Panic in the Pantanal
The Linger Loco!
Chapter 16: Panic in the Pantanal
We arrive in Cuiaba around 8am and catch a cab to the
Hotel Matto Grosso on Rua Comandante Costa. Dumping
our bags in the windowless room, we’re desperate to eat a
proper meal and get some air after two full nights on the
road. Wandering around the deserted streets of Cuiaba we
quickly realise it’s Sunday, and begin to feel quite irritable
when we discover everywhere is closed. We pass a couple
of comedy phone boxes in the shape of a large red and blue
parrot and a pouncing Jaguar, and find ourselves wandering
along a busy main road. People sing at the top of their
voices inside an Evangelists Church, and we smile at the
passion being expressed inside. Passing a gas station and a
row of hairdressers we spy a restaurant on the corner of a
quiet street. It’s completely empty, but we can see smoke
spiralling into the air from a barbecue. A smart waiter
dressed in black trousers and a white shirt lays plates of
food out in the style of a buffet, and Chris realises immediately
that it’s a “Rodizio”, which basically means “eat as
much as you like”. Helping ourselves to the buffet, we
spoon a variety of feijao (beans), rice and salad onto our
plates. The chef brings Churrasco (a variety of grilled
meat) to our table on large metal skewers and begins sliding
large chunks of heavily salted beef, chicken and pork onto
an empty plate. We pause for a second before attacking the
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food like a pair of hungry jaguars. It tastes delicious, and
considering Chris has got the shits he’s not shy in asking
for more. I battle to prevent my plate from over-spilling
and, just as I’m about to throw in the towel, I notice a
young Brazilian guy with glasses approaching our table.
‘Bom dia,’ he smiles. ‘Where are you from?’
‘England,’ Chris replies proudly, as he chews on a large
piece of beef.
‘I like England very much. I live in London for two
years.’
‘No way, cool. Would you like to sit down and join us for
a meat feast?’
‘I am sorry, but my friend here in car soon.’
‘Oh, OK.’
‘Where did you live in London?’ I ask.
‘You know Clapham?’
‘Yeah, my friend used to live near the Common. What
were you doing there?’
‘I was working for a politician. He was the minister for
hunting and fisheries.’
‘Great job, I like fish,’ Chris burps. ‘And meat.’
‘Yes, I can see that. Are you on holiday in Brazil?’
‘Yeah, sort of,’ I nod. ‘We’ve been travelling around South
America.’
‘That sounds fun. You like my country? No problems I
hope.’
‘Not at all, Brazilians seem like very friendly people.’
A car pulls up at the side of the pavement.
‘My friend is here, I go now. Welcome and good luck!’ he
smiles, shaking our hands.
He runs over to the car and zooms off.
Testing out the Brazilian beer, we share a large bottle of
Skol and wait for the food to digest. All of a sudden the car
from earlier pulls up outside the restaurant and the
Brazilian guy calls to us from his open window.
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‘Hey, English friends! Do you have plans this afternoon?’
‘Uh, no, not really,’ I shout back.
‘There is barbecue at my girlfriend’s house. You want to
come?’
We look at each other and then glance down at our
swollen bellies.
‘Shall we?’ Chris grins.
‘Be rude not to,’ I reply, throwing my napkin on the table.
Settling the bill, we run over to our new friend and climb
into the back of the silver Opel Corsa hatchback.
‘I’m Luis,’ he beams, ‘and this is my cousin, Antonio.’
Luis dishes out the cans of Skol, including one for the
driver. Antonio smiles over his shoulder and turns up the
music on the stereo. We race through the suburbs and after
about ten minutes of hairpin bends and the screeching of
tires, we come to a sudden halt outside a small blue house
in a residential area of the city. Climbing out we’re herded
inside and immediately meet two girls in their late twenties
in the front room. Maria is Luis’s girlfriend and she greets
us with two kisses, one on either cheek. She has blonde
hair and a well-dressed cleavage. Her friend Tânia is curvaceous
with large breasts, and she smiles and greets us in
the same friendly manner. A mixture of family and friends
smile as we walk into a small courtyard with a swimming
pool. Luis explains that Maria and her friend have just
moved into the house and they have invited family and
friends around for a party. We’re immediately offered a
beer and mingle in the sunshine with Brazilian Reggae
playing on the stereo. Tânia speaks a little English and
helps to translate what were saying to the other guests.
