3/10/2014 Amapá to Rio Amapá Grande
D27, T1.5, Av18.4, max33, 32,985/7,456
Fine, fresh nor easter, 30°
The pousada was so comfortable, a good sleep in till 0730 was enjoyed, along with the provided breakfast. My website was giving me problems uploading text so a compromise had to be endured with this.
I finally got away about 1200, going down to the river, it was low tide, the mouth is only 4km from the town. All the aging fishing fleet were high and dry on a deep heavy grey mud.
Time was spent talking to a fisherman about the bar crossing and the winds at sea.
He showed me the most common fish caught, Triarao, the fish I ate for lunch today.
I then headed over to the bike shop to say hello and goodbye to the owner, also air was needed in my tyres. So by the time I left town it was after 1330.
The loop out of town on hte new section of road was fast,as a tail wind aided me for 15km.
A mob of water buffalo ware walking along the road being herded by their owner. These animals are now quite common in the low lying paddocks.
As soon as Ruta 156 was entered the nor easter hit me just forward of my right shoulder, it was hard riding. The wind had a lovely cooling effect which made the effort alot less.
Coming to a large river the River Amapá Grande, a restaurant down by the waters edge was stopped at. Here the most beauty fried fish fillets were enjoyed with salad and rice. It was a huge serving.
I really had left my run to Calcoene a bit late I could have made it there around 1800 in hte conditions, though there was no point in over doing it.
I asked the lady if I could camp in the park, her property for the night. It was ok.
It would have been oneof the most idyllic campsites of late. Under trees next to the apparently clean river. Kids were swimming in htewaters and fishermen in cnoeswere plying the easterly flow upstream.
I spent some time just bathing in the warm but refreshing waters. My hammock was strung up and an afternoon siesta was enjoyed.
Later the tent was erected, still needing to sleep in good position as my bck is still letting me know things are not 100% yet.
The river even though 40km from the Atlantic slightly influenced by the tides at the mouth. The water quality ins the same, just the level comes up a few hundred millimetres.
It was a great way to turn an otherwise rushed ride into a totally relazed afternoon. Some minor repairs were done.
Other than that it was as good as camping on a river can get, even the duk insects were not to hungry.
4/10/2014 Rio Amapá Grande to hut north of Carnot
D131, T11, Av18.4, max52, 33,115/7,586
Fine, nor easter, calm inland 30°
I was up before daylight, wanting an early start. Last night the owners dogs were not impressed with my presence. One dog in particular sat 10m from the tent and proceeded to bark at me for over two hours. It was a battle between the two of us. I was not going to stir him up else he would have just continued, my mind was set to contemplate other things in the end, about midnight, he got sick of it. When his barking started petering out into lazy whelps, I knew he was beat and sure enough he retired from his fruitless efforts at scaring me off.
It was a smart move to stop here yesterday afternoon, the early morning saw no wind, the 40 km ride to Calcoene was a quick 2hr hour run in the still conditions on the flat smooth road.
In town, I ate some Coxinhas and had a few drinks, the police station loo was also visited. Internet is nonexistent out here.
From here, the asphalt continued, it is a very new road and smooth, soon the hill country I had been told about began. It was rolling in nature and bounded by forest on both sides. My rear derallieur has been slipping the chain on the mid range gears. On a flat road this is tolerable, but in amongst these hills it is far from that.
A few attempts were made to remedy the situation. After the third adjustment, it was finally back to normal.
I was very pleased about this, as pedalling under load and having it randomly change gear was hard on my back.
At Torrao Agricola, just at the right time a lanchonette popped up around a corner at the top of a climb. Here lunch was enjoyed along with lots of water.
Now that the road is away from the coast the wind has dropped right off and consequently the sweat is pouring from me. There were no decent water holes or rivers for swimming.
At one point a foot track led off the road, some 20m in here was a clearing. Here I was witness to the first step in the slash and burn land settlement process.
Every tree and shrub had been cut off at waist height, it was a couple of acres of vegetation laid to waste, the next step is to burn it and so on.
Many lots have been observed, where this has happened. Sadly, many are now abandoned.
The reality is that the occupants are fighting nature, unless they maintain these sites with hard labour and persistence, nature will always win.
It is a hard life stopping the inevitable weeds and native plants that will establish themselves, even in a short absence from the land.
It seems such sacrilege, that the native vegetation was in hindsight cleared for nothing other than someone’s unrealistic dream.
Soon the asphalt came to an end. The ensuing road was one not to be trusted.
There were random potholes everywhere.
It was actually quite dangerous, my plastic drink bottle on the back went sailing twice.
There was no option to use the momentum to get up the next hill.
The country became reminiscent of parts of the road to Macapá, with water lying in every gully. Often with dead trees and palms in the dark waters that had died due to constantly wet feet. Many of these lagoons were not a pretty sight with all these dead and dying trees and palms present.
Arriving at Carnot about 1530, a chat and water was enjoyed with some guys in a little loja, further up the road was a Mini Box, the name used for small convenience stores.
Here, a character of a woman was out the front on a rocking chair. She was the owner. With a lovely olive complexion, low cut, tight fitting floral dress that suited her and an attractive face, of about 45 years, and a great sense of humour, she was enjoyable company. I pulled up another rocking chair and we chatted for an hour or more, she had icecream tubs so I was in no hurry to move on, three were consumed, she gave me coffee and tapioca cake.
She had newly painted nails with the most intricate design, there was a woman in the small town that provided this service.
It appeared everyone in town knew her, she had that kind of personality, where laughing was very much part of her nature.
She loaded me up with water and we packed four eggs in an egg tray before I left.
Riding now was very clammy in the late afternoon stillness and humidity, the road now became very steep in sections.
With an extra 7kg of water on board, dome of these climbs had to be walked.
The time for a campsite to be located soon arose. As usual the roadside vegetation was brown from the dust.
