A³

The ocean to the southwest of Rio is dotted with islands and its mountainous coast is covered with almost virgin forest. By break of morning the idyllic landscape woke up, together with us. One last day “On Shore in Brazil” awaited us, in Paraty. Because the shallowness of the bay waters, the Prinsendam dropped its anchor five miles out the local “harbor”; if we would get in any closer, the bridge announced, we could all walk to shore! As Jesus was nowhere to be seen to give us a helping hand, we were looking at a thirty minute “transfer”, by tender.

Paraty, according to a guide that I had bought at home, was a classic, colonial, picturesque village in a golden bay. I decided that it was small enough to go and inspect the little town on my own. Correction, when a ship with 700 passengers docks, you cannot be alone in a village of one square mile!

Thank God (Him again), we did not have to suffer the stuffy, plastic tenders; the bosses had chartered two schooners. Rather than using the sails, they puffed along on their noisy but somehow charming diesel engines and, most importantly, they offered protection from the sun as well as a lot of welcome ventilation.

Paraty was already wilting under the sun-leaden sky, as we climbed ashore. Apart from a few schooners – the fishing boats and luxury yachts were moored further away – the pier was dominated by colorful, lazy love boats, invitingly eyeing, by virtue of their venetian-flair skippers, the passers-by. With names like Aphrodite, My Love, Passione, Paz e Amor (link?), etcetera one couldn’t resist to drift away, if not literally then figuratively! If there would have been a boat named “Carinha”, I would have gladly rented it for a couple of hours to sail away, eyes closed, along the bay – the town could have waited! But there wasn’t, so I marched on, courageously.

I circled in square circles) the little colonial pearl for more than an hour. As the guide predicted, it was a well preserved colonial setting, Portuguese style from end to end. It had three churches: one for the “whites” (aptly called “de los Remedios”, where they could pray for good health), one for the “blacks slaves” (financed by the whites, aptly called “del Rosario”, where they could pray rosaries for hours on end, after work of course) and one somewhat special. That was built by the black slaves, for themselves, and aptly named Santa Rita, a saint who was meant to deliver them from slave labor (and eventually did).

Not having found the “Carinha” love boat earlier, I found an alternative. Intrinsically it was nowhere near the real Carinha, but the name was close: CAipeRINHA. Tucked away in the western corner of the main “Praça”, or square (where they were building their own little Sambadrome), the bar, and the young folks tending it, were too enticing to just pass them by. The Caiperinha was excellent: some titillating and strong Cachaça (distilled from sugar cane, not unlike rum), with lime and ice. To make sure that I could still walk straight to the schooner, I also ordered a glass of Guaranà. That is the commercialized version of the drink that Indians brewed (with teaspoons of powder and Rio Negro water) before going hunting for two nights – in the old days! I am surprised that nobody has taken this drink to western markets yet, they could make a killing! I made it back to the Prinsendam in one piece, albeit soaking wet.

Paraty was the final port of call, a tender port as well, which is more in tune with the land and its people than a regular docking port. We left the bay as a thunderstorm moved in. Unfortunately, the rough seas associated with it would accompany us through the night. And the next day “at sea” didn’t pass any better. We had to put up with the roughest seas since leaving the Caribbean. Luckily it started to rain around noon, a downpour that lasted hours. It doused the waves somewhat but at dinner there were many empty chairs, with another day “at sea” to come!

Poseidon had reined in his wild horses (or his trashing nymphs?) by the time the sun rose today, around 6:30am. As a matter of fact, the weather would improve considerably as the day wore on, and after lunch it was a glorious day – at sea! Around 2pm we crossed the invisible border with Uruguay. After more than three weeks of cruising in rivers and around landmasses, I find it difficult to say “Goodbye Brazil”. I prefer “So long Brazil” instead. This country tempts, surprises and invites: the land, the people and, surely, the power that the combination creates are compelling; no less.

The country is, unavoidably, a conglomeration of very different regions. That is no surprise when considering its size and diversity: surface as well as population as well as culture. Along the mighty Amazon the economy is least developed, yet people live very closely tied to nature and don’t seem to crave western riches. Its geography – immeasurably grand, crisscrossed by massive rivers and densely wooded – precludes the easy introduction of primary utilities and services. “Light for everyone” is in full swing, and electricity is relatively easy to transport. But what about clean water? What about enhanced education and employment opportunities? What about improved medical care? Wherever one cares to look, the challenges are enormous. Yet, locals – be they Indian, black, white or mixed, look generally happy with their kind of life, their kind of world. They are not impatiently elbowing their way into more money or more luxury. The Amazon region is, in all its aspects – for observed and observers – a “moving” place.

The northeast, the bulge between the Amazon mouth and Salvador, encounters probably the toughest challenges to create sufficient levels of prosperity. Nobody will die from hunger, thanks to fishing and abundant fruits and vegetables, but, apart from the seducing beaches and a little bit of commerce with the dry hinterland (= the sertaõ, a semi-arid desert), this part has little excitement to offer its inhabitants. Luckily population density, as well as population growth, is falling. Malthus, contrary to what we observe in the Nile valley, has done some effective and beneficial “christening”.

Salvador, technically considered part of the (poorer) northeast, is a different animal all together. I consider it the only “Culture-rich Metropolis” (in western terms) from the cities that I visited. Apart from a cosmopolitan atmosphere and similar aspirations, Salvador has a past that is an integral part of its present. This is not just due to colonial villas and palaces, but also because of the integration of old folksy neighborhoods with the palpable presence of a living and live melting pot of races, cultures and social classes. Salvador, without a doubt, has an undeniable personal identity and buoys with all kinds of life.

And finally there is Rio de Janeiro. Nobody should be surprised when I put Rio in the class of “cosmopolitan world cities”. Although the city, with respect to architecture, is a far cry from almost all its star competitors on the face of the earth – as a matter of fact, I happen to think that Rio is sorely lacking in this particular area of “culture” – it can lay claims to all the other required characteristics for world class. And where it comes to natural beauty, it scores way better than the colleagues. Nature has shaped an exquisite and unequalled stage in and around Rio!

If nothing else, Rio stands out because of the dynamism it projects. People are busy, are helpful, are friendly, are entrepreneurial, are active (also on the beaches!), and are happy. Money is not unimportant, but does not appear to be the absolute priority. The motto “work to live rather than live to work” is not a distant dream but, ostensibly, daily practice. Building the Samba floats rather than earning extra moneys as a cab driver, is a case in point. Surely, the favela’s are also part of Rio, and present their own, different face; a face of poverty, drugs and violence. Yet, that is not unlike comparable cosmopolitan super cities.

