Salvador or ‘now you see it, now you don’t’
This was a hit and run city for me – though I did enjoy some advantages of hanging out with Brazilians: they had a hire car, so no bus journeys to get into town; it was safe to go for a swim after dark; it was safe to walk around town with a camera; and they cook good barbecue. mmm...
Salvador is a good mix of nice beaches, nice historic sights in the old town (mainly churches again!) and nice nightlife, but it didn’t excel at any of these, and I’m getting the feeling I prefer the small towns. So after just 3 days it was time to move on. So many options, so little time, but as I was deliberating, I got talking to James the Aussie lawyer and Marc the Kiwi banker, and decided to tag along with them the following night to the Chapada Diamantina, a national park 6 hours inland from Salvador, with many beautiful caves and waterfalls, and a mecca for adventure sports.
Lençois, or ‘that’s gonna hurt tomorrow!!’
Sore bum episode 1: Ribeirao do Meio
After a 6 hour overnight bus churney, we arrive bleary-eyed at 5am to a surprisingly warm Lençois. The hostel was only 5 mins walk away, and easy to find, but it was sweet of them to send someone to meet us . I was shown up to the airy empty upstairs dorm, and after choosing my bed, then finding the only decent mattress in the room and moving it there, I took the opportunity of a few more hours kip before a very nice breakfast of cake with guava jam. mmmm
This was clearly a take-it-easy day, and there was a waterfall that the locals use as a water slide, just an hour’s walk from town. It was clearly the done thing to do your tour booking in the evening, and all the offices were open till 10 or 11pm. We’ll figure out tomorrow’s activities later on.
I say just an hour – it was incredibly hot, hilly and rocky, and boy was I glad to hear the rushing of water that marked our destination.
The waterfall was gorgeous. Far from empty – about 20 others, a mix of Brazilians and gringos (mostly with guides I noticed...not necessary....) - but at least the area was untouched by tourist infrastructure. There were no ice-cream sellers, no toilets and no gift shop. Glorious.
I studied carefully the method for sliding down the waterfall – a careful climb up the 30 degree- oing rock face, avoiding the slimy bits, then a launch bum first into a deep rut, and let the water carry you down, using hands for balance. My first run was fun, but a little cautious, so I quickly returned for a second go. This time, though, I got it a bit wrong, veered off sideways, skewed round nearly 90 degrees, bounced my way over the rocks and landed unceremoniously head first into the pool with a very sore bottom. That was the end of my waterslide antics, but I did have a couple of nice 5m rock jumps into the pool, and a clamber about the rocks further downstream (sore contusions on my feet from that though – teach me to go barefoot, but then I’m lusting after the natives’ hardy, jungle-ready feet, so need to get in training) before we headed for home, stopping only at a stall in the middle of the forest, manned by a sole little old lady, for fresh mango and cold drinks. All day we had been ‘escorted’ by a local dog, who probably does a good trade from gringos’ packed lunches, so it was only matter of following him back to town, and we were soon tucking into grilled chicken with mango sauce followed by banana and chocolate pancakes in preparation for the gruelling day ahead.....
Sore bum episode 2 – mountain biking
This’ll be a short entry as the day was broken into few but long lasting parts:
1) 2 ½ hours up and down, through 12km forest trails (fine) through rocky, hilly, watery bits (fun, to a point), and many, so many sand pits (the first few were amusing, then as I got tired, the day got hotter, it got almost to the point of frustrated tears as my bike ground to a halt in the dust for the 20th time). The problem with sand pits is that when you stop, the cooling breeze stops, and that’s when you start to feel overheated. Also, the sand being thick, your shoulder muscles tire quickly as you’re less rolling, more dragging the darn bike through. It didn’t help that I was carrying 4 litres of necessary water in a cheap rucksack without a waist strap. Sorry shoulders.
2) 2 blissful hours for a swim in a waterfall, lunch (where Eric confessed his difficulty in understanding Marc’s kiwi accent) and a canoe ride (and impromptu swim) through the swampy Lagoa Mirimbus.
3) 3 more painful hours (saddle soreness kicked in and sugary drinks not having enough of desired effect) on the 20km dirt road back to Lencois. At least there were no sandpits, so progress was better, but after 2 big hills my knees gave out and I had to walk up the rest of them. In perpetual guilt that I’d spent the day lagging behind the guys, and they, especially James, had spent the day waiting for me, I took upon me the mantra I had recently read had kept Sir Ranulf Fiennes going on his third, and finally successful Everest attempt: keep plodding, plod as though you have to keep plodding forever. Eventually you run out of trail to plod. Continuing apologies to James, Marc, and our guide Eric for being so slow..... I promise I will commence cardio-vascular exercise soon....
