker organisation (Jazz and I retained our priviledged positions as truck packers, meaning no cooking required), although the seats are smaller and she rocks a bit more.

Our first stop was Ouro Preto, an old inland colonial town that at one point was the hub of the majority of Brazil's gold mining industry, and although now some of its former glories have subsided it still remains a prosperous town boasting 13 churches and a spectacular hilltop location. Getting back into the camping routine was a bit of a rude shock after the luxury of the Rio hotel, especially setting up camp in the pouring rain, but we were consoled with some fantastic steak and mash knocked up by the cook team, a great way to break in the new group and share a few beers over a game of cards. Bright and early the following morning we trekked off to meet our local guide (he had only just recovered from lengthy Carnival celebrations) for a tour of the mines. Heading on down in an Indiana Jones style mining cart (powered by a British steam engine), we had to duck on our descent (especially Mark, who is a 6ft7 ex pro rugby player!) before wandering around the cavernous underground cathedral forged by years of blasting. An entirely different proposition to the claustrophobic silver mines at Potosi (see Bolivia entry), the mine was enormous and quite airy, with a freshwater pool at one end (the mining went below the water table of the local area) where a couple of the guys went swimming.

Hitting the road the following day, we stayed at a fairly uneventful truck stop in the middle of nowhere, complete with a pretty good Rodizo (all you can eat meal deal), mild electric shocks in showers (something that could definitely be rectified in these places), random power cuts and some very welcome air con (the humidity and heat have both shot up following the beachy cool of Rio). Off bright and early the day after, our next destination was Puerto Seguro, a beach town popular with locals and precious few tourists. Having set up tents in the precious little shade available at the campsite we made the lenghtly walk to the beach, a whole 30 seconds across the road from tent to sea, azure blue and warm as bathwater nestling on white sandy beaches. Conveniently our local beach bar churned out very good cocktails (albeit slowly - beach time is less than punctual), both caipirinhas and caipifruitas in hollowed out coconuts, delivered by an entirely coked out barman, Franyo, accompanied with some beach beats while overlooking the sunset. As the tail end of carnival was still in town, we headed in en masse later that evening to join a fabled bloco, but ended up passing the night drinking condensed milk cocktails (sickly) with rum, pineapple and passionfruit (later evolved to leaving the milk out of the equation, which was def a good thing). A select few of us moved off the street and into a local bar where we began to dance the night away, me ending up having some very entertaining floor time with a stunning 20yr old dentist before noting that my Portugese was nigh on nonexistent and made for limited conversation! Some time and many cocktails later we all called it a night, traipsing on back to the campsite (a good few kms), only to get drenched on the final straight by an unexpected downpour.

Thankfully more clement weather beckoned in the following morning, which was then followed by a trip into town for camera shopping. Eventually I found one, a mini Sony number, which, while expensive and considerably less versatile than its predecessor at least works and is pocketable. Heading back to base, the camera was broken in with some beach shots (sadly all the g-string bikinis out of shot - and there were many of them!), where a gaggle of us scoffed fishcakes, nursed ice cold beers and interestingly named cocktails. My fave was Stinky Toe, pronounced steenkee toway, a combo of rum, tequila, pineapple and ginger. Sadly, the Herbal Tit Enlarger (think Long Island Ice Tea with an Absinthe base) was unavailable, but that may have been for the best! To vary the afternoon activities, Jenni took me to a local beach club with Brazilian funk blaring out and swimsuit clad lovelies dancing like there was no tomorrow before wending our way back to camp for an amazing meal of salmon with mango salsa.

Heading on up the coast, with already short journeys broken up with swim stops along pristine beaches, we arrived at Salvador, from where capoeira (Brazilian dance based martial art) originated, where the locals go for carnival (bigger and more authentic than Rio, with more focus on blocas than fancy floats and parades) and the port into which many slaves were shipped from Africa. Strangely quiet, with a highly hungover feel (carnival had literally just ended, and the overall impression was the entire city was recovering), the city did not make us feel especially comfortable (it has a less than favourable reputation), but via taxis we headed out for a top notch feed. At last I got the chance to sample moqueca, the delicious local specialty stew made with dende oil, fish, prawns, onions, peppers and a host of some 30 other ingredients. Lubricated with a couple of caipirinhas (they ALWAYS get progressively stronger the more you have!), we lost certain members of the group (Jenni thought I had gone to dance, so went in search of me and in the process lost everyone else in Brazil's sketchiest city!) before wandering on to an Irish bar. Possibly about as Irish as Vietnam, this was owned by a rasta who was more interested in rolling himself the biggest joints in the universe than actually serving the only customers in the bar (ie us!). The one booth in the bar seemed to double up in function as a nice quiet spot for the cokeheads to arrange their lines on the table. Needless to say the atmosphere was rather lacking so we called it a night.