BRIC – Brazil, Russia, India and China – is a focus point in financial circles. They have quickly become economical powerhouses. While a country of more than 3 million square kilometers with 200 million inhabitants can veer off in many directions, I think it is a safe bet that Brazil will do very well, if only because its people show confidence in their own and in their country’s potential, and they trust that their future is promising, all of which is bundled in an extremely extravert and positive attitude with regard to their region, their city, their village and their neighbors!

This concludes the story, not the story of just one day, but the story of a month of exploring and observing this buoyant country. Tomorrow we are in Montevideo, undoubtedly another world!

Prinsendam, Day 31 – Friday Feb 4th, 2011

“I see the mountain”, not just yet!

I was very nearly being an eye-witness to one of those atrocious acts that can only take place in a slave country. Owing to a quarrel and a lawsuit, the owner of the estate was on the point of taking all the women and children from the male slaves, and selling them separately at the public auction at Rio. Self-interest, and not any feeling of compassion, prevented this act.

Not to worry, a lot has changed here since Darwin wrote these lines down in his diary in April 1832, when he visited Rio. Since he doesn’t talk about the sail-in of the Beagle, neither will I write about ours. The night before our arrival in Rio the captain, an able man of few words, had sent us to bed with an unexpected lyrical outburst about the mystical splendor of arriving in Rio by ship. His speech obviously had touched many a passenger, for at 6am the viewing decks were quite full of fairy-pregnant viewers.

Unfortunately, rather than shooting pictures and shouting aahs and oohs, a few minutes after six, the ship came to a complete halt: the port was closed! Blame the fog. Even the rising son, starting her daily climb half an hour later, did not burn the vapor off. When we finally docked, after 9am, the ground fog had gone but Rio didn’t look much different from other cloudy and misty towns: drab, colorless and uninviting.

The guides, unaware of our early morning misadventure, welcomed us saying that we were lucky: the temperature had been around 110F (43°C) for days and had finally broken – we would be facing 32°C, at most. You win a few and you lose a few. I was on a standard Get-to-know-Rio Tour & Walk, with a spicy touch: a helicopter flight to top it all off. Riding to the top of Corcovado, we had a chance to shake hands with one of the “Seven Modern World Wonders”, namely Christ the Redeemer. Being as popular as he (if not himself then certainly the monument) is, it is inconceivable to carve out a space for a private moment, as many tourists spread their arms wide for a look-alike picture. However, the size of the statue is so surprisingly huge that thoughts about handshakes dissipate quickly up there. Meanwhile the morning fog had lifted somewhat, but a lot of nebulosity remained around the many green hills.

Rio is one of the few big cities in the world whose main attraction has to be its fabulous vistas, and not so much for its cultural heritage. (Unless you include the comprehensive collection of body cultures and sculptures, as they are practiced shamelessly on its sweeping beaches, among the “heritage” as well). I learned that a Brazilian invented the bikini in the sixties. This sunny garment has meanwhile shrunk to a monokini plus two well-placed stamps; the postage is, surprisingly perhaps, imposed by the local law!

The helicopter ride proved to be the icing on the cake. Although the cake itself had been a little bit humid (or should I say too spongy?) to make top grade, the copter could get you close enough to the landmarks, cutting through the persistent haze: round the Redeemer, diving down Sugar Loaf onto Copacabana, touring the Bay – the wow-feeling never left. This is the transportation “par excellence” to explore this pearl from all sides, a thrilling experience that will be a treasure to remember in more somber moments!

The second day was intended to be a follow-on to the Barbados “Photography in the Tropics” excursion. As I come to think of it, it seems ages ago. Notwithstanding that, I have not forgotten anything, simply because there was nothing to forget. Would I be lucky this time around? The answer proved to be yes.

The photographer, Fabrizia, was an excellent teacher with true tropical experience, and willing to share it! Moreover, she had brought a security guard to watch our equipment and an English speaking guide to fill in some Portuguese blanks. Because only five amateurs had registered, the value of the excursion was substantially enhanced as Fabrizia could really get engaged on an individual basis.

The grand plan was to visit the world famous Maracanã stadium, one of the sacred temples of soccer in the world, the less famous but inspiring Botanical Gardens and “strategic points” on the beaches. Fabrizia had also brought a heavy telelens which – luck had it – fitted on my camera as well. It could come in handy, for the bikinis perhaps? In retrospect, this day would, when all was said and done, be measured in all kinds of degrees. Sure, there was the air temperature and wet bulb temperature to deal with but color, body and meat temperature would dominate the conversation.

Few people, even few amateur photographers, ever deal or have dealt with color temperature, for the very simple reason that, traditionally, that “variable” was baked into the film roll that you bought (daylight, candle light and, sometimes, flash light) so that you didn’t worry about it. The digital cameras, even the cheap ones, correct for temperature when the flash is engaged and use standard color temperatures for sunny, cloudy, etcetera conditions. In the tropics these estimates break down because the light is intense and the vegetation (creating various types of shade) is exuberant. Visiting the Botanical Gardens in Rio is an outstanding and challenging training ground for appreciating and managing the color of the picture frames! Fabrizia’s close assistance among the shady bamboo and lofty palms provided comfortable assurance.

From there it went to the sea front. It may come as a surprise but at the beach the color temperature is not an issue. One number suffices for all pictures, for indeed there is no green vegetation and the paraded bodies don’t throw off disturbing shadows. This is the place where body temperature enters into the story. For starters the “objects” of the photo all radiate heat, the body heat that belongs to the sunbathers. On the other hand, one should not forget that the subjects, i.e. the photographers, may undergo a body temperature change if he lets himself get exalted or otherwise excited by frivolous activity in the sexy simmering sandbox. Luckily Fabrizia continued to focus my attention on light angles and composition, so that my own (blood) temperature and pulse remained within acceptable ranges. No shakes, nor shivers!

For all their fame, Rio beaches are also organized in a strict manner, using flags and numbers. For instance, on Ipanema, number 9 is reserved for the pretty men and women, number 10 for the rich and number 11 for all kinds of media stars (actors, politicians and journalists). It is remarkable that you do not have to have any kind of proof or to show and admission ticket. No, no, it is much simpler: if you are convinced that you are pretty you go to 9, if you think that you are rich then go to 10 and if you believe that you are star you just walk up at 11. Popular democracy in action!