4) 15mins fun fun FUN 5km downhill mountain biking trail, steep and rocky and just like you imagine mountain biking to be. Eric promised to restrain his speed so I can follow his path down, so I zoom off behind him assuming he’ll be setting a responsible beginner’s pace. No such luck, and I quickly lose him, but I’m too busy having fun, and enjoying the speed, following the best piece of advice that day by far from James ‘you’ll go where you’re looking’. Ahhh, that’s why my going ‘look at that big rock, I’d best not hit that rock’ usually ended up in striking it truly and squarely, coming to a dead halt or slowly teetering off entirely.
So there I was, just thinking how difficult it actually was to come off a mountain bike, several times bouncing out of my seat or skidding one wheel or the other but always somehow recovering, when I came to a narrow channel between two large rocks, just misjudged the central path between them, hit my pedal against the right-hand side, and flew off in the left-hand direction. Knowing Marc was close behind me, I quickly got up, ascertained all the bits that still needed to work did, and clambered back on. More gingerly now, I wound my way down to the halfway point where Eric looked up and down from mud smear to elbow scuff to bloody knee. ‘you fall off?’ yup.....fine though! ‘Want me to clean up that knee?’ nah, only a graze...
‘you know it may be easier to go a bit faster – you may be more likely to come off if you’re gonig slow’
Ok then – caution to wind, off I zipped again. Of course I fell off again somewhere near the bottom. I can’t even remember how it happened , but it was off the same side, so the left knee got another battering, left thigh picked up a few bruises, and the contusions reached up my bum cheek. Three weeks later, they’re still there....
Back on I got and very VERY gingerly now, wound my way to the bottom. Fell off again Eric....
‘Can I clean up that knee now?’ Nah...it can wait till we get home... *drip, drip....* ‘I’d better clean that up’ oh ok.... a few excruciating iodine-filled minutes later, I was steristrip-ed, be-plastered and good to go. I thought you said it was downhill all the way now Eric? I panted (and eventually walked) up the hill into town. ‘I said the trail was downhill – the trail has finished now and we’re just riding back to town’. Darn technicalities.
Meanwhile... about an hour back, James had decided to make a break for home, promising to cook us dinner. Trouble is he hadn’t check which way was home... so we had come to our turn-off from the trail – no James. 5 mins of hollering later, still no James. Ah well, maybe he didn’t see this turning and he’ll be waiting for us as the next one. We can take any of the next few turnings home. Will this be a longer way home? I asked, hoping it didn’t sound too whiney. ‘best not to ask’ replied Marc. Quite right.
Next turning, no James. Well let’s sit here a while and maybe James’s realise we’re not following, and come back. We waited as long as we could, but it gets dark here around 6pm, and we had no lights, so we had to get home. Marc assured me he’d find his way home, and Eric assured us that the trail ended up at the main road, and all he had to do was decide (or ask a passing car) to turn left onto it, and that would lead him into town. I still felt rather guilty as James had been stopping and waiting for me all day.
So we get back to the tour office in town. I whoop and cheer more than a little, but James wasn’t there. Eric told us to go and shower, he’d wait at the office. If he wasn’t back by dark, they’d go out to look for him.
After the most painful shower in living memory (so many scrapes and bruises I hadn’t noticed before), James still wasn’t there. I was just about to go back down to the office to find out what was going on, and Marc hollered up to my dorm that he was back. Apparently yes he’d cycled like the wind for about an hour, come to the end of the trail, waited for us for another hour, then as it was getting dark, finally flagged down a car to check which way it was back to town, and set off. Eric had just gone out with a friend on a motorbike and met him on the road, dragged James onto the moto and cycled his bike back himself.
Whereas James is self-proclaiming to have gone 50k that day, to me and Marc he’ll always be DNF – did not finish....
Between miss slomo bent on self-destruction, the incomprehensible kiwi, and the maverick lone ranger, I think Eric deserved his fee that day...
Sore bum episode 3 – car tour and extreme rock jumping
The day following the mountain biking was spent recovering, swinging in the hammock in my room and researching my next destination (in internet cafes – no internet in hostel, let alone wifi! Boooo!) The boys have left that morning, but I wanted to take a car tour the following day before an overnight bus, a fairly easy-going day and good way to see the highlights of the Chapada DIamantina without weeks and weeks of trekking.
Sedentary it wasn’t though – I actually got a lot of action-hero practice in. We started the day at Cachoeira de Diabo, feeding the mini saqui monkeys granola out of the palms of our hands before clambering down the rocks to the waterfall pool to swim. I don’t know who first suggested it, but it transpired that there was a ledge 8m up from the pool that was good (and safe – sand underneath) to jump from, so I soon found myself clambering back up the rocks after Phillipe the clearly adventurous German in my tour group. I watched him jump first, arms by his sides, feet first, no problem. But I have never felt so scared in my life. I’m sure it must be more than 8m – the 5m the other day was no problem at all, but this seemed like such a huge distance. I started to shake, and knew I had to go sooner rather than later, before it got worse. Feel the fear and do it anyway. I jumped – I was in the air for less than 3 seconds, but the terror was absolute and all-consuming. Hitting the water, I firstly ascertained that I was indeed still alive, and secondly realised that I must have slightly jack-knifed, and my bum had hit the water with some force, causing it to complain somewhat painfully. Poor bum – it’s been through a lot in the last few days!