Coming down one hill a small hut was visible from the road, the track leading to it, had a month or so of undisturbed leaf litter lying on it. It was not used.
Once in here I could be seen from the road. However there was one little spot, just big enough to erect the tent under the roof, unseen.
I was sweaty and covered in dust, so a wash with my handle bar towel was the best that could be done to freshen up somewhat.
The eggs were boiled and pasta was eaten for dinner. In the tent at 2000, it had been a big day.
Sleep came readily, it was nice to know a dry tent would greet me on awakening.
5/10/2014 Hut north of Carnot to Rio Estrella
D80, T10, Av12.97, max46, 33,188/7,666
Fine, 33°
The earthern floor under the shelter had a good slope on it, so a great night’s sleep was enjoyed. This sleeping position with a well elevated upper body works well for me.
The ants had found the left over pasta, there were thousands dining in my pot. They had rendered it inedible.
The four boiled eggs were a great change for breakfast.
Whilst eating my porridge, the now recognizable hum, of course!! of a hummingbird could be heard.
The sight that beheld me was unbelievable to say the least. Here was this tiniest of birds just hovering near me. It was so small, three of them could have easily been laid alongside each other in a matchbox, with their beaks protruding from one end .
To see a creature this small out here in this hugeness was a privilege. It was not much bigger than a large bumblebee.
Once back on the road, having experienced seeing the intriguing little bird, set the scene for a ride of immense pleasure.
All my senses were receptive to all around me, it was sheer pleasure riding through the heavily vegetated terrain, on my left were indigenous lands.
Whats more the road had become reliable, the surface, width and gradients were ready for future asphalting, so momentum could be used to ascend oncoming hills for a change .
Again every gully held water, always very dark and always with some dead trees rising from its depths.
They were not water courses, but just low spots, the road did have culverts but these were located at a height where they would only release water during times of heavy rain.
So this build up of water had changed the whole environment nearby, most palms and trees could not cope with the constant inundation. Consequently the beauty and serenity of these water holes was compromised by all this sick vegetation.
The more natural undisturbed water holes were unmistakably tropical, their edges were fringed with dense palm groves and all manner of other tropical vegetation lined the shores with lily pads and other aquatic plants enjoying the tannin stained waters.
Out of nowhere a lanchonette was arrived at, here I spent two hours or more eating and updating my blog. My electrics were also recharged.
Come 1500, back on the road, the hills eased up somewhat, just ambling along feeling very content about life, stopping to swim in every available water hole.
It is a great way to freshen up and clean the dust off myself.
Approaching a small community, the road surface was covered in a deep bull dust, well within 10 metres I was off big time, there ruts buried within the granulated talcum powder. It was enough of a fall to take skin off my knee.
Five other low speed bike dumpings occurred in this 200m section.
Once out of the dry quagmire, there was a river alongside the community, here myself and the bike were given a good wash down.
By now, it was 1700, a second wind was being experienced, the lunch that included lots of meat and pasta had maintained my energy.
I had enough water to keep going and did not take water on for the night.
Stopping about 1800, the lights were set up.
Traffic was light and the road surface was trustworthy, I felt like doing some night riding, the moon was on the make, it was a balmy wind free evening amongst lush surroundings.
It was really a good idea. I was not tired or ready to stop.
The road had been compacted with a sheeps foot roller, this made for the most bone shaking of passages ever, even worse than corrugations. It is impossible to ride these indentations in a rhythm. It is a case of when going downhill, don’t hang on to the bars to tight, else my circulation just disappears.
Uphills, well that is a little more bearable.
A further twenty km was clocked up in the dark, stops were ,made at the water holes to try to spot Jacaré, none were seen.
Small bats on the wing, were chasing insects around me, whilst the early evening chorus of so many different species of frogs built up to a frenzy when nearing each lagoon.
About 1930, a river was crossed, on its banks below the bridge was an area where people washed and moored canoes. A walk down here in the moonlit evening, revealed a good camping spot with access for a laden bike.
Once down here, the hammock was hung, water from the river was filtered and a good swim was taken in the slow moving shimmering waters.
How good was this I thought. The best of campsites located in the dark.
Once again my mind drifts to my plume on the angle bar of the bike, I certainly was being looked after on my last nights camping in Brazil.
Dinner was one of the High Country dehy food packs, that of roast lamb. Mighty tasty I might add!
My camp was within sight of the road, these were indigenous lands, some guys did stop their moto just over the bridge but never came to investigate. Traffic was almost non existent.
It was a safe campsite in an area occupied by people with their own way of life, with little interest in the belongings of someone from another world, so I thought.
With this in mind, sleep came not long after getting comfortable in my hammock.
It had been a day inspired by a little Hummingbird.
5/10/2014 Rio Estrella to Oiapoque, AP, BR
D63, T5, Av14.6, max67, 33,251/7,729
Fine, 33° tailwind last 15km
The early morning scene was one of heavy mist across the silent river. A huge solitary palm was shrouded by the moist air, its shape only loosely defined.
A middle aged, olive skinned man clad only in shorts was walking across the solid timber bridge, he stopped to peer over the side.
As the mist cleared, new timbers could be seen on the bridge, it had recently been repaired, the weather had yet to relieve the wood of its natural colours.
My cup of coffee was drunk as usual with the utmost pleasure.
A short time later, the man came to my camp for a chat, he was of short stature, solidly built with grey hair and a warm face. I spoke about my route and thanked him for the peaceful night by their river. He was from the indigenous community just up the road.
Though power is available, most people use generators supposedly because of the cost to meter and set up an account to receive it.
It took all my energy to get the bike up this little incline back onto the road. Solid footholds had to be scratch in the loose soil to allow for the transfer of my efforts.
All the while, I was aware of my back, which is still not back to normal though totally tolerable.
By the time I was back up on the road, perspiration had me absolutely drenched.
The air was still and the 0830 sun showed no mercy, even at this hour. I rode across to the village, they had no water. I had a load of filtered river water so it was ok. The man had told me the river was safe to drink.