Our next day in Salvador was spent wandering the streets, stopping only for highly dodgy steet food (having just told me there was no meat or fish in my already dubious looking roll thing, the lovely creole lady proceeded to fill it with shrimp. Needless to say it got ditched soon afterwards and we found some safer food (frango coxinhas, shredded chicken in battered manioc, very delicious and everywhere in Brazil) and took in some street displays of capoeira instead, although no sooner than you look at the performers, someone has run over to you to extract viewing fees. At least these guys do something to warrant it, as for the most part people just come up and beg which can get a little wearing. That evening we were scheduled to go and watch Brazil 's most famous drumming troupe perform on the street, however in true Brasilian style, Carnival had taken its toll and they had called off the performance to recover. We still ended up watching another drumming band who were pretty ok before we trekked off to watch a cultural dance show.

Fierecely guarding their signature dance moves, we were unable to take photos of the performance which ranged from ritual dances depicting various Creole gods to the energetic swordplay- driven makelele to the undisputable highlight, a spectacular capoeira performance. A combination of kickboxing and breakdancing infused with Afro-Carribbean beats, capoeira can either be performed at a very slow and leisurely pace, as in the case of the street performers, or at a much more frenetic one. In this case, the performers, were bouncing around the stage like olympic gymnasts (and getting as much airtime out of an unsprung wooden floor!), their bodies seemingly made of rubber, with amazing moves accomplished with what seemed to be the greatest of ease. Just watching them bounce around the place made us feel exhausted, so after the show we had to go and build up our strength with some fantastic street kebabs (which, apart from being constantly pestered by some crackhead kids, was excellent) before washing them down with a couple of cocktails at a nearby bar. Entertained by random street performers in the form of a Dad's Army-esque band accompanied by an impromptu breakdancing troupe (only when you have been in Brasil for any length of time does this seem commonplace!), we chatted away for a while before attempting to taxi to a recommended club on the outskirts of town. Following on from our experiences in Buenos Aires with such places, the club was closed (still post carnival recovery mode) so we had a nice scenic tour of the city by night instead.

For our final day in Salvador, Jenni and I wandered on down to the newer part of town via the city elevators (the old town is set in the cliffs high above the newer expanse built around the port area), which offered some fantastic views of the city as a whole in all its delapidated glory. The newer part of town resembles a post apocalyptic New York, with skyscrapers towering above its streets, nearly all in various states of disrepair with few windows and plants growing out of them, yet somehow is still highly charming. Taking a taxi back to the hotel (the queues back up the lifts were snaking around the corner and getting longer by the second), we had a chance to see the transition in building styles before meeting some of the others later for yet more fantastic street meat washed down with several beers.

Leaving in torrential rain the following morning, we rocked on up the coast towards our next destination, a campsite in the fishing town of Maceio. Arriving as dusk was upon us, we erected our tents in the well positioned campsite (literally the road was all that separated us from the beach), taking care to position them well as the site was also home to a number of very tall palm trees equipped with brain-denting coconuts. A fantastic curry later, I retired to the beach with Jenni and Keith for a couple of cold ones and some chilled conversation before yet more torrential rain drove us inside to the bar next to the campsite.

