gringos across the amazon - first chapter by gareth morgan

7/28/2019 Gringos Across the Amazon - First Chapter by Gareth Morgan

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GRINGOS ACROSS

AmAzon

the

Jo and Gareth

MorGan

IncludesBus dVd


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Jo and Gareth MorGan

with John McCrystal

Public Interest Publishing

GRINGOS ACROSS

aMazon

the


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Designed by ypeace.Printed in Auckland, New Zealand by McCollams Print.First published in 2011 by Te Public Interest Publishing Company Ltd (PiP).

Enquiries to Phantom House Books:Fax: +64 4 384 5451Email: [email protected]

Web: www.phantomhouse.com

Copyright 2011 by Jo and Gareth Morgan.All rights reserved; no part o the contents o this book may bereproduced in any orm without the permission o the publisher.

ISBN 978-0-9864574-5-6


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ROUTE MAP 4

Introduction 8

Chapter 1

Brazil: Nuts 17

Chapter 2

O 31

Chapter 3

On a Tangent 52

Chapter 4

Sure I Am in Suriname 74

Chapter 5

Clear As Mud 90

Chapter 6

Ay Colombia 111

Chapter 7

Ecuador: Bananas 128

Chapter 8

Canal Retentives 149

Chapter 9

You Are in Guatemala Now 166

Chapter 10

Mexican Stando 183

Acknowledgements 204

Author Profles 205

By the same Authors 206

CONTENTS
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LEG 1/2 (key )Day Night Location Country Kms

1 Mambai Brazil2 Luis Eduardo Brazil 250

3 Barreiras Brazil 474

4 Lenis Brazil 451

5 Lenis Brazil

6 Salvador Brazil 428

7 Salvador Brazil

8 Barra de Sao Miguel Brazil 577

9 Olinda Brazil 243

10 Natal Brazil 284

11 Aracati Brazil 350

12 Sobral Brazil 412

13 Barreirinhas Brazil 463

14 Barreirinhas Brazil

15 So Lus Brazil 26016 Santa Ins Brazil 422

17 Belm Brazil 422

18 Manaus Brazil

19 Mamiraua Res Brazil




23 Manaus Brazil

24 Manaus Brazil

25 Boating across Amazon delta Brazil

26 Belm Brazil

27 At sea Brazil

28 Macap Brazil

29 Caloene Brazil 378

30 Oiapoque Brazil 213

31 Cayenne Fr Guiana 166

32 Kourou Fr Guiana 64

33 Kourou Fr Guiana

34 St Laurent du Maroni Fr Guiana 204

35 Paramaribo Suriname 144

36 Nieuw Nickerie Suriname 260

37 Georgetown Guyana 313

38 Linden Guyana

39 Kurukukari Guyana 270

40 Lethem Guyana 270

41 Boa Vista Brazil 125

42 Santa Elena de Uairen Venezuela 238

43 El Dorado Venezuela 331

44 Ciudad Bolvar Venezuela 36845 Valle de la Pascua Venezuela 352

46 Tinaco Venezuela 298

47 Barquisimeto Venezuela 177

48 Mrida Venezuela 401

49 Mrida Venezuela

50 Pamplona Colombia 321

51 Barbosa Colombia 320

52 Bogot Colombia 211

53 Bogot Colombia

54 Bogot Colombia

55 Bogot Colombia

56 Bogot-Wn

LEG 2/2 (key )Day Night Location Country Kms

1 Houston USA

2 Houston USA

3 Quito Ecuador

4 Quito Ecuador

5 Quito Ecuador

6 Galpagos Ecuador

7 Galpagos Ecuador

8 Galpagos Ecuador

ROUTE MAP

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Day Night Location Country Kms

9 Galpagos Ecuador10 Galpagos Ecuador

11 Galpagos Ecuador

12 Galpagos Ecuador

13 Quito Ecuador

14 Melgar Colombia 109

15 Armenia Colombia 150

16 Popayn Colombia 300

17 Pasto Colombia 256

18 Tulcn Ecuador 92

19 Otavalo Ecuador 140

20 Quito Ecuador 84

21 Quito Ecuador

22 Quito Ecuador

23 Panama City Panama24 Panama City Panama

25 Panama City Panama



28 Santa Clara Panama 150

29 Boquete Panama 360

30 Almirante Panama 270

31 Puerto Limn Costa Rica 160

32 Arenal Observatory Costa Rica 270

33 Liberia Costa Rica 160

34 Moyogalpa Nicaragua 150

35 Moyogalpa Nicaragua 0

36 Len Nicaragua 260

37 Len Nicaragua 0

38 Managua Nicaragua 0

39 Valle de Angeles Honduras 350

40 Solo Piso Honduras 300

41 Neuva Ocotepeque Honduras 250

42 Suchitoto El Salvador 83

43 Antigua Guatemala 300

44 Antigua Guatemala 0

45 Rio Dulce Guatemala 330

46 Tikal Guatemala 250

47 Belize City Belize 200

48 Belize City Belize 0

49 Corozal Belize 100

50 Piste Mexico 340

51 Mrida Mexico 150

52 Campeche Mexico 18053 Palenque Mexico 350

54 San Cristbal de la Casa Mexico 220

55 Juchitn Mexico 330

56 Oaxaca Mexico 270

57 Puerto Escondido Mexico 250

58 Cuajinicuilapa Mexico 200

59 Acapulco Mexico 250

60 Zihuatanejo Mexico 220

61 Manzanillo Mexico 450

62 Puerta Vallarta Mexico 280

63 Tepic Mexico 175

64 At sea Mexico 260

65 La Paz Mexico 0

66 La Paz Mexico 067 Loreto Mexico 360

68 Loreto Mexico 0

69 Santa Rosalia Mexico 200

70 Guerrero Negro Mexico

71 San Quintin Mexico 420

72 Tijuana Mexico 310

73 San Diego USA 150

74 Perris USA 200

75 LA-Wn USA 50

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INTROdUCTION

Jo will tell you she knew what was on Gareths mind even beorewe stopped. Wed just ridden eortlessly across the borderbetween Paraguay and Brazil or the ourth time in the last week