In closing, I want to mention the last important temperature of the day: the meat variety – as in rare, medium-rare, medium and well done! After the demanding photographic activity and the continuous concentration that it requires, we were invited for a typical Rio luncheon, across from dreamy Sugar Loaf mountain. In one word, it was finger licking good. I am not referring here to all the flesh that was present and parading around – from lightly done all the way to dark roasted – but primarily about what the cooks put on your plate. Apart from an exotic buffet – fresh palm hearts, beefsteak tomatoes, all kinds of exotic fruit and varieties of morning-fresh fish – the place was filled with a full deck of scurrying men, each carrying a flickering knife and a large metal stick full of hot, broiled and juicy chunks of meat, different cuts from various animals. For carnivores it was a Fiesta for the eyes and for the taste buds without equal!

Staying with tradition – Brazilian as well as European, lunch lasted, and lasted. We only got back to the ship by late afternoon. That happened to be the right moment for the air and wet bulb temperatures to make a comeback. As their paths crossed, masses of warm tropical rain fell in buckets from an electrified sky, painted in all shades of grey. It was a welcome drenching after an intensive and rewarding day.

Around 11pm we set sail, on our way South. The Sugar Loaf Mountain stood massively towering but invisibly dark at starboard, while Copacabana stretched itself out in front us – a long, curbed line, a strip of intense light. Here and there, above that line, one could discern hanging triangles, widening downhill, with many small flickering light points. A tale of two worlds …

Prinsendam, Day 29 – Thursday Feb 3rd, 2011

Paraty is next, before we leave Brazil, after 30 days of exploration

Il-yay-oosh is the phonetic Portuguese rendition for “little island or islet”. The governor who took command of this “capitania” in the middle of the 16th century must have seen different things than we did. Ilhèus is a cozy little coast town, tucked in between the ocean and a relatively well-conserved stretch of primary Atlantic forest, rounding out southern Bahía State.

Personally, I would call it a rain forest for the very simple, but not necessarily adequate reason that it rains almost every day. Better make that “every night” because during the day it is hot and humid, with temperatures hovering between 28 and 34°C (74/88F) and relative humidity around 90%, year round! It follows that this day was easily the toughest, energy-sapping day of the past weeks. To walk – shuffle or loiter – in the oppressive heat, under a truly burning sun, perpendicularly above, leaves its marks on skin and breathing apparatus, even though everyone tries to immerse himself in any bath of shade within eyesight of the beaten path.

With its 220000 inhabitants spread over almost 800 square miles, you don’t find much a crowd in the small historic center, notwithstanding its charming buildings and streets, and relaxed atmosphere. I had planned to visit a cocoa plantation, rather than drinking caiperinhas in the famous Café Vesuvio or roaming along the sparsely populated, simmering beach. Actually, economically speaking, beachcombing would be much more efficient on Copacabana than in Ilhèus, a little patience does not hurt!

There is no doubt that Ilhèus exists only by the grace of sugar cane in the earliest days, and cocoa since the Germans arrived in 1850. By the end of 1989 they produced 400,000 tons, all for export, and the city, as well as the surrounding land, were among the most prosperous in Brazil. In this exhausting climate cocoa trees could be harvested three times per year.

The air-conditioned ride over asphalt-cushioned roads to a plantation, 60kms inland, was quite interesting. The coastal forest has 240 different species of trees per acre. Botany not having been my passion, I was already glad to recognize the banana trees (on the way back I also spotted the cocoa trees!). Brazilian bananas are quite special: thick and straight, rather than slender and rounded. They made me think of zucchini, although some of my companions did show different inspiration! (A dirty mind is a joy forever, I guess) In passing, let me mention that there were lime-orange trees as well, quite a curiosity!

As boom and busts cycles go, Ilhèus is a textbook example. After one dry year, a biblical plague spread over the plantations: fungi invaded the trees, with destructive force, and two years the miracle crop was reduced by 90%. The “coronels” sense of business had always been trumped by their shortsightedness, and, as they were filling their lazy pockets with loads of money, hard times had never been imagined, let alone been planned for. Everything imploded and dire poverty installed itself in the region in no time.

Brazil is still a land of resilient pioneers; it has to be, because it depends for much of its prosperity on the unpredictable nature. After the sudden departure of bankrupt coronels, a successful consolidation phase followed, including investment and brains. Although production is still at only 40% of the ’89 record, the revenues generated from it are almost 100%. Indeed, in the boom times the cocoanut was only used to make cocoa (or cacao), the primary ingredient for chocolate. These days every part of the fruit is being used.

Cocoa is the basis for a plethora of excellent products, at least if one loves ice-cream, milkshake, cocoa juice, cocoa butter, cocoa liquor and pralines. All of that is in addition to the high margin cocoa powder business. In my “Explorer” role, I have tasted a lot of these delicacies, certainly those that were for free! The experience starts with the fresh seeds inside the shell. They are covered by a creamy, sweat, fruity and dense juicy substance. After you put this seed in your mouth you simply suck it off. Thereafter you bite the seed in two or three pieces and you discover the raw cocoa, a brown coagulated pasta, al dente – somewhat bitter but intensely “chocolate”!

I could go on with the cocoa-ice water as thirst quencher (also for diabetics), cocoa-milkshake to re-energize (no luxury in the heat). As we all undoubtedly have experienced before: freshly picked or harvested fruit has no equal when it comes to a delirium for the taste butts. In closing, suffice it to add that I passed for the pralines and the liquor, giving priority to my dietary disciplines.

At this very moment we are sailing to Rio. The captain, an otherwise sober Norwegian and wool-died sailor, describes the arrival by sea in Rio in absolutely lyrical hyperbole. Not a man of too many words, he painted a romantic picture of the ship entering the bay, tomorrow morning at 6am, just before sunrise, and steaming along to dock at 8am. Definitely something to dream about tonight!

Prinsendam, Day 26 – Sunday Jan 30th, 2011

Too early for Carnival, but dancing the samba anyway!

P.S. As the street protests in Egypt are evolving, and the plight of the Tunisians is no longer interesting to the big media, I grabbed the opportunity, during this “sea day” to write down my concerns about those people and organizations that “create the news” for all of us – and why we should revolt against their self-serving opinion mongering! (you will find it under www.grimburger.com, click “conatus” and then “international”)

The old bridgehead, and capital of Brazil in times yonder, has never been very sure of its name, although officially, it has one: Salvador da Bahía de Todos os Santos. It is a mouthful, to be pronounced in one sweep, preferably after inhaling deeply.

