My Day Out
Trinidade, Rio State, Brazil
There was a low-slung cloud on the mountains that morning that was dispensing a persistent drizzle. Not exactly beach weather. If I had of known how the day would unfold maybe I wouldn’t have been so disheartened at the prospect of a day hanging around our pousada (guesthouse).
We were in Brazil in the small bohemian beach community of Trinidade south of Rio. It was off-season so most of the village’s few tourists were day-trippers from the historical town of Paraty, which lay over the mountains, a half hour stomach-churning bus trip away. The villagers quickly became used to seeing us around, especially since Ned cut a distinctive figure. He never wore a shirt or shoes and infrequently washed his favourite shorts and mop of corkscrew curls. His best friend Maui, a massive black labrador mix, accompanied him everywhere he went. I, as the girlfriend, trailed far behind Maui in Ned’s affections.
Maui was a great icebreaker. Whether they loved or hated dogs everyone wanted to talk to us about him. We didn’t let a little thing like not speaking the language stop us from communicating. What we lacked in Portuguese we made up for with a little Spanish and a lot of sign language.
We ran into Eduardo at the village Padaria (bakery/coffee shop), where he saved me the indignity of repeating the mime of a chicken laying an egg, as I tried to make the lady behind the counter understand I wanted one for breakfast (an egg, not a chicken). In response to her mirthful incomprehension at my first attempt I was going for round two as Ned alternately shouted “heuvos” (the Spanish for eggs) and “egg” at her. Eduardo interrupted to offer his translation services.
Ordering completed, Eduardo introduced himself. He was a twenty-year-old Brazilian who had lived in Canada with his family for the last five years. He offered to show us how to fish using lines off the beach, but first he wanted to bring us to a natural seawater swimming pool. A respite from the daily shouting matches between Ned and I would be welcome. At that stage I was still doggedly determined to view this as a bad patch rather than the slow disintegration of the relationship. So, despite the fact that Eduardo spoke to my chest more than my face, I was looking forward to his company. I thought Ned was going to have an embolism he was so excited.
The drizzle chilled the air as we set off. The boys were trying to outdo each other with their tales of derring-do. I trailed behind, uninterested in stories of big fish, big snakes and travelling with a big dog. After stopping to pick up some home made fishing gear and bait, we set off over the headland through the jungle. But for my fear of heights, we could have been balancing precariously on the rocks over the crashing ocean. Ned ran ahead with Maui. Eduardo hung back, ostensibly to help me, but he always seemed to be positioned so he had the best view down my top.
As we followed the track through the soft, green tunnel of the forest, the mulchy smell of soaked earth and leaves hung heavy in the air. High on the last headland, surrounded by jungle there was a bar. We stopped there briefly so Eduardo could see his snake, which was being stored in a jar and monitored by his friend, the bar owner. Eventually Eduardo hoped to extract its poison. Ned was suitably impressed. I was suitably uninterested.
We left the bar, sliding down the muddy hill and into the warm, still water of the swimming pool, which was an inlet sheltered by a semi circle of rocks. The lush green mountain, encased in swirling clouds, backed up the slope behind us. In front of us rocks restrained the power of the ocean. Every time a wave hit, there were mini waterfalls over the top and through the cracks of the rocks. Our skin was prune-like by the time we returned to the bar.
The bar was literally a counter with a roof; rickety shelves housing alcohol provided the back wall. The roof extended to the front over a cleared patch of land containing badly constructed tables and chairs. We shivered as we dodged the rain falling through the leaky roof. Ned and I sipped pineapple juice, that the barman had hand crushed from the fresh fruit before our eyes. Eduardo had opted for cachaca (Brazilian white rum). We chatted to the barman using Eduardo as a translator. I asked how business was.
“At Carnival, Christmas and New Year we have many tourists,” he said. “The rest of the year I live a simple life.”
A simple life indeed. There was no plumbing or electricity, the sleeping quarters were monastic and the company was sparse. The previous owner had left when the evil spirits of the forest had made life unbearable.
The topic of conversation had turned to the snake. Eduardo, who had continued pounding shots, was getting a little gung-ho and wanted to agitate the snake. Ned, feeling left behind in the testosterone stakes, proudly demonstrated his resistance to burning by holding lit cigarettes against his skin. Eduardo showed little interest in his display, sending Ned into a sulk. Finally, the decision was made to return to the village. It would be dark in an hour and it was a half hour walk back. The rain had gotten heavier, turning into a full on downpour. I didn’t ask what had happened to the plan of fishing.
We headed off wearing only our swimwear. Our soaking wet clothes were stored in my daypack, as they would just make us colder. Eduardo ran ahead shouting something drunkenly incomprehensible over his shoulder as he disappeared from view. This afforded Ned the opportunity to detail exactly why he didn’t like Eduardo, the disinterest in Ned’s party trick obviously not forgotten. I found the going hard as the path was now a swamp. I moved as fast as I could, shivering violently from the cold as I struggled to stay upright. Ned tried, in vain, not to complain about how I was holding him back. I was a couple of metres behind him when he let out a high-pitched scream and jumped around, flailing his arms wildly. I was frustrated at our lack of progress, not to mention standing in a pool of mud, with cold rain sliding into my eyes and down the back of my neck.
