Under the jambo tree
An unexpected prayer, hitting a wall, and finding inspiration in isolation. (Part 2 of our trip to Amazon)
What to listen to while reading this: Lágrimas de Sangue by Joelma
Shalom, hallo, and olá curious readers,
Our trip to the Amazon was the first time I had ever trusted someone else with trip planning. Planning trips is one of the major joys of my life and I am truly convinced that I know more about it (and am better at it) than anyone else. Some might think that sounds arrogant, and it might be, but I generally just do not trust others with it. This time was different, though. Since we were visiting the state where Mr. T. grew up, I very strongly felt to leave trip planning to him and he took on the role naturally.
A sight I will never forget is how after we had booked the flights, Mr. T. immediately went to sit down on the bed, grabbed my notebook, and started jotting down our itinerary. I could tell how excited he was to show me around a place that means the world to him. I truly think it is one of the sweetest, most authentic gestures when someone wants to introduce you to a place that they carry with them in their heart. Thus for the first time ever, I sat down, watched him design our trip from start to finish, and opened my heart and mind to whatever adventure I was about to embark on.
A 2-minute long prayer
After spending almost a week in Belém (click here for the newsletter) we jump in an Uber at the break of dawn to go to a gas station in the neighboring city of Ananindeua. There a driver is waiting to bring us to the city of Casthanal. In Casthanal we would pick up one of our friends’ car and drive to the city of Marúda from where we would board a one-hour boat ride to the island of Algodoal.
Our driver to Casthanal is a 34-year old called Jonathan. He is recently divorced and has moved back in with his father for the time being. Jonathan likes talking and interacting with his passengers. As I am used to here in Brazil, people do not shy away from getting very deep and personal with you upon your first time meeting. Although I must confess that I can be a bit of a ‘little miss chitty chat’ myself, the detail many people in Brazil go into with strangers when they first meet can at times feels a little much, to say the least.
We are about twenty minutes into our drive when Jonathan realizes he has not, according to him, given us a proper welcome. Now, before I go on, one thing you must know about Brazil is that the country is deeply religious. Of course us Europeans know about the colonization of Brazil by the Portuguese and the Dutch and the catholicism that that brought with it. I do, however, doubt that a lot of us realize how engraved religion is in ever single aspect of life for most Brazilians. And so our trip could not start without a prayer.
Having traveled to five continents and having lived in three different countries, I have had my share of religious exposure. Still nothing could have prepared me for what was about to unfold there in that Chevrolet somewhere on the highway between Ananindeua and Castanhal.
Jonathan’s prayer starts off like any other. ‘Dear heavenly father, thank you for guiding and protecting us on our journey.’ While for me that would have done the trick and kept it straight to the point, Jonathan was clearly not fond of keeping things brief. He goes on to thank his God for all of our paths to cross right there in his car, how fortunate he feels to hear so many people’s stories every day, how life is to be shared.
Then his tone changes. He starts talking faster and faster. Before I know it, his hands are off the wheel and in the air, his voice starts to break, and tears are rolling down his face. In between hiccups and sobs Jonathan goes on to express his gratitude for yesterday evening, last night (that he spent with a girl in a motel - but that detail he chooses to leave out), his father, his mother, his sisters, his brothers, his neighbor, for the morning, for the existence of Thurdays (yep). He then takes one final gasp of air and at the top of his lungs declares ‘AMEN’.
I look down at my phone, where I recorded the entirety of the prayer. It has been two whole minutes.
How to deal with disappointment
The boat ride to Algodoal had been something I had looked forward to for a while. Leaving the mainland in Marúda meant leaving behind most of what makes daily life comfortable. Wifi, cellphone reception, and fast and easy health care. In an hour from now we would arrive in a place where if you were to suffer a life-threatening accident, your changes of making it to the hospital on time are slim. In other words: we are up for an adventure.
I cannot entirely pinpoint what it was, but by this point I start to lose my cool a bit. Embarking to a destination so deserted is an experience I really want to share with not only Mr. T. but also our friends who are with us. While boarding the boat, however, it becomes clear to me that managing to sit together is not going to be an easy task.
First of all, the boat is packed with cargo. Banana’s, water, flowers, meats. Because of an imminent weather change this is going to be the last boat to the island for a while and they better get all the cargo there on time. Weight distribution is the least of their worries while I cautiously begin to consider the chances of the boat tipping over to one side.
Cargo on the boat to Algodoal.
For a minute I thought that sitting together was going to work out. But once a lady sits between Mr. T and myself I know that that ship has, quite literally, sailed. It must have occurred to her that we are traveling together, but she does not seem to bother. And so I spend an hour in silence staring at the ocean, biting my tongue and trying to swallow the fact that we do not get to share this experience together. Or at least not in the way that I would have liked us to. All the while I overhear the lady next to me talk to my travel companions tirelessly, with her back turned to me.
No is no
I quickly forget about my anger when we arrive at our pousada (guesthouse). The Babylon Village is owned by a befriended gay couple who unfortunately are not there for our stay. Just next to the pool a huge jambo tree grows. Jambo is a fruit that does not grow in the south of Brazil where we live, but does grow between the south of Mexico all the way to Peru. You also find versions of it in some countries in Asia, like Malaysia. It is almost heart-shaped and has a deep red color. The tree is filled with hundreds of them and we are free to pick them. When I bite into the fruit, I find out that the core is bright white. The taste is like a mix of radish and peach. The ones that aren’t entirely ripe yet have a sour, tangy taste and leave your tongue to feel a little rubbery. The full-ripe ones are soft and sweeter while not losing their radish-like flavor.