Big as the city has meanwhile become, its sudden appearance – misty but expansive – hit me in the face, unprepared. After a slow turn into a narrow gap to our right, it stepped out of a misty morning, long and grey, imposing yet inviting.

Truth be told, the past sea days had also left a special impression. The omnipresent ocean had presented his many faces, partly caused by the winds, partly because of the position of the sun. Sometimes the gliding waves seemed covered with a thin layer of transparent enamel; rather than a mirror, the ocean turned into an oversized painting, depicting the infinite surface encircling me. If there is one single striking aspect that has dominated these sea days, it has to be the uninterrupted expanse of its blue surface, a surface that, even if we make abstraction of unfathomable depth and unimaginable water mass underneath, projects, with the precision of laser, our individual insignificance – a great exercise for improved ego management indeed! The horizon appears more stretched at these latitudes as well; the line where waters and heavens meet looks longer and straighter too, enhancing the impression of endlessness. Is it all imagined? Perhaps, but the math doesn’t matter that much when one is immersed in this grand terrestrial theatre.

Salvador beckoned. As the fog was lifting, we made it safely into port. In 1501 Amerigo Vespucci discovered the sheltered bay, on November 1st. Because all explorers of that era were catholic, it would have been blasphemy if All Saints (Day) would not be mentioned in its name. He called the bay simply “Bahía de Todos os Santos”, pleasing kings and popes alike. In 1549 – diamonds and gold had by now been discovered further inland – the Portuguese installed a governor and, as this was considered a blessing for the region as well as for the early settlers, the nascent city was rechristened to “Saõ Salvador da Bahía de Todos os Santos” – Holy Savior of the Bay of All Saints”. For the black slaves who were imported afterwards by the millions (five), because the local Indians weren’t strong enough for the hard labor in the mines, not the Holy Savior, nor the minerals turned out to be a blessing.

Measured by Western standards, Bahìa is the first (civilized?) “city” that we come across on this voyage. You find everything that one could expect of a modern metropolis: high rise apartments, beautiful buildings (colonial mostly), transportation infrastructure, busy streets, a big port, substantial international and regional tourism, shopping plazas and, yes, a stock exchange as well! Among the zillions of zipping cars I haven’t seen Mercedes, BMW or Audi and wonder why. Certainly, it is not for a lack of rich people …

Obviously Salvador has many European, more precisely colonial, traits, quite naturally where it concerns architecture. Among its three million inhabitants, the majority are said to be of African descent. Although the tourist-oriented street vendors were predominantly black, I didn’t have the impression that they were dominating the average street scene. Poverty, as we have witnessed farther north, seems to be less of a problem. That has, according to the guide, much to do with the fact that the fertility rate has dropped from 8.8 children per family in 1990, to 1.8 today. It all looks like a sustainable demography.

All told, the city is buoyant with vivid life, a life that is lived in a breathtaking environment, created by nature as well as by architecture. Salvador boasts a remarkable number of private residences, including the splendid mansion of its biggest slave trader. The old, predominantly Portuguese palaces have been “redeployed” for use by the government. The residence of the governor of the state (simply called Bahía) is imposing and artfully restored. Its towering position, high above the city and the bay, leaves no doubt about where the boss lives.

A totally other class of pearls constitute churches and monasteries. The most outstanding are situated in the upper city, Pelourinho. At its main square the black slaves were beaten when they didn’t “comply” with rules and regulations or didn’t otherwise live up to the masters’ expectations. The monasteries of St. Francisco and Sta. Theresa are impressive architectural jewels. The monasterial church of the Franciscans unquestionably deserves its nickname of “Golden Church” – inside everything, apart from a few baroque artifacts, is gold or gilded.

Because they were refused access to existing holy places, the slaves have built their own church in the same square. The Igreja de Nossa Senhora do Rosario dos Pretos (Our Lady of the Rosary of the Blacks) took one hundred years to complete. Inside it only black saints – that is white saints painted black – are on display! Today, at the square the preparations for Carnival are in full swing – better, in full samba! In Brazil the Bahía Carnival is, also due to the African influences, as famous as the Rio extravaganza. The parade covers 14 kilometers with countless floats that carry … between 8000 and 12000 dancers and musicians … each! See you in March?

In summary: SdBdToS is without a doubt a place to visit. Beware though that it rains every day, albeit only in the early morning as the sun is rising! Throughout the year its temperature varies between 25 and 28°C (76/ 82F), in the shadow which, unfortunately, is often difficult to find. It sports beautiful, tropical beaches, an idyllic bay dotted with many dolce-far-niente islands. Bahía? Cool, man – put it on your priority list!

Prinsendam, Day 24 – Friday Jan 28th, 2011

Bye, bye Allsaintlly Terrestrial Paradise

When it is sunny, dry and warm – and the latter is never an issue – then Fortaleza can claim to be a very attractive place. When you are drenched all day by equatorial rains though, it offers no physical or any cultural shelters. Yesterday, although the captain had confidently predicted “27°C/80F with the occasional shower”, there was no way to escape the ubiquitous, hot water dousing. Even though it was sunny and dry as we sailed in front of the long stretch of beach cum apartment buildings, the skies had changed clothes by the time we got off the ship. Half an hour later, many of the city streets were covered by inches, sometimes a foot, of water. And where it spouted out of the sewers, it had changed color as well!

Such circumstances are of no real concern to the machos of the city, as they make their casual way between the thick raindrops dressed in cotton shorts and flapping shirts, on razor-thin loafers, displaying their finely muscular, tanned bodies as they move. They are drenched all right, but the water-glued look is part of the sexy image! Unfortunately there are less “machas”; as a matter of fact, the “famous Brazilian Beauties” have, until now, been a very rare sight indeed. Perhaps that is because we visit the cities when they are still, or already, sleeping?

All told, this a city for beachcombers, as they have about 15 miles to comb! It is hard to imagine that they wouldn’t find what they are looking for over such a distance? Of course, sunny weather is a must; yesterday the beaches were desolate and deserted. For amateurs of less flashy or fleshy attractions, there is not much to lay your hands on! The cathedral was touted to be a little bit of Notre Dame of Paris, and another bit of the Dom of Cologne. In my humble opinion it was just a little bit of a cathedral, notwithstanding its plentiful and radiant tainted glass. Outright special though was the appearance of a statue of Saint Joseph: he held his only son, Jesus, on his left arm and was keeping a fatherly eye on him while Our (=His) Lady Mary, seemed rather uninterested. Either many a Brazilian is convinced that Joseph has indeed, presumably from the inception onwards, been an active father or, who knows, the macho’s of yonder have already been making concessions to feminist pressure – even in Brazil!?

