Or: Debbie is totally vindicated in her anal planning-aheadness, as even when things go awry, she still makes in by the skin of her teeth.
And.... smooth on the inside, crunchy on the outside... can you guess what it is yet??
Our machete-wielding guide, Carlos, told us to meet him by the hammocks at 4am ‘wear long trousers, proper shoes, bring sun cream and insect repellent’. Off course I wasn’t going to argue, but having just spent the best part of two days travelling from Salvador, I was pretty shattered. Luckily the early to bed early to rise mantra held fast here, so I gratefully sank into my mattress by 10pm.
Dutifully my tour-and-room-mate Keith and I woke at 3.30am, dressed, packed a rucksack, and ventured outside, into a thunder storm. The first rain they had for a month. The dawn safari was cancelled, and I fell into a puddle and got wet feet to boot. Back to bed for a couple of hours before breakfast.
The journey here had been far from stress free. I had first tried to book my flight from Salvador to Campo Grande (connecting in Sao Paulo) when I was in Itacare. The internet site seemed to accept foreign bookings, so off I went, putting ‘USA’ as my home country because Britain/Great Britain/UK/England weren’t on the list, and paid with my visa debit. The visa page dutifully appeared assuring me that the transaction had been successful, but the Gol page confirming the reservation never appeared. Hmm. Then cue two days of rain and no internet connections whatsoever in the whole town, so I had to wait for it to come back on, check my email – no confirmation email, check my bank account – no money had been taken, my Gol account – no booking. Luckily they’re not so penny-pinching as easy-jest or cryin-air, and have a free customer helpline, with an English speaking option... I ascertained that my booking had been ‘cancelled’, never quite found out why, and had to make a reservation on a later flight (arriving at midnight, not 10.40pm) to get the same price (just over £100). They didn’t take foreign cards over the phone, but I was assured I had a reservation, and all I had to do was turn up at the airport two hours before, where I could use my British visa card, and all would be well.
So I turn up, about 3 hours before, just to be on the safe side. They’d lost my reservation. Pout. I could get the flights I wanted, for more than twice the cost.... or, I could get a later flight, make the same connection in Sao Paolo, for only a bit more.... oh ok. Chill, it’s only a little more expensive. Longer waiting time here, but I still arrive at the same time in Campo Grande, which is good because the tour guide is picking my up and I forgot to get his phone number from my emails before I left. All I have to do now is pay....
Visa... declined...
Maestro....declined (to be fair I’d forgotten my pin because I’ve never used the darn thing except online)
Luckily I had an ENORMOUS wad of cash to pay the guide and get me whatever I would need in the middle of nowhere, so cash it was. It was only after I walked away that I realised my flight arrived in Sao Paulo at 2245, and the boarding time for the Campo Grande flight was 2230,departing 2310. Great. That’s going to be fun. One false move and I’m stranded in Sao Paulo for the night and will miss my tour. I checked in and waved goodbye to my rucksack, certain that even if I made the connection, the chances of my baggage following were pretty slim.
So I now had 4 hours to wait in a pretty sparse airport. I had a wander, changed all my travellers cheques (total waste of time – difficult to change, bad exchange rates, and you lose money converting £ to $ and then to Reals. Never again, just glad to be rid of them), ate a subway sandwich (with some global-brand-guilt, but it contained real vegetables! And wasn’t airport-overpriced!), browsed the artisan shops, ambled through security, regretted going through so early as there is NOTHING the other side, and settled down to read about Argentina.
In the end it WAS fine, the flight to SP landed early, and all the domestic flights arrive and depart from the same lounge, so another quick nip through security and I was back at the gate for the next leg. It was only now I realised that this wasn’t a 50 minute flight, it was actually 1 hour 50 – we were crossing a time zone!
Gol make a big song and dance about their fleet being the most modern in the air, but it doesn’t stop them feeling like tomy my-first-planes
So I arrive at midnight and wait nervously by the baggage carousel: black suitcase, holdall, pram, red suitcase, cuddly toy! (kidding), and wait.....YES ! my rucksack! Blimey.
I also realised tonight, as I was installed in the tired, grimy, tv-blaring-in-room-next-door-all-night ‘National Hotel’, that a reasonably-priced hostel is infinitely preferable to a really cheap hotel.
After a pretty rubbish night’s sleep, we were on the minibus to the camp. (2 of us, in a 16-seater. Overkill? Whatever, it was a band new merc sprinter with air con. You didn’t hear me complaining)
It was meant to b a 5 hour journey, but after just one and a half, we ground to a halt at a police road block, and I managed to ascertain from our driver that the road ahead had been blocked by a native Indian tribe because of some land dispute. Well, it’s more original than a burst water main or overturned lorry. We hung around at the nearby services for a while (they had never seen so much business, what with all the cars, trucks, buses and everything else piled up behind the cordon), checked the situation, thought there was a back way through a farm, but that was blocked as well, and eventually after an all-you-can-eat lunch in a town nearby, somehow got through...
The other members of our group were not impressed by the 90 mins they had to wait for us in the afternoon sun. The minibus dropped us at the end of a track road, then it was an hour by bouncing, sliding open truck (why oh why was I not wearing my sports bra) 20km or so down the dusty track to the farm that would be our home for the next 4 days.
The Pantenal is amazing. Over the 4 days of truck safari, walking, horse riding and boat tours, I saw thousands of birds – blue macaws, parakeets, vultures, cranes, herons, spoonbills, a very exciting eagle that has to put his head right backwards to finish his song (ask me for an impression when I’m home), toucans, red macaws, goodness knows what else. Thousands upon thousands of cayman (they’re all pussies – you can get really close, and when you’re too close they just slide into the water and float away) that congregate together in lakes, their babies with unreasonably large heads, and if you shine a light on them at night their eyes all glow yellow and it looks like a miniature city....