Immediately, a hill out of the catchment greeted me, the sweat was literally pouring off me and I had yet to ride 500m.
Earlier a Secnidazol tablet had been taken, it has been 3 months since the last dose was taken.
These rid the body of parasites unfortunately they tend to kill everything, I always feel a bit off when taking them, they are quite strong, 4 are taken over two days.
Near the top of the climb was another community, here I saw an elevated water tank, I headed in , a man and the cutest of little girls came to greet me. Here I loaded up with proper drinking water.
They were very friendly to me. The little girl had a baby pup in her arms, she had the most beautiful of smiles and shared it often. Her little puppy was held close all the time.
My minds camera took a photo I will never forget, capturing her lovely smile.
For me, as mentioned before I feel it rude and disdainful to take photos of people unless I have got to know them.
Back on the road, my thoughts were how the twenty km ridden last night will ease this trip to Oaipoque, make it less of an effort.
In hindsight, they were bonus kms.
The road was now riddled with indentations from the compactor, rattle, rattle!!
The smallest of snakes was seen crossing the wide road, a stop was made to photograph him and hurry up his passage, there were army trucks using the road, he had no chance.
On my departure, he was nearly into the jungle. It made me feel good.
Around one corner, the compactor was seen outside a hut. This guy must use this thing everytime there is rain, he must have been addicted to driving it, there were no smooth patches for miles. Even the side of the road had been hammered into mini potholes.
Crossing a bridge some girls were seen washing from a plank extended into a creek. Here I stopped for a swim, they shared their soap with me to wash my sweaty hand towel.
It still amazes me how cool the waters are here. Submerging my head always sees me surface with the words it is like liquid gold.
The girls said the asphalt began in 2km.
What a welcome sight.
Though, I will say the best and most interesting riding in South America has been on gravel roads. These roads are less travelled and the people living on them are always friendly.
Asphalt brings people.
The Caraterra Austral in Southern Chile is a famous passage. Much of it is still gravel, these kilometres were the most rewarding and peaceful for callum and I. The Chilean government has allocated funds to asphalt many more kilometres, this road will never be the same.
The remoteness and beauty dissolves with the addition of asphalt I feel.
Once on the black top, the terrain was a series of hills and descents, the best riding for me. Good speeds and a cooling apparent wind down the slopes made for pleasant riding.
The day was incredibly hot, a lavish looking retiro was stopped at to get more water.
A sign was seen, alerting me that French Guiana was 50km away .
A welcome tailwind aided my passage for this last few km.
I really was about to end my journey in this huge country of Brazil.
I have never done it before but I was counting down the kilometres to Oiapoque.
By the time I arrived, it was 1400, hunger was upon me, accompanied by a pressing thirst. The first shop saw me buy to pastries and drink a bottle of orange juice.
The Hotel Colibri was booked. They had wifi, but like everywhere it is slow to the point of being as good off without it.
Dinner, after some searching was taken at a tiny little cart on the side of the road opposite the Rodoviaria, here a young girl who was being taught the trade by her mum was serving the best home cooked pasta and prawns.
A plate of chicken pie was also enjoyed along with 4 glasses of icy passionfruit juice.
All they sold each night was three shallow casserole dishes of the toothsome home cooked food.
Back at the hotel, trying to use the net proved a time waster.
Much of my clothing was washed, and allowed to rapidly dry in the hot wind they get here.
Thoughts on Brazil
My time here in rural Brazil on my bicycle has been witness to a country that in part is going through modernization and in part staying just the same.
Firstly, the drivers of Brazil are courteous, though I will admit, don’t often slow down when passing, but that is ok.
The truck drivers, especially the drivers in the huge soya bean and corn rigs have been without fail the most respecting and helpful people. Tooting from behind if they feel passing could endanger me and tooting otherwise just to saw hi.
They are often driving with their partners in the cab, they are happy, and for the most part are in brand new state of the art European rigs.
The only dodgey users of the road were drivers of local buses, maybe they are not so happy with what they do for a living, I don’t know. The only angry horn blowing and questionable driving attitude came from them.
From the natural awe inspiring spectacle of the Iguazu Falls to the man made monolith at Itaipu. To the vast fields of corn and silos in Mato Grosso do Sul and Mato Grosso, to riding the edge of the Pantanal with Macaws and Toucans beyond counting.
Always present were the shimmering light grey Brahman cattle, in contrast to the rich green lands the grazed, especially in Pará. The source of cheap beef here in Brazil.
On into Pará, an enormous chunk of land, riding my way into the small latitudes stopping at towns with world class beaches on rivers, to Marabá and the beginning of the Trans Amazonica for me.
This road tested my very being, the dust, the climbs, the heat, the humidity and the relentless settlement obliterating pristine jungle in its path.
The rewards both physically and mentally made every metre worth it .
Here on this road, I saw a man, whom, only minutes before my arrival, broke his neck in an accident on his moto.
He was silently lying on his back to the side of the road, no blood, no disfigurement, just peace.
It was also during this passage, I was witness to my father passing back in NZ. Also lying just as peacefully, on passing.
It was here, I felt the rainforest was weeping, still in pain from the onslaught of development, solitary forest giants now exposed to the full sun, unable to move back into the lush world they once knew.
Palms trees, whose fronds will never know stillness or shade again.
It was here, where the most change is taking place, the huge Bela Monte hydro dam at Altamira, on the Xingu to asphalt in a place, once held sacred to age old inhabitants.
From here to the shores of the fabled Amazon River in Santarém, and a riverboat journey east to Almeirim, to then be delighted by the most memorable ride through jungle to Macapá.
The sound of Macaque monkeys howling every night will never be forgotten, they were company at every bush campsite.
I had hoped to chance upon an Onca Pintada (jaguar), maybe in the depth of the night one saw me, this I will never know.
The people on this road shared a small part of their lives with me, experiences, lifestyles and food never to be forgotten.