The following day, several of us were scheduled to go out on the local fishing rafts to the nearby reef for snorkelling purposes, but with all the rain over the previous couple of days the water was very cloudy with no visibility. Instead, the boats were moored out on the sandbar next to the reef while we indulged in seaweed fights in the highly salty swell. One of the less seafaring among us, Yiu, had been sitting on the boat while we were in swimming and did not respond favourably to the sea's treatment of him, being sick in staccato bursts over the edge as we headed back to shore, narrowly missing a local boat carrying food to one of the other rafts. Back on dry land, several of the crew went in search of hammocks while we wandered along the beach, soaking in the sights of the locals playing their own variation of volleyball where the ball is kept aloft without the use of feet, legs or hands. A tasty shared lunch of steak in madeira and parmesan sauce kept hunger at bay before we dashed into the massive waves, getting pummelled repeatedly inbetween several successful bodysurfing attempts. Having desalinated ourselves, a select few of us headed on into town to check the local nightlife, visiting a rammed bar before moving to the nightclub to witness the beauty of Brazilian funk in all its glory (an entire dancefloor of synchronised booty shaking - a sight so beautiful it brings a tear to the eye), dancing the night away with our new local friends and then heading back at some stupid hour in the morning.

Leaving at another early hour the following day, sleep made up a lot of the following journey on to Olinda, with a quick swim stop along the way that helped to clear out the cobwebs. A pousada (guest house) with a good sized pool was to be our base for the next couple of days, which was well used inbetween a walk around the scenic little town and a couple of trips to the nearby shopping centre. Sadly the sea was a no go area as there is a seweage outlet along what would otherwise be yet more pristine coastline, so the pool was very welcome and the communal centre for drinking and eating. A couple of trips to the nearby shopping centre livened up an otherwise fairly sleepy place, including a cinema trip (Sweeny Todd - rubbish!) although on the first trip back I didn't specify the town and we ended up in the middle of its neighbouring big brother, Recife.

Having passed a couple of uneventful evenings in Olinda, we were more than ready to move on to the higly anticipated pousada at Prahia Pipo. Perched on the cliffs overlooking the sea, the pousada was a marked improvement, with excellent air con, the perfect sized pool for handstand races and squirrel monkeys in its bordering trees. Coupled with very cheap booze (3 quid for a bottle of Bacardi Oro?!?) and the perfect combo of sunny and shaded areas, we were all very glad to sit back and unwind in the gentle sea breeze. Having managed to pick up a copy of Rambo 4 en route, all the boys were rather stoked about the prospect of a lad's night in, and thankfully it lived up to, even surpassed expectations with everything one needs from a film (war is, after all in his blood). Nicely merry and feeling ready to take on an entire rogue army, we wandered on into town to continue the good stuff with all you can eat meat before retiring to a bar for several surprisingly good mojitos.

The following day was brought in with brilliant sunshine, a fantastic breakfast and a nice casual saunter along the beach with Billy and Jude for dolphin spotting. Not long around the point and into the cove, we saw a couple surfacing in the surf not too far from shore, but on swimming out there they had moved elsewhere (boats come out with food so people get to swim with them - we obviously weren't as well equipped!), so we entertained ourselves in the waves instead. Back to base, some serious pool time was needed, with everyone chilling out in their own way, before going back into town to sample the local cuisine, an excellent shrimp spaghetti number. A relatively early night was in order as yet another early start beckoned and not much seemed to be happening in town (although a couple went on in and had a very good time - unusually bad judgement on my part!).

Canoa Quebrada (literally "broken canoe") was our next port of call, a tiny one street town with a well established local hippy community, some excellent sand dunes and probably one of my favourite beaches yet visited. Staying in yet another pousada with highly welcome pool, we were made immediately welcome by the scouse owner, Steve. A swift meal and several drinks later, we set up another film, watching We Own the Night (excellent) to kill some time before meandering on down towards the beach. Not immediately apparent at night time, the sandstone cliffs hide a couple of secluded footpaths down onto the beach, so it took some rooting around for us to find a way down (the first one stopped about 10ft above the beach), but eventually we made it down to the Freedom Bar, a reggae shack with a campfire already underway close by. Having "only" got down there for 11pm, it was virtually empty, but we settled into the caipirinhas and before long the locals began to arrive in throngs. Soon, placid reggae dancing gave way to more ecclectic styles from those very likely under the influence of a number of drugs, including one rasta who kept on stamping on the floor while he danced and managed to cause a catfight between two hippy girls. Having gotten fairly soggy from a passing storm, we danced around the campfire in the sand before wending our way back home around 5am.