That was quite a way to wake up in the morning, and I actually found the short period of adrenaline really tiring, but onwards....first to a cave with impressive stalagmites and stalactites in fun formations (see photos), then Gruta Lapa Doce (sweet cave – very clear water). Here we snorkelled in pitch blackness with only a dull torch and whistling Brazilian for guidance (nothing to see in the cave, but you had to pretend you were exploring virgin ground- the ceilings were really low, and you never knew when you were about to pock your head on the wall), and a quick zip-wire (after the rock jump, a doddle. See movie number 2....hilarious.) Then gruta lapa azul – just a photo op really, the bluest of blue waters. Lapa azul is connected to Lapa doce, but you can only get between the two by scubing.
Last stop of the day – a short scramble to the top of Morro de Pai Inacio (big, flat-topped hill to you and me) for the sunset, which I don’t think I’ll ever tire of seeing.
All in all – rock jumping, scrambling, snorkling in the dark, zip wire – my first day at James Bond school went pretty well. Back to the hostel for a quick shower before the 3 buses that should deliver me to Itacare within 20 hours or so. I’m getting more adventurous with my voyages...
Itacare – can I stay here please??
Paradise. Not much else to report as I spent the days on the beach, the evenings drinking caiprinhas. Except that I learned to surf! Well, began to learn.....rather than paying £70 for 3 lessons, I had an impromptu 10 mins from lovely Sam (English athlete staying on in Rio after the world modern pentathlon championships for a month of surfing – rock on) on a board that was too short, on a beach with enormous and dangerous waves, then Sam’s wavelust got the better of him and I was let loose to practice on my own. 2 bruised, salt-water-swallowing days later, I think I need to get those surf lessons after all....
There was also a hilarious evening at a restaurant where it transpired that the diners are also the guest singers on the platform. Protesting that I didn’t know any Brazilian songs, I was hauled up to the stage and shown the English song list. What on earth was ‘Westerday’? “you know, westerday......all my trouble seem so far away” lol. Ok, so I sang that for them, but wasn’t allowed my caiprinha back until I sang another...how come the others were exempt from this?? Not knowing the words to ‘hotel california’ or ‘house of the rising sun’, past the first line, I enquired what ‘Ymag-yn’ was. “you know!! Ymag-yn all the peepull...” brilliant. I kind of know the words but not necessarily in the right order, but I inserted a few Laahs and seemed to get away with it. Very funny – I just hope everyone else had had more Caiprinhas than me and was hearing me through rose-tinted earphones.
Beautiful beaches, buff men playing capoeira and surfing (the people watching/perving boundary got seriously blurred), great company (Anita and Sam, I miss you!) and nice weather (apart from that torrential rain for two days) – I could have easily spent much longer here. Heck, I could have stayed forever, but, you know, onwards! And I had my Pantenal tour all booked and ready to go...
Salvador take 2:
Another hit and run – just a day’s grace between returning from Itacare and catching my flight down to the Pantenal. Arriving from an overnight bus, I felt surprisingly chirpy, so after breakfast I trotted down to the ‘swimming beach’ that I’d missed first time around, to burn off some of those salgado (deep fried meaty snacks – yum) calories. I had forgotten that it was a Sunday, so the beach was heaving even at 8.45 am, still I managed to find space to swim further out, once I’d dodged the mass of little bobbing bodies that squealed with delight every time a wave picked them up, threw them unceremoniously onto the sand and sucked them back out again.
In the afternoon, I took the opportunity of being in a large city to go shopping – I heard binoculars were a must for the Pantenal...so it took me most of the afternoon, but I tracked down the only pair in the city. And, as my legs were so hairy after a month that I would be in danger of being taken in by a family of monkeys, I also invested in an epilator. My skin was still too bruised and scabby to take either razor or wax to it. And there wasn’t a chance I was going to show these battered pins to a beautician in a million years.
Wow! The prices! Any imported brand has a massive tax levied on it. Fine where Brazil has its own thriving industries, but where there’s little or no choice, downright mean... there’s 103% tax on luxury cars, a can of red bull is £3 in the supermarkets, and a deuter day sack costs around £200. Ouch. That explains why the mountain biking was so expensive – all the bikes and parts are imported.
As for these epilators, the Brazilian brand would have to do.
No banks in the Pantenal, so got another £200 in cash – which the atm decided to give me in equivalent of £3 notes.
*thanks*
Then back to the hostel to chill out and persuade my rucksack to accept my new purchases, before heading to the airport....
Photos album 3 – Ouro Preto, Salvador, Lencois and Itacare!
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=126699&id=522925763&l=8ea5b25883
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