We get up early ready for our trip out. Amazingly I am hangover free. I didn’t really have that much to drink, it was just in a short space of time and on an empty stomach. That’s my story and I am sticking to it.
We are a bit late but the bus is even later and standing in the sun, even at 8.15 am, is really hot. The bus though, when it arrives, redeems itself as it has comfy seats, tinted windows and is fully air conditioned. We clamber on. We have 110 kilometres and three villages/towns to go to before lunch!
Around the outskirts of Salvador are the usual shanty towns, favelas as they are called in Brazil. These look a little sturdier built than the townships in South Africa, being made of brick rather than wood and tin, but are just as crammed together with all the associated problems. An estimated fifth of Brazil’s population live in these shanty towns.
On the motorway and once out beyond the city the landscape opens out to the usual tropical scene complete with palm trees and sugar cane. It’s comfortable in the bus, but not for everyone. Poor Matt gets taken down by a sickness bug and is discretely throwing up into numerous plastic bags on the way, and Jared looks distinctly the worse for wear with another bug. With one of them behind me and the other one in front of me, I wonder what I will go down with tomorrow in the sealed bus of recirculated air!
Our first stop is Santo Amaro. We pile off the bus leaving Matt in the tender care of his mum. He’s now too weak to walk, poor lamb.
We walk through the market. Here you can buy anything, not just fruit and vegetables. There’s plenty to look at and our guide, Carol, gets some of the vendors to let us try things that we are not familiar with. I manage to buy some jaca (also known as jack fruit), the wonderful fruit that I bought peeled and in cellophane from the supermarket with Johanne last week. The fruit in its plain state is huge – about 15 inches long and about 9 inches in diameter – so very heavy. The vendor lets everyone try some, urging us to peel out the kernels using a plastic bag. I find out why another day but that’s a whole new story! I also buy a net of passion fruits and the palm oil that is used to make moqueca as I am going to have a go at making this.
There’s an amazing array of produce. Fresh, dried and smoked meat, animal fat, spices, dried goods, live animals, cheese, oils, drinks – the list is endless. I could have bought loads but the thought of leaving it in a bus (or carrying it around) puts us off. The live crabs give me a fright as there is a plastic bag moving around of its own accord as some of them try to get out.
We are nearly through the market when the kids find us – you know, the little street urchins who want you to photograph them for money. Knowing I have a few coins I take a photograph of one and give him a little money (yes I know – sucker!) and then the others descend on me. The little buggers are difficult to fend off and I have to resort to walking away, a huge amount of Western guilt sitting heavily on my shoulders.
The convent that we are due to visit is closed and Mike breathes a sigh of relief as we get back on the bus without having to see anything religious.
Because Matt and Jared are feeling so bad, our guide re-orders our itinerary and we head next to the hacienda for lunch. On our way we cross the river we sailed up just a few days ago (further inland than we sailed though) via an iron bridge made of steel imported from the UK many years ago.
Arriving at the hacienda, the lads are led away to lie down in the cool and we are given a complementary drink of passion fruit liquor which is absolutely delicious and naturally, available to buy!
We wander around the hacienda for a while while the finishing touches are made to our lunch. Mike finds a comfortable place to sit – in front of a large screen TV which fortunately is turned off. I’m sure it would have made his day to find some football or other boring sport to watch.
I find my way to the kitchen and find the staff preparing our lunch which certainly smells good.
Lunch is a buffet. The steaks are huge and there are lots of vegetable dishes to go with them. Everything is wholesome if not particularly flavoursome. Good but not exciting.
We leave, me armed with two bottles of the liquor, but without our two little invalids – they need to get a bit more rest. Our next stop is Sao Felix and the Contro Cultural Dannemann, the cigar factory which also houses an exhibition of modern art. Most of this is lost on me but here are some of the exhibits.
The above was next to a pipe with a tap at the end which I thought was just a bit of random plumbing except it had a plaque next to it which said it was an installation by an artist. Go figure! I couldn’t!!
The only one I liked was a huge mosaic glass cross adorned with photos of models, pearl necklaces, high heeled shoes, a corset, a hairdryer, straighteners and other bits and bobs of necessary female accoutrements. It was probably saying something about us girls worshiping at the alter of beauty. It just made me wish I was skinny enough to fit into the corset.
The cigar factory is fascinating. Only about 400 cigars are hand made every day. The dry leaves are first moistened then rolled and pummelled into shape, tested for how tight they are wrapped, then sealed. One lady sat smoking them but I think she was just enjoying the perks of the job rather than doing any sort of quality control exercise!
We are then taken to the beautiful town on Cachoeira and while we walk around, the bus goes back to pick up the two poorly lads. Cachoeira is beautiful with brightly coloured houses and rich colonial architecture. It’s unbelievably quiet and cars, donkeys and mules carry around the few people we see. It is a million miles away from Salvador and a welcome respite.
The bus arrives with the walking wounded, now at least able to walk around without throwing up. The ride back is quiet. It’s amazing how sitting in a bus for ages and then walking around in the sun takes it out of you. As we hit the almost standstill traffic that surrounds Salvador in the late rush hour, and take another look at the favelas, the stark contrast between that and the beauty of towns like Cachoeira hits once more. Not even the golden glow of the setting sun can make the favelas look good.
It’s dark when we arrive back and I stop at the marina office to pick up my washing and then for one little drink on Chessie before going back to Jeannius and hitting the sack. We are going to do nothing tomorrow.
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