From Macapá, on into the Northern hemisphere, into northern Amapá, where rivers are a way of life, rivers that freshened me the whole way to Oiapoque here at the French Guiana border .
Bicycle
You don’t see many long-distance cyclists in Brazil. Among the hazards are crazy drivers who only respect vehicles larger than themselves, lots of trucks on the main roads spewing out unfiltered exhaust fumes, roads without shoulder room, long distances and the threat of theft. Given the many real dangers, long-distance cycling in Brazil is not recommended.
If you’re determined to tackle Brazil by bike, go over your bike with a fine-tooth comb before leaving home and fill your repair kit with every imaginable spare part. There are several decent bike shops in Rio for buying equipment and gear as well as renting bikes (which average R $ 50 per day).
Lonely Planet; Lonely Planet Publications. Kindle Edition.
As to this comment made by someone writing for Lonely Planet.
Firstly, they need to clarify where in Brazil these things happen and secondly get themselves up to date.
Uninformed, outdated comments like this are depriving many would be cycle tourers from discovering the joys and friendliness experienced on roads less traveled in this huge, richly diversified country .
Having ridden in the most isolated of places and camped in similar locales, not once did I see crazy drivers, trucks spewing diesel (well maybe a couple!) or armed bandits.
At all times I felt safe in the company of all those encountered.
Roads without shoulders shared with courteous drivers are no problem.
Spare parts are available in most towns, not high tech stuff of course.
The “many real dangers” are no more than any other country. There is probably more chance of misadventure in the Australian outback than in the parts of Brazil that I visited.
To the people on the roads and the towns I visited. Thanks so much for an unreal time in your country. I apologise for not learning more of your language and thanks for listening and putting up with my poor Spanish.
A special thanks goes to the owners of the hotel in Rurópolis who looked after my bike whilst I was in NZ and Rhobson Traveres Lima who helped me plan the route through Mato Gosso and Pará to the Amazon River and off course all those who helped in many other ways .
As said to me on almost every occasion on saying goodbye to someone.
“Vá com deus” Obrigado Brasil!!
7/10/2014 Oiapoque, AP, BR to 25km nth of St Georges, FG
D40, T4, Av14, max65, 33,291/7,769
Fine, 33 still, light shower
Before leaving Oiapoque, all my Reals were spent. My chain was washed in petrol to clean off the dust since Rurópolis, fuel was also bought for the stove and a few Halls mint sweets.
It was 3km to the new bridge, on arrival they were still working on the border facilities and the road was closed. An engineer who could speak English came over for a chat. He had worked in Australia and loved the place.
He told me that I had to take a lancha across the river.
Importantly, he told me it was 5 Euro and I could get one Euro for 3 Reals. I had to ride back into the main downtown part of Oiapoque.
This I had not seen. I needed more Reals, so a visit to the Bradesco bank was made, incidentally this bank never gives me problems at the ATMs though you have to use the credit button not savings even though I use a debit card.
300R was extracted and changed into Euro on the street at 3 to the Euro.
I had lunch here as well. I was in no hurry. Down at the foreshores a group of guys came up to me offering rides in their boats.
They asked me what I wanted to pay, 5 was my answer, they knew I was privy to the price. I told them a friend told me.
It was a 25 minute ride downstream to St Georges. It was tricky getting the loaded bike on the narrow aluminium riverboat.
The new bridge is a huge suspension structure.
Built by the Brasileros, but financed equally between France and BR.
There is little interaction between the two peoples other than just in the river side town of St georges. Brasileros can visit there freely but go no further.
The Guyanais come to Brazil to buy cheap goods.
The engineer told me on their side of the bridge workers get 1000R a month on the other side the workers get 1000 euro a month, a big difference.
At the Federal Police station they stamped me out of Brazil.
Once at the dock in St Georges it was a tricky job unloading the bike, a guy from on shore helped, who really couldn’t about taking care of anything. He was told to take it easy, then promptly asked me for 20 Euro, he did not get the answer he was expecting and walked off.
Later in town he came back to ask again, nice try! This time he had a bit of a chat.
I was entering the country without a visa, so I had a contingency plan should they refuse entry. That of busing to the nearest French consulate in BR, possibly Belém.
Hanging around town for an hour or two gave me an indication of prices here. A tiny bottle of Heineken was €1.5, I bought a can of lemonade for €1. The few restaurants were selling dishes for up to €40, I was so pleased to have had a huge meal in Oiapoque for seven dollars.
There were a few tourists about. The locals were mainly of African descent, though a few European guys older than me were hanging around drinking, they looked like locals with little to do.
People were friendly, it was a quaint kind of town with many little wooden buildings.
There were many river taxis tied up on the foreshore of the river which has a 2nm tide and is 40km from the ocean.
People were coming and going to another BR village across the wide river .
I was hanging around waiting for the Aduanas to open after lunch, I asked some local police when they get back.
The penny dropped. I needed to go to the Feds here also.
Once there, I explained to them that I had no visa but had an Australian passport, I had read where Australians don’t need a visa.
Anyway, they made me wait and a few other staff checked it out, they made a phone call. To my relief they stamped my NZ passport. I was in!!
This was a huge relief. They said “you have been travelling along time”.
I told them I would only be here for 8 days as I was on my way to Guyana.
The officers were very friendly.
It was 1630 by the time I had filled my bladder with camping water. At a minimum of €50 I was not about to stay here in a motel.
These prices would through a doubt on the sustainability of my trip.
The riding was sheer pleasure, a smooth tarred road, very little traffic through forest.
There were no houses, just bush.
At times it reached right across the road to join in the middle.
There were signs to say watch for falling branches.
Riding down one hill, a hornet hit my left knee and in doing so stung me, I nearly came off, trying to dislodge the insect, the sting was unbelievably painful, but luckily very localised.
At 1830 a great camp was found below the road on clean dirt and out of sight.