Antonio doesn’t speak any English, but doesn’t let this
concern him and communicates surprisingly well through
sign language. He’s a big lad with thick stubble, and occupies
himself by cooking sausages on an enormous barbecue.With
the beer flowing we quickly relax, and before you know it
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I’ve dug out the Brazil nuts we found in the Madre de Dios
and I’m cracking them in the doorframe with the hostess’s
mother. Sometime in the afternoon Antonio appears with
a small portable TV under his arm and puts on the futebol.
We watch rival teams Flamengo and Vasco battle it out on
the pitch, and experience the Brazilian passion for soccer
at first hand. Chatting to Luis, he tells me how he enjoyed
his time in London and would’ve liked to stay longer, but
he got his previous girlfriend pregnant and had to return to
Brazil. He shifts in his chair, and is slightly philosophical
about what could’ve been. Nevertheless, he returned to
Brazil and now owns a small chain of video stores in
Cuiaba. He talks openly about the problems in Brazil and
tells me how his father was successful in business when
he was a child, and how they had grown up living in fear
of being murdered or kidnapped. 1% of the people control
50% of the country’s wealth in Brazil. It’s the largest
divide between rich and poor in any country in the world.
We buy another crate of beer from the shop and when we
return two new girls have arrived. A smiley Afro-Brazilian
girl called Ana, who speaks incredible English with a
Californian accent, and her friend Yasmin, who’s wearing
a beautiful blue dress and looks a little like Beyonce. She’s
a tall thin girl with large eyes and coffee-coloured skin,
and she has me captivated for the rest of the night. Much
to my surprise she seems quite interested in me and, after
many beers and a few caipirinhas, a popular cocktail made
from cachaça, sugar and lime, Luis falls out of his chair
and demands we go onto somewhere else. Within seconds
I find myself kissing Beyonce in the back of Luis’s car. We
pull up at a bar not far from the house with yellow plastic
tables and chairs outside. There’s a karaoke machine in the
corner of the bar and Ana starts singing into the machine
with the voice and confidence of a true professional. She
puts any British X-Factor contestant to shame and we
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applaud as she takes a bow at the end of her performance.
As the night draws to a close, everyone begins to make
their excuses and head off in different directions, including
Chris, who seeks refuge in the toilet back at the hotel
room. With Yasmin for company, I’m in no hurry to end
the night and pleased with her suggestion that we go onto
a club, we kiss for a while before hailing a taxi. Hurtling
towards the bus station on the outskirts of town, we arrive
outside a kicking Samba club located inside an enormous
tent. The atmosphere inside is intense, with hoards of people
dancing to a live band. Yasmin drags me onto the dance
floor and I try my hardest not to make a prick of myself in
front of such a beautiful girl. A tropical rain thunders
down on the festivities in the early hours, and we kiss
beneath the awning of the tent. Yasmin tells me that she’s
timid and will not spend the night with me, but we share
a cab home and she invites me up to her apartment.
Creeping into her bedroom, we smoke cigarettes out of the
window and make love in the early morning light.
* * *
Si arrives back at the hotel in time for breakfast. He has a
big smile across his face and wild sticky up hair. Checking
out of the hotel, we grab a taxi to the bright green Localiza
car hire office.
‘It’s road trip time!’ I smile, rubbing my hands together.
‘Are you sure we should hire a car?’ Si mumbles, admiring
the shiny Fiat’s parked up outside.
‘You can’t bus it through the Pantanal, pal.’
‘But what if we crash?’
‘We won’t.’
‘Well, I can’t drive. I was downing a Cuba Libre at three
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o’clock this morning.’
‘Maybe that’s not a bad thing,’ I smirk.
‘What do you mean by that, you cheeky fuck? I drove to
Vladi-cockin-vostok too, remember?’
‘Si, chill out, I’m only messing around. You can drive
later.’
We turn to the car hire building and head inside. There’s
yet another beautiful girl working behind the counter and
it’s starting to become clear to me now why Brazil has a
reputation for hot women – it’s because they’re everywhere,
from the girl selling ice cream in the park to the
chick sweeping the streets. This particular honey is
dressed in a badly designed bright green Localiza uniform,
which she somehow manages to wear and still look sexy.
