Riverboat Getting a rideLife OnboardPeople |
Riverboat Journeys
Getting a rideGetting a ride on a riverboat is easy – particularly on the lower half of the Amazon, below Manaus. There are hundreds of boats travelling back and forth, delivering passengers and supplies to towns and ports along the river. In Manaus, there is a ticket office at the docks where you can buy a ticket on any of the regularly scheduled trips along the river – and there are boats leaving every day. Riverboat tickets are quite cheap, and include the cost of meals for the several days that each trip takes. For example, a ticket from Manaus to SantarΘm (a journey of 800km, taking two days) costs R$ 35 ($NZ 50). The three day journey from SantarΘm to BelΘm costs R$ 52 ($NZ 75).
Unfortunately, having a ticket won't guarantee you a place on the boat (though you should get a refund if it doesn't). Instead of selling an allocated number of tickets, riverboat offices sell as many tickets as there are people who want one, then do their best to fit everyone onboard.. This means that boats are usually very crowded. For example, one boat that I travelled on was rated for 400 people (in New Zealand, it would only have carried 150), but it sailed out of SantarΘm with over 500 people on the three day journey to BelΘm. On the third day, the kitchen (and overworked cook) ran out of food – so that day's breakfast consisted of leftover cracker biscuits. Overcrowding also leads to dangerous accidents – in 1987, a riverboat called the Cisne Branco overturned when all the passengers moved to one side of the boat to view the approaching port of Manaus. Everyone onboard was drowned. However, the ship was resurrected, and today it still sails between SantarΘm and Manaus. Fortunately, there are now better laws (and occasional enforcement) ensuring that riverboats carry lifejackets (although whether there are enough lifejackets, and if they all work, is a subject which is still open for debate). Life OnboardLife onboard an Amazon riverboat is pretty much like I'd imagined life in a United Nations refugee camp would be. Each person onboard is forced to share their life with several hundred other people together in a very small space – but because everyone is in the same situation, things are kept orderly and everyone is friendly and helpful towards the other passengers and crew. I learnt this lesson firsthand in January – I stagger onboard a riverboat, feeling sick with the flu and sunstroke, and very tired. The riverboat is extremely overcrowded and there's no space left to hang my hammock. Seeing my poor condition, one family nearby clears a space among the luggage that they have piled up on deck so that there is a place for me to lie down and rest. It's uncomfortable, but because I'm so tired, I readily fall fast asleep. I wake up several hours later to discover that the hammocks have been rearranged and that my hammock is now hung up for me. "Muito obrigado" (Thank you), I gratefully mutter as I'm helped into it.
The next day starts about 5am (though it seems later) and I wander off again to the loo before the big long queues of people start, or try to find a quiet and uncrowded place to read my book. The cook is slowly preparing things in the tiny kitchen located on the bottom deck at the back of the boat. Breakfast starts being served an hour later. The food is simple, just a few bread rolls with some butter, strong and heavily-sugared coffee poured from a thermos, and a glass of water. There is only one dining table so breakfast, like all other meals, is served in shifts – one group of about 10 people sits down and are given plates, with food being passed down the table and dished up (self-service). Each sitting takes five minutes (maybe less), so that the table can be wiped down and cleared ready for the next sitting. The routine for lunch and dinner is exactly the same, except that the food consists of rice, and a bowl containing mixed meat/fish and vegetables – which the locals heavily douse with "farinha" (it looks like coarse breadcrumbs, and tastes like sawdust!). The toilets and showers aren't as bad as I imagined – but the queues in the morning and after meals are horrendous. Most boats have an attendant who cleans the toilets several times a day, and ensures that there's a supply of items such toilet paper (though it can never really be guaranteed). Waste from the toilets goes directly into the river. Shower water is cold and comes directly from the river (hopefully not too close to the discharge), and although I'm not sure how clean it is, it definitely feels better to have made the effort so that my personal hygiene won't cause offence to everyone around me.