D27, T1.5, Av18.4, max33, 32,985/7,456
Fine, fresh nor easter, 30°
The pousada was so comfortable, a good sleep in till 0730 was enjoyed, along with the provided breakfast. My website was giving me problems uploading text so a compromise had to be endured with this.
I finally got away about 1200, going down to the river, it was low tide, the mouth is only 4km from the town. All the aging fishing fleet were high and dry on a deep heavy grey mud.
Time was spent talking to a fisherman about the bar crossing and the winds at sea.
He showed me the most common fish caught, Triarao, the fish I ate for lunch today.
I then headed over to the bike shop to say hello and goodbye to the owner, also air was needed in my tyres. So by the time I left town it was after 1330.
The loop out of town on hte new section of road was fast,as a tail wind aided me for 15km.
A mob of water buffalo ware walking along the road being herded by their owner. These animals are now quite common in the low lying paddocks.
As soon as Ruta 156 was entered the nor easter hit me just forward of my right shoulder, it was hard riding. The wind had a lovely cooling effect which made the effort alot less.
Coming to a large river the River Amapá Grande, a restaurant down by the waters edge was stopped at. Here the most beauty fried fish fillets were enjoyed with salad and rice. It was a huge serving.
I really had left my run to Calcoene a bit late I could have made it there around 1800 in hte conditions, though there was no point in over doing it.
I asked the lady if I could camp in the park, her property for the night. It was ok.
It would have been oneof the most idyllic campsites of late. Under trees next to the apparently clean river. Kids were swimming in htewaters and fishermen in cnoeswere plying the easterly flow upstream.
I spent some time just bathing in the warm but refreshing waters. My hammock was strung up and an afternoon siesta was enjoyed.
Later the tent was erected, still needing to sleep in good position as my bck is still letting me know things are not 100% yet.
The river even though 40km from the Atlantic slightly influenced by the tides at the mouth. The water quality ins the same, just the level comes up a few hundred millimetres.
It was a great way to turn an otherwise rushed ride into a totally relazed afternoon. Some minor repairs were done.
Other than that it was as good as camping on a river can get, even the duk insects were not to hungry.
4/10/2014 Rio Amapá Grande to hut north of Carnot
D131, T11, Av18.4, max52, 33,115/7,586
Fine, nor easter, calm inland 30°
I was up before daylight, wanting an early start. Last night the owners dogs were not impressed with my presence. One dog in particular sat 10m from the tent and proceeded to bark at me for over two hours. It was a battle between the two of us. I was not going to stir him up else he would have just continued, my mind was set to contemplate other things in the end, about midnight, he got sick of it. When his barking started petering out into lazy whelps, I knew he was beat and sure enough he retired from his fruitless efforts at scaring me off.
It was a smart move to stop here yesterday afternoon, the early morning saw no wind, the 40 km ride to Calcoene was a quick 2hr hour run in the still conditions on the flat smooth road.
In town, I ate some Coxinhas and had a few drinks, the police station loo was also visited. Internet is nonexistent out here.
From here, the asphalt continued, it is a very new road and smooth, soon the hill country I had been told about began. It was rolling in nature and bounded by forest on both sides. My rear derallieur has been slipping the chain on the mid range gears. On a flat road this is tolerable, but in amongst these hills it is far from that.
A few attempts were made to remedy the situation. After the third adjustment, it was finally back to normal.
I was very pleased about this, as pedalling under load and having it randomly change gear was hard on my back.
At Torrao Agricola, just at the right time a lanchonette popped up around a corner at the top of a climb. Here lunch was enjoyed along with lots of water.
Now that the road is away from the coast the wind has dropped right off and consequently the sweat is pouring from me. There were no decent water holes or rivers for swimming.
At one point a foot track led off the road, some 20m in here was a clearing. Here I was witness to the first step in the slash and burn land settlement process.
Every tree and shrub had been cut off at waist height, it was a couple of acres of vegetation laid to waste, the next step is to burn it and so on.
Many lots have been observed, where this has happened. Sadly, many are now abandoned.
The reality is that the occupants are fighting nature, unless they maintain these sites with hard labour and persistence, nature will always win.
It is a hard life stopping the inevitable weeds and native plants that will establish themselves, even in a short absence from the land.
It seems such sacrilege, that the native vegetation was in hindsight cleared for nothing other than someone’s unrealistic dream.
Soon the asphalt came to an end. The ensuing road was one not to be trusted.
There were random potholes everywhere.
It was actually quite dangerous, my plastic drink bottle on the back went sailing twice.
There was no option to use the momentum to get up the next hill.
The country became reminiscent of parts of the road to Macapá, with water lying in every gully. Often with dead trees and palms in the dark waters that had died due to constantly wet feet. Many of these lagoons were not a pretty sight with all these dead and dying trees and palms present.
Arriving at Carnot about 1530, a chat and water was enjoyed with some guys in a little loja, further up the road was a Mini Box, the name used for small convenience stores.
Here, a character of a woman was out the front on a rocking chair. She was the owner. With a lovely olive complexion, low cut, tight fitting floral dress that suited her and an attractive face, of about 45 years, and a great sense of humour, she was enjoyable company. I pulled up another rocking chair and we chatted for an hour or more, she had icecream tubs so I was in no hurry to move on, three were consumed, she gave me coffee and tapioca cake.
She had newly painted nails with the most intricate design, there was a woman in the small town that provided this service.
It appeared everyone in town knew her, she had that kind of personality, where laughing was very much part of her nature.
She loaded me up with water and we packed four eggs in an egg tray before I left.
Riding now was very clammy in the late afternoon stillness and humidity, the road now became very steep in sections.
With an extra 7kg of water on board, dome of these climbs had to be walked.
The time for a campsite to be located soon arose. As usual the roadside vegetation was brown from the dust.
Coming down one hill a small hut was visible from the road, the track leading to it, had a month or so of undisturbed leaf litter lying on it. It was not used.
