ISABM Journal Barge from Alto do Chao to Belem

Our Journal

November

Leaving Alter do Chao and Santarem

Leaving Alter do Chao is not as easy as it seems. We stayed and organized free English lessons at a community center. I was expecting a handful of adults but when I arrived the first night of class there were over 40 people crammed into the classroom. The first couple of classes were complete chaos as I tried to design something meaningful for all levels, from 10 year olds just starting, to advanced teenagers who came to show off what they know, others who just came to heckle, and some who just came because everyone else was. The first week absolutely nothing was learned but we laughed at each other nonstop. The second week I got a little more serious and the numbers immediately dwindled down to mostly high school and junior high students. Getting them to realize that learning a language has almost nothing to do with memorizing lists of words and phrases is difficult, but I think they left the classes with their confidence boosted. I was immediately called “Teacher” everywhere I went in town and caught two students giggling at I was hanging up my laundry.

We met two other motorists who had driven from Rio de Janeiro up the Transamazonica to Santarem. They celebrated their last night with a candlelit feast on the island. One of the guys talked non stop and we could hardly understand a word. He was trying to move to Alter do Chao but couldn’t because he has a brother who refuses to fly and can’t live anywhere isolated by dirt roads. It appears the Brazilian government it beginning to pave through sections of the Transamazonica which was cut back in the 70’s. Road access is always nice especially if you have people to visit in these remote parts but it does raise the question of whether Brazil will be able to control illegal cutting and land poaching.

We met the Ushoa family through Wendell who dates one of the sisters. While we were in Alto do Chao we drove into Santarem several times to visit them, a household of eight women and one poor father, or rich depending on how you look at it. One night we took them all out to eat. As we were leaving their house, Matt quickly bungeed a backpack to his bike and sped off. When we got the Pizzaria his bag was gone. I was behind him the whole way and saw nothing. He sped back to look but found nothing. The Ushoas convinced us to go to the radio station the next day to pay them to announce the missing bag. No luck. A digital camera, concert tickets and some random items lost. But I guess it speaks well for Santarem that the Ushoas honestly believed someone would find the bag and return it.

Our last night in Santarem we stayed we slept in hammocks at the Ushoa house. We went down to the river and Matt ran into Silvio, the mechanic we have avoided mentioning, but I’ve had a two month relationship with this man so he definitely needs credit here.

From the first moment we arrived on the Santarem dock my bike has been having problems. There have been several visits to his shop and twice we had to transport the bike from Alter do Chao on a truck, once very slowly, and once with a maniac that drove so recklessly the bike fell over in the back. Silvio is a real mechanic and runs his garage like a tyrant, every tool in place. His voice has one level, frantic screaming, and we’re pretty sure he’s partially deaf. He usually works on one bike and then periodically walks around his garage bursting into screams at his workers for what they should be doing. Once he charged the battery, threw the chargers on the floor and screamed at the nearest worker the pick them up. He wouldn’t take money the first couple of times but finally charged me after I brought the bike in with the simplest of electrical problems. Our last night Matt ran into him on the street and he screamed for him to pull over to have a beer with him.

Alter do Chao became something like “the Shire” for us and leaving was probably no more difficult than it was for Sam. But, we had to remind ourselves that we are traveling and have a giant land mass to cover. We said our goodbyes and drove to the river and right onto a barge that would take us to Belem in three days.

Barge travel is a whole world away from boat travel. There were only about 20 people on the barge, mostly truckers and the crew. We tied our hammocks to the bottoms of big trucks and slept undisturbed except for cookie gently waking us for breakfast of hard boiled eggs, bread, and potent coffee. During the day canoes full of gas tanks pulled up to refuel the engine. Other conoes pulled up and attached their canoes in a kind of acrobatic maneuver of getting in the boats wake at the right time and lassoing in. Canoes pulled up throughout the day to sell snacks, beer, and just about anything. Hookers row up and flirt with truckers and crew. Two tried to get Matt in the shower and one, no more than 14, found asleep under a truck and stomped her foot and giggled. We saw three kids no more than 7 years old row up and sell some kind of honey-looking sap. Going through one narrow canal there were a dozen or so little girls each in separate canoes dressed up and smiling. I couldn’t help but wonder if they were for sale. At night we climbed up on stacks of wood and counted over 20 satellites overhead. This was some of the most relaxed traveling I’ve ever done, floating down the river with nothing to do but get out of the sun and lie around in a hammock. After staring at rainforest for three days, we got our first sight of the nasty urban sprawl of Belem.