Up the amazon; boat travel

Day 1:

Hammocks are strung up, side by side, above and below.  This will be home for the next three days and nights as the wooden vessel wends its way upstream on the Amazon River from steamy Belem, just below the equator in the northeast of Brazil, to Santarem, a lower Amazonian city in the interior of the country.  Dusk arrives and finally we are off, chugging out of port into the muddy, wide expanse.  On the boat's upper level the bar opens, cerveja (beer) flows freely and forró  (Northeastern Brazilian Folk music) pumps out.  I begin to meet a few of my fellow travelers, an eclectic mix of Brazilians sprinkled with a few other curious foreigners.  After a few hours chatting ( my Portuguese, or better said, my portuñol- mix of Spanish and Portuguese, levels up a notch or two) it is time to retire downstairs to the cramped conglomeration of crisscrossed hammocks in search of some tropical slumber.

Day 2:

Whistles are blown shortly after 6am to signal the serving of a simple breakfast of sweeter than sweet coffee and bread (no butter, no conserves).  As it is the only meal of the day that is included in the ticket price almost everybody is up.  As I drink my coffee, still in an early morning foggy daze, a floating stockyard transporting at least one hundred head of cattle drifts by, presumably on its way to market.  With limited road networks in the north of Brazil the elaborate river systems serve as the principal transit routes. 

The dawning of a new day begins to reveal the ways of life on the water.  The thick jungle vegetation is intermittently cleared on the banks to allow for basic wooden hut dwellings.  Several canoes, many occupied by unbelievably young children, come out to meet our boat in the hope that a passenger aboard will throw out a plastic bag of clothes, a common practice and an extremely welcome one for these isolated families where acquiring clothes at the local store is simply not an option. 

Around mid morning we make a scheduled stop in the river port town of Belves.  A myriad of vendors board, all eager to sell a variety of goods including a vast array of tropical juices in plastic bags, newspapers and most popularly, dried river prawns.  As the boat continues on its way it is time to get back to the on board activities to help pass the lingering hours.  While some prefer to while away the hours gently swaying, dozing, chatting or reading, in their hammocks, others, namely rowdy Brazilian men, partake in vigorous and competitive games of dominoes, a popular pastime in the north of Brazil.  Curious children explore every nook and cranny of the vessel, running and smiling, content in their new environs. 

In the late afternoon we reach the long awaited Amazon River proper and the tributary on which we had been traveling opens up into the ocean-like expanse of the world's most voluminous river (The Nile is longer but the Amazon holds more water).  Shortly after we are treated to the most spectacular sunset I have ever witnessed.  Bright pink, red and orange tinges paint the sky around the sinking sun, set off magnificently against the fluffiness of white clouds and remnant blue streaks of the divine day. 

Later dinner is served, humungous portions of hearty Brazilian fare of chicken, rice, spaghetti, feijao (black beans) and salad ($R8- Approximately $5AUD)  impossibly heaped onto the plate ensure that those eating don't go hungry.  Later I make my way up to the less crowded upper deck in hope of a much better night's sleep and content in having been made privy to some of the ways of the river in this unique part of the world.  As I am just starting to drift off a new friend rouses me to advise that we need to move our hammocks from their vulnerable position to avoid being drenched by an imminent tropical storm.  Groggily, I do this before sliding off once more into the dreamworld.

Day 3:

After the hoped for better night's sleep I feel well prepared to tackle another strenuous (yeah right!) day gliding along the Amazon.  It is clear that a certain camaraderie has developed among many of the passengers.  Living in such close quarters has no doubt bonded many of us.  Maybe it is because we are "all in the same boat", a cliché that has been bandied about a few too many times by the English speakers on board.  The increased familiarity is evident through nods, smiles and persistent requests from children to buy them a soft drink to alleviate their exaggeratedly feigned heatstroke.  To ameliorate my own condition a refreshingly cool shower in the open air of the top deck with water pumped from the river below us proves to be just the tonic I need.  Refreshed I settle back in my hammock to watch the slide show of life on the river play out. 

The simplicity of life here, far removed from the hectic nature of city life is on display; a little girl helps her mother wash clothes in the river from the modest deck of their humble abode, children splash in the shallows waving wildly at us, families lazing lethargically together under the intense sun.  Life here is a different life,  undoubtedly with its fair share of challenges and hardships but, judging by the faces of the locals that we see as we briefly inhabit their slice of this sphere, it is a life that is embraced and lived with joyous spirit and vigour.  Night falls, the last night on board before the scheduled arrival at Santarem early the next morning.  Good spirits are further heightened when we make another cargo stop late at night and are able to disembark to explore the busy streets of a small port town on a Friday night.  It feels great to be on land and to be able to share some food and drink with cheerful local folk.  Back on board it is back to the hammock for the last night of swaying sleep.