Capybaras, the largest rodent in the world, trotting about day and night and paddling around in the water.
Giant otters – that make the most amazing caterwauling squeaking noises (halfway to guinea pig squeals), and run away from the cayman trying to steal their lunch off them (which may well have been a baby cayman). We caught two families in the middle of a territory squabble, swimming and then bounding over the little islands towards each other.
Armadillos – well, just one, but it was the middle of the morning, and this supposedly nocturnal creature was pottering about looking for grubs. We first saw him from a distance, and took a raft of photos through the foliage thinking that’d be the best chance we’d get, but gradually we edged closer and closer until we were just a foot or so away from him, and he was clearly either oblivious to our presence or thought we weren’t a threat. No wonder the Indians hunted them almost to distinction. You can just go and pick the silly things up! We didn’t, but one of the boys did start poking it. I was trying to whisper him to stop it. ‘I’m trying to get it to turn round’. Whatever. Stop it. There was a lot of boys-poking-nature going on over the week. I guess some things never change as you grow up.
A smattering of deer, rhea, and one little snake.... Unfortunately no jaguar, anteaters or anacondas. Maybe next time.... I really wanted to stay another night, because a guide had promised he knew where to find anteaters for me. And I wanted to stay for one night in the campsite, rather than the Pousada (why this wasn’t an option when I booked the tour, I don’t know. Yes of course I want to sleep in a hammock and no I don’t want to be turned to an ice cube by the air con in the ‘real’ bedrooms). But it was too late to change my bus ticket, and anyway I don’t think it was the anteaters that this guide necessarily wanted to show me.... but that didn’t worry me. I’ve learned how to deal with Brazilian men now (being very firm.... and unfortunately, once they’ve made a move, you just can’t hang out with them as friends any more because they take it as permission to relentlessly pursue you until you have to part ways. Big shame because tagging along with Brazilians is always when I have the best fun, and what kind of traveller goes out of their way to avoid the locals? Booo.)
The best wildlife was seen on walking and truck tours, but the other activities were really fun. Piranha fishing: “yes you can wade into the river, but make sure you dig your toes into the sand otherwise the piranhas might think they’re sardines...” er, yay? “and don’t take them off the line yourself if you catch one, they bite” yay again. The problem was a lot of the landings were fish that flew off the hook on the way up out of the water, and happened to land on the bank rather that splashing back to safety. Lots of squealing and using the end of the bamboo rod to keep flipping it up the bank, pin it down, and then I put it to good use dispatching one of them. Well I’d rather it was good and dead than lying there gasping and flipping while someone fetched the guide or the proper dispatching tool. I had two that got away, but apart from that I was just piranha feeding. The boys had better luck, and we took a good stash home to be fried and served up at dinner.
Horse riding – wow, ouch. 2 hours is a lot when you haven’t really been on one since you were eight. Inner thighs and lower back. Would be good exercise if I keep it up! Pantenal horses are trained in the reins-in-one-hand method. One hand free to rest on your hips like a cowboy. Oh yes. I was a little disappointed to be given the smallest horse of the pack. More so when it turned out it was a particularly lazy walker and had to be firmly cajoled into a trot now and again to keep up. He got his own back when we forded the river though – he decided drinking was not enough. He was going to have a little swim. Thanks Homario – wet trainers.
It was amazing to be on a horse again though, and trotting, and galloping (why hadn’t I discovered this before? Much more comfortable than trotting.) Keith didn’t think so – galloping along, there was some miscommunication which caused his horse to veer off the path into the bush, by which time he was doing all he could just to stay on, let alone steer him back. Then the horses front leg found an armadillo hole, Keith bailed off sideways, and the horse did a forward role that would make the British gymnastic team proud. So there was the horse, tangled up in his reins, staring at Keith, going ‘whatdidyoudothatfor??’ and Keith, in slight shock, staring at the horse, going ‘whatdidYOUdothatfor’, when the guide came trotting up looking for them both. “what did you do that for? You can’t let him do that you know. There are armadillo holes off the path.” Keith was livid. To his credit, he got back on. But there was no more galloping for him. What with that and being propositioned by the cook around the camp fire (we have sex in hammock, yes? ) poor Keith had quite a couple of days.
The farm/pousada itself was an amazing place to be– not necessarily the rooms, which were ok, but the shower was cold and the knob did give you a slight electric shock every time you turned the water off. But the surroundings: the family of pigs with 2 piglets that wandered and foraged freely in the farm yard (and we once found in our room when we left the door open), a tame red macaw that came to the farmhouse for breakfast every morning and then pottered about posing for the tourists (and also wandered into our room – there must have been something tasty in there), a toucan that we fed papaya to at lunchtime. He took every piece very gently, but wasn’t to be fobbed off by the woody centre of a pineapple. He spat it out, cocked his head to one side and waited, not quite patiently, for the good stuff.
There were plenty of hammocks to spend afternoon siesta in, but you were lucky if you got any sleep – the parakeets and eagles and parrots and toucans squawking relentlessly in the nearby trees soon put paid to that.
After over a month it still gets me – the sign of a good few days is an actual lump in my throat as I drive away. The Pantenal is a magical magical place, where time doesn’t really mean anything, the boundary between humans and nature is blurred, and one place that technology still can’t find you. Definitely one for my list of places to revisit.
Sorry no photos yet! I've had real trouble logging on to facebook recently, let alone uploading pics. watch this space (cos they're good 'uns)
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