Sunday, August 24

Location: SantarΘm, Parß, Brazil

Today's weather: 28░C.

Today was spent on the riverboat. There was little room to move and little to do. The main activities were to pass the time chatting with the other passengers, reading, relaxing in the bar – or simply standing at the side of the boat watching the riverbanks slowly slip past in the distance. Every now and then we briefly stopped at small riverside towns to offload or take on new passenger. These was a commotion at each stop as a horde of young boys climbed aboard selling fruit, cheese, cakes, and other items.

Much of my day was spend relaxing in my hammock, where I read through my Portuguese books attempting to improve my language skills. I chatted with Rupert (in English) and attempted conversations with several of the other passengers (in Portuguese). Generally, I'm able to make myself understood in Portuguese, but the conversations are often a struggle and very slow – it takes great patience on both sides. Most of the passengers that I talked with were surprised that I should be journeying down along the Amazon by myself. The idea of linking up with schools back in New Zealand during my travels also seemed very novel to them. In almost every case, I was the first person from New Zealand that they'd ever met (I occasionally had to explain that NZ was close to Australia, and not in Europe!)

Meals onboard the riverboat were very simple. Breakfast consisted of cream cracker biscuits served with coffee. Like almost everywhere else in Brazil, the coffee was strong and already dosed with copious quantities of sugar (asking for coffee without sugar is enough to shock most Brazilians). Lunch included rice, chicken pieces, and a chunky beef soup – to which I added farinha, a local condiment that I am acquiring a taste for. Farinha is produced from a root vegetable called manioc, which is ground up, washed, then dried to produce something similar to sawdust.

The riverboat was very crowded. I was constantly bumping into people wherever I walked, constantly muttering "Desculpe" (sorry) and "Com licensa" (excuse me please). Walking down the sides of the boat on the lower decks was the hardest – though it was the route I had to take each time I went for a meal or to go to the loo. The walk went past all the hooks from which people hung their hammocks – forcing me to duck through an assortment of brightly-coloured cotton slings and their delicate human cargo.A trek towards the back of the boat was no small feat, typically involving strenous efforts to avoid bumping into hammocks, stepping on small children, or banging into other passengers coming the other way. The sounds I made as I passed through generally sounded something like: "Oof! Oops, sorry . . . umm . . . desculpe . . . desculpe. Com licensa? . . . obrigado. Desculpe. Whew!"

The only place I wasn't constantly surrounded by people were the toilets. Though, as I write this, I consider that the word "toilet" might actually be too grand a description. More precisely, they were like a small cupboard or closet into which toilet bowl and shower head had both been installed. What really surprised me is that they were actually clean and even a reasonable chance of finding toilet paper. I sense there's a benefit in combining the toilet and shower since it means that the room is regularly sprayed clean with water, removing any nasty smells which would normally build up in a facility used by so many people. The boat's attendants also regularly checked them, so that if I discovered any of the loos in a particularly disgusting state, I could simply wait a while before coming back – by which time they were again usable.

Using the shower proved to be the most interesting experience. Regular riverboat travellers are well used to operating in the shower's tiny confines – and I was constantly amazed at seeing them turn up for breakfast or dinner all scrubbed clean and freshly groomed. By comparison, I've noticed that tourists try to avoid the shower until they get truly desperate and can no longer stand the smell or the stickiness that results from being in such a warm climate. Getting undressed in the tiny shower is a minor act of gymnastics. There were hooks for hanging my clothes – though once I turned on the water it was difficult not getting them wet. Worse still, there was practically nowhere to put my boots to avoid filling them with water. I think this partly explains why the regular riverboat passengers are all wearing thongs. Water for the shower came directly from the river and was a pale shade of brown. Just as everywhere else, it was unheated though this is hardly a drawback in tropical countries. I felt greatly relieved after the shower and a quick spray of aftershave. Given the origins of the water, I wasn't sure if I was actually any cleaner – but I felt better and more refreshed, so deemed the effort worthwhile.

My afternoon was spent in the recreation area on the top deck. There was a small bar selling cold beer and soft drinks, and a small collection of battered fold-up tables and chairs. Here I slipped soft drinks and wrote notes while trying to avoid being deafened by the loud music pumping out of the bar's stereo system. Ironically, the music made me feel a little homesick since the barman was repeatedly thrashing "Don't Dream It's Over" by Crowded House (a semi New Zealand band).

Our biggest stop was in the late afternoon, at the customs post between the Brazilian States of Amazonas and Parß. Manaus (Amazonas) is a duty-free zone, where goods are sold without the high sales taxes imposed in the rest of Brazil. People often travel from Parß to Manaus to take advantage of the cheap prices – but the customs post is there to charge duty on goods entering into Parß (ensuring that the State government doesn’t lose out on revenue). Last time I was at this stop, the customs officers boarded the boat very dramatically – carrying guns, and forcing the ship to dock alongside the post, amid a giant cloud of mosquitoes. But this time the guns were kept hidden, and the boat stayed in the middle of the river – thankfully keeping the plague of mosquitoes to a minimum. The officers also had snazzy new uniforms to make them look more respectable and professional. One officer asked to see my passport. Since I was a foreigner, and was obviously just passing through, he didn’t bother to check my luggage. In other places, the officers interviewed the passengers, viewing receipts of goods purchased and calculating the amount of duty to be charged.

We left the customs post just after dark. The air was full of slapping noises as people swatted at the small swarm of mosquitoes which had gathered around our boat during our stop. I lay back in my hammock, thankful that I had remembered to bring mosquito repellent. I watched a group of young people who’d gathered around near me. They were mostly in their teens – boys and girls chatting, laughing, exchanging jokes and teasing each other. One boy, hoping to make friends with the pretty girl next to him, handed over his walkman. The girl didn’t seem too interested in the boy, but readily accepted his walkman – she sat there for the next hour listening to the walkman and ignoring the boy’s unsuccessful attempts at conversation The boy continued sitting next to her quietly, the puzzled look on his face showing that he was obviously wondering what went wrong.

At seven o’clock the boat docked in Obid≤s, Rupert struggled off with his backpack which was almost as big as mine. The boat remained at the port for about two hours as goods were loaded onto the boat and others were taken off. Standing along the dockside were wives waiting for their husbands, with their children freshly groomed and dressed in their best clothes.

The remaining journey to SantarΘm took five hours, with our boat finally arriving at the port at 2am the following morning. Instead of getting off the boat in the middle of the night with nowhere to go, I opted to remain onboard (comfortable in my hammock), sleeping until dawn before finally leaving the ship.