Off Season in a Beach Town - Canoa Quebrada, Brazil

Save This Page | Stumble It!

The Pantanal and the Transpantaneira

Brazil


Have you ever felt like the world is a black tuxedo and you are a pair of brown shoes? The thought crossed my mind while confused and/or lost at four in the morning in a rental car in Curiaba, Brazil. Thoughts of a night ending after overindulgence in cachaca, that exquisite Brazilian sugarcane booze, are justifiable but incorrect.

I am looking for the freeway to the Pantanal and I am leaving early to arrive when the sun rises. Everybody and every guidebook says this is the best time to be there. I try to convince myself of this while driving in circles.

Being lost at this time has two distinct problems, or in the vernacular of the management world I left behind - challenges. Challenge one is finding someone to ask directions at four in the morning. Challenge two is trying to do so in Portuguese. I have been traveling for over two years and have managed to pick up a little of the languages everywhere, including those of Asia with their tonal differences. But I cannot get the hang of Portuguese, even a little.

Usually I learn enough to get around - order food, enquire about lodging, know how to say to girls I would love to give you a tongue bath. (Actually I have never learned to say that. Sure would be interesting to check out the reactions). I think it is partly because, like English, the vowels can be pronounced many different ways without rules to guide you. Also, very few Brazilians speak any English at all, especially away from the major cities.

Even when it is clear you do not speak Portuguese, Brazilians keep talking like you understand them. Amusing. When a native realizes you do not speak the language, in most countries they will immediately begin to attempt sign language. Not in Brazil.

I finally see an all night gas station to confront my challenges. A quick check of my phrasebook, and out comes, "Onde Rua Pantanal?" (Where road to Pantanal?) The attendant looks at me like I have overindulged in cachaca (probably most of his customers have), and then smiles and says, "road Pantanal?" I feel like I have found the holy grail and nod frantically. Without a word of Portuguese, he points the direction and with sign language, indicates the number of streets to pass, then turns.

This proved to be good and bad news. The good news is I went to the Pantanal. The bad news is this Pantanal is the name of a huge concert hall. The security guard is curious and suspicious as to why I am driving around the entrances at four fifteen in the morning. Trying to converse with this officer does not seem like a good idea, especially when he begins speaking in his walkie-talkie.

With a smile and a spin of the wheel, I see him in my rear view mirror and a dark mysterious road through my windshield. Right about when I begin to admonish myself for not going with a guide, I see a sign (ironically shot partially off with a shotgun), of a bird that looks like a stork and an arrow. That is good enough for me. A few kilometers later, a different bird, the same arrow, and Pantanal! I have found the holy grail!

The Pantanal is the world's biggest freshwater swamp. The scientific explanations of its origins and diverse ecosystems are fascinating. It is over 200,000 square kilometers with portions in Bolivia, Paraguay and the majority in Brazil. It is the best place in Brazil to go for wildlife because there are no towns and few people. The flooding makes settlement and farming all but impossible.

There is only one small road - 145 kilometers running into this entire area. That road is called the Transpantaneira. It has 118 wooden bridges and is my next holy grail, a little less than two hours away.

I was having random thoughts about Brazil while driving on a deserted highway in the middle of the night. What were Brazilians thinking when they designed their currency? There are several versions of the ten Real note. Change of identical amounts comes in different sizes and colors. Might not seem like a big deal, but tempers get short in lines as people sort through their change for the
proper amount, with gringos like me especially slow. The problem is magnified on the city busses at the turnstiles which delays people getting on board.

Bus drivers think they are practicing for a gig on a Formula One race team. I cannot quite figure out what the hurry is. Thankfully the busses are one of the few vehicles that do not treat red lights as optional yield signs. I guess that is the reason there are countless "Sleeping Policeman," road bumps which can be anywhere in any size and may or may not be marked. So far this morning my head has hit the roof three times even with the seat belt, and I have slammed the brakes a few more times to avoid the trauma.

It amazes me I have only seen one accident my entire time here. I also was a passenger! I am riding in a taxi which starts to turn right when I catch motion and a helmet in the corner of my eye. Whap! A motorcycle trying to pass on that side is gravel gristle. The rider was not hurt but you should have heard the argument in this language I cannot learn. Latin American languages are definitely superior for emotional exchanges.