In summary: if you travel in the dry season (May through January, normally speaking) and if you like wide open palm dotted beaches, by all means go to Fortaleza. Apart from the 15 miles of city beaches, the area all around is a beach lover’s delight. And for the bad swimmers, there is also an added guarantee: they are unlikely to drown easily,for this is the saltiest water on this side of the Atlantic. If I can stay afloat off Key Biscayne, which is a proven fact, then it is a plausible, albeit untested, hypothesis that (even) I can swim off Fortaleza!

Meanwhile the ship has set sail for places south, first we visit Bahia de Salvador, and a few days later we will dock in Rio de Janeiro. The weather at sea today is fantastic: 30°C/86F, sunny of course, with a fresh little breeze. Delicious, the perfect conditions for getting a well-deserved rest.

Prinsendam, Day 19 – Sunday Jan 23rd, 2011

Sub sole tropicano!

It takes two nights and two days to get to Belèm from Alter do Chaõ. We had to sail all the way downstream to Macapà, then further north to escape the Amazon via the narrow channel in the silt deposits, the “ Barre”, to subsequently turn due East and, finally, south to arrive in Belèm.

Rather than (being happy) to “escape” the Amazon, I was left with a rather mellow feeling of having to leave. Amazonas, its unfathomable river and unforgettable people, have surprised and have charmed me. I can’t even separate these two sentiments from one another because they seem like identical twins. This river is unimaginably grand, powerful, inviting, protective, idyllic, beautiful, nourishing, and full of fairylike light and budding life. There is no end to it. And the indigenous people carry many of these characteristics with them, for all to see. They are friendly, joyous, ready to help, energetic, positive, xenophile, well fed and, I believe, generally happy. Just as my surprise and my attraction are intricately interwoven, are these people and their river: tied together at the navel, they feed on each other, and are truly inseparable. I must admit that I was spontaneously moved when the river pilot bid an arm-waving farewell to captain and watching passengers, as we were approaching the equator once again.

The yellow water from the Amazon would remain with us for all the countless hours, as we were crossing its mouth from Northwest to Southeast, although these waters appeared to be more of a sea than of a river. During two nights and a day we would be plying the waves around the equator (from 0°N, to 1°N, back to 0°S and then 1°S). As the skies remained shrouded in all shades of grey, and while the rain doused even the waves, this was a good time to check out a few things, such as right and left screwing water.

Indeed, even though we all live on the same earth, our worlds are different. Take for instance the movement of water in a sink, or in a bathtub, or in a toilet. When there is no plug to block it – from that perspective a toilet is easiest as, for reasons that need no explaining, it is not plugged – the water drains in the Northern Hemisphere turning in the direction of the hands of a clock: it screws right, so to speak. The whirlpools on the Niagara River are a harrowing grander-scale example of this natural phenomenon. I also did this experiment in Johannesburg. And, sure enough, I could observe that the toilet water drained there as well – at least in my hotel room, for in Soweto one might have witnessed different outcomes – but, as it lies in the Southern Hemisphere, the liquids screw in the opposite direction. How about the equator then?

Everybody can rest assured: it runs straight to the drainage hole, as predicted by the theory: the Coriolis force is close to zero. I will check this again when I am at the South Pole to report on the angular speed as it will be disappearing. Stay tuned when we report about the vortices from the depths of Antarctica.

Meanwhile the satellite and internet connections from the ship were down for more than a day: snow in New Jersey was said to be the cause. Plain amateurism, on all fronts – from technical infrastructure, all the way to administration and user friendliness, that was the obvious reason. When my cell Phone lighted up at 6am, I knew that what we conveniently call civilization, was around the corner or, at least, somewhere along the distant and dark shores. We anchored in the Amazon about 20km upstream from Belèm, because of shallow waters.

Instead of using our own tenders, they had chartered “cagey boats”. This is the English name for boats with bring-your-own-hammock-for-sleeping-comfort arrangements. This time around, our Brazilian skippers had put simple plastic chairs on deck. Apart from sliding over the deck, some also spread all four legs in response to too many Western kilos, pounds or meaningful fractions of tons, as they were plunking down on their seats. The Brazilians sailors took it all in stride. We docked in Quajarapé. The way that the various boats and captains jostled, pushed, and rammed each other, was a biblical sight. Since we were the biggest by length and (total) weight we won the nerve-racking fight after half an hour on points – no other boat had sunk!

Belèm, capital of Parà state – bigger than France, is, with 1.5 million inhabitants, the biggest Indian city in Brazil. At the other side of the Amazon, who has just absorbed the mighty Tocatins River, lies the island Marajó, the biggest river island in the world. About the size of Switzerland, it has twice as many inhabitants; 98% of them are water buffalo.

While I had a chance to take a picture of all missing Amazonian jungle animals – in the Botanical Gardens from Belèm – and of a graceful and radiating church – the Igreja de la Santa Senhora de Nazaré – the landmark par excellence of this equatorial city is the market, named “Ver-o-Peso” (Check the Weight, an old Portuguese customs house). Today this market stretches along more than a mile of docks, measures in the neighborhood of 20 acres, and is covered by plastic roofs that resemble the tops of luxurious Arabian desert tents. Underneath the covers one finds a pasta of people and animals, and all kinds of raw, cooked or in between foodstuffs. On top of the roofs you find hundreds of fat vultures and, at a respectable distance, some hungry pigeons. Breughel would undoubtedly have loved to paint this late medieval scene.

This Ver-o-Peso, which, as the morning progresses, turns gradually into a full-fledged garbage belt, is an utterly comprehensive bucolic spectacle. In the middle of stands with meat, fish, vegetables, fruits – in various states of maturity, flanked by “impromptu restaurants, you find bustling life, primordial almost in its nature; it is a life that envelops the people and a life that the people have to embrace, without conscious reflection. For reflection there is definitely no space, no time and, presumably, no need. The “here and now”, the “hic et nunc”, absorbs everything and everybody.

An American visitor suggested that “a little more sanitation” wouldn’t hurt. I asked him where he would start? He shook his head, from left to right, a couple of times. All of sudden, in one subconscious logical associative loop, I thought of a fridge. Rather than perceiving it as a place to preserve food though, it appeared as a place where the American, as a symbol for Western society, had deposited his life, to preserve it as long as possible ….