An excellent breakfast greeted us the next morning (breakfast pizza - best idea ever!), and was welcome along with the strong Brazilian coffee, being a nice precursor to yet more hanging around the pool. A barbeque was organised at the pousada in the evening, with the local delicacy of chicken heats (very nice - bit like liver) among more traditional fayre. Still suffering from the previous night's lack of sleep, many of us retired around 10pm to reconvene a couple of hours later to head down to the full moon party, again on the beach. Sauntering down en masse, we wandered along the beach, our shadows dancing in the light of the moon and the campfire. More of the same ensued, with more booze being consumed and several casualties having to retire early (from 4am onwards), though us hardcore few remained dancing / standing/staggering/leaning/lying on the beach until the sun had well and truly come up and we headed back to bed around 7am.

Waking merely a few hours later, I came to the logical conclusion that my head must have been runover by a dune buggy on the beach for there was no other explanation for the pounding within! Even breakfast pizza and copious cups of coffee failed to return me to normality. Watching films in bed and trying to sleep, interspersed with quick dips in the pool failed to revive me but at long last around 6pm I started to feel a little human again. Heading out for a tasty moqueca with Billy and Jude, I wandered back to bed to meet Jenni later at midnight, but overslept until 3am. In true Brasilian style, the music was still pumping out in the night sky, so I wandered out solo into the streets (as she had done earlier when I failed to show) and drank and danced the night away before retiring around 6ish for a whopping hour and a half sleep.

Our early start the next day saw us setting off on a long drive away from the coast (boo) towards Ubajarra, a temperate campsite (long trousers at nighttime - what kind of place is this?!) where a kid's party was in full swing when we arrived. Having to keep an eye on the kids, who all seemed determined to get into our tents (not malicious, just curious), we later enjoyed some homemade burgers before an early night (well Billy and I did sit up with some rum putting the world to rights for some time...). The following morn, a later start allowed a quick swim in the massive campsite pool before moving on to the blisteringly hot Sete Ciudads (seven cities) national park. Here we were given a guided tour through the seven cities, rock structures with strange animal shapes originally under the sea, more homes to small colonies than large groups of indigenous tribes. Back at site our wait for fajitas for dinner was interrupted with Matt, who managed to get stung by a scorpion in the shower. The sting cooled by ice cold beer (always handy!), he was later taken to hospital to get dosed up on drugs before returning at some stupid hour in the morning.

Expecting a less eventful day the following morning (once Matt had disposed of the scorpion - he was going to keep it and set it in resin as a souvenir!), we moved towards our next destination, the overnight stop gap of Bom Jardin. A tiny one horse town in the middle of bandit country (travel at night time is inadvisable for said reasons)with absolutely no tourist allure, for once we were the point of interest rather than the locals, who were ridiculously friendly. Jenni and I were invited by a shop owner for coffee having just bought hammock rope from him, and having walked around the town for but a few minutes before settling at the local bar, we were fast becoming the focal point of a gathering crowd. Heading to a nearby service station for an excellent rodizo, we went back to the bar for a couple more beers and were soon surrounded by an ever swelling crowd that must have numbered nearly 100. In this region of Brasil the locals are very religious, mostly 7th day Adventists, many being under 20 and already married with kids, and unlike their coastal counterparts were very shy and neither danced nor drank. Being the least bad Portugese speaker I was nominated as our mouthpiece to the locals, although what they wanted us to say or do remained unclear, with me translating one guy's poor English into French for another local to convert back to Portugese for everyone to hear. The blondes were definitely flavour of the day, with Jenni, Anna and Nathan all attracting particular interest, having their photos taken by all and sundry and generally being regarded as celebrities. We were eventually cajoled back into our lodging by our night porter (one of the many sons of the owner) as he wanted to sleep, but this remains to date one of the most memorable and highly random highlights of the tour so far.

Our final stop along this course of the drive was Belem, the mouth of the Amazon and from where we would start our river cruise inland. A city with a strange feel, it does have its charm during the day, along with some nice dock redevelopment and excellent street meat. And a German who pretends he's been mugged and needs airport departure money - yes got duped on that one and he's even mentioned in the Lonely Planet! Will get my cash back when I see him again. Renound as the rainiest city in the world, it lived up to its name by giving us a proper soaking on the way back from some sightseeing, and after two days there most of us were ready for the journey that lay ahead.

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