First Greetings from the Pantanal

Pantanal journal

July 1, 2010

I nearly tripped over a capybara walking back to my cabin by the pond last night.  Note:  a capybara is a small, furry mammal and is not to be confused with a caipirinha - the national drink of Brazil made with the local rum and mint leaves.  However, I’m sure a story involving tripping and caipirinhas isn’t too far in the future.  I will try and avoid getting involved in situations that involve tripping, caipirinhas and crocodiles although it does seem possible since I arrived in the Pantanal.

The fazenda is beautiful, rustic and peaceful.  The community consists of Jiro and Ivone (the owners), several native guides, kitchen and household staff.  My task is to teach everyone English, help host the English speaking guests and develop eco-tourism projects.  In return I am given a cabin across the pond from the guesthouse, three meals a day, and an amazing opportunity to be adopted into this little community in Western Brazil.

The first order of business is to find a way to communicate.  The folks here really want to learn English and really want to communicate with the strange blonde woman who just turned up on their doorstep.  They are all very hospitable, smart and eager.  It doesn’t hurt that since I already yearn to understand this community and this place, it’s a huge incentive for me to learn Portuguese in a hurry.  I’ve never wanted to learn a language so desperately.

The language learning process is not hindered by the Brazilian coffee.  This was one of the first big coffee growing countries in the world and they know what they are doing.  The coffee is almost the consistency and richness of hot chocolate and without a hint of bitterness.  It’s delicious and I’m already addicted (well, more than usual).

Yes, there are mosquitoes here.  While I was bitten quite a bit last night as we drove to watch and listen to the parrots nesting, strangely I am not bumpy of itchy today.  Since there is no malaria in this region and the mosquitoes don’t cause itchy bumps, then I guess I’ll stop worrying about them.

I’m told I shouldn’t worry about the caiman either (locally called jacare).  Caiman are small crocodiles and, even though I throw like a girl, I could probably stand casually at my back fence, throw rocks and hit five of them.

July 3, 2010.

Yesterday the guests took canoes down the river late in the afternoon as the sun was easing.  The farm sits on an island that is formed by one of many rivers that meander around the Pantanal.  It is dry season at the moment and the river is narrow and hemmed in by trees, vines, water lilies and endless vegetation.  The waterway twists and turns around hairpin bends and each turn reveals new multitudes of birds, fish visible in the clear water and caiman sunning themselves on the banks.

After an hour or so, the guests have to be found and towed back to the house upstream.  I went with Jose (a native guide) in the boat with an outboard motor to find them.  The sun was low, Jose was racing through the hairpin turns all the while pointing at wildlife and trying to explain it to me in Portuguese.  I thought clinging to the sides of the boat and begging him to slow down wouldn’t be a good look for an intrepid volunteer, so I steeled myself to stay calm.  I’m sure Jose knew what he was doing.

With the sunset comes the mosquitoes and every tiny flying creature known to mankind (and in this area of the world, probably some insects not yet known to mankind).  Racing full speed down the river I tried not to swallow too many bugs, but realized that I was soon going to look like a windscreen on a car and be combing undiscovered insect species out of my hair.

We quickly found the guests in their canoes happily splashing paddles into the water with the caiman and piranhas.  We hitched them to the back of the boat and towed them slightly less fast back to the house as the sun was setting.  Jose got out the spotlight and searched the banks for anything that moved.

Then back to the house for dinner.  The dining room is a screened in veranda at the back of the house overlooking one of the ponds.  It’s very peaceful to sit there, watch the birds in the trees, contemplate life over a cup of Brazilian coffee.

The food at here is amazing.  Even if there are very few guest, they always put on a big spread of salads, soup,  local meats and stews, manioc fries and such.  Everything is homemade from the breads and jams, cakes and pastries in the morning, to the rich, thick dulce de leche that comes with dessert.  We are on the edge of the cattle farming area and I’ve yet to find out exactly what they mean by “carne de sol” or “meat of the sun”.  Whatever it is, I’m hooked.  It might be tough not to gain weight while I’m here.

There were a couple of children amongst the guests last night, so the guide suggested spotlighting the pond for caiman.  The pond is literally on the back doorstep with a little wooden deck to sit and fish.  The whole group of us wandered down to the pond with the lantern and instantly caught sight of 3 caiman within 10 feet of us.  The guide starting tapping a stick on the banks of the pond and within 5 minutes 8 caiman were dragging themselves up on the bank to see what the fuss was about.  The longest was probably 2 meters, but there were some half that size in the bunch.  Because the waters have receded and all the wildlife is packed into the small remaining ponds, the caiman barely have to roll over to catch a fish.  They are all fat and slow and showed no interest in us even when we were four feet away and the kids were poking them with sticks.

July 8, 2010.