DAY 4:

Not long after sunrise we arrive at Santarem and it is time to continue on.  For me it will be to the Amazon River beach town of Alter do Chão to try and get over what I feel may well be a harsh case of post-boat blues.  Fellow passengers, now new friends are farewelled.  Amazon River travel of this kind is not luxurious, it is not for those who are not willing to share their immediate personal space with all and sundry but those who revel in intrepidness and travel by boat on the Amazon and its tributaries will be rewarded with an unforgettable experience.  A true highlight in a grand continent.    

welcome to mumbai, expect the unexpected

Has to be my strongest and best travel memory ever.  Arriving in Mumbai on New Year's Eve 2008 is like arriving in a parallel universe.  Forget rhyme.  Forget reason.  Mumbai dances to its own chaotic beat.  It is evident from the moment I arrive at the airport.  Where is my backpack going to appear?  Is it going to appear?  I wish you'd put that assault weapon away mr policeman.  You're making me nervous.  Mumbai is on high alert.  The terrorist attacks are a near memory.  I make my way outside the airport to be greeted by chaos.  People everywhere.  Masses.  Swarms of humanity waiting to be reunited with a loved one or,  as is my case, waiting to pick up an unsuspecting traveller to be initiated into the mayhem of India's biggest city, its beating heart.  After a good half hour walking up and down the passenger's makeshift catwalk, like an unclaimed piece of luggage on the carousel, I meet my man.  My way into the city.  My first substantive contact in the subcontinent.  I am safely in the front seat of my ride into town.  All is good.  Still in the airport car park I receive a surprise.  First time in my life that I witness a driver, my driver, speed up when he sees a pedestrian meandering across the intended path.  Nothing like giving someone a bit of a hurry along I guess.

The ride into town is spectacular.  Fires burn along the sides of the roads.  Muslims hold prayer sessions.  Animals wander across the streets.  My driver tries to tell me a little about where we are.  I don't understand too much of what he is saying, maybe it is his broken, difficult to understand English or maybe it is because I have fallen into a trance-like state at all of what has been presented in front of me.  I'm in India now and isn't India letting me know it.  After the hour or so long ride into town I am finally at my hotel (the term is used here because it is in the name of where I am staying).  I make it to my room, I am sure that in many countries gaol cells would be more spacious and comfortable.  It doesn't matter that I have been travelling for many, many hours.  It is New Year's Eve and I am in India god damn it.  Beers will be had.  I venture out into the streets.  Streets that exude energy.  Streets that ooze vibrancy, streets that weep with poverty.

I am back in the hotel lobby.  I have some bottles of Kingfisher in my hand.  I am ready to retire to the shabbiness of the hotel balcony to see in the new year which by now is a mere twenty minutes away.

No sir.  No you shall not.  Fate intervenes in the form of three Russians.  Russians ready to party.  Bottle of rum in hand.  The streeets are calling us back.  With my new friends in tow it is back to the streets of Mumbai.  We set out on the streets of Fort with no fixed destination in mind.  Indians greet us with cries of "Happy New Year", head waggles are liberally given.  Not everyone is welcoming the new year with such vigour though.  Important lesson to learn when walking the streets of Mumbai, the footpath may be a pedestrian thoroughfare but it is also the permanent slumber zone of thousands of poverty-stricken Indians.  Watch where you're going.  Don't want to cause any trouble now.  After hours wandering around the city streets one of my new Russian friends decide the time has come to welcome ourselves officially to India by visiting the gateway to India, built to commemorate the visit of George V.  As we saunter our way down there we witness two young Indians punching on and then wrestling in the middle of the road.  A vehicle approaches and a momentary armistice is reached to clear the way but with the passing of the car hostilities are resumed.  "No you can not, can not pass, not open", security banishes our intention to get closer to the gateway to formalise our arrival.  This is Mumbai in the early epoch of a new era.  Finally it is decided it is time to make it back to our dingy domicile.

I wake up on New Year's day with a throbbing headache and a throat more parched than the Murray-Darling.  I need to get out of this claustrophobic, windowless box.  Mumbai streets by day are calling.  Again as I wander off with no real destination the feeling of having slipped into a whole new world comes over me or is that overcomes me?  I'll have a chai thank you very much.  We'll have your equivalent of five cents in Rupees thank you very much.  Nice deal.  I can deal with that.  I wander on.  The alleyways are buzzing with life.  The start of the new year is no cause to rest.  The start of the year is the time to make a new start, to make a prosperous start.  I feel alive to be walking along as an extra in these street scenes.  I, by chance, arrive in Colaba, the main toursit district of Mumbai to be encountered by all manner of streetside vendors selling there wares.  Some ganga sir? How about some crack?  We have nice young girl, you want?  I get through the onslaught of offers and settle for a English language newspaper.  I sit down for a break, to get lost in the paper and I succeed in drifting off into my own hungover daze.  Only for a moment though.  India has a way of letting you know where you are.  Don't get lost in your own thoughts and world for too long, she says.  In this case I am wrenched from my reading by a loud cracking.  It is as though a gun has gone off right in front of me.  Huh?  What the hell was that, I think.  I lift my eyes and am visually bamboozled by the appearance of a shamanistic gent right in front of.  Brightly coloured clothes, matted hair, a vision of a man unlike any I had ever seen in my preceding life.  A large matted whip in his hand has been cracked and is the cause of my sudden shock.  As I am trying to come to terms with what I am witnessing, an equally eccentric lady with an infant in her arms appears, seemingly teleported from afar.  Talk about sidling!  The sadhu proffers his hand, he has performed his part of the bargain now it is my turn to come to the party and hand over some rupees.  Expected the unexpected in India.  You never know what will happen next.