or so. Troughout the planning stages o that trip and the next one,

wed assumed getting into and out o Brazil with motorbikes would

be too hard to bother contemplating, a morass o bureaucracy and

extortionate customs and immigration charges.And yet there we were, in Brazil. In Brazil on our bikes. What the?

I know what were going to do, Gareth said as soon as we stopped,

his ace alight with revelation.

Were going to leave the bikes in Brazil, said Jo.

Were going to leave the bloody bikes in Brazil! Gareth enthused.

We can do the second hal o the trip rom here.

All that pre-trip email bluster rom Brazilian ocials on how

their country wouldnt allow this, wouldnt allow that, how wed

never get approvals or our bikes to enter or leave. What a load o

baloney out here on the ront line theres not an ocial in sight,

you just ride in not even an immigration stamp. Te slackest border

weve ever seen.

Tat epiphany came only a ew months beore, at the end o our

epic Up the Andes ride, our traverse o the western edge o South

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America, rom Lima in Peru down to Ushuaia in the uttermost south,

and the long ride up through Argentina, Uruguay, Paraguay andinto Brazil. Te plan had been to nish the ride back on the western

side o the Andes, and to resume the journey around the continent

rom Colombia.

But the ease with which we slipped into Brazil changed everything.

In the end, we nished at a arm in which we have a stake, up

near the village o Mamba in West Bahia, a 400 km or so north o

Brasilia. We put the bikes into storage there while we went back toacquaint ourselves with our grandson Oscar, the latest addition to our

amily, and to cast an eye over our real lives back in New Zealand.

We were, however, prisoners o our own rhetoric. I wed called our

grand motorcycling project Bits o the World by Bike, or Selected

Foreign Destinations Motorcycled, or something like that, wed have

had some wiggle room. But World by Bike it is, and has remained

since we rst dreamed the concept up on the home straight to thenishing line on our Silk Road adventure in 2005. It had long nagged

at us that wed only done a tiny bit o South America in our trip to the

Bolivian highlands in 2002; we knew that i we called it quits ater

Up the Andes let the continent hal-biked wed be haunted by

the same sense o unnished business.

When we were planning Up the Andes, we looked at the bits o

South America that awaited our tyre tracks, and decided that the

geography suggested two trips, a sot ride and a hard one. Up the

Andes, or all its hardships and gnarly moments the rugged roads,

the altitude, the climatic variations was the sot ride. We had ew

illusions about how hard the second trip would be.

One o the rst things you do when putting together an expedition

like this is gather as much intelligence as you can about the routeyoure planning to take. We read guidebooks, consulted blogs, talked

to people who had been there, done that. We studied Google Earth

and we contacted embassies and consulates. We tried to acquire as

intimate a knowledge o the terrain and the road conditions as its

INTRODUCTION

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possible to get without actually riding them. We noted the bureaucratic

requirements o each o the borders wed be crossing. We sought outdispassionate assessments o the risks wed be running animal,

vegetable and mineral and worked out what was reasonable or

granny and grandpa bikers to expose themselves to. And once wed

done that, we worked out who wed invite along to share all that risk.

Weve always considered the ideal number o people to take

along on a motorcycle expedition to be six. Six people observing the

requisite etiquette represents quite a high degree o security in the

event o misadventure, mishap or mechanical meltdown. Choose

your team members wisely, and you can take quite a range o spare

parts, tools and skills along. Six can be unwieldy: getting everyone

on the road in the morning can be an exercise in rustration, and itheres the slightest lapse in riding etiquette someone doesnt mark

a corner, or ails to ensure theyre in regular visual contact with the

person behind them you can spend ridiculous amounts o time

trying to get everyone back on the same page again. And needless to

say, unless you know everyone really well, the more people you add,

the greater the chance youll introduce those niggling interpersonal

incompatibilities to the already potentially volatile mix.

Wed always been lucky in the people wed taken along on our

adventures. Te crew o ve wed had on Up the Andeshad worked

like a charm. But although were never short o people who are keen

to come along, you nd the realities soon sort out those who are

serious rom those who imagine the whole things nothing more than

an extended cappuccino canter. Tese trips are demanding. Tey taketime were on the road or up to three months and they cost

money. Increasingly, while our own passion or doing the World by

Bike has only increased, others have allen by the wayside. Other

commitments and priorities have progressively robbed us o our trusty

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team members. By time we turned the bikes around at Ushuaia at

the hal-way stage oUp the Andes, our group o ve had dwindledto three. Soon enough, our nal companion peeled away to keep his

own appointments, too, leaving just the two o us, Joanne and Gareth

Morgan, to complete the itinerary.