We explain to her that we’d like to hire a car. This doesn’t
appear to be a problem, and before you can say,
“Pantanal!” we’re circling around a gleaming silver Fiat
and inspecting its bodywork. The girl bends over and
checks the hubcaps, and I catch Si examining her bodywork
with a similar enthusiasm. She scribbles something
on a clipboard and nods; everything appears to be in order.
Back in the office we pay with a credit card and make sure
we have full insurance. It’s not cheap, but we console ourselves
with the thought that a guided tour would’ve been
way more expensive, and more than likely incredibly irritating.
The girl hands us the keys and wishes us an enjoyable
trip. Skidding out into the heavy flow of traffic, Si works
hard at being my second pair of eyes by screaming instructions
at me and punching the dashboard. Dodging suicidal
moped drivers on the congested carriageway, we head
towards the airport and eventually pick up signs for the
small frontier town of Pocone. Leaving the city behind, we
head into the countryside where we turn our attention to
avoiding head on collisions with cars and trucks overtaking
in the opposite direction. Fortunately, the traffic slowly
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begins to thin out and we’re left to relax and enjoy the sensation
of being back on the open road.
After a few hours we zoom past a green sign with ‘Bem vindos
ao portal do Pantanal – POCONE’ written on it, and
pass beneath a funny archway welcoming us to Pocone. I
spot a small local supermarket at the roadside and suggest
we grab some supplies before heading into the wilderness.
We scurry around the aisles of the ‘Mercado Pantanal’, and
fill our baskets with ham and cheese, bread and crisps and
an enormous plastic container of drinking water.
Continuing on through the deserted town we spot a fuel station
and pull up beside a hard-faced petrol pump attendant.
He smokes a cigarette while filling the tank with highly
flammable alcol, a bio-fuel made from sugar-cane. Si asks
him for directions to the Pantanal, and without speaking
he stubs his cigarette out on the dry earth and points
towards an orange dirt track. Whipping forty reals out of
my wallet I thank the guy and zoom off. Following the dirt
track for twenty minutes we begin to wonder if we’ve been
sent in the wrong direction, and we’re just about to turn
around when I suddenly see a barrier that’s up and a sign
with ‘TRANSPANTANEIRA’ written across it.
‘Well, Si, this is where the road begins.’
‘Cool, I hope we don’t get devoured by a giant anaconda.’
‘It’s highly possible. The Transpantaneira runs right into
the heart of the swamplands of the Pantanal. We may
never return.’
We see the top of a guy’s head inside a guard office and
wait for a few seconds for him to wave us through, but he
continues to ignore us so we assume everything is OK and
slowly crawl through the gate. Within less than 50 yards of
being on the Transpantaneira I brake sharply and we look
in surprise at the surreal sight of a huge Jabiru, a 1.4 metre
stalk with a big ugly black head. It’s stood in the swamp to
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the left of the road, and Si grabs the camera and takes a few
pictures of the enormous bird. The further we drive the
more wildlife we begin to see. A large eagle with a white
beak swoops over the car and a Southern Crested Caracara,
perches on a telephone wire running alongside the track. I
begin to feel like Doctor Dolittle, and I’m reminded of stories
I’d heard about the Galapagos Islands where the wildlife is
completely unconcerned by humans.
It takes over an hour to drive little more than a few kilometres
into the Pantanal. We cross swampland over rickety
bridges and scan the water for signs of caiman and piranha.
Turning a sharp corner, we’re stunned to see a family of
capybara, the largest rodent in the world. The adults are a
metre long and have enormous heads. It’s like some mad
scientist has experimented on a little hamster in some
fucked up laboratory and accidentally created a monster.
Three babies sit close by and look curiously at the car, and
I begin to wonder what would happen if I jumped out and
ran over to them. I assume they’d run off, but for all we
know their docile behaviour could be a secretly evolved
weapon that’s used to trick their prey into a false sense of
security before launching their vicious attack. The fact that
they’re chewing on grass makes this seem unlikely,
although, who am I to underestimate the unpredictability
of nature. I edge the car slowly towards them and they
calmly move to the side. If that isn’t enough excitement for
one day we see a caiman’s scaly body submerged in the
swamp further up the road. We climb out of the car and
check it out. It really does look like a prehistoric monster.
