Into South America by Motorcycle Linia Verde and Lencois

Our Journal

Linia Verde to Lencois

Even though Salvador is the drumming mecca, and even though Olodom was playing that night, and even though Ivete Salganlo was playing in a week long music festival in a few days, and even though Salvador exhibits how beautiful people can be with lots of genetic mixing… - I could go on, but it is a big city, difficult to navigate, and we had a long way to go before Carnaval so we decided on moving north up the coast on the Linia Verde. We stopped at Romano’s place to spend a couple of days. He immediately brought us out to his back porch overlooking the ocean where a group of older Italians had dropped by. They had already done a fair bit of damage to a home brew of Cachaca so we spent the afternoon recounting stories and listening to their advice on where to visit. We walked into a sleepy beach town and wandered deserted beaches.

Rested, we said goodbyes and drove further north to Conde right into the middle of a festival. The streets were packed and we inched the bikes through crowds and drove out to the beach, Sitio de Conde. That night, we found the only cab in town to drive us back to Conde where a live Axe band was playing. We turned the corner to the plaza and landed right in the middle of one of the greatest displays of bacchanalian frenzy I’ve ever witnessed. One truck, or giant mobile stereo system, had the band playing on top. Two other water trucks had pulled up on both sides and were dowsing the crowed with water sprayed out of giant tubes. The crowd was drenched and wanting more, hands all up in the air, jumping and dancing around. We walked a wide circle around the crowd not really believing it. We stood watching for a while not knowing what to do. We felt in slow motion, like watching a merry go round moving too fast to jump on, too old, too white, too gringo to join in. We ordered capetas, a kick starter drink with guarana, known for its red bullish effects. One group of boys started dancing/performing capoeira to the music. Every now and then a girl would look over and smile but by the time I looked back she was gone. A crowd in constant motion. Guys ran though the crowed, stopped to kiss a girl, and then moved on to another girl further on. The band announced the last song and then it was fight time. The atmosphere tensed. We slowly moved back making eye contact and nodding at the guys around us just to make sure we weren’t about to get slammed. When the fighting began it wasn’t so different from the dancing. Unlike a north American barroom brawl that more or less stays in one place, this was more like slam dancing with everyone running everywhere throwing fists. We moved back as the police moved in and broke things up. Nobody hurt. The party moved down the street and things slowed down to conversational pace. Some local boys took us into their circle. Later one of them told Matt, “You know, I was going to fight you earlier tonight, but now I see you are a nice guy.” Luckily we hadn’t danced or even talked to any local girls. We left the drunk boys and looked for a way home. Nothing but our feet to take us the four miles back to Sitio de Conde down a dark stretch of highway.

The next day we explored the beach and ate some of the best seafood we’ve had here, some cousin of the shrimp and tiny lobsters. That night there were crowds around the plaza. Two guys we had met the night before sat us down. We got introduced to one guy’s cousin. I noticed he was holding her hand which I assumed was to signal to us gringos that she is not free. We understood perfectly, I mean nibbling on cousin’s ear really wasn’t necessary. We met a lifeguard who also runs a beer/food stand. Later, everyone crammed into an open bar for live axe music. The dancing in Bahia is so far beyond us. Patrick Swayze was only scratching the surface of the erotic dance.

We’ve had a dilemma ever since entering Brazil. We had to get our visas extended again to stay over the 180 days the Brazilian government allows. We decided to make Lencois our stopping point to arrange everything. We left Conde early and drove inland to Feira do Santana and an hour later realized we had turned the wrong way. Instead of repeating a dull stretch of urban highway we decided on farm roads to get us back. Going further into the interior quickly brought us through tiny farming communities that don’t see many foreigners. Most of the road was excellent but at one point it just sort of disappeared into dense potholes. At one mountain pass, traffic had stopped due to a semi that had wrecked and turned on its side. It was full of vodka bottles, many still intact, and as we rolled past we saw a mob of very excited young men grabbing as many bottles as they could carry.

We realized our goal of Lencois was impossible so we stopped outside a town on a hill at a crossroads and waited for a decision to settle in. Some cows walked by and one defecated right in front of us which we took to mean no more driving that day. An old man rode by on a bike and we asked if the town had a pousada. He told us there were five hotels and five restaurants. We rode into town and felt like rock stars as people smiled, yelled, or took pictures of us. Two old women on a porch got us oriented and told us about the only hotel in town around the corning… “nothing chic”. Two beds, cement floor, bathroom – all the necessities. We walked around town. Once on foot, our novelty soon wore off and people went back to whatever it is they do. You had to be careful who you struck up a conversation with as the talking went on and on. Conversations, evidently, are not something one dabbles in. The plaza had a pizza place so we parked and watched a group of girls ride motorcycles around. A group of guys had circled chairs further down but we weren’t ready to commit to their beer circle. It was Sunday and by nightfall everyone in town seemed to be in the plaza. Our town old helpful ladies walked by to make sure we didn’t need anything. But mostly, people didn’t take much interest in us. We were just about to call it a night when a guy sat down with us. He introduced us to his friends, all teachers in local high schools in the area. They introduced us to some girls but then sent them away saying that tonight they just wanted guy time. We were invited to stay at one of their houses which caused a slight ruckus since the son of the hotel owner was also present. They wanted us to stay for a few days and throw a big party.

But, next morning we decided our visa situation had to be solved so we drove on to Lencois. Back on main highway we made great time until just before Lencois when the road, if that words is appropriate, becomes a mess of broken asphalt and dirt. The landscape got nice, all lush mountains. Winding down into a valley we arrived at Lencois, full of colonial architecture and cobblestones.

Lencois has plenty of tourists who come to see the sights in and around the national park. Chic cafes and restaurants line some of the streets but the locals have the run of the place. The next day we spent making calls, waiting for calls, visa stuff. We mailed our visas via local post to Rio where a lawyer we’ve never met will get our visas extended. In the meantime, we walked around getting to know the area. We hiked a trail for three hours before seeing a couple with guide walking the other way. They told us the hike we were attempting was 8 hours long and it was already late, so we walked back. The next day we drove the bikes out to some caverns and caves. The cave was enormous full of stalactites and mites. The only way to see it is with a guide. No lighting inside, just a hand held kerosene lantern. Before entering he showed us some of the local plants. Umbu has leaves that taste like lime, others with great scents, two with poison ivy like effects, and an insect that with venom that makes a man impotent, for life. We drove back and got caught in the rain, a reminder of how unpleasant slick, curving, mountain roads can be.

Lencois was at the end of one month of fiestas and we really hadn’t joined in, so that night we walked down to the river where live music was playing. An axe band played with some great drummers. I was ecstatic. The dancing, amazing. Again, the constant movement in the crowd. Rain. This time we partook and danced all night. Funny, no one in town so much as looked at us since we’ve arrived, just two more #$%^ gringos passing through. But, as soon as we started dancing they loved us.

Then we got the call from Rio. Our visas couldn’t be extended because our original visas we got five years go had expired. Our passports were on their way back to Lencois (local mail, what could possibly go wrong?) and we have until February 8 to get out of the country. Ironic, is it not, that Carnaval ends the same day. Coincidence? Or mystery of the unexplained? I actually teared up at breakfast.

Our last day, we hiked upstream past different swimming holes and waterfalls. We went off the path following the water, climbing at times, wedging through parts. We found waterfalls, caves, and lookout spots up above Lencois. Hiking down the other side we started talking about plans and decided that tomorrow we head for Brasilia, then toward the border with Paraguay. A sad day indeed.

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