By the time our plans or the second hal o the South American

ride had rmed up, we pretty much knew that when we looked at

each other across the breakast table, we were looking at the whole

team. Tere was plenty to be nervous about in that prospect. Weboth respect one anothers riding abilities and, crucially, know one

anothers limitations intimately. We can muster some handy skills

between us: Jo is an accomplished bush nurse, more than useul with

a spanner, and handy with languages. Youre glad youve got Gareth

along when you need to work out exchange rates, or i a bureaucrat

needs to be shouted at. But we were well short o the critical mass wed

previously considered ideal, and having others around can provide abit o a pressure valve when things are getting a bit raught. It was

ortunate, rom this perspective, that wed each already ridden in our

dearly beloveds exclusive company or those last ew weeks at the end

oUp the Andes: that seemed to lessen the risk that our latest venture

would take the orm o a 25,000-kilometre domestic incident.

But we were delighted, as things came together, to learn that or

much o the second hal o the orthcoming trip we would have the

company o original and legendary World by Biker, Dave Wallace:

he would join us or our traverse o Central America, as ar north as

a marlin shing competition in Baja Caliornia that or him was a

must do. And just as welcome was our younger daughter Rubys wish

to join us or some o Central America, too. Te pleasure o their

company was certainly something to look orward to.

INTRODUCTION

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In the meantime, though, it was to be just the two o us, Kemosabe

and onto (we never did quite agree who was who). Another advantageo our pruned back team was that it vastly streamlined the process o

settling the itinerary. Instead o trying to please six people, we only

had to please ourselves.

Well, that could have been the beginning o the end, right there!

But geography and climate determined the route, or the most

part. We wanted to ride up through Brazil to the Amazon, where we

both agreed it would be pretty cool to make a side-trip up the river.Ten wed take a erry across the delta o the great river itsel, and

head up through the Guyanas, o which there used to be ve: the

ormer Portuguese Guiana (now the Brazilian state o Amap), French

Guiana, the ormer Dutch Guiana (now known as Suriname), British

Guyana (the Guyana these days) and the ormer Spanish Guiana

(now Venezuela). Riding rom Guyana to Venezuela would entail a

long trek south, because the two countries are barely on speakingterms, and wed have to re-enter Brazil beore entering Venezuela.

And the key point here is that the road rom Georgetown, capital

o Guyana, to Lethem on the Brazilian border is marginal. It closes

or the entire rainy season, and whenever theres a passing shower,

so the need to time our traverse to maximise our chances o getting

through would necessarily set the agenda or the rst part o the ride,

too. From the arm, wed collect the bikes and head or northeastern

Brazil, sticking to the coast wherever possible. Wed need to do big

days while the going was good in the prosperous regions south o the

Amazon. We each pencilled in points o interest along the way and

as much as possible, chose the route so that these were strung along

it like beads, but it was clear wed mostly be doing transit days in this

part o proceedings.From the Amazon, it was a matter o polishing o Brazil, doing

French Guiana, hitting Suriname, bisecting Guyana, crossing the

northern tip o Brazil again, scribing a sweeping arc across Venezuela

and dropping over the Andes into Colombia.


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Ater a Christmas break rom the bikes, wed pick up again in

Colombia, ride down into Ecuador (perhaps even squeezing in a sidetrip to the Galpagos Islands), then head up Central America via

Panama, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Honduras, El Salvador, Guatemala,

Belize and on to Los Angeles via Mexico.

We looked at the map and the spreadsheet into which Gareth

had entered our projected waypoints, distances and timings. Ten we

looked at each other.

Man, what a ride! We couldnt wait.

Apart rom our very early expeditions, where our bikes were hired,

weve ridden our own BMWs on all o our World by Bike adventures.

While the results have been very good, apart rom triing niggles here

and there, weve studied the alternatives careully each time. Nothinghas appealed to us as quite so well suited to the demands we place on

our machines on these rides as the BMWs. Ideally, wed probably have

gone or the 650-cc machines we used on the Silk Road, but BMW

were no longer making them when we were tooling up or Up the

Andes. Te best and nearest was the F800GS a little heavier and

taller than absolutely ideal or sot conditions (mud, sand or shingle),

but with a decent power-to-weight ratio and a strong subrame to

hang lots o gear o. Tese bikes had perormed with aplomb up and

down the Andes: the only problems wed had with them had been the

result o mishaps apart, crucially rom Gareths rear wheel bearing,

which had become sloppy towards the end o the Up the Andesleg o

the adventure. Wed had it replaced in Sao Paulo, where wed also

asked about the wisdom o having Jos replaced. No, they said. It wasne. We shouldnt have listened. We had condence in them to see us

through the rest o the continent and through Central America, too.

A lot o what gets called the un o expedition motorcycling has

been taken out o it by modern navigational aids, most notably the

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GPS. Both o our bikes were equipped with units that could plot a

route or you according to how ast you wanted to get rom point Ato point B, and what kind o experience you wanted on the way in

theory. In practice, the maps loaded on to them or the less well-

traversed corners o the globe tend to bear little resemblance to on-

the-ground reality, but theyre an essential tool nonetheless. And one

that does oer heaps more opportunities to do circuitous and less

predictable routes when you have a day with time up your sleeve. Its

only when you discover side roads marked on your GPS turn intopaper roads ater 50 miles, that you curse their temptations. But a big

positive is were able to eortlessly head to the dead centre o every

populous town we encounter i thats where we want to spend the

night. No more avoiding the towns through ear o spending hours

getting in and out.

We also had Spidertracks technology aboard, so that others could

keep tabs on our whereabouts. Tis wasnt just or the sake o idlecuriosity: its a prudent saety precaution, and when its combined

with Google Earth, it makes or an amazing virtual interpretation

o the roads youve travelled, too. But more seriously, Spidertracks

enables you to locate your machine should it get nicked, or nd your

wie i shes ridden o with a Latino.