Belèm is now a few hundred miles behind us already, as is the fabulous, inspiring Amazon region. From here on in we will discover the riches of a less traditional Brazil.

Prinsendam, Day 19 – Sunday Jan 23rd, 2011

Out of the rainy forests, towards the sandy beaches

The day started with a surprise: we were not allowed to take our own food anymore, not even our own coffee from the simple push-button machine! To tell the truth, after an utterly unrefreshing night’s sleep and pull-pushing myself up the stairs to the 11th floor restaurant, I didn’t really appreciate having to point at, or explain, what I would have liked for breakfast. Moreover, how would I explain to them that the little plate had to filled with plenty of peppered tomato slices, some marinated salmon, to literally “top it off” with two or three slices of rye bread, – no butter, thanks! They have not been taught to just put bread on top of all the other goodies underneath. It is blasphemy for them! To avoid all the hassle, I just had two slices of bread and two little potties of jam, with a coffee at another queue.

While some passengers “in the know” had already whispered with a loud, scratchy morning voice that “there was quite a few people sick you know”, most of the boat was still asleep at 7:30 am, especially since the captain had moved the clock forward last night. As a matter of fact, he must have woken up many a sleeping beauty when, just before eight, he announced “new procedures” over the general intercom (also booming uninhibitedly in the passenger rooms). The reason: “GI”. No, American troops had not come aboard the ship.

Instead, the message concerned “the plague of the cruise ships” which, so he said, is the second most frequent disease in the USA after the common cold: gastro-intestinal virus. From here on, enhanced prophylaxis would be enforced until all symptoms had disappeared. It ain’t fun but it is in the interest of the passengers. I agree, but could not resist the thought that, one of these years, passengers will have to walk around in spacesuits because their own virus-killing systems will be so weakened that any kind of bug will put them down for a couple of days.

Alter do Chaõ, a tender port, owes its name to a 500ft altar-like hill that sits above silvery-white sand beaches that line the blue waters of the Tapajós River, about 30km south of Santarèm. These same beaches have a short useful annual lifespan: by the month of March they will be swallowed by the rising river and the only sight remaining will be the “Alter”, high above, and very dry come July.

Because sunbathing (not evident in the rain season anyway!) on the beach was not my first priority, I had booked a trip to an unspoiled tract of rainforest, 60km inland – so to speak. The bus ride itself was already an experience. It happened to be a regional line bus. The conductor’s high chair was left intact, together with the mention that bills of more than B$10 (about $6 or €4) were not accepted. We had paid much more for this trip of course, and had also been told that the bus most likely would have neither a working mike nor any kind of air-conditioning.

The mike was working and the guides were good. The combination was a blessing. They also explained why the bus had no air-conditioning. I thought that line buses simply aren’t designed and built with A/C. Apparently in Brazil they really have done a deeper analysis and have come to the conclusion that A/C is not good for the public health. Therefore we open all the windows and enjoy the air flow. (We also close them often, when we drive through one of the many, intense showers; that is good exercise because they are not regularly oiled). Actually, with the GI virus in mind, I considered it a welcome discourse with a clear message for my western friends: get exposed to nature and keep your natural defenses in shape!

Little did I know that this was not the end of the story… Indeed, researchers in Amazonas had found that the scent of the trees actually helped people to increase their resistance to all kinds of bodily intruders, in other words these scents had medicinal benefits. The guide added that pharmaceutical companies had descended over the region to study these matters. One of these years we might see Brazilian-scented air-conditioners in our luxury houses…

In any event, after 90 minutes of driving, we landed in a jungle. I know little about plants and insects, and it never has really interested me, as my mother must have realized early on as I often became sick if she had me work in the garden as a young lad. I learned that the jungle is more than high trees and less than lots of jaguars. Most dangerous, said our machete-wielding guide, were poisonous spiders and beetles, not the relatively rare predators. There is also a astonishing variety of fruits (200 on the local markets, 3000 according to the Indians) and herbs with proven medicinal characteristics. I think I have come to realize that the rainforest is a place wherein you can really survive and prosper, barring big injuries or unusual diseases.

What I also take away from the jungle is a new definition: in the rain forest 20% is rotten, 20% is flower, fruit or seed bearing, and the other 60% is quickly moving to one of those two states of being. There is no pause, nowhere: life is visibly in continuous flux everywhere. Creation and destruction compete for supremacy.

The next two days we are sea-bound, to finally arrive, on Saturday, in Belèm, the southern shore of the Amazon delta (400km away from Macapà on the other side). That is a welcome period to reflect and start my Conatus series. Stay tuned!

Prinsendam, Day 16 – Thursday Jan20th, 2011

Sea-bound somewhere in the huge Amazon Delta

When I wrote yesterday: “Let’s go to Carnival”, I wasn’t joking, and neither was I referring to a nostalgic longing for Rio de Janeiro. No, no, it was an announcement for “Boi Bomba”, the carnival of the Amazon Indians. They celebrate it every December but perform also for tourists during the rainy season – high season for the passer-by tourism.

Parintins is the capital of Boi Bomba. The city is an “important regional centre”, situated on the south shore of the Amazon, half way between Santarèm and Manaus. Total number of inhabitants is rumored to be around ten thousand, spread out over about one thousand square miles. For the first time did I see older people on the streets; one of them was a middle-aged man with an amputated left big toe. He obviously did not want to hide it …

Boi Bomba!! It is a breath-taking show (for performers and onlookers a like), comparable to the Rio samba shows, although it contains traditional ritual themes around bulls, dragons, storks and sorcerers. The flashy colors, the music and song, the unrelenting rhythm and passionate dancing, which make all your still functioning sensorial receptors strung to breaking point, is indescribable and not imaginable if you weren’t there. Boi Bomba is a festive gastronomic meal for all the senses, which leaves an intensive palette of tastes, even hours after leaving the table.

I have no other news today. I would have loved to upload fifty pictures to share with you all the beautiful, happy, smiling, young folks who appeared to be actors in a dynamic, swirling painting that was being created with a thousand brushes, as you are watching. Boi Bomba? A feast!

Prinsendam, Day 14 – Tuesday Jan18th, 2011

Jungle trek tomorrow with a machete-wielding Indian guide

If Manaus, as was mentioned, covers about 4000 square miles, than “Manaus & Surroundings” is obviously too ambitious a title for one local excursion. It was just that though: a boat and canoe trip to, and in, Lake January. The latter owes its name to the fact that between February and October, there is no lake any more, compliments of the seasonally rising waters of the Solimoes. That, by the way, is the name of the Amazon River before it meets with the Rio Negro. In May the entire forest between Solimoes and Negro is flooded. The confluence consequently moves many miles westward and the Amazon’s width increases to more than 25 miles.

