Next Stop: Brazil; Hamme's 'Semester at Sea' Continues

We arrived in Salvador de Bahia the same morning we were scheduled to depart. Our first glimpses of Brazil came from a charter bus—one that forcefully took us through the highways, flanked by billboards promoting the latest cellular phones or new cars. Ironically, relatively few Brazilians could ever afford these luxuries.

There was an obvious curiosity about it for us, where it was evident that the favellas far outnumbered any sort of formal housing in the city. Even our sleek and glossy charter bus drew attention from the locals as we passed by. We could see the fascinated stares on the outside, though nobody could expect to catch a glimpse of us through the furtively tinted windows.

We marched through the airport, collecting eyes and words, before taking our flight to Brasilia. A short stopover, and we were on our way to Manaus—an isolated city in the center of the Amazon. There were no roadways connecting it to the outside world: what had once been one of the greatest cities in the West was now only accessible by air and the mighty river that ran through it. Because of the lucrative rubber trade early in the 20th century, Manaus was the first city in the world, before London and Paris, to have electric street lights lining the boulevards.

Now, however, the city served largely as a tourist retreat. Lodges and hotels slowly appeared for foreigners looking to explore the biggest—and one of the last—rainforests on the planet. A pontoon style boat ferried us across the Rio Negre, the largest tributary of the Amazon River, so named because of its dark sedimentary color. The waterway was wide enough that the specks of midnight light lining the retreating shoreline soon faded into a questioning glow. We would not be able to appreciate the contrast in surroundings that night.

The next morning, however, as we took our first hike out of Lago Salvador and into the green abyss of the jungle, Manaus seemed a whole world away. The first thing I noticed was the density of the forests. Our guides had taken hundreds of groups down these same paths, but travel was always hindered by the undergrowth. Staring up through the trees, past stories of bark and firework explosions of branches, the sky was barely visible. The plants seemed to grow upward in competition, each careening out of control to peak through the canopy.

One of our guides was from an indigenous village miles down river, and had incredible knowledge of how to survive in the wilderness. He explained which vines were strong enough to climb and gather fruit, and how to get a liter of water out of a hanging branch. These tasks seemed difficult enough without having to worry about the jaguars that roamed at night.

Exploring the inlets of the Rio Negre is equally as enchanting. At night, we would make our way through the floating forests, trunks masked by several feet of water, hunting for crocodiles. Every so often the light of the boat would catch their eyes on the shoreline, creating an incandescent spark and sending the driver deeper into the trees. In one graceful and astonishing movement, he would dive out of the craft and into the shallow water, inevitably returning with a crocodile of several feet.

The natural beauty of the area was intoxicating to some, but didn’t suit all its guests. Many complained about the heat and mosquitos. Most couldn’t stand having their socks wet, or tucking jeans into socks to avoid insects crawling up their legs. So it was particularly amazing to see an aboriginal village between the jungle and the river. The thatched huts were surprisingly strong, though many had opted to build more familiar wooden dwellings. Past the entrance and to our right, we watched a mother and daughter build posts with which to hang their laundry. Directly beside, stretching tall as a jungle tree, was something surprisingly unfamiliar and immediately despicable: a metallic spider-web of beams stretching up to a point several hundred feet in the air. These natives, who had spent generations living off of the land, fates interconnected to the bounty of the jungle, were assured impeccable reception on their cellular phones.