We swear by Icebreaker merino clothing under our riding gear.

Not only does it keep you warm in cool conditions (unlikely to be

a consideration or much o this trip, given how much time wed be

spending within ten degrees either side o the Equator), but when

soaked with water and worn under jackets and overtrousers, it can

keep you miraculously cool. And wed come to appreciate its ability

to do all o this while wearing well, looking good and hardly ever

reaching the point where it pongs.Jo took along a pretty ancy rst aid kit, and Gareth a whole

battery o communications equipment. Te Immarsat modem to meet

his incessant need to be online ulltime; his Iridium voice satphone

in case the local phone network is down or non-existent as was


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the case last year in earthquake-torn Chile; and a plethora o gadgets

he thought hed just test en route. Now you see why these bikes needstrong subrames.

We tend to avoid media reports o incidents in the countries

were due to traverse on these trips. Teres a pretty well-established

convention in news circles these days that i it bleeds, it leads, andits common, once youve acquired an interest in any given country

in the world, to hear about all the awul things that are happening

there. You never hear about the peaceul lives led by the majority o its

population, but as soon as theres a riot, a kidnapping, a particularly

grisly murder, an attack by a wild animal, a crash involving a helicopter

or light plane ull o tourists or what have you, your phone runs red

hot with pleas to renounce your irresponsible intentions to ride tocertain death and thats just Gareths mum. Its air to say that

the countries were planning to ride through on this leg o our grand

tour, claim more than their air share o the ront page o the worlds

daily newspapers. Political stability hasnt taken strong root in South

American soil. Most o these countries (outside Brazil) are either

bankrupt, used to be, or are heading that way, and the South and

Central American interpretation o democracy the power o the

people has traditionally been that the most powerul people win.

Unlike most o the rest o the commodities produced in the region,

drugs are in heavy demand, but that industry hardly contributes to

social harmony and prosperity. Some o the areas well be travelling

through are lawless; others are irremediably corrupt. Its hard to tell

whether its more dangerous to be around when the crooks conrontthe cops, or when theyre on the same side.

Te roading, by all accounts, is pretty primitive in places, and the

driving is, shall we say, idiosyncratic or the most part (quite apart rom

the occasional need to change which side o the road youre driving

INTRODUCTION

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he temperature in the oce is rising, despite the aircon.Te heat seems to be emanating rom beneath Garethscollar. His eyes are blazing and his moustache is bristlingdangerously, but the woman on the other side o the desk doesnt seem

to be able to read the signs.

Alex urnbull ellow shareholder in the Brazil arm, solid

Fonterra man who has spent his lie negotiating deals in Portuguesewith Brazils hard men knows how things get done here. Shouting

doesnt get you ar, and shouting in Inglse just gets you urther down

the queue. A little decorum please, Gareth, there are certain protocols

and rituals to be observed.

Alex catches Jos attention, jerks his head at Gareth and rolls his

eyes. He signals to her that it would help our cause immeasurably i

Gareth were taken out o the game. Jo agrees. ime or Gareth to go

or a walk in a nice, orderly Brasilia street and chill.

As soon as hes gone, Alexs eatures become suused with a sugary

charisma. He lights a dazzling smile, and turns it like a blowtorch on

the sour-aced bureaucrat. At rst, theres little change, but Alex is

tall, dark and determined and his Portuguese is impeccable. A

ew orid gestures o his hands, a sigh or two, ollowed up hard witha tragic, puppy-dog expression o pure supplication and she visibly

sotens melts even, is putty in his hands.

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Tis, Jo supposes, is what you call a charm oensive. Gareths idea

o a charm oensive is to og obstructive ocials with their own StChristophers medal.

Te lightest brush o his ngertips on her orearm as he shares

a piece o inormation with her, a irtatious utter o his eyelashes

and the bureaucrat goes aintly pink, and non-verbally declares a

willingness to eat out o Alexs hand. He cocks a rakish eyebrow at our

visa applications, lying all but orgotten on the desktop. She applies

hersel to them with a dreamy hal-smile. Paper starts to shufe, andstamps to thump. Its been a masterul display. Tanks to Alex, we

have our Suriname visas.

Alex drives us through the extraordinary spectacle o Brasilia.

Although its completely at, its visually striking, with man-madeeatures accentuated by the absence o physical ones. Te whole

thing was planned and purpose-built rom 1956, and in 1960 took

over rom Rio de Janeiro as Brazilian capital. It was originally shaped

like a stylised aircrat, with dierent areas designated or dierent

civic unctions, although the purity o the planners vision has been

somewhat compromised by urban sprawl. Te buildings associated

with the administrative centre are clustered in the cockpit area (Te

Suriname embassy is relegated to the jetstream however, indicative o

the regard that country o a mere hal a million people is held in by

South Americas behemoth economy). And as or its look and eel

i you can picture Canberra as executed by a cadre o municipal artists

reed at last o budget restraints, youd have it about right.

Driving out on one o the main thoroughares, the hinterlandarrives without warning. Like Brasilia, this too is at. All that

sculpted concrete and glittering glass gives way to crops that stretch

to hazy innity over the Planalto Central.


