ISABM Journal Caracas still

Our Journal

To Salvador

At dawn I packed up and rode out to Sobral. I didn’t stop to say goodbyes to Carlos and the boys as I was worried about them not letting me leave. As I drove out of Sobral I didn’t have my lights on and the police pulled me over. The short cop was telling me I was going to have to pay a fine right about the time Carlos and his wife pulled up, they had seem me pass through town. Carlos grabbed my papers out of the cop’s hands, stuffed them back in my bag, and yelled and the cop for trying to fine a visiting foreigner. The cop was speechless until he caught himself and said, “You remember how nice Brazilians are.” Carlos reprimanded me for not saying goodbye and reminded that it was twice now he had saved me. We exchanged contact information and may meet up later when he is back in Sao Paolo.

I stopped in Fortaleza for the night, bought a pack for the bike, and developed some pictures and sent them back to Wagner’s family in Granja. The next day I passed through Canoa Quebrada to pick up some things and visit with Steve and David. They promised to hole my boxes and I repacked with about half the weight, all bungied to the back. The balance of the bike with boxes was limiting our travels as every time I fall over, I have to weld the frame back together. I drove on to Natal arrive at nightfall. I found a cheap hotel, haggled price with the owner and got put in a room next to the kitchen. I told him that I was planning to leave at 5 am and he just looked at me like, sure you are. Natal has some fancy, developed tourism with hip restaurants and cafes. The main strip was a block away from my hotel and I walked down to find internet. Two hours later I could barely get back to the hotel as the street was packed with people. I had a marathon ride planned for the next day so I went to sleep, or so I wished I could have. Lying in bed, a live band started across the street and played until 4 am, followed by techno music. The base reverberated in my head and did nothing but close my eyes. At 5 am, with techno music still pumping and people still in the streets, I packed and drove out of Natal, eyes half open. South of Natal there are more great tourist beaches and little poor towns for the next hour. After an hour of coastal road I got back to the main highway and stopped for breakfast. I didn’t understand what the waiter said and just asked for breakfast. I got a big slab of steak, a plate of yucca, and motor oil coffee. Perfect for an unslept body.

Driving toward Joao Pessoa there are massive farms with giant sprinklers sometimes water parts of the road as well. I followed BR-101 into Recife and got caught up in all the nasty traffic of Recife. On both sides of Recife I met some of the most hazardous driving conditions I’ve seen. All two lane highway and trucks enter you lane to pass and like a game of chicken, force other traffic off the road. Three times I swerved off into gravel on the side of the road.

After Maceo the highway goes through mostly rural parts. Trucks block traffic as they crawl up steep slopes and blind curves. Brazilians perform daredevil maneuvers to pass. At a road stop the girl who filled my tank said in a low voice that there have been a lot of assaults on the road and motioned her head toward the café full of a rough looking bunch. She did say that they mostly robbed big trucks and that I should stay with other groups of cars especially going around passes. I juiced up with another coffee and drove on wondering how robbery on the road is done. I mean they probably don’t blockade the road with boulders, bullets strapped across their chest saying, “We don’t need no stinkin’ badges.” There was enough not traffic that I wasn’t too worried and practice passing truck caravans.

The bike without boxes handles wonderfully. But I was only half way to Salvador, my goal for the day and I told myself that I would stop at the next city. Roads into Aracaju are potholed and slow moving with bumper to bumper, and the city didn’t look like a good stopping place so I pushed on south. I was about 300 km from Salvador and decided to get as close as possible. The highway along the coast, Linia Verde, is excellent. About 200 km from Salvador I filled up with gas and decided that even though it was dusk, I should push on for the last stretch in the dark. God was that dumb. In the dark, visibility was still pretty good but trucks lights blinded me causing me to slow down. Then the rain started, just a little sprinkle at first but it felt like pellets being fired at my skin. I saw a sign for Conde and stopped two guys in bicycles who pointed down a road. The road quickly turned to sand and for 8 km I slid around at a slow pace until I reached a collection of huts. I asked about Conde and they all started laughing saying there was nothing down this road but sand. I skidded and spun tires back to the main road and decided I was being a wimp, that a little rain just meant I had to take it slow. I would get to Salvador. At this point I had been on the road for 14 hours and wasn’t thinking too clearly. Ten minutes later the rain started coming down hard, really hard. I couldn’t see the road and when cars and trucks past I couldn’t see anything. I positioned my bike according to the trajectory of their lights. I couldn’t stop. Lightning was on all sides. Gusts of wind brought the rain in almost horizontal. I prayed, really prayed and sang every song I could think of at the top of my lungs. I saw another bike going the other way and we honked at each other. I laughed out loud at the thought of someone else going through this hell at the same time. At Porto do Sauipe I saw a sign for a hotel and turned off. I came to a security check and the guard looked at me like I was crazy. He agreed to lead me to the hotel, about 5 km down mud roads.

The “hotel” is really a residence with five extra apartments that the owner, Romano, rents to people from Salvador on weekends. I was soaked (cheap rain gear), freezing, my whole body had been tensed for the last hour, and my hands didn’t want to let go of the grips. I got my stuff inside and showered. The owner came over and brought me into his house where he and his wife were having dinner. He cooked up a plate of pasta which I scarfed down followed by beers and a home brew of cachaca. They laughed heartily at my story and couldn’t believe I had driven from Natal, over 1000 km away. Romano, the owner, has owned several bikes and traveled all over Europe and Turkey by bike. He pulled out pictures from trips he had taken. 10 years ago he built a house here in front of the beach then married a Brazilian five years ago and built the five units for tourists. A stay at his hotel is like being a guest at his house. We stayed up talking until he could see I was about to drop. I fell asleep with all my clothes on, a glass of water in my hand. I slept late, an incredible sleep and woke up in the exact same position. At breakfast he asked how I like my eggs or should he just cook them the way he likes them. With Italians I wouldn’t have it any way except the way they like it. Eggs spiced with fresh basil, oregano, and Italian ham. He gets a lot of visitors from Italy and they bring Italian ingredients. I left feeling like I had just visited family and drove into Salvador.

Salvador has 3 million people and large expanses of poor barrios. The old part of town, Pelourino, is surrounded by what we call Gamma Land, a kind of no go zone. I got stuck driving through part of it for a few blocks and police where all over the only street of traffic. I found Matt in the Victoria section of town on the street talking to a couple traveling on a classic BMW. We caught up on each others’ travels and went walking through Pelourino that night to see Du Da, an all woman drumming band. Great stuff watching them beat out samba rhythms. A group of guys in front took over the dancing and synchronized what looked like aerobics moves for everyone to follow. In fact, a lot in the crowd had aerobic-like outfits on complete with running shoes. Afterwards, we walked around and found an axe bar where the band was just sitting at one of the tables playing. We stood there, two white dots, wondering how they get their bodies to move like that. Pelourino is not exactly safe and on the streets we got hassled constantly for change, or to buy something, or to accept a “free” bracelet. They get aggressive and stare with hateful eyes, one guy screaming that we are racists. We had visited Pelourino five years ago and tourism has declined a lot. Cops are on every street but it still doesn’t feel safe. We walked around to other city beaches, found some truly hidden restaurants and bars, but we both started wondering if we really wanted to stay in Salvador for Carnaval. Our hotel had to kick us out because they were full so we took that as our cue to drive back up the coast and explore some of the beaches on the Linia Verde. We drove back to Romano’s place and are staying here for two nights planning visits to other beaches to the north. From here are plans are completely open and we don’t know which direction we’ll head. Any suggestions?