After two weeks in the hot, dusty Brazilian city of Santarém, this place felt so clean and bright. At that moment, I was able to put out of my mind the hungry children who held their hands out for coins, the dogs that always seemed to be barking, and the dirt that never came out of my shirt, no matter how hard I scrubbed. I had been on a cultural study tour, learning about political and social issues in Brazil. Although I was fascinated by what I was learning and I was meeting some very caring, passionate and friendly people, I was sometimes unable to look past the squalid shacks and the vultures that circled the city. I welcomed this chance to breathe and to clear my mind.

I stretched and smiled, drinking the scenery in with my eyes. Downstream, the water was banked by large rocks that formed a corridor. The passage became very narrow at one point, and I couldn't see past the rocks. Suddenly, I was determined to see what was on the other side. I rolled up my pant legs and stepped into the water, gasping at the cold. Stepping gingerly to avoid slicing my feet open on the rocks that jutted out from the sticky mud, I walked through the water towards the passage. Ducking under a vine, I stood in front of the rock corridor, and froze. On one side was a bee's nest. Like many other insects that we'd seen, these bees were several times larger than their Canadian counterparts. On the other side a spider whose body was almost as large as my palm perched on its web. My heart pounding, I held my breath and walked slowly and deliberately between the rocks. Stray strands of my hair became entangled in the spider web, and a fat bee slapped against my ear. I was terrified. I closed my eyes and kept walking.

When I came out on the other side, I drew a deep breath. Right in front of me was a sparkling waterfall, about six feet tall. A spray of mist covered the trees whose branches reached out over the water. I pushed my way through the current, and stepped beneath the cascading water. Enveloped in water, I could hear nothing but the spray and see nothing but green, shimmering through a curtain of cold, clear liquid. I was absolutely enchanted. I stood under the water for what could have been fifteen minutes, an hour, a day, grinning like a maniac and feeling the water pound down on my head and shoulders. I may still be there today, were it not for the sound of laughter that cut through the drumming of water.

Opening my eyes and stepping away from the waterfall, I saw an elderly woman with three young girls, carrying baskets of sheets. She was beautiful, dark and voluminous. Her skin was like leather, covered in wrinkles that criss-crossed her face. Her black eyes, dancing with mischief, were nearly closed by deep laugh lines. She had long white hair that fell down her back in a thick braid. Everything about her was welcoming.

I climbed onto the bank to say hello. After several garbled attempts at conversation, the old woman burst into laughter and shook her head at my utterly hopeless Portuguese. Still grinning, my beautiful Brazilian grandmother put down her laundry, took me by the hand and led me to the middle of the stream. Then she motioned to the small girls who were twitching with excitement, and she began to dance, still laughing. The little ones, giggling wildly, ran around us and splashed in the water. Overwhelmed by the sheer exuberance, I had no choice; I danced too. Together, we danced to the music of the land, to the shrieks of birds and monkeys, to the murmur of water flowing and falling, to the sounds of our own laughter. I have never felt so alive or so free as I did at that moment.

Later that day, I went back to my temporary home, to learn and experience even more than I already had. The city no longer seemed ugly; as I made friends and learned more about the people who lived there, it became a place filled with life and music and kindness. Through the kaleidoscope month of changes, I remembered this nameless woman, and I remember her still. Her face is etched in my memory. In a land rife with poverty, violence and growing discontent, this woman danced in the middle of a stream with a stranger who did not speak her language. Whenever I feel lonely and far from home, I think of her smile and I'm reminded that the world is a beautiful place.

About the Author
The travel bug bit Stephanie Lemieux at the tender age of two, during one of many family road trips. Since then, she's studied in Brazil, fallen in love with Scotland, backpacked through Eastern Africa and worked for a non-profit organization in South Africa. She's also travelled extensively in the US and in Canada, where there is - as her sister so eloquently put it - "a whole lot of damn trees".  

Questions?
If you want more information about this area you can email the author or check out our South America Insiders page.