ISABM Journal Caracas still

Our Journal

Parnaiba

At the gas stop guys swarmed around the bikes. They explained the town to us and told us where to stay. We unpacked at a hotel and walked out to find pizza. Parnaiba has seen the foreigner before and the waitresses stared constantly for different reasons. The next day we moved to another part of town toward the center where we could walk down to their river walk. We feasted on crabs and spent the whole next day violently ill. The next day we stopped at the police station to see about getting our visas extended, something that had never been requested in Parnaiba before. After a couple of hours he told us to go and pay at the bank and then return the next day. Noticing that we still had a couple of hours to get to the bank and return I suggested we come back the same day. Big mistake and he sternly told us to come back the next day. The bank took a couple of hours and the next day a couple of more hours for the visas, but we got everything done officially.

We spent the next couple of days at a beach about 10 miles away. The beach was completely deserted and stretched on as far as the eye cold see. We were the only people in the hotel and felt a little silly having a whole staff just for us. There is a long jetti constructed nearby that we drove out on. Some local boys told us it was constructed a long time ago when they attempted to make Parnaiba a port to compete with Sao Luis and Fortaleza. It is the Brazilian point closest to Africa. We weren’t sure how that was going to help.

The drive along the coast to the south is amazing. Dunes come right up to the road and stretch on in the distance. The towns are all half covered in sand. Cows and goats wander around gnawing at dried ruffs of weeds and grass. One town, Chuval, has houses constructed on large rocks. We reached Camocim by late afternoon and ate at an Argentinean’s restaurant. He had brought his family to Brazil to escape the economic crisis in Argentina. Camocim supposedly has some great beaches but the next morning we were determined to get to Jericoacoa where our friend Jodi has a pousada.

I woke up feeling not quite right. After a swim and breakfast we packed up and found a small ferry boat to take us across where you can drive through the dunes to Jericoacoa. The ferry had some kind of Frankenstein engine to power the wooden boat across. One of the guys working the boat wanted to be our guide but we didn’t pay him any attention. Once on the other side there was a buggy being fixed by a driver. The two women with him told us we would never get there on our bikes without a guide. Bah, we could see where the trail went off toward the dunes. We drove toward it only to realize it disappeared completely. We had heard you can drive the coast at low tide. The tide was beginning to come in but we still had a little time. I walked out onto the sand to test how tightly packed it was. At one point my foot sank in half way to the knee. We came to terms, this wasn’t possible, we didn’t know what we were doing. We stood on the beach trying to flag the ferry boat back. Meanwhile a guy on a 250 came flying across the dunes. He just smiled when we told him we were thinking of driving to Jeri on 750’s. He suggested another route that arrived by an inland route so we decided to try that.

We ferried across and began to drive out of Camocim. It is a bit complicated. I was leading and turned off while Matt had stopped to ask directions. Within a minute we were separated. I drove around looking for him, he drove around looking for me. No luck, so I decided to wait at the entrance to the city. I stopped and waited and three boys ran over to talk. They had seen us drive in the day before and were certain Matt had not passed by. They seemed to know everything. Matt pulled a little while later and sat and fielded questions for a while. I let on of them start my bike and he held on and revved it eyes opened wide. We left the guardians of Camocim and drove on to Granja nearby. We stopped to check the map and a group of local boys on bikes pulled up around us. They were all into motocross and were fascinated by the bikes. They drove us around to a bridge, the turnoff for Jeri. The road was dirt but packed all the way to Parazinha 30 km away. In Perizina cows lie in the road and at midday everyone is busy getting out of the heat. We stopped for water at a store with a pool table. No one took much notice of us but a few stared with expressionless eyes. I wondered at the inbreeding rate in small places like this. We drove and the road got narrower and softer until it was mostly sand patches. I stopped at a bike mechanic to ask directions. He refused to tell me anything but was willing to charge me to be a guide.

Down the road we got directions and pushed on. Five minutes later I hit a sand patch, the steering vibrated all over and I laid the bike down almost going into some bushes. I was fine but one of the boxes had broken off. While we got the bike uprighted, three bikers stopped to help. One had a very annoying tendency of putting his arm around me every time he spoke. Two of these guys were clear evidence of inbreeding and they kept insisting we go to their friend’s garage to weld the box frame back together. We finally got them on their way and we bungied the boxes on our bikes. The third biker was a nice old man who didn’t say anything other than offering to carry one of the boxes, just waited patiently and followed us back into town to make sure we got back ok. We decided to go all the way back to Granja as the people seemed nicer and quicker. Back across the bridge, through the center of town, we found a pousada, Casa Grande. The owner had a cousin at a welding shop two blocks away. The welder hardly spoke and worked diligently reinforcing the frame. He refused to take pay. We noticed that Granja was going to have a big forro festival two nights away so we decided to stay.