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Ater one and a hal hours in a light plane, leaving the lakes

and greenery o Brasilia in our wake, passing over the valleys andescarpments o north-eastern Goias province, we cross into the south-

west corner o Bahia and there, up ahead, we can see the arm, a suite

o verdant green irrigation pivots standing out amidst the dry, almost

arid surround o thousands o hectares o soybean stubble that shrouds

this elevated plateau a little slice o the Waikato here in the middle

o the Brazilian high plains. Its a venture initiated by a bunch o Kiwis

a ew years back, intended to bring the best o New Zealand dairyingtechniques to this uniquely suitable bit o South American landscape.

Because were 900-odd metres above sea level here, its cool enough

or grass to grow, even though were only about 14 degrees south o

the Equator. And while the vegetation is naturally that o the semi-

humid savannah (the Brazilians call it cerrado, pronounced suharto

just like the erstwhile President o Indonesia), it just happens to sit

pretty tens o metres above South Americas second largest aquier.Te sand that we struggled to ride through on our way in here at the

end o the last trip seemed pretty deep as we slithered, wallowed.

Its actually 50-odd metres deep no wonder we couldnt get any

traction! Besides making skilled bikers look untidy, all that sand

completely lters the water o impurities, so when you drop a bore

into the water table, you tap into some o the purest aguaon earth. So

with water aplenty and the whole set-up lying just beautiully to the

non-stop tropical sun, you can grow anything here, including grass.

In the better bits o the Waikato, you can grow about 18 tonnes o dry

matter per hectare a year in pasture; on our patch at azenda Leite

Verde, you can grow 50.

Te manager is Simon Wallace, the son o prominent Waikato

dairy armer, David. Simon is there to greet us as we put down,beginning to eel the eects o the long ight. Beore we tackle dinner

and call it quits or the night, we lit the covers on the bikes that

have sat on Simons back porch these last ew months, careul not to

disturb any inoensive snakes that have decided to use the seats in our

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absence. Snake bites are not unknown in Simons house, although so

ar its only his dad who has allen oul o their venomous reactions.Tey look none the worse or having been stored, and once the

batteries are hooked up, we press the starter buttons and they utter

smoothly into lie. Not bad ater six months idle. Te uting putter

o the motors and the smell the distinctive smell o our-stroke

exhaust, with a certain tang deriving rom the bioethanol content o

Brazilian petrol reminds us, in case any reminder is needed, o

just what were about to do. We go to sleep that night dreaming othe road, and the challenges and the rewards o expedition riding

awaiting us to the north.

Junior is a genius. Hes one o the arms nds, a jack o all trades

and master o pretty much all he tackles whether its building amilking shed, hooking electricity up or the actory, or sorting the

packaging line out that produces the continuous stream o bottles

lled with UH or our supermarket customers in Bahia. Teres

one thing hes not so hot at, though, and thats taking direction rom

a woman.

Jos keeping an eagle eye on him as he assists in changing the

chains and sprockets on the bikes. Hes det with the tools, and

seems to possess an intuitive sense o how these products o precision

German engineering t together, even though hes never sighted such

sophisticated motorbikes beore. Indeed, bikes arent allowed on the

arm, lest they disturb Daisy and the rest o the herd that produce our

livelihood. But he cant quite keep rom assuming a pained air when

Jo steps in to correct him on a detail.Ater some initial pung and pouting, and ew words (since

theres no common language), they establish a reasonable working

relationship, and beore theyve nished, Jos glad o this. Shes

eeling pretty light-headed and everish, and knows with that sense


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o inevitability you get that shes coming down with something.

Gareth is attending a meeting o the arms board o directors, sowithout Junior, Jo would have taken at least twice as long to do

the maintenance.

By the time shes admitted deeat and gone to lie down, Jo and

Junior have nished the jobs and Jos managed to wire her GPS in, too.

Jo hits the hay and sleeps or the next two days, only intermittently

aware o her surroundings, including the moment on the second

aternoon when Simon Wallace comes into her room and strokesher hair. Another voice is heard saying: shes not going to be t to

ride tomorrow.

Tis, she thinks, must be what its like to be dying. Friends pat

your head. Mmm, rather nice.

Around midnight, she wakes again. Te pain behind her eyes

has gone. Te room has stopped pulsing and spinning. She eels

almost normal or as normal as youd eel i youd been run over bysomething heavy.

She decides to take a chance, and stumbles to the door onto the

porch. Teres a hammock strung between the verandah posts, and

she slumps into it with a sigh o gratitude.

Tats where Gareth nds her in the morning.

What the hell are you doing out here? he asks.

Dont know, she replies. But theres your rst photo.

As her eyes have settled down in the morning light and agreed

to ocus, the strange, amorphous red blob in the green o the oliage

beyond the verandah has resolved itsel into a group o about a dozen

birds, each around the size o a bantam, crowded onto a branch, all

eyeing Jo. Occasionally, one o them will apparently grow dissatised

with its vantage, and will scuttle over the backs o its companions tosee i anything looks dierent rom that end o the perch. Teyre

pretty sort o uy and with impressive red crests and orange

bills but the gleam in their eyes is aintly unsettling to Jo, who

wonders whether theyve been sizing her up or breakast.

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You gonna be right to ride today? Gareth asks.

I think so, Jo replies, because even as the word breakast hasoccurred to her, it suddenly seems like a good idea. She must be

eeling better.

Te usual grisly triage o bike gear and belongings ollows. Youd

think wed have the knack o packing or an expedition by now, thisar down the World by Bike track, but every time, the impossibility o

tting your small mountain o gear into piddly panniers, topbags and

tank bags recurs. Amazing how essentials packed in New Zealand

become luxuries to be discarded without a qualm when it comes to

actually stowing everything.

