Schiphol

Tuesday 21st June 1988

I got up at 07:00 hrs. and showered before trying to cram all of my gear and my new purchases into my Karrimor rucksack. I discovered in my notebook that I had jotted down some information about Caracas from the Lonely Planet South America on a Shoestring guide book.

It said that Por Puestos minibuses to the airport left from Avenida 17 Sur between Avenida Mexico and Avenida Lecuna. Thus, I shouldered my pack and hopefully set off hiking across town. It was quite a long walk. It was 09:00 hrs. and the locals were preparing for another busy day. Men pushed sack barrows loaded with boxes along the sidewalks.

Traffic jostled for position in the roads and motorcycles ignored the traffic signals, seemingly a law unto theirselves. Youths, whose job it was to lure potential customers into fashion boutiques made cheeky suggestions to passing beautiful black girls.

I found the Por Puestos Minibus Terminal hidden in an underpass at the location given. Minibuses left as soon as they were full, and I got one almost immediately. We sped through the rambling slums which perched on the hillsides surrounding Caracas, with the radio blaring.

At the International Air Terminal I was delighted to find a Burger King. It only served breakfast until 10:30 hrs. so I would have to wait half an hour for a Double-Whopper. I paid my 105 Bs bolivianos departure tax and filled in the tax form before steaming in to a Double-Whopper with cheese, French fries and a Pepsi Cola.

I started to read “It” by Stephen King, having discarded “The Dharma Bums” as tedious hippy shit! “It” is a 1986 horror novel by American author Stephen King. The story follows the experiences of seven children as they are terrorized by an evil entity that exploits the fears of its victims to disguise itself while hunting its prey. "It" primarily appears in the form of Pennywise the Dancing Clown to attract its preferred prey of young children.

There was an open-air lounge overlooking the runway, so I took the opportunity to lay out in the sun for the last time on this trip to Latin America. Inquisitive schoolkids came around enquiring what countries the waiting passengers were coming from.

At 14:30 hrs. I went to the KLM Check-In hoping that they wouldn’t consider my “Pro-Bears” holdall bag too big for hand luggage. I got through OK and passed quickly through the security bag search and Immigration. I went upstairs to the restaurant for a couple of drinks before departure.

We finally took off at 16:00 hrs. The KLM flight team kept us stocked up with food and drinks and the in-flight video programme bombarded us with about a thousand cartoons. These finally gave way to the feature movie “Spaceballs”, a pretty wanky satire of Star Wars.

It was impossible to sleep. We got breakfast at midnight Venezuelan Time and arrived at Amsterdam Airport Schiphol at 07:00 hrs. Dutch time after a nine-hour flight. I then transferred to a flight to London Heathrow Airport and home on the London Underground Piccadilly Line to Hounslow East and then, finally on foot to Woodland Gardens in Isleworth.

Towers of Silence

Above: Stephen Hawkins at the Hotel Edwards in Caracas, Venezuela

Monday 20th June 1988

My first task was to get down to the KLM Airline Office and confirm my flight to London Heathrow Airport for tomorrow. I got to the huge KLM tower overlooking the Parque del Este Metro Station just after 08:00 hrs. but it wasn’t due to open until 09:00 hrs. but there was a nice little café on the mezzanine floor where I had breakfast with delicious coffee.

A friendly KLM lady quickly confirmed my flights and I set off to do some more shopping. I took the Metro to Plaza Venezuela to investigate the Aladdin’s Cave of the Pro-Venezuela Exposición y Venta de Arte Popular.

Unfortunately, most of the Venezuelan crafts were too bulky, too fragile or simply rubbish. I then spent hours trudging up and down Sabana Grande looking for presents. I bought several T-shirts and some music cassettes before taking a break in The Swagman tradition, with a Whopper in Burger King.

The Hounslow Swagmen was a backpacking club that I started with friends in 1978 to spend weekends walking in National Parks and Coastal Paths in the U.K. See https://steve33.tripod.com/swagmen/hounslowswagmen.htm for more details.

A lot of shops didn’t open until 15:00 hrs. on Mondays so I went back to the Hotel Edwards to dump my purchases and change up some more money before returning to the fray. I trudged up and down for several more hours and finally got everything that I wanted. My father was always a problem to buy suitable presents for.

I came back to the hotel and flopped on the bed, exhausted. On the way in I bought a litre of peach nectar from the atmospheric little General Store opposite. I went out again a bit later and tried in vain to find where the buses left for the airport.

I walked across the huge Centro Simón Bolívar sandwiched between Government Agencies and the characteristic twin tower block at one end. The Centro Simón Bolívar Towers TCSB also known as the Towers of Silence is a building with a pair of 32-story towers, each measuring 103 meters in height, in El Silencio district, Caracas, Venezuela. Built during the time of the presidency of Marcos Pérez Jiménez, the TCSB was opened to the public on 6th December 1954.

Nobody at the Terminal de Nuevo Circo Bus Terminal seemed to know what was going on and all of the minibuses seemed to have the same destination. I gave up after a walk through a dodgy-looking area to Central Park.

I went to the Chinese Restaurant next to the Hotel Edwards and was served by the two sad-looking elderly Chinese who seemed to work there 24 hours a day. I tried Maltín Polar a Venezuelan carbonated malt beverage that does not contain alcohol and has earned a place in the heart of that country and tasted like Weetabix. I also tried an Uva drink which tasted of bubble-gum.

When I returned to bed at 22:00 hrs. I fell gratefully to sleep almost immediately.

Crocodile

Sunday 19th June 1988

I had a hearty breakfast in a Fuente de Soda (Soda Fountain) near the hotel. At last, I was back in a country that served eggs for breakfast. I wrote a bunch of postcards and lingered over an apres-breakfast Pepsi Cola. Surprisingly the Post Office was open (on a Sunday) so I dispatched the cards straight away.

I then took the subway to Sabana Grande, the main pedestrian precinct shopping centre. In the eighties, the construction of Sabana Grande station of Caracas Metro brought more people to the financial district of Sabana Grande and it became a place of mass recreation.

The financial district of Sabana Grande has three metro stations: Plaza Venezuela, Sabana Grande and Chacaíto. This district is the best covered by the Caracas Metro. The boulevard of Sabana Grande was built from the surroundings of "La Previsora Tower" to the Plaza Brión de Chacaíto.

I emerged from the subway in an area dominated by fast food restaurants. McDonalds, Burger King and Kentucky Fried Chicken were all represented. The shops were all closed but there were a lot of smartly dressed browsers and window-shoppers.

I walked west towards the Plaza Venezuela which is a public square located in Los Caobos neighbourhood of Caracas. It was inaugurated in 1940 and is situated in the geographic centre of Caracas. It is a place for many landmarks of Caracas, including a fountain with lights and the Christopher Columbus monument of Manuel de la Cova.

There was a lively band and a fair on for a rally in support of COPEI presidential candidate Eduardo Fernandez, "El Tigre".

COPEI, also referred to as the Social Christian Party (Spanish: Partido Socialcristiano) or Green Party (Spanish: Partido Verde), is a Christian democratic political party in Venezuela. The acronym stands for Comité de Organización Política Electoral Independiente ("Independent Political Electoral Organization Committee"). The party was influential during the twentieth century as a signatory of the Puntofijo Pact and influenced many politicians throughout Latin America at its peak.

I had a cold can of Cardenal lager plucked from a bunker full of ice at one of the stands. I continued through the huge trees of the Parque los Caobos, or Caobos Park, which is one