As it grows dark, Si suggests we find somewhere to park
for the night. It becomes difficult to negotiate the bridges
in the fading light, and I imagine the car tipping into the
caiman and piranha infested waters. We find a siding and
park the car close to a tree. Turning off the engine I release
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a deep sigh. It’s uncomfortably humid, so I stick my head
out of the open window and hear the night chorus of a trillion
insects. A mosquito suddenly buzzes through my
window. I lock onto it and squash the little fucker between
my palms. There’s no blood, which I would imagine is a
good sign. I see another and then another. We quickly
wind up our windows and scan around the inside of the
car. This is going to be a problem. We’d forgotten about
mosquitoes, which seems slightly ridiculous considering
we’re in the middle of one of the largest swamps in the
world. The fact that we haven’t brought any mosquito
repellent with us is also something of a concern, particularly
as neither of us are taking malaria tablets at this
moment in time. I try to remember why, and I vaguely
recall money being an issue. Yes, that was it we were too
tight to buy any, having persuaded ourselves we’d cover
up well instead. The whole afternoon I haven’t seen one
single mosquito, but now the sun has gone down they’re
out in force. It’s unbearably hot inside the car, and we’re
forced to whip off our T-shirts. I consider winding down
my window just a tiny bit, but I study the glass and can see
thousands of the evil creatures bouncing off the window as
they try to get in and suck our blood. My head starts to itch
and my face feels hot. Si is covered in sweat and begins to
panic.
‘I can’t breathe,’ he pants. ‘Why the fuck didn’t we get aircon?’
‘Because you said air-con is for pussies.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yep.’
‘Bollocks.’
‘Turn the fan on for a bit.’
Si turns the key and the fan kicks into life. Warm air
blows in our faces. It’s mildly better and we sit very still
and try to relax. All of a sudden I feel a nip on my neck
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and slap the skin.
‘Fuck, how did that get in here?’
Si jumps sideways and whacks the dashboard. ‘There’s
another one, why didn’t we buy some fucking malaria
tablets? We’re in a malaria area!’
I flick on the interior light and a group of four or five
large mosquitoes gather around the orange glow. ‘There’s
shit loads of them in here. Turn off the fan!’
Si wrestles for the key and the fan goes dead. I roll up a
map and go on a mammoth killing spree. Diving into the
back of the car I dance around beating windows and cursing
the air. I return to the front seat literally dripping with
sweat. I look over at Si and realise we’re both sat in the
dark, in a swamp, in the middle of nowhere – in our pants!
The mosquitoes have obviously spread the word because
all of their mates have arrived.
‘Jesus Christ, we can’t sit here all night!’ Si screams, his
carefree attitude disappearing with each second that ticks
by. ‘It must be over forty degrees inside this car. I need
some fucking air!’
‘If you open that window I’ll punch your fucking lights
out,’ I cry feeling tired and frustrated.
‘Well, what are we going to do?’
‘I don’t know. I’m trying to think here.’
‘Think faster, I’m having trouble breathing.’
‘I’ve got it!’ I grin, chuffed by my amazing new abilities
at solving really difficult problems.
‘What?’
‘Let’s drive!’
Si narrows his eyes. ‘Drive where? We’re in a swamp,
you twat.’
‘Anywhere, back to Cuiaba if we have to.’
‘Hey, wait a minute.’ Si grabs the guidebook and flicks to
a page. ‘Yeah, here we go. Let’s go to the Chapada dos
Guimaraes National Park.’
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‘Where?’
‘It’s a park located on a rocky plateau. Apparently there’s
an eighty-six metre waterfall with a smaller one close by
that you can swim in.’
‘OK, sounds fun.’
We whip our shorts back on and I take over the driving.
I’m so happy we don’t have to spend the night dripping
with sweat and clock watching until daybreak. A night
drive almost sounds too perfect. I strike the engine and
reverse the car back onto the Transpantaneira. The headlamps
illuminate the grass either side of the track, and we
can see every stone and bump in the road. It’s creepy out
here at night and I’m half expecting a slimy swamp monster
in a really badly fitted costume to leap out from the bushes
and stand growling at us in front of the car. I slip the Fiat
into gear and we head along the track in the dead of night.
We risk winding down our windows and much to our
relief, we discover the mosquitoes can’t get at us as long as
we’re moving. Fresh air blows in my face. It’s still hot, but
nothing compared to the oven like conditions when we
were parked up. The clear night sky twinkles above our
heads and we’re both glad to be back on the road again.