Were also thrown slightly o-kilter by the task o packing or two

instead o dividing everything up amongst our, ve or even six. Weregoing to need to be more sel-reliant than we are when were riding as

part o a team, and were each going to have to carry more spares. Tat

inevitably creates space issues.

Once were organised, Simon trucks both us and the bikes back

out that god awul sand track down to Mamba, the nearest village.

Junior and a couple o others come along or the ride, and ater posing

or the obligatory photos, its time or us to straddle our saddles, hit

the on button and set o or real.

Ater a ew kilometres, your muscle memory comes back. You

notice the way the bike handles. I the balance isnt quite right, you

stop and jiggle gear to get it in trim. I its not too bad, you make

mental notes on how to tweak things. Although we rode most o

the way rom Patagonia to Brazil as a twosome, we both still nd itstrange not seeing a line o headlights in our mirrors on these long,

straight roads. We get along aster ewer stops, and generally

ar less shagging around but we both nd were missing the

crew. We both struggle with the heat and the humidity, especially


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Jo: its getting on or rainy season, so its muggy as hell. Te road

is shimmering with heat mirage as we tool northward. Te tracis mostly agricultural machinery utes branded with agricultural

signage and trucks carrying agricultural produce: the sheer volume

o agricultural activity visible around us makes Gareth happy to

have taken a position in Brazilian agriculture. Te vehicles ahead

oat in the shimmering midspace above the tarmac, descending and

becoming more substantial as we near them and pass them. On either

hand, the low, grey-green oliage o soy stretches away to vanishingpoint in rows, the red earth o the cerrado visible between them. Here

and there, the monotony o the all-soy diet is broken by maize or by

a massive irrigation pivot and some coee plants, but thats about as

exciting as it gets.

Te cerrado was ormerly one o the most biodiverse stretches o

real estate on earth. Its name translates as closed or inaccessible,

and this is how armers ound it or most o Brazils history. It waslargely preserved rom exploitation by its acidic, nutrient-poor soil.

Back when pastoral arming was the main game in town, it was

desultorily grazed by bee cattle, but these didnt really thrive on the

coarse savannah grasses.

From 1960, however, with the Brazilian governments concerted

move to reocus economic attention to the north-west o the country,

work began on nding ways to arm the cerrado. A combination o

ertilisers particularly lime and phosphate dramatically improved

its ability to grow grass, but it was the development o varieties o

soybean, naturally a temperate species, to grow in tropical conditions

that really sealed the deal. Te cerrado region now produces 70% o

Brazils bee, and an increasingly signicant proportion o its soybean

crop. With ew (i any) qualms about genetic modication technology,the Brazilians are only too happy to plant GM varieties that tolerate

herbicides such as RoundUp, simpliying pest control and reducing

its cost in economic terms, at least, even i its come at the price o

a good deal o the cerrados much-vaunted biodiversity.

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Its on the back o the taming o the cerrado that places like our

stop at the end o a 350-km day have sprung up. Luis Eduardo deMagalhaes was built seven years ago with a population o a hundred

or so souls; seven years on, its already a substantial service centre

boasting many thousands o people and, as our research indicates, the

largest John Deere dealership in the world. Its a dusty, bustling place,

a real working town with no rills, and its strange to go rom the

recessionary gloom o New Zealand to such an economic powerhouse.

It cant help but remind you: with its vast resources and its immenseland area, Brazil is like Australia, with the important dierence that

Brazil has water.

No aw in Jo and Juniors workmanship is apparent which is more

than we can say or BMW back in Sao Paulo. Jos just noticed theyve

mounted his rear tyre the wrong way round. We soon nd a motorcycle

shop to put this to rights. We nd tolerably good accommodation

and, better yet, we manage to stumble upon a Japanese restaurant,which is about all that appeals to the still-delicate Jo. Best o all, this

turns out to serve the best Japanese ood weve ever had. Who would

have thought it? Here, as deep as you can get into Brazils cropping

rontierland, the sashimi and tempura is to die or. Ashburton never

had it so good. By the time shes drained the last drop o her miso

soup, Jo declares hersel cured and ready or the rest o South America.

Bikers live or variety or corners and switchbacks, or ups and

downs, or changes in scenery. Well, youre out o luck in West Bahia.

Te only real variation we nd is in the signals that the truckies

make to one another and, we begin to suspect, to us. Its a coupleo hundred kilometres along the straight, hot, soy-lined road east

rom Luis Eduardo beore Gareth decides the complicated signal the

trucks give as you draw up behind them signies a clear road ahead

and an invitation to pass. Even so, its with his heart in his mouth that


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he rst swings out rom the slipstream o an enormous rig to test the

theory that when they indicate theyre about to turn across the road,they actually mean its ne or you to pass.

Phew.

Late in the morning, we see a long line o stationary trucks and a

car or two ahead. We exercise bikers prerogative and cruise past the

hapless stranded, ully three kilometres to where theyre re-marking

the road. As soon as they see us, the workers point to the spaces

between the wet bits and beckon us orward, pleading with us not tosmudge their handiwork. We pick our way through, and then smugly

gun past the long queue waiting in the other direction. Tats one

reason biking is reedom.

Beyond Barreiras, the landscape changes subtly. Te armland

is noticeably poorer here and there, the main crops seem to be

sand and scrub and theres less soy. Pinus radiata plantations

begin to appear. Beyond the Rio Sao Francisco, everything gets abit more pleated, geologically speaking, and you can see ar more o

the original vegetation o the cerrado mostly low-growing scrub

with the occasional clutch o gnarled trees adjacent to watercourses

or springs.