“Now what?” I demanded. The question was directed at the universe in general rather than Ned, but it was he who answered.
“Get back!” He screeched. “I stood on a snake.”
Maui turned around in confusion in the space between us. Ned was nearly hysterical trying to drag him out of the way.
“A snake?”
“Yes, a snake. The same sort of snake Eduardo has.” he said as he manoeuvred Maui to safety.
I couldn’t see anything.
“Move back,” he ordered, “I can’t see it now, but I’ll make sure it’s gone before you continue.”
I thought the snake was a figment of his imagination. A snake would bite if it had been stood on. I kept my counsel and did as I was bid, knowing that expressing any doubts on the existence of the snake would lead to full-scale histrionics that would further slow our progress. Ned picked up some nearby stones and threw them at the path, emitting a strange roaring sound as he did. I nearly laughed out loud. What a drama queen.
Evidently satisfied that the snake was gone he beckoned me forward and we slipped and stumbled onwards as quickly as we could. He was pumped with adrenaline, his breathing was short and shallow and he was trembling. I zoned him out as he babbled on about how he had saved me from certain death by snakebite.
We came through the trees onto half a kilometre of beach and no sign of Eduardo. It was still light but heading towards dusk. At the other end of the beach we still had to negotiate the headland before we reached the town beach. We ran for it, as much out a sense of urgency as a way to fend off the cold. The rain was driving now, carried by a gusty wind that slammed into us from all directions.
At the end of the beach we searched for the path that would lead us over the headland. In the gathering gloom we couldn’t find it. At the back of the beach was a wall of vegetation. We would follow a gap through the trees, but once away from the beach, in the dark, everything and nothing looked like the path and we became disoriented quickly. In the end we gave up. A light had appeared just behind the tree line about half way back along the beach. We headed towards it hoping we would find someone to help us there.
It was a fisherman’s shack. When there was no response to our shouts of greeting, we entered the shack picking our way through the debris of fishing nets, oars, chickens, and sundry boxes. As we emerged into a kitchen, an old man shuffled past us. We tried to engage him, but he just kept on shuffling. A younger woman stood at the stove stirring a pot. When she heard us pleading with the old man in fractured Portuguese, she turned and glanced at us. As she turned back to her pot, evidently unfazed, she called out to someone in another room. Apparently, the sight of two shivering, mud streaked, half naked souls accompanied by a massive dog, dripping all over her kitchen floor didn’t warrant much of a response. A teenage boy appeared. He demanded forty reais, which was about a week’s wages, to bring us to the village. Not having much choice or a strong bargaining position, we handed over the sodden notes.
We quickly reached the rocks at the end of the beach. The lantern the boy’s mother had optimistically given us had blown out within steps of the shack. The boy chuckled continuously. Ned caught my eye. I shrugged. I didn’t care if the boy was a lunatic. As long as he was a lunatic who knew the way to the village.
The boy started up the rocks, still chuckling continuously. I tried to explain my fear of heights but he just kept climbing. We had no choice but to follow him. We scrambled up to a natural ledge about half a metre wide over a ten-metre drop onto jagged rocks and churning ocean. Waves smashed up licking the rim of the ledge. The cold rain and sea spray whipped at my exposed skin and it was difficult to get secure purchase on the ledge. I felt dizzy and sick with panic. The boy scuttled across like a mountain goat and stood shivering as he sniggered at our lack of progress. I was nailed to the spot by terror and Ned thought screaming at me would help the situation. Eventually I made it across, shuffling crabwise flush against the rock with Ned at my back. I didn’t breathe or blink until we were safely on the ground.
As the boy led us through the last bit of forest, we were cocooned from the worst excesses of the weather. The lantern, which we had been able to relight in the lee of the rocks, gave off a warm glow, reflecting back a muted green from the thick foliage. I was giddy with relief and exhaustion and giggled in unison with the boy’s constant chuckle. We emerged onto the beach beside the river. The lights of the village twinkled through the darkness and rain. I could feel the relief flooding through my body.
The boy refused to go any further. Repeating “Polizia, Polizia” (police) by way of explanation, he disappeared back into the bushes, chuckling as he went.
When we had crossed the river earlier in the day it had been a gently babbling brook, barely ankle deep. Now it was a swollen torrent. In the dark we tried to pick a less dangerous place to cross. We entered the stream far up the beach where it seemed more placid. Within two steps the current swept my legs out from under me and I was speeding downstream. I could see the bank getting further away as the river widened to go out to sea. My ears were filled with the roar of water. I scrambled and swam as hard as I could for the bank. My flailing feet brushed against sand. With the last of my strength I threw myself across the current and that final metre to the beach. As I did, I turned to see Ned and the Maui coming whizzing towards me. They scrambled to sand just downstream from me. We lay there gasping for air.
“Amazing!” Ned eventually managed.
I looked at him incredulously.
“That was not “amazing”", I spat through heaving breaths, as I climbed shakily to my feet, the weight of the waterlogged daypack hindering me further. “We nearly died several times. I want us to go to city and be murdered in a mugging like normal people.”
Ned was of little solace as he revelled in an orgy of self-congratulation, rewriting the events of the day, casting himself as the hero and my saviour.
On reaching our pousada Ned fell into an exhausted sleep. I chain-smoked cigarettes all night while staring, bug-eyed, at the wall.