Brazil has a reputation as being a dangerous place. Maybe I will jinx myself and get knocked on the head tonight, but I have had no problem in cities large and small, and I do not stay in Ritz-Carlton-type neighborhoods.

My progressively warped thoughts are tempered by that first white light and signs of a new day on the horizon as I pull into the small town of Pocone, which is where the Transpantaneira begins. Directions are well marked. I easily find the road and get an idea of what I am in for in the half mile or so to the guard gate.

Running water across the road. Running fast. Running deep. Suppressing the lessons from my high school driver's education of the dangers of water where you cannot see the bottom, I carefully push my trusty Fiat straight ahead. The water is fender deep. I hear it on the car door and my feelings about the noise it makes when it hits are below average. I veeeerrryyy slowly continue, convincing myself that if there were a real problem, the guard would close the road. Although it sounds like the engine has major objections from the low growl, I make it through and venture in.

The early start is worth it. I go for about one minute when I stop the car, turn off the engine and listen. The sounds of hundreds of birds is undescribable. I have never heard anything like this. I swear at myself for not having a cassette recorder. More light and then the sound of all these birds in flight, landing, and taking off again. The difference in their size, shape and color is astounding. I see huge storks and tiny hummingbirds, scurrying about like they have a lot do in little time. Macaws take flight like an arrow and then spread their beautiful wings to slow down and land. The trip is worth this sight. Maybe this is the hint that I should quit while I was ahead.

I venture on the Transpantaneira at a leisurely pace through countless puddles, enjoying the surroundings immensely, when I realize I have driven two hours without seeing another vehicle. Pleasant serenity as long as your situation is serene.

The aforementioned 118 bridges appear with various degrees of stability and quantity of protruding nails and boards that rise and fall as you drive over. The common trait is all are built with a series of horizontal wooden planks, crossed by two-feet long vertical panels which you are to drive over. Sometimes the vertical panels are too wide apart for my car, built for the four-wheel drive and tour trucks common in the area. At times my Fiat slips off the vertical panel. A blowout here would be almost as bad as a tire going through the bridge.

CRAAACK!!! WHAT THE *%$#!!!!

My car tire through the bridge

I am going quite slowly but my chest still hits the steering wheel. I don't know what has happened so I lightly touch the accelerator. The engine responds but the car does not move. I look out the window and see my right front tire through a broken horizontal plank. Not only do I see it, but an alligator a few feet away on the bridge ramp is somewhat amused by the sight.

Let's see ... no person or vehicle for hours, my tire through the bridge, the overall safety of this section of the span questionable, and a creature which has evolved little since the dinosours is looking at me as if he wants revenge for relatives that are now shoes.

I inhale deeply. What to do? Get out and try to walk? How do I know how secure the planks are around me? I can handle seeing the 'gator on land but I would hate to fall through and meet him in the water. Does anyone travel this road now?

I often pray for safety in my travels and I think I was sent an angel. They don't have to have wings. A vehicle appears on the horizon within a minute - a tour truck. The driver quickly surmises my situation and rattles off instructions in Portuguese. When I hold my hands palms up and shout no entendar, he continues to speak Portuguese. Thankfully he waves his hand towards himself, meaning it is safe to get out of the car. He then produces a towline, attaches it to the fender and shouts some more.

I figure I'll just floor it if the car goes forward. That's what happens. I feel the front tire come out of the hole and the rear go down the hole and then up out of it. I am off the bridge. The tires are spinning on the road. The hole is huge but the tour bus driver seems unconcerned. He takes back the line, smiles, waves goodbye and drives right over, staying on the vertical panels. He is
gone.

The situation is a little surreal. There is the bridge. There is the hole. My angel is gone. I have to cross that bridge to get back. I align my tires with the vertical panels. I see that I can stay on with a little of the tires on each side slightly over the panel's edge. I just have to drive very straight.

The alligator by the bridge

Seeing the tour bus cross has me marginally confident about the bridge stablility, so I inch up towards the planks, getting in and out of the car every few inches to make sure I am on line and the tires are straight. I feel the tires on the wood. Here goes. Maybe another angel got me to the other side but there I was - relieved.

I tried to explain the problem bridge to the guard but I am quite sure I failed.

I wholeheartedly recommend the Pantanal to all who love the sights and sounds of nature. The Amazon is an impressive sight for sheer might and size, but for wildlife, the Pantanal is superior. I also recommend thinking long and hard about going with a guide on a tour.

Save This Page | Stumble It!