Te cerrado comes to an abrupt end in the vicinity o the Chapada

Diamantina National Park, where the dreary plains are carved up

into monoliths by sudden, dramatic canyons. We almost cry with

relie when conronted with our rst set o real, actual corners ater

500-odd km o relentless straights. Tey take us down rom the

highlands to the beginnings o the coastal plains, which is where we

nd Lenis.

I the agricultural bounty weve seen on the Planalto Central

is a taste o Brazils uture, Lenis is a window on its past. In theearly eighteenth century, in an eort to try to nd something equal

to or better than Potosi, the legendary silver mine in the Spanish

colony o Bolivia, the Portuguese government o Brazil despatched

prospectors into the interior. Tey soon ound gold in what is now

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known as Minas Gerais (which translates as General Mines). Te

slaves who worked the alluvial goldmines requently picked updistinctive pebbles they ound as they washed the sands, and used

these as counters in games they played in rare, idle moments back

at camp. One day, a Portuguese who had experience in the diamond

mines o India was struck by the similarity o the Brazilian stones to

the diamonds washed rom the rivers around Goa, and he took a ew

back to Lisbon with him. Te secret was out. From roughly 1725 to

the middle o the 19th century, a diamond rush was on. One o theareas in which diamonds were ound was the one weve just entered,

the Chapada Diamantina (Diamond Highlands). Lenis came into

being soon ater the discovery in 1825.

One abled account o the origins o the name o the town is

that the tents o diamond miners and their workers (Arican slaves,

or the most part) were so thick on the ground in the oors o the

canyons that they resembled bed sheets, which is what lenis meansin Portuguese. Another, slightly more plausible version is that it was

named or the at sheets o rock in the riverbeds.

Te diamonds were ound in alluvial deposits, weathered rom the

ancient rock and laid down over the aeons by erosion. Tey occurred

in a crumbly sandstone matrix known locally as cascalho, usually on

ledges along the course o rivers or buried under silt or clay in the

beds o the rivers themselves. Recovering them was a labour-intensive

operation and thats where the slaves came in. Aricans were

imported via the old capital o Portuguese Brazil, Salvador, and put

to work gouging cascalho rom the rivers, and washing diamonds out

o it under the cold gaze o whip-wielding overseers. Many thousands

o slaves were still working in the Chapada Diamantina at the turn o

the twentieth century, despite the ocial abolition o the slave tradein 1888.

Lenis was one o several little towns that sprang up to service

the Chapada Diamantina diamond mines. Te French had a vice-

consulate here to acilitate the purchase o the diamonds or


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use in their contract drilling o the Panama canal and London

Underground, amongst other projects. It has been well preserved, andis now a World Heritage site. Its easy to see why: the buildings are

gorgeous, baroque colonial aairs, with that added dash o colour that

the Arican inuence brings. We spend a very happy night here, and

sleep the sleep o the righteous ater a 550-km day. Wed originally

intended to spend a second night, and do a sidetrip into the reputedly

spectacular interior o the National Park. But weve already lost a day

through Jos incapacitation. Weve got to press on.

Jos missing Dave.

Shes sitting on the balcony o the pousada, having just been

serenaded by a portly gentleman disporting himsel with his

amigos in the pool. He had a ne tenor voice that even an excesso caipirinhas the Brazilian rewater o choice couldnt seem

to blur.

Quite apart rom his value in everyday transactions across cultural

and linguistic divides (Daves exuberant sign language seems to make

itsel understood where Jos smattering o oreign languages and

Gareths volcanic rustration cannot), Dave was always Jos latchkey

on our World by Bike adventures. Long ater Gareth had snuggled up

to his laptop or gone to bed, Dave would always be up or an excursion

into the nightlie o the places we visit.

Without her chaperone, though, Jo is conned to quarters. It

wouldnt be sae to go out alone, or Jo or the locals. Quite apart rom

the obvious dangers o being a diminutive granny abroad ater dark

in a strange place where you dont speak much language or have anintuitive sense o places where a single woman may go, and places

where she may go only at her peril, Jo is nding the Brazilian men

to be disarmingly engaging. Teyre not araid to touch, hug, smile,

kiss, irt. Without Dave to play Jiminy Cricket to her Pinocchio, Jo

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cant swear that she would be immune to the oleaginous charms o

Brazilian masculinity.So she sits on the balcony, sips her caipirinha wistully and listens

to the sound o the party that is Salvador ater dark in ull swing.

We rolled into the old capital o Portuguese America in the

mid-aternoon, ater a hot, uncomortable 400-km day. We were

getting sucked in along the main arterial route toward the towering

skyscrapers o Brazils third largest city when Jo tooted. Had Gareth

noticed the promising-looking pousada shed seen perched on apromontory as wed ridden in? We backtracked to check it out, and it

was clear that in the Pousada da Mangueira, wed struck the jackpot.

Its close to the Pelhourinho, the historic precinct o Salvador, and

is itsel housed in a character building painted in a cheerul shade

o yellow. Te acilities are great clean, comortable room, nice-

looking pool and (Gareth noted on arrival) WiFi. Its proved to be the

perect base rom which to explore Salvador.Te Portuguese were a little like a kid with a birthday present ater

the signing o the reaty o ordesillas in 1494, which somewhat

immodestly divided the globe between Spain and Portugal. Tey just

couldnt wait to see what theyd got. As ew as six years ater the

treatys promulgation, a Portuguese expedition arrived o the coast

o South America, spyglasses eagerly trained ashore. Te bay upon

which Salvador sits, the Baa de odos os Santos, was named on

(and ater) All Saints Day in 1500, which was when Pedro lvares

Cabral arrived there. Tere were sporadic, small-scale Portuguese

occupations over the next ew years, but it wasnt until the oundation

o Cidade de So Salvador da Bahia de odos os Santos in 1549 that

they came to stay. Te name proved to be a bit o a mouthul, and it

became customary to reer to the town as Bahia, or Salvador. Salvadoris the name that has stuck.