Once in here I could be seen from the road. However there was one little spot, just big enough to erect the tent under the roof, unseen.
I was sweaty and covered in dust, so a wash with my handle bar towel was the best that could be done to freshen up somewhat.
The eggs were boiled and pasta was eaten for dinner. In the tent at 2000, it had been a big day.
Sleep came readily, it was nice to know a dry tent would greet me on awakening.
5/10/2014 Hut north of Carnot to Rio Estrella
D80, T10, Av12.97, max46, 33,188/7,666
Fine, 33°
The earthern floor under the shelter had a good slope on it, so a great night’s sleep was enjoyed. This sleeping position with a well elevated upper body works well for me.
The ants had found the left over pasta, there were thousands dining in my pot. They had rendered it inedible.
The four boiled eggs were a great change for breakfast.
Whilst eating my porridge, the now recognizable hum, of course!! of a hummingbird could be heard.
The sight that beheld me was unbelievable to say the least. Here was this tiniest of birds just hovering near me. It was so small, three of them could have easily been laid alongside each other in a matchbox, with their beaks protruding from one end .
To see a creature this small out here in this hugeness was a privilege. It was not much bigger than a large bumblebee.
Once back on the road, having experienced seeing the intriguing little bird, set the scene for a ride of immense pleasure.
All my senses were receptive to all around me, it was sheer pleasure riding through the heavily vegetated terrain, on my left were indigenous lands.
Whats more the road had become reliable, the surface, width and gradients were ready for future asphalting, so momentum could be used to ascend oncoming hills for a change .
Again every gully held water, always very dark and always with some dead trees rising from its depths.
They were not water courses, but just low spots, the road did have culverts but these were located at a height where they would only release water during times of heavy rain.
So this build up of water had changed the whole environment nearby, most palms and trees could not cope with the constant inundation. Consequently the beauty and serenity of these water holes was compromised by all this sick vegetation.
The more natural undisturbed water holes were unmistakably tropical, their edges were fringed with dense palm groves and all manner of other tropical vegetation lined the shores with lily pads and other aquatic plants enjoying the tannin stained waters.
Out of nowhere a lanchonette was arrived at, here I spent two hours or more eating and updating my blog. My electrics were also recharged.
Come 1500, back on the road, the hills eased up somewhat, just ambling along feeling very content about life, stopping to swim in every available water hole.
It is a great way to freshen up and clean the dust off myself.
Approaching a small community, the road surface was covered in a deep bull dust, well within 10 metres I was off big time, there ruts buried within the granulated talcum powder. It was enough of a fall to take skin off my knee.
Five other low speed bike dumpings occurred in this 200m section.
Once out of the dry quagmire, there was a river alongside the community, here myself and the bike were given a good wash down.
By now, it was 1700, a second wind was being experienced, the lunch that included lots of meat and pasta had maintained my energy.
I had enough water to keep going and did not take water on for the night.
Stopping about 1800, the lights were set up.
Traffic was light and the road surface was trustworthy, I felt like doing some night riding, the moon was on the make, it was a balmy wind free evening amongst lush surroundings.
It was really a good idea. I was not tired or ready to stop.
The road had been compacted with a sheeps foot roller, this made for the most bone shaking of passages ever, even worse than corrugations. It is impossible to ride these indentations in a rhythm. It is a case of when going downhill, don’t hang on to the bars to tight, else my circulation just disappears.
Uphills, well that is a little more bearable.
A further twenty km was clocked up in the dark, stops were ,made at the water holes to try to spot Jacaré, none were seen.
Small bats on the wing, were chasing insects around me, whilst the early evening chorus of so many different species of frogs built up to a frenzy when nearing each lagoon.
About 1930, a river was crossed, on its banks below the bridge was an area where people washed and moored canoes. A walk down here in the moonlit evening, revealed a good camping spot with access for a laden bike.
Once down here, the hammock was hung, water from the river was filtered and a good swim was taken in the slow moving shimmering waters.
How good was this I thought. The best of campsites located in the dark.
Once again my mind drifts to my plume on the angle bar of the bike, I certainly was being looked after on my last nights camping in Brazil.
Dinner was one of the High Country dehy food packs, that of roast lamb. Mighty tasty I might add!
My camp was within sight of the road, these were indigenous lands, some guys did stop their moto just over the bridge but never came to investigate. Traffic was almost non existent.
It was a safe campsite in an area occupied by people with their own way of life, with little interest in the belongings of someone from another world, so I thought.
With this in mind, sleep came not long after getting comfortable in my hammock.
It had been a day inspired by a little Hummingbird.
5/10/2014 Rio Estrella to Oiapoque, AP, BR
D63, T5, Av14.6, max67, 33,251/7,729
Fine, 33° tailwind last 15km
The early morning scene was one of heavy mist across the silent river. A huge solitary palm was shrouded by the moist air, its shape only loosely defined.
A middle aged, olive skinned man clad only in shorts was walking across the solid timber bridge, he stopped to peer over the side.
As the mist cleared, new timbers could be seen on the bridge, it had recently been repaired, the weather had yet to relieve the wood of its natural colours.
My cup of coffee was drunk as usual with the utmost pleasure.
A short time later, the man came to my camp for a chat, he was of short stature, solidly built with grey hair and a warm face. I spoke about my route and thanked him for the peaceful night by their river. He was from the indigenous community just up the road.
Though power is available, most people use generators supposedly because of the cost to meter and set up an account to receive it.
It took all my energy to get the bike up this little incline back onto the road. Solid footholds had to be scratch in the loose soil to allow for the transfer of my efforts.
All the while, I was aware of my back, which is still not back to normal though totally tolerable.
By the time I was back up on the road, perspiration had me absolutely drenched.
The air was still and the 0830 sun showed no mercy, even at this hour. I rode across to the village, they had no water. I had a load of filtered river water so it was ok. The man had told me the river was safe to drink.