It seems I am being taught Brazilian Portuguese with a Matto Grosso do Sol accent.  I’ve been noticing that what I’m hearing in general speech around here is sometimes very different to what is in my reference books and my learn Brazilian computer program.   I’m going to leave here sounding like a country hick!!!

We have guests from all around Brazil coming to stay with us at the farm.  They all pronounce things differently.  Since I’m pretty basic on my Portuguese so far, I only notice obvious things like how they say their numbers.  One wrong vowel sound or rolled “r” and you go from “reading” to “being crippled”.  Some of the sounds are so different to English that I’m having trouble getting my mouth around it, but I’m also finding that trying to get locals to pronounce English words is very difficult for them.  But I’m learning fast because I have to in order to be understood.  Sometimes one of the guests will speak some English and will translate for me.  Other times I have to find the Portuguese word or phrase, so sit in silence.

I’m rapidly learning how to get by in a swamp.  We had a German guide here for a couple of days with a tour group and he turned up in camouflage clothes, scarf around the neck, knife in his belt, big boots with his trousers tucked into his socks. He looked a bit like one of those, strong, well equipped Germans who are always villains in action films and invariably are beaten by the scrappy American who is armed only with a shoelace and a safety pin.  I thought his get up was a bit over the top but soon realized that this guy really knew what he was doing.   Besides, he was so distraught when Germany got beaten out of the World Cup semi-finals, that I ended up liking the guy.

Anyway, I’ve been here a week and it is looking more and more likely that my luggage is never going to get here.  The big bag with all my clothes in it didn’t make it to Sao Paulo and hasn’t been heard of since.  Even though I’m three hours drive from the nearest airport, the airlines will actually deliver the bags to the farm.  I guess it’s cheaper than paying the insurance value.

So here I am in the swamp with a few clothes that ended up in my hand luggage when I came through New York.  It’s amazing how little mosquito protection New York summer dresses provide to the Brazilian swamp-dweller.  My lovely light weight city pants are no match for the mosquitoes here.  Nooooo, they bite right through the flimsy material.  My sturdy hiking boots are in my lost bag, and my “breathing, quick dry, mesh” gym shoes that I was wearing on the plane are also not thick enough to deter the little buggers.  I got up early this morning to watch the sun rise over the pond and it became a very aerobic and sometimes bloody swatting event while trying to enjoy the parrots singing in the trees above.

But I am learning and will slowly restocking my wardrobe with more suitable clothes when I get into town.  In the meantime, my mantra is “don’t scratch, don’t scratch, don’t scratch”.

July 8, 2010.

I tagged along on an excursion into the Pantanal last night looking for jaguars.  We were spotlight off the back of the pickup truck.  The local guide has been trying to educate me.  He speaks about as much English as I speak Portuguese, but somehow we manage to make ourselves understood.  Jose could tell what animal had been caught in the spotlight just be the color of the reflection in their eyes.  The crab eating fox eyes appear green in the spotlight.  The owl’s eyes appear red.

I also found out the process for making “carne do sol” when I went to take my washing off the clothesline yesterday.  Huge chunks of beef were covered with salt and drying in the sun next to my clothes.  Now I’m not sure whether they are saying “carne do sol” (mean of the sun) or “carne do sal” (salted meat).  All the vowels in Portuguese make a huge difference to the meaning of words.   I’m probably sounding like the English equivalent Manuel from Fawlty Towers at this point.

My list of things that go bump in the night is growing my the minute - crocodiles, piranhas, leeches, vampire bats, jaguars, anacondas are all on the farm.  But don’t worry.  I have a refrigerator outside my apartment by the swamp.  So my chocolate stash is safe from predators.  As for my own safety, well, the locals don’t seem too perturbed by the wildlife, so why should I.  After all, I grew up in Australia where everything that creeps or crawls or swims could kill you and no-one there worries about it.

I woke up this morning and half asleep wondered how strange it was that someone was playing video games outside my window.  I’m across the pond from the main farm house and the nearest building is100 meters away.  It sounded like video game lasers firing and fake engines roaring.  It took me a few seconds to realize it was the early morning bird calls the likes of which I would never imagine could come from our feathered friends.

A rogue capybara has taken up residence on my doorstep.  The rest of the group that hangs around the pond stick together in a family group.  It’s a big fellow and probably an unwanted male.  Very placid.  About the size of a small pig, but furry and slow moving.  It’s actually part of the rodent family, so really an enormous rat, but much more cuddly.  I think I’ll have to give him a name.  Maybe Hairy George.

July 11, 2010.

The son of the owner has been at the farm for the last few days giving guided tours to a group of English speaking guests.  So I’m suddenly learning a lot about birds and wildlife without having to half-guess.  He took us on a 3 hour boat trip downriver.  I wonder if there is such a thing as “wildlife induced Attention Deficit Disorder”.  There were creatures everywhere!  No sooner had we spotted a gloriously colored kingfisher, than a huge heron would swoop into the water right in front of us.  Just as we were oohing and ahhing over the heron, we’d notice three caiman gaping on the banks and sliding into the water followed rapidly by a stork cruising overhead.  I think I experienced wildlife whiplash and wore out my pointing finger!