Salvador switly grew to become the hub o Portuguese activity

in the New World, and with booming sugar and mining industries

in its hinterland, it also became the South American centre o slave


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trading. Te area in which our pousada sits, the old colonial portion o

Salvador, is named the Pelhourinho, which translates into English asthe pillory, and into more modern English as the whipping post. Te

grim object ater which it is named still stands in one o the squares,

the Praa da Piedade, where slaves were punished or shortcomings

or wrongdoings.

Salvador was built on a tall escarpment behind the beaches, and

this enabled the city athers to keep the religious and administrative

district aloo rom the Cidade Baixa (Lower own), rom the portand market with their xation on the lthy lucre. Tis separation also

served down through time to preserve the quaint Cidade Alta (Upper

own) rom progress. As Salvador experienced the usual boom and

bust, and as urban renewal swept through the commercial sector in

the latter part o the twentieth century, the old part o town was

allowed to settle into a dignied decrepitude.

Te two sections o the town were connected by a cablecar, theElevador Lacerda, in 1873, and being Wellingtonians, we can hardly

say no to a ride. Te car is a gorgeous old thing o dark wood and

wrought iron retwork, but man, is it steep. We were sort o relieved

when the short trip was over.

Te immediately peculiar thing about Salvador is the extent to

which it reminds us o Zanzibar, which we visited on the Under

African Skiesleg o our motorcycling grand tour in 2007. Te Arican

inuence is plain in the pastel colours o the buildings, in the riotously

colourul artworks or sale in the many, many galleries and, o course,

in the people. Black aces, white grins, colourul clothes, big boobs

and bums over 80% o the population o metropolitan Salvador

is o Arican mostly West Arican descent, so its not hard

while wandering the streets to imagine youre on the other side othe Atlantic.

And man, can these people can move! Te Pelhourinho or the

Pelo, as the locals call it has, since its installation as a Unesco World

Heritage Site in 1985, become a kind o large-scale perormance arts

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centre, and as we strolled about its gorgeous, cobbled streets in the

sultry evening, there was all manner o eye-catching entertainmentaround us. As we were admiring one o the many old colonial

churches, a marching band went by, and the beat galvanised every

bystander, even the ones slouched like hobos in doorways. Shoulders

rolled and eet tapped, until the music crashed and clattered away

down a side street, leaving everyone to subside back into lassitude like

puppets when the puppeteer moves on.

Most eye-catching o all is samba de roda, a dance that entailsall manner o ducking, weaving, tumbling, kicking and striking and

that derives rom capoeira, a martial art developed by the slaves way

back in the day. Tere seemed to be some kind o capoeira estival

on. Sipping a caipirinha and watching these amazing-looking people

doing amazing things with their bodies, Jo ound hersel wondering

whether theres a gene controlling grace and athleticism and sheer

physical exuberance that Europeans somehow missed out upon.Salvador was the Brazilian capital until 1762, when Rio de Janeiro

assumed the mantle. It is still ocially the capital o Bahia province, and

unocially the happiness capital o Brazil. Everything dancing,

eating, drinking, irting is happening to the pulsing, urgent

rhythm o Arican-inuenced music; and now, long ater weve retired

to the pousada, its still there, throbbing through the oor to where

Gareth lies muttering in bed, underpinning the laughter and shouts

rom the streets below the balcony where Jo sits.

It is, she writes home, wonderul to be so surrounded by the vitality

o a oreign place, and to be rocked to sleep by the vibrations o lie.

Teres a mufed curse rom the room behind her.

Gareth, she writes, may well describe it all dierently.


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At Salvador, we turn let or the 5,000 km haul up the north-eastern coast o Brazil to the mouth o the Amazon. Wereleaving happiness or at least, the Brazilian capital oit behind, but its hard to eel too downhearted. Te road out is

lined with coconut palms, and through them, we see the blaze o

white sand and the sparkling Atlantic. Its only nine in the morning,

but the temperature is 34C and climbing. At least up on the cerrado,the altitude kept the humidity down. Here, all that muggy air is

trapped over the coast like a duvet by the high interior. Sweat courses

down our oreheads and between our shoulder blades. aking regular

sucks on the tube rom your Camelback is a must.

We cross a huge river by vehicular erry about 200km north

o Salvador. Soon the tree-lined avenue turns into a shimmering

superhighway, gorgeous surace, liberally inested with huge trucks,

with vast sugar plantations on either hand. Brazil produces a third

o the worlds sugarcane: sugar was Bahia states principal industry

rom the 1700s until the beginning o the 19th century, when British

plantations in India provided a cheaper product and knocked the

bottom out o the world market. In the meantime, o course, Brazil

was a major customer o the slave trade, with 37% o the peoplekidnapped rom West Arica transported to Brazil.

Now, clearly, the sugarcane trade is back, with the bulk o the crop

eeding Brazils bioethanol industry Brazil also produces a third

Chapter 2

Off

gringos across the amazon - first chapter by gareth morgan

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