Immediately, a hill out of the catchment greeted me, the sweat was literally pouring off me and I had yet to ride 500m.
Earlier a Secnidazol tablet had been taken, it has been 3 months since the last dose was taken.
These rid the body of parasites unfortunately they tend to kill everything, I always feel a bit off when taking them, they are quite strong, 4 are taken over two days.
Near the top of the climb was another community, here I saw an elevated water tank, I headed in , a man and the cutest of little girls came to greet me. Here I loaded up with proper drinking water.
They were very friendly to me. The little girl had a baby pup in her arms, she had the most beautiful of smiles and shared it often. Her little puppy was held close all the time.
My minds camera took a photo I will never forget, capturing her lovely smile.
For me, as mentioned before I feel it rude and disdainful to take photos of people unless I have got to know them.
Back on the road, my thoughts were how the twenty km ridden last night will ease this trip to Oaipoque, make it less of an effort.
In hindsight, they were bonus kms.
The road was now riddled with indentations from the compactor, rattle, rattle!!
The smallest of snakes was seen crossing the wide road, a stop was made to photograph him and hurry up his passage, there were army trucks using the road, he had no chance.
On my departure, he was nearly into the jungle. It made me feel good.
Around one corner, the compactor was seen outside a hut. This guy must use this thing everytime there is rain, he must have been addicted to driving it, there were no smooth patches for miles. Even the side of the road had been hammered into mini potholes.
Crossing a bridge some girls were seen washing from a plank extended into a creek. Here I stopped for a swim, they shared their soap with me to wash my sweaty hand towel.
It still amazes me how cool the waters are here. Submerging my head always sees me surface with the words it is like liquid gold.
The girls said the asphalt began in 2km.
What a welcome sight.
Though, I will say the best and most interesting riding in South America has been on gravel roads. These roads are less travelled and the people living on them are always friendly.
Asphalt brings people.
The Caraterra Austral in Southern Chile is a famous passage. Much of it is still gravel, these kilometres were the most rewarding and peaceful for callum and I. The Chilean government has allocated funds to asphalt many more kilometres, this road will never be the same.
The remoteness and beauty dissolves with the addition of asphalt I feel.
Once on the black top, the terrain was a series of hills and descents, the best riding for me. Good speeds and a cooling apparent wind down the slopes made for pleasant riding.
The day was incredibly hot, a lavish looking retiro was stopped at to get more water.
A sign was seen, alerting me that French Guiana was 50km away .
A welcome tailwind aided my passage for this last few km.
I really was about to end my journey in this huge country of Brazil.
I have never done it before but I was counting down the kilometres to Oiapoque.
By the time I arrived, it was 1400, hunger was upon me, accompanied by a pressing thirst. The first shop saw me buy to pastries and drink a bottle of orange juice.
The Hotel Colibri was booked. They had wifi, but like everywhere it is slow to the point of being as good off without it.
Dinner, after some searching was taken at a tiny little cart on the side of the road opposite the Rodoviaria, here a young girl who was being taught the trade by her mum was serving the best home cooked pasta and prawns.
A plate of chicken pie was also enjoyed along with 4 glasses of icy passionfruit juice.
All they sold each night was three shallow casserole dishes of the toothsome home cooked food.
Back at the hotel, trying to use the net proved a time waster.
Much of my clothing was washed, and allowed to rapidly dry in the hot wind they get here.
Thoughts on Brazil
My time here in rural Brazil on my bicycle has been witness to a country that in part is going through modernization and in part staying just the same.
Firstly, the drivers of Brazil are courteous, though I will admit, don’t often slow down when passing, but that is ok.
The truck drivers, especially the drivers in the huge soya bean and corn rigs have been without fail the most respecting and helpful people. Tooting from behind if they feel passing could endanger me and tooting otherwise just to saw hi.
They are often driving with their partners in the cab, they are happy, and for the most part are in brand new state of the art European rigs.
The only dodgey users of the road were drivers of local buses, maybe they are not so happy with what they do for a living, I don’t know. The only angry horn blowing and questionable driving attitude came from them.
From the natural awe inspiring spectacle of the Iguazu Falls to the man made monolith at Itaipu. To the vast fields of corn and silos in Mato Grosso do Sul and Mato Grosso, to riding the edge of the Pantanal with Macaws and Toucans beyond counting.
Always present were the shimmering light grey Brahman cattle, in contrast to the rich green lands the grazed, especially in Pará. The source of cheap beef here in Brazil.
On into Pará, an enormous chunk of land, riding my way into the small latitudes stopping at towns with world class beaches on rivers, to Marabá and the beginning of the Trans Amazonica for me.
This road tested my very being, the dust, the climbs, the heat, the humidity and the relentless settlement obliterating pristine jungle in its path.
The rewards both physically and mentally made every metre worth it .
Here on this road, I saw a man, whom, only minutes before my arrival, broke his neck in an accident on his moto.
He was silently lying on his back to the side of the road, no blood, no disfigurement, just peace.
It was also during this passage, I was witness to my father passing back in NZ. Also lying just as peacefully, on passing.
It was here, I felt the rainforest was weeping, still in pain from the onslaught of development, solitary forest giants now exposed to the full sun, unable to move back into the lush world they once knew.
Palms trees, whose fronds will never know stillness or shade again.
It was here, where the most change is taking place, the huge Bela Monte hydro dam at Altamira, on the Xingu to asphalt in a place, once held sacred to age old inhabitants.
From here to the shores of the fabled Amazon River in Santarém, and a riverboat journey east to Almeirim, to then be delighted by the most memorable ride through jungle to Macapá.
The sound of Macaque monkeys howling every night will never be forgotten, they were company at every bush campsite.
I had hoped to chance upon an Onca Pintada (jaguar), maybe in the depth of the night one saw me, this I will never know.
The people on this road shared a small part of their lives with me, experiences, lifestyles and food never to be forgotten.
