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Monday, August 25
Location: SantarΘm, Parß, Brazil
Today's weather: 28░C.
Today was my first day in SantarΘm. I woke up at about 5:30am, still onboard the
riverboat which had arrived at the dock several hours before. I carefully stowed my things
back into my backpack, then struggled with the knots in the ties that were holding up the
ends of my hammock. Eventually they came loose – allowing me to take the hammock down
then spread it out on the deck so that I could roll it back up and hitch it into the
straps on the back of my backpack. Most of the other passengers had already left, so this
made my task a whole lot easier since I wasn't constricted by space or constantly bumping
into other passengers. Finally, I hauled up my heavy backpack and eased the straps over my
shoulders. My knees almost buckling under the weight. I staggered to the front of the boat
and up the small gangplank onto the docks. I blinked in the strong sunlight beaming down
on me as soon as I got off the boat. I walked from the docks to the gates, where I was let
out by a smiling security guard.
Politely refusing the offers of taxi drivers, I walked across to the bus stop and
settled in a comfortable position sitting on the curb beside the dusty road. This was my
second time in SantarΘm, and I knew that there would soon be a bus to take me to take me
into the centre of SantarΘm where I would be able to find a hotel, have a shower, change
of clothes, and shake off the effects of river travel. Although still only 6 o'clock in
the morning, it was already hot. Sitting next to me was a dock workers, aged about 50 with
olive skin that had gone dark and leathery from years of working in the hot sun. He was
also waiting for the bus, probably keen to get home after having worked a night shift.
Fortunately he was in a happy mood, and was a little curious about me – a lone
foreign stranger dwarfed by an enormous backpack.
"Sou de Nova ZelΓndia." I began – trying to explain my
travels in the Amazon and links back to schools in New Zealand.
We soon attracted the attention of a stranger who hopped out the passenger side of a VW
combi van that was passing by on the road opposite us. He was thin, with thick curly black
hair, and an olive complexion. He was unshaven with the looks of a gypsy or lost circus
performer. He was dressed in a dark shirt, colourful loose-fitting cotton trousers with
ties around the waist and ankles, and old leather sandals. What drew my attention most of
all were the remains of a cheap plastic watch tied with colourful cloth around his ankle.
I instinctively took a tighter hold of my bags as the stranger approached closer. He
wasn't threatening, but he looked so strange. I honestly didn't know what to expect. I
exchanged glances with the dock worker, who just raised his eye-brows and grinned.
Eventually the stranger stood in front of us and knelt down.
"Bom dia!" (good morning), greeted the stranger.
"Bom dia." I replied. "Estß um dia bonita" (Its a
beautiful morning).
The stranger started talking, but it was nothing I could understand.
Strangely enough, the dockworker sitting next to me didn't seem to understand either.
"Desculpe. Sou de Nova ZelΓndia. Eu nπo falo PortuguΩs bem."
(Sorry. I'm from New Zealand. I don't speak Portuguese well).
"Nova ZelΓndia!" exclaimed the stranger. "Italia!" he
said, pointing towards himself and smiling.
Now I realised why I didn't understand – he'd started speaking Italian!
Luckily, Portuguese and Italian are both based on Latin and are similar, so we were able
to manage some communication heavily emphasised by gestures. The conversation was slow and
difficult – but the stranger explained that he'd come to SantarΘm on a riverboat
from BelΘm, where he'd suffered a broken heart as
a result of breaking up with his girlfriend. He'd been in SantarΘm for several days and
was making his way to through South America. The next place that he'd be travelling to
would be Manaus.
"Gosto Manaus." (I like Manaus), I said – saying that this was
where I'd just come from and trying to explain that it was an interesting place which I
enjoyed. We chatted a while longer until the bus arrived.
I climbed the steps at the back of the bus, waving goodbye to the stranger, then
squeezing through the turnstile with my backpack. I grabbed a seat near the front of the
bus – taking my backpack off as I sat down. The driver gunned the motor, and the bus
took off with a sudden lurch. Moments later, we turned into the unpaved backstreets of the
town where we bounced over rough bumps and splashed through muddy puddles. The driver then
slowed down, and we crawled along at a snail's pace while he fiddled with a radio mounted
on the dashboard, glancing up every thirty seconds to check that we weren't about to hit
anything. The scene outside the bus windows was mostly a series of run-down old shacks,
mixed in with a few newer houses. The new houses had paved areas out front, separated from
the road by wrought-iron fences. Along the sides of the road were people walking or riding
on bicycles.
The bus made several stops where passengers got on or off. The driver yelled and waved
to people through the side window. They yelled and waved back – with everyone seeming
to know him. The bus then stopped, while a second bus pulled up alongside. The two drivers
yelled out to each other, with our own bus driver saying things in a very dramatic voice.
I couldn't understand the conversation since it was all in Portuguese – but, moments
later, we were all being herded out the doorway and onto the second bus. The second bus
took us the rest of the way into town, while the first bus remained behind in the middle
of the street.
As the bus got into the middle of SantarΘm, I anxiously watched out the window looking
for familiar landmarks. Having accidentally left my guidebook behind in a taxi in Manaus,
I was now on my own without maps or a list of places to stay. Finally I saw a place that
looked about right. I got off the bus and trekked off in the direction in which I
remembered the waterfront. All around me, the markets were beginning to open – shop
assistants were raising rollerdoors, hosing the narrow sidewalk, and arranging displays.
Before long, I was standing in front of the Hotel
Alvorada where I had stayed on my first visit to SantarΘm. The hotel is in a run-down
old building close to the waterfront. There's a camera shop below, while the hotel is
upstairs and accessed via a doorway off the street which leads up an old wooden staircase.
The hotel isn't fancy, but its about as clean as you can expect for a cheap hotel on the
Amazon, and oozes character. The people who run the hotel are nice, and the guests are
generally pretty friendly (and certainly interesting). Being close to the waterfront,
there are plenty of interesting happenings nearby.
Marco? Reception. Room.
First day in SantarΘm. Wandered about the town.
Arrival at hotel. Small room, with a musty smell, R$10 per night.
Visit to the tourist office for information about the town and region. Photocopied
notes. Offered help at the museum. The people were very friendly.
White-faced monkey sitting in a tree in someone's backyard
Lunch at Gaby's churrascuro.
First night sleeping. Difficult to sleep in the heat. Cowboy next door loudly playing
Brazilian country & western music.
   
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