People
Most of the people that I meet on riverboats are Brazilian, and come from a wide range of backgrounds. Some are poor farmers or goldminers who live in shacks, whereas others are middle-class business people who work for large Brazilian or multinational companies and live in houses or apartments. There are even a few tourists (though not many) from other countries travelling on their own adventurous Amazon journey. I find that local kids are the most fun to talk with. Even though my Portuguese isn't very good, I can tease them, and they tease me back. They ask lots of questions about where I come from, where I work, and what I'm doing in Brazil. Very few of them have ever heard of New Zealand – and when they hear my description they all think that it sounds very far off and exotic. One of the kids is studying English and is keen to try out what he's learned – slowly reciting every English word that he can remember and expecting me to acknowledge it. Luckily (for me) he only knows 32 words. Whew! Later he unexpectedly rewards me by showing me his pets – two green parrots which he has in a box and is taking home with him to BelΘm. The kids are also curious about my camera – especially when I show them that the zoom lens can be used like a telescope to view things far away. A small crowd of kids gathers around me, all anxious to see how the people and houses along the riverbank look when viewed through the camera viewfinder (and I end up with several strange photos as a result).
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Riverboats
are the most common way of travelling along the Amazon
and other major rivers in Amaz⌠nia. They are the most
practical (and cheapest) way to travel because there
aren't many roads in Amaz⌠nia, and few people can afford
to fly. Towns have been built close to rivers, similar to
the way that towns in New Zealand and the United States
sprung up close to major roads and railways. It ensures
reliable and convenient access to transport routes for
supplies and people.
After
buying your ticket, you will need to wander further down
the docks, locate the riverboat that you are travelling
on, and then carefully cross the gang-plank to board the
boat. If you're lucky, there will be someone there to
show you where to hang your hammock (otherwise, it's
"first in, first served"). This is your
accommodation for the next few days. Small cabins are
also sometimes available, but they tend to be stuffy and
very cramped – so most people think that sleeping
out on deck is the most comfortable (and cheapest)
option. In the middle of the deck, below all the
hammocks, is a communal pile of boxes, suitcases, and
backpacks where everyone's luggage is stored.
The
days are spent chatting, or quietly reading through a big
thick novel. There isn't much to see because the boat is
sailing in the middle of the river (which is very wide)
so that the riverbanks remain just a smudge on the
horizon. On the top deck, at the back of the boat, there
is a small shop selling sweets, softdrinks, and cold beer
– and for a couple of dollars they make me a toasted
cheese sandwich (called a misto). The toasted
sandwiches offer a welcome alternative to the daily
regime of mixed rice and fish. Next to the shop are some
tables and chairs where people relax to chat, or play
dominoes. The music blaring through the cheap overdriven
speakers is an old warped tape of Brian Adams, Bonnie
Tyler, or an obscure local singer trying hard to imitate
the American superstars (and I realise that bad music
sounds so much better when I can't understand the
lyrics).
My
sleeping quarters is a hammock tightly jammed between two
others, sometimes with other hammocks suspended above
and/or below. When the boat rolls on the river swells at
night, the hammocks all swing together in one motion,
like a tightly-packed bunch of bananas. Occasionally I
wake up to discover that a foot (from a neighbouring
hammock) is suspended just a few centimetres in front of
my face (Ugh!) and I give the person a gentle nudge in
the hope that it'll make them move. And even though I'd
mastered the art of getting into and out of hammocks
elsewhere, getting into and out of my hammock with so
many people jam-packed around me becomes a major feat of
gymnastics! Getting up to go to the loo in the middle of
the night means knocking against several people then
quietly muttering "Desculpe" (Sorry) to the
everyone that I've disturbed or stepped on accidentally.
Every now and then, the boat
stops at a small riverport to drop off or pick up
passengers. This is the day's excitement – for the
townspeople and for the bored riverboat passengers.
There's a commotion at every port as kids jump aboard
carrying fruit, cheese, ice blocks, or other local
produce to sell to the passengers and crew. Kids also
gather on the dock, alongside the boat, trying to attract
passengers with their produce.
The
best thing about riverboat journeys, is meeting lots of
interesting people. Few people speak English, so its
necessary for me to try speaking Portuguese. With a
limited knowledge I can get by and communicate the
essential points – finding out which are the best
places to visit or learning a little about local stories
and legends. On one boat I meet some children from the
town of Paratins who tell me that the church in their
town is built on the back of a giant snake which lies
under the ground. Every now and again, the snake moves
– causing the church to rumble and shake.