Turning around a sharp bend I skid to a halt, as I nearly
run over a capybara sitting in the middle of the track. It
squints in the bright headlamps and, in its own time,
moves slowly to the side.
‘This is a freak show!’ I cry.
Continuing on before the mosquitoes invade the car, we
pass a road sign with a picture of a giant anteater on it and
approaching a narrow bridge, I skid to a halt once more
when we see the tail of a caiman disappear into the water.
Cautiously negotiating the bridge over the piranha and
caiman infested waters below; we roll across to the other
side and brake sharply when we see another enormous
caiman in the middle of the road. Its eyes glow red in the
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headlights and it turns and snaps at us. Si shoots pictures
out of the window and I look in awe at the David
Attenborough documentary taking place in front of me. We
see many more surreal sights on the road as we drive at
5mph through the night. A large white owl swoops above
the car and dozens of rodents of various sizes dash out in
front of us. We arrive back at the main entrance and find
our way to the main road. Hurtling at 60kph down the tarmac
highway, the air feels blissfully fresh in our faces. Si
rests his head against the window, and I turn on the radio
and enjoy my personal journey in the dead of night. I rest my
arm on the open window and cruise through the darkness
along the empty road. We reach Cuiaba in record time and
drive through the deserted streets. Circling around the city
unsure which way to go, Si grabs the map and we try to
stay focused for fear of ending up in one of Cuiaba’s less
desirable neighbourhoods.
‘Are you sure you know where you’re going?’ Si mumbles.
I ignore him and concentrate on the road. We join a twolane
highway that passes many large car showrooms and a
big supermarket, and approaching a road sign we crane
our necks as it flashes over the top of our heads. Suddenly,
I see a speed bump.
‘SPEED BUMP!’ Si yells, his eyes bulging out of their
sockets.
It’s too late. I slam on the brakes and watch helplessly as
the hired car mounts the raised tarmac and launches into
the air like a space rocket. All four wheels leave planet
Earth for a split second and I hold on tightly to the steering
wheel. We slam back onto the tarmac with an almighty
thud, and bright orange sparks literally fly into the air as
the skirting scrapes along the highway. I skid to a halt and
we both run around to the front of the car. Amazingly
there’s no damage, just a tiny scuff mark beneath the skirting.
Feeling relieved, we finally reach Salgadeira and park up
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outside the gates to the waterfall. We’re higher in altitude
here and thankfully there are no mosquitoes. Lowering my
seat, I immediately collapse into a deep sleep.
I awake around 6am. The sun is burning bright, but the
entrance to the waterfall is closed. Si falls out of the car
and suggests we break in.
‘We can’t break in,’ I reply, rubbing my tired eyes. ‘It’s
against the law!’
‘Oh, shut up, you twat. I know it’s early in the morning,
but that’s no excuse for talking like a girl. We’re only going
to jump the barriers, we’re not nicking anything. No harm
done.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely, let’s live on the edge and sin a little.’
Checking for security cameras, we quickly sneak around
the barriers and follow a winding path through the trees. I
can hear the sound of the waterfall getting louder, and we
arrive at a small café with the shutters down and the chairs
on top of the tables. It’s creepy to be here when it’s all
closed up, but pretty mad to have the place all to ourselves
with no one else around. We stand in front of the powerful
wall of water that thunders over a cliff edge. The sound of
thousands of gallons of water crashing into a deep pool is
deafening, and we dive into the crystal clear water.
Floating on my back, I take a few moments to appreciate
how free I feel and absorb the incredible natural beauty
that surrounds me. Refreshed, we gather our belongings
and run back to the car. Si drives to the national park a few
kilometres up the road, and we’re amazed by the sight of
yet another incredible waterfall, which this time spills
over a cliff edge and cascades eighty-six metres into a deep
canyon below. A toco toucan swoops over our heads and
lands in a nearby tree. We watch the beautiful bird with its
black and white feathers and enormous orange beak and
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dream of a pint of Guinness. In the late afternoon we head
slowly back to Cuiaba and return the car to the rental
office. There’s a tense moment as the girl inspects the Fiat
for damage, but failing to notice the little scratch on the
skirting, we feel greatly relieved that we haven’t had to pay
anything – or treat a single mosquito bite on our asses.
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