The river is low, so in some parts the water plants almost touch across the water.  The forest and vines encroach on both sides and sometimes give way to large expanses of water grasses that have taken root where lagoons have dried up for the season.

We spotted a huge troop of capuchin monkeys near the house yesterday and another large group swinging through the trees upriver.  When two troops meet there is usually a great big monkey fight that sounds like 100 cats fighting in an alley.  We will probably be able to hear it from the house.

I’m starting to help with the guiding and today one of the guides and I took a guest on a bird walk along the levees.  There had been talk of a stork nest off one of the tracks, so we followed the guide through the dense fern and palm forest as he hacked a path with a machete.  I couldn’t help get a kick out of it.  I felt like I had landed in a “Lost World” movie.  It didn’t hurt that we found an anaconda skeleton along the path.

There really is wildlife everywhere here.  Lunch is served at the bend in the river in front of the house that is used by the guests for swimming.  Yesterday a very curious giant otter kept popping his head out of the water watching us have lunch.

I helped with the spotlight on the night safari yesterday.  We didn’t see much, but we saw plenty stop-light red eyes from caiman.  Coming back to the house, I threw the spotlight on the pond near the house and it lit up like a Christmas tree.  This is why I’ve given up alcohol for the duration of my stay here.  I have to walk around the pond to get to my cabin.  Although it would be a fine family tale to tell about how great aunt Diana died when she drank too many capirinhas, took a wrong turn in the middle of the night and fell into a crocodile and piranha infested swamp in Brazil.  Since no-one would believe it, I might as well save myself for a while longer.

July 11, 2010 - written just before dinner

I just got back from a boat trip downriver with Leo and 4 tourists from Paris.  It was one of those magic trips where all the strange, rare events come together.  We were less than a mile downstream when we came across an anaconda sunning on some fallen vegetation on the river bank.  Seeing anacondas around here is fairly rare, but this one was huge - probably 6 meters long and the width of my thigh.  One of the Parisian women jumped up and started pacing nervously around the boat as if risking tipping over the boat was somehow going to help if the snake suddenly thought she looked tasty for dinner.  I guess some people are just weird around snakes.   The anaconda showed no interest in us, didn’t move for the 10 minutes we gawping at it and taking photos and wouldn’t go for prey as large as us anyway.  It was a truly magnificent snake.

We had not gone another mile when we spotted a band of capuchin monkeys crossing the river by jumping between trees that almost touched at a narrow part of the river.  They were fearless little fellows.  However, we did hear the big monkey fight at a distance around lunchtime today, so maybe these monkey folks were fleeing.

The further you get down river, the larger the trees.  Soon the boat ride was taking on a “Heart of Darkness” feeling, but without the slaughtered natives littering the riverbank.  We wandered into the giant otters territory where we cut the motor and let the boat drift through the otter family as they all barked at us and swam after the boat.  A BBC documentary on giant otters was filmed here on the farm and this was the family featured.

The plan was to spotlight the banks of the river on the way back to see the nocturnal creatures.  We had barely turned back and were still nearly an hour away from the farmhouse when the spotlight battery died.  The rest of the trip Leo sped to try and catch as much light as he could and then guided us back through the narrows and hairpin turns (and past the anaconda) with just a flashlight.  It was dark.  We had to trust that Leo knew what he was doing, and then there came a huge thud and a smacking noise as a piranha jumped into the boat in the dark.  Of course mayhem ensued until one of the braver tourists caught it by the tail (not the sharp toothy end) and threw it overboard.

Wild times in the Pantanal!  Now it’s time for dinner which requires no effort from me except rolling up to the buffet table.

June 12, 2010.

This morning I got to take it easy, read and catch up on my Portuguese lessons which I have neglected atrociously since there has been English speaking people to talk to and translate for the past three days.

There was rain moving in this afternoon.  The air hung with humidity as I took the opportunity to hop in the car with Jiro for a shopping trip into town.  Miranda is a working agricultural town with a slight nod towards Pantanal tourism.  But really there is nothing much to see or do unless you have come into town from a local farm to do your shopping.  It’s sleepy but perfectly friendly.

I tried on a pair of locally made leather working boots at the supermercardo.  They looked wonderfully authentic, but they sure weren’t made for comfort.

We did the rounds of the local mechanical and agricultural shops and had stopped at one to fix a motor when the rains came down.   It had been weeks since the last rain and the smell of wet earth and decaying vegetation rose into the air.  We drove home through the last of the storm.  I guess Jiro felt bad for having left me sitting in the truck for so long so he bought me a strawberry ice-cream and listened to Brazilian country music as we bounced along with rough road home in the old farm truck.