Jambo picked from the tree by the pool at Pousada Babylon Village.
The island of Algodoal knows a loyal group of visitors. You got to know about this place or otherwise you won’t end up here. Originally, so I have been told, the island became popular among free-spirited people. Hippies, rastafari. You even see the occasional Jamaican flag waiving in the wind.
When the evening falls, we find ourselves at Mupeua, a bar right on the beach that looks like it has come straight from a Scoobie-Doo movie-set. There we are greeted by an old lady who is a long-time friend of a friend and tells us that before she decided to move to the island, she spent 40 years of her life as a judge working for the federal court. Nowadays she spends her days barefoot and in colorful skirts dancing Samba with friends and drinking beer.
Mupeua
But after an almost 17-hour day I am in no mood to be outgoing anymore. As the band on the podium starts getting louder and louder and more people get up from their seats to dance Samba, all I can think of is how to get away. To say I am tired would not do me justice, I am exhausted. The music is too loud, the lights are too bright, and to be very honest, the thought of having to dance Samba brings me closer to tears than to laughter. I don’t cry often nor easily, but I am on the verge.
As expected, the old lady attempts to drag me onto the dance floor for me to dance Samba. I never learned Samba, every time I try to attempt to dance it I feel like a moving ironing board, and while I can usually get over the humiliation, this time I simply cannot. I cannot get myself to get out there and dance along. After a total of five months of opening myself up to every unfamiliar experience and often being lost in cultural translation, I am hitting a wall right here and now. I want to disappear. So when the lady once more attempts to get me to dance, at the risk of coming across as rude I see no other way than to tell her ‘No. I will not dance. No, I will not do it.’
Purple skies
The island is unlike any other place I have been before. The wonderful thing about travel is that you will never cease to be amazed by the amazing places there are in the world. Throughout the years there have been several places that made me think that it was unlikely that I would find a place that would beat it, and yet it happens. Describing the island of Algodoal is difficult, but if I were to give a description that comes remotely close is that it reminds me of some tiny Thai islands. It is a place where you actually feel how far away you are from everywhere else.
Scenes on the island.
Before I moved to Brazil, I had never really considered visiting South America anytime soon. Of course Brazil was on my list to visit, but the Middle East, Asia, and Africa drew my attention way more. The unlikeliness of me being here at this moment only adds to how special of an experience I consider my visit to Algodoal to be. As we are walking back to the pousada one evening, we encounter a phenomenon I have come to associate exclusively with South America.
As the day comes to an end and birds hide in the trees again, the sky turns purple. When I moved to Brazil last year and sent my mom a picture of the purple sky, she replied: ‘That is one of the fondest memories I have of South America. I had never seen the sky take on those colors before and I have never seen it in any other place since.’ She was right.
Under that purple sky we cross a river that had not been there during the day. I had been told that every night the beach would split in two because the river that went inland would connect to the sea. When told about it, I had expected a small stream to form. In reality a huge river had appeared and in an Arch of Noah-like scene dozens of people cross the river together, in a straight line. The water is so deep that you cannot hold anything in your pockets and you are left no other choice than to get soaked. Soaked and all, I take a moment to witness the scene before continuing to our pousada.
Crossing the river. The video does not do the color of the sky justice.
The sky as we crossed the river. The picture does not do the color justice.
Like a movie
By now I hope you have gotten an idea of the magic of the island. One of the most magical parts about it to me is that the island knows no paved roads and no cars. All roads on the island are nothing more than sand and thus even biking is hardly possible. The only available mode of transportation is a horse and carriage, most of whom are named after car brands.
A typical road on the island.
Walking the streets of the island is like walking into a movie scene. No cars means that there is hardly any noise to be heard. The only noise you hear is that of galloping horses and the palm trees waving in the wind.
When we are on our way to the pousada one night, the sound of music starts filling up the street from a distance. It is entirely silent, there are no people near, just the sound of a squeaky cd-player playing an old tune. The music turns out to come from a church at the end of the road. It is a small room where white, flickering TL-lights hang above red plastic chairs. The church sits right across from a soccer field. On the edge of the soccer field, a white cat rests on the brick partition, visibly annoyed by the music with its ears folded onto its head. I take a moment to take all of it in, the entire scene. If there is any way to describe the isolation, the standing still of time, and the simplicity of life on the island, I bet it is this scene.
We spend our days on the island riding horse carriages to Praia da Princesa (Princess Beach) where we lay in hammocks, swim in the sea, and drink in the sun. At the pousada we never end up figuring out how to order food for just four people after I had accidentally ordered us food for eight. In the evenings we return to Mupeua where eventually I do join the Samba-dancing crowd, even though the old lady never asked me to dance again. On Saturday night we see the river appear one more time and split the beach in two before setting sail on Sunday morning to go back to the mainland.
Against all odds, I leave the island saying: ‘You know what, I could have stayed here for a week.’ Surprisingly enough my travel companions tell me that four days really was enough for them. Instead, I seem to have found a place where I find inspiration in isolation instead of being suffocated by it. I will just make sure to learn how to dance Samba before I ever get back, I promise myself.
Horses and carriages at Praia da Princesa.
Stay curious,
L.