From Macapá, on into the Northern hemisphere, into northern Amapá, where rivers are a way of life, rivers that freshened me the whole way to Oiapoque here at the French Guiana border .
Bicycle
You don’t see many long-distance cyclists in Brazil. Among the hazards are crazy drivers who only respect vehicles larger than themselves, lots of trucks on the main roads spewing out unfiltered exhaust fumes, roads without shoulder room, long distances and the threat of theft. Given the many real dangers, long-distance cycling in Brazil is not recommended.
If you’re determined to tackle Brazil by bike, go over your bike with a fine-tooth comb before leaving home and fill your repair kit with every imaginable spare part. There are several decent bike shops in Rio for buying equipment and gear as well as renting bikes (which average R $ 50 per day).
Lonely Planet; Lonely Planet Publications. Kindle Edition.
As to this comment made by someone writing for Lonely Planet.
Firstly, they need to clarify where in Brazil these things happen and secondly get themselves up to date.
Uninformed, outdated comments like this are depriving many would be cycle tourers from discovering the joys and friendliness experienced on roads less traveled in this huge, richly diversified country .
Having ridden in the most isolated of places and camped in similar locales, not once did I see crazy drivers, trucks spewing diesel (well maybe a couple!) or armed bandits.
At all times I felt safe in the company of all those encountered.
Roads without shoulders shared with courteous drivers are no problem.
Spare parts are available in most towns, not high tech stuff of course.
The “many real dangers” are no more than any other country. There is probably more chance of misadventure in the Australian outback than in the parts of Brazil that I visited.
To the people on the roads and the towns I visited. Thanks so much for an unreal time in your country. I apologise for not learning more of your language and thanks for listening and putting up with my poor Spanish.
A special thanks goes to the owners of the hotel in Rurópolis who looked after my bike whilst I was in NZ and Rhobson Traveres Lima who helped me plan the route through Mato Gosso and Pará to the Amazon River and off course all those who helped in many other ways .
As said to me on almost every occasion on saying goodbye to someone.
“Vá com deus” Obrigado Brasil!!
7/10/2014 Oiapoque, AP, BR to 25km nth of St Georges, FG
D40, T4, Av14, max65, 33,291/7,769
Fine, 33 still, light shower
Before leaving Oiapoque, all my Reals were spent. My chain was washed in petrol to clean off the dust since Rurópolis, fuel was also bought for the stove and a few Halls mint sweets.
It was 3km to the new bridge, on arrival they were still working on the border facilities and the road was closed. An engineer who could speak English came over for a chat. He had worked in Australia and loved the place.
He told me that I had to take a lancha across the river.
Importantly, he told me it was 5 Euro and I could get one Euro for 3 Reals. I had to ride back into the main downtown part of Oiapoque.
This I had not seen. I needed more Reals, so a visit to the Bradesco bank was made, incidentally this bank never gives me problems at the ATMs though you have to use the credit button not savings even though I use a debit card.
300R was extracted and changed into Euro on the street at 3 to the Euro.
I had lunch here as well. I was in no hurry. Down at the foreshores a group of guys came up to me offering rides in their boats.
They asked me what I wanted to pay, 5 was my answer, they knew I was privy to the price. I told them a friend told me.
It was a 25 minute ride downstream to St Georges. It was tricky getting the loaded bike on the narrow aluminium riverboat.
The new bridge is a huge suspension structure.
Built by the Brasileros, but financed equally between France and BR.
There is little interaction between the two peoples other than just in the river side town of St georges. Brasileros can visit there freely but go no further.
The Guyanais come to Brazil to buy cheap goods.
The engineer told me on their side of the bridge workers get 1000R a month on the other side the workers get 1000 euro a month, a big difference.
At the Federal Police station they stamped me out of Brazil.
Once at the dock in St Georges it was a tricky job unloading the bike, a guy from on shore helped, who really couldn’t about taking care of anything. He was told to take it easy, then promptly asked me for 20 Euro, he did not get the answer he was expecting and walked off.
Later in town he came back to ask again, nice try! This time he had a bit of a chat.
I was entering the country without a visa, so I had a contingency plan should they refuse entry. That of busing to the nearest French consulate in BR, possibly Belém.
Hanging around town for an hour or two gave me an indication of prices here. A tiny bottle of Heineken was €1.5, I bought a can of lemonade for €1. The few restaurants were selling dishes for up to €40, I was so pleased to have had a huge meal in Oiapoque for seven dollars.
There were a few tourists about. The locals were mainly of African descent, though a few European guys older than me were hanging around drinking, they looked like locals with little to do.
People were friendly, it was a quaint kind of town with many little wooden buildings.
There were many river taxis tied up on the foreshore of the river which has a 2nm tide and is 40km from the ocean.
People were coming and going to another BR village across the wide river .
I was hanging around waiting for the Aduanas to open after lunch, I asked some local police when they get back.
The penny dropped. I needed to go to the Feds here also.
Once there, I explained to them that I had no visa but had an Australian passport, I had read where Australians don’t need a visa.
Anyway, they made me wait and a few other staff checked it out, they made a phone call. To my relief they stamped my NZ passport. I was in!!
This was a huge relief. They said “you have been travelling along time”.
I told them I would only be here for 8 days as I was on my way to Guyana.
The officers were very friendly.
It was 1630 by the time I had filled my bladder with camping water. At a minimum of €50 I was not about to stay here in a motel.
These prices would through a doubt on the sustainability of my trip.
The riding was sheer pleasure, a smooth tarred road, very little traffic through forest.
There were no houses, just bush.
At times it reached right across the road to join in the middle.
There were signs to say watch for falling branches.
Riding down one hill, a hornet hit my left knee and in doing so stung me, I nearly came off, trying to dislodge the insect, the sting was unbelievably painful, but luckily very localised.
At 1830 a great camp was found below the road on clean dirt and out of sight.
Carne de Tracaya for lunch, a land tortoise, in community Brau
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