Since I am not an ornithologist, there is not much that I can tell about the many birds of the Amazon. The lake itself was, in essence, a bird’s paradise where flowers and caymen (alligators) were only a fixture in the surrounding stage. On that same stage one couldn’t miss the “floating houses”: at first sight rather unattractive homes for their Indian inhabitants. The good news is that the Brazilian government doesn’t levy any estate tax as long as the house never really is attached to the land. It seems like an excellent ordinance to benefit poor people. Because changing a domicile on a daily basis is rather cumbersome, the question arises how to arrange to stay and live at the same address? Answer: you find a tree around which you fix a rope that also secures your “home float”. Make sure you don’t get into trouble with the neighbors though, because they might cut you loose!

That is the story of my second Monday on board. Let’s go to Carnival!!

Prinsendam, Day 13 – Monday Jan17th, 2011

With a 3kt push in the back on our way to the ocean (4 days away)

P.S. Let me also share a few tips from our Indian guide for future visitors. It provides important information about certain fish!

1)Don’t be afraid of piranhas. As long as you have no open wound, you can swim “your heart out” in waters where piranhas will just be colleagues. Let it be known though that one little cut – a small trace of blood – sets them aflame and makes them attack immediately. At that moment it helps (somewhat) if you know which ones of the 23 species of piranha are to be taken extremely seriously. There are three ferocious types: “confrontation to be avoided” by all means: run, jump, fly or swim (less recommended but better than to freeze).

a) the red bellied piranha, because he bites with very, very high frequency

b) the black bellied piranha, because he is very big (20 inches) en take big bites

c) the “cachoe” (catch-you) because they swim in large schools, capish?

2)The Indians don’t fear piranhas. They fear electric eels and stingrays, although these killers swim in deep waters, at the bottom. Their biggest concern is the “canjiriu” (Kanji-ree-oe). These are little creatures that love shallow waters and swim close to the surface. Measuring about 2 inches, they actually nestle within the body, and have two fangs that allow them to block the way back. Once inside, they then eat their way forward. Swimmers find them at times in ears or nose, sometimes in their mouth if they open it inadvertently (not smart under any circumstances anyway!) Why are fishermen afraid of these killer fish? Simply because, when they get out of their boats if their nets are ensnared or if the propeller has caught grass or gets stuck in other debris, danger lurks in the murky waters. What hole do you think the canjiriu seek out to penetrate? One guess allowed! The only remedy is quick surgery, otherwise death is a certainty! By the way: they are very fond of urine. Whatever you do, don’t p….!!

Only a few branches separated us from arriving here this morning or being stuck 300 miles downriver. Yesterday, just before sundown, the ship vibrated top to bottom and the engines seemed to shriek. After ten minutes the captain explained in a calm manner, that they thought a big log had been sucked under the hull and might be stuck in the propellers. He was going to stop the vessel and have a look. Personally I didn’t “see” – so to speak – how anyone could have a look in or through this brown-yellowish, opaque Amazon brew. Within half an hour he had it all solved by maneuvering the ship, just like we bob our car when it is stuck in mud or snow: full reverse, and forward, three times and … all systems go!

Before we were to arrive in Manaus, the 2nd encounter of the waters was programmed at 7am. The Rio Negro, tumbling down from the North, joins the Amazon main river 12 miles before Manaus. The Negro has ink black water (due to lack of oxygen and special compounds) and the two liquids do not mix readily. Only after ten kilometers of flowing “decreasingly alongside each other” do they become one stream: a brown-yellowish soup, of course.

All told, I didn’t consider it as spectacular as the confluence of the Amazon with the blue Tapajos in Santarèm. The compensation for this half disappointment came as a steamraincloudburst, , until today, unseen by me. In less than ten minutes the decks were covered by 1 inch of water, and you couldn’t see the fingers of your outstretched hand. A primordial deluge it was! That didn’t impede our subsequent docking at the Manaus floating dock, on time.

I had planned a visit of the city today, partly guided and partly by myself. From all angles this is, in summary, a jungle metropolis, twice over. The city itself is an unabridged jungle while, at its outskirts, in whatever direction you choose to look, you find enormous green-walled freshwater flats that hurry, very slowly, towards the far away sea. There is no escaping the infinite expanse of this unimaginable landscape. In the city though you cannot escape the dirtiness, the disorder, the noise (sometimes disguised as samba music), and in some sections the utter poverty … The operahouse and four buildings, dating back to the late 19th century are the only bright spots.

To round it out then, a few factoids from our guide: Manaus has just under 3 million inhabitants in a city area of about 4200 square miles (11000 km²). There is NO soccer stadium anymore because they are building a new one with 40000 seats for the FIFA 2014 World Cup. Note though that the biggest stadium in Manaus rises to 130ft high and “seats” 200000 fans, as long as they stand up! That happens one day a year at Carnival, for the Samba Dancers Parade. He added that they also organize, since a few years, a Gay Parade, on the following day, which he described as “Asswednesday”. Finally, by road Manaus is only connected to Venezuela. The highway is 1400 miles long and runs due North. It takes 48 hours to reach the border and it is dotted with fifteen police checkpoints against drug and weapons trade. If you want to travel in other directions from Manaus, you may choose between planes and boats. For short: it is a big hole in the wilderness, with a few pearls that emphasize the size of the hole!

Tomorrow I escape to …. the jungle, on the Rio Negro, by boat – which, in the neck of these woods, is the beginning and the end of all things!

Prinsendam, Day 12 – Sunday Jan16th, 2011, 1800hrs

From a gaping hole in the imposing Amazon jungle

On a normal map you will not find it, unless you could find a hole on it… Of course, on Google Maps you find everything, such as 2°30’ South by 56°30’ West, about 350 miles from Manaus. It is overcast but has not been raining for a while; at 90F that rain would, they say, be welcome.

At 7am this morning – dawn had already arrived because yesterday the captain had decided to turn the clock back one hour – the noise of the thrusters gave away that we were moving laterally, which means that we were had started our landing, somewhere out of the center of the river. I had planned to go on land by eleven but, after a mouthful of bacon and eggs, I had gathered enough energy to think this through, rationally: later meant warmer and warmer meant more chance for rain. I decided to pack and go.

At 8 the tender was shuttling me to the shore. Think of the Amazon shore as a coastline because, even more than after 600 miles, this giant river has not gotten any narrower. To think that maximum water levels come by the end of April, one cannot even start to imagine its size.

Boca de Valeria, was branded a “stop in the jungle”; it is a village of 80 people. From these eighty inhabitants we immediately discovered six, bobbling in their little canoe off the open door of our tender that was still moored at the Prinsendam’s lower deck exit, about a mile out of the shore. As a matter of fact, the seventh person was hidden in the tummy of the young lady who, balancing on the rim of her canoe, was peddling colorful necklaces. With the passing of time, more floating vendor families arrived; I counted five and, confirming Darwin’s ideas, they were fighting at every tender departure to have the first, and best, place to get to the visitors from afar.

The reference that I made to Santa Claus yesterday, I’d like to withdraw. After the spectacle that I witnessed, it is a rendering that is too cynical and too comical as well. Indeed, at the green inlet, with green tree wall behind it, the entire village had emptied to greet us – all the children in front, the boys nervously inquisitive and the girls shyly giggling.

When I state that the image of Santa Claus is too cynical, it is because these youthful boys and girls merrily gather around the landed visitors, taking them unceremoniously by the hand to walk them along the only path to the village. Cynicism doesn’t fit that quasi-bucolic picture. When I state that the image of Santa is too comical, it is because their enormous and boisterous Expectations have nothing comical. It is all very, very real. It is when the tourist and the person in me have difficult conversations.

Old people are nowhere to be seen. Since I do not think that there are a lot of senior citizens’ homes around this neck of the woods, I assume that they are in loftier spheres (and I don’t mean traveling the world on a cruise ship either!). Around here youth is king, and little princes dominate. I wouldn’t be surprised if the ratio between say 20-40 year olds, on the one hand, and 0-12 year olds on the other, is at least five to one. It is a stunning fact.

Some kids, usually boys, try to please, explicitly and purposefully, be that by their loud enthusiasm or by their tricks with all kinds of animals (monkeys, turtles in various sizes, a small boa constrictor, parrots, etcetera). Others, girls mostly, give a shy impression as they have to showcase traditional garb, plumes included and seem to wonder inside why they have to parade for all these strangers…

The landing area is packed when a sloop arrives. As the procession moved inland – not unlike the Pied Piper – the numbers dwindled quickly. Some of the passengers couldn’t muster the terrain or missed energy, others just hung around the first stalls with handicrafts. As I went on, I caught a very simple wooden church, somewhat elevated, but not on poles, as the rest of the village, but on a concrete foundation with 15 steps leading to its entrance. I climbed them and ran into an American lady. “Cool isn’t it?” she volunteered and she meant it, literally. I thought that it was cool as well: notwithstanding the white plastic chairs, an atmosphere of shared joy emanated from the altar. Above it hung a white rectangular cloth with “Feliz Natal” printed on it in dancing, rainbow-colored letters. As I left, looking at the visitors on the path below, 3Fetisj Naval” flashed through my head. What’s in a name?

Giving money in exchange for a picture, the brochure says, is not a good idea. In that way you create a vulture-effect. It is true too, of course. You can’t blame them though. All of sudden the scripted fairy tale changes into harsh reality: it is all part of a logical survival strategy. And yet, they all stay friendly! Presumably, they are not familiar with Spinoza but there is no doubt that they exemplify the “Natura naturata” to the tee.

An 80 year old Norwegian, whom I had acquainted yesterday on the Piranha boat, was also part of my platoon. Taking pictures here doesn’t sit well with my heart, he said, and moved his hand up and down his sternum. I thought and felt the same, I replied. And we saw eye to eye.

Prinsendam, Saturday January 15, 2011, 1600hrs

In a Kind of Paradise at 2°N by 56°W

Eleven thirty, in the evening, and I still have to start the day’s story. It has been quite a while since I have experienced this amount of pressure to deliver! Time has many faces. Here we go.

For starters, it will be obvious that I have been victorious in my battle against the piranhas. Better even, I ate them, and not the other way around! All told, we caught four of them in Lake Maico: two red ones, one black one and one baby that was too small to determine its race. Our on board specialist did put them on the grill and turned them into grainy pellets. The most adventuresome amongst us have tasted it. It had “character”, some kind of spiciness, without being hot. When we had eaten our portions, the guide let out a little secret: this was the Brazilian Viagra. I can assure ye’ all that this Belgian – descendant from those that beat the armies of Julius Cesar (once), wasn’t impressed, nor affected in any way or another.

Meanwhile we are in Santarèm, 300000 souls, a jungle town where the waters of the Amazon and the Tapajós come together, albeit – contrary to what we would generally assume, these rivers only mix after 8 miles. The separation between the silt-rich, brownish Amazon water and the blue, oxygen-rich waters of the Tapajós, is easily discernable. That applies also to the dolphins, but the latter have, so far, avoided my photographic eyes. Postponed is not foregone! I did catch an iguana though. That is, admittedly, a lot easier because he just stays put, lazy and uninterested. The challenge here is to discover it amidst the leafy river shores. Our guide, luckily, knew what to look for, and where to find it!

Around Santarem, where we crisscrossed the waters by boat all afternoon, time stands still and people are dirt poor. In the pictures I have selected a typical “homestead”. It is situated one hour by motorboat from Santarèm, with nothing in between. You will notice that in front of the house there is just one rowing boat: fathers and sons fish at their leisure on the surrounding rivulets, while mothers and daughters were nowhere to be seen.

And yet, there are lots and lots of happy faces, the air is filled with joyful laughter. In general people are friendly, empathic and talkative. A melting pot of small and tall, young and old, white and black and everything in between, and more – that is the Amazon. I‘ll bet that Prozac is not very popular; neighbors and friends fill every gap! The frontiers of humanness are nigh invisible around here, hidden perhaps behind the shores, barely discernable in the distance, miles and miles away. Immeasurable Amazon, beyond our western grasp.

Tomorrow will be “at ease”. We stop at 8am in Boca de Valeria, one day away from Manaus. They plan a “tender service” again. According to the experienced travelers Boca is an Indian village with about 80 inhabitants. According to the same sources, the kids, in traditional dress, await Santa Claus, dressed up as an American: an inverted inversion so to speak.

There is still la lot to write: about time, about seas and rivers, about Spinoza. My little black notebooks contain slivers of thoughts. They just ought to be structured and written down. Mañana is a magic word that never fails!

Prinsendam, Friday January 14, 2011, 2345hrs

In the middle of the ever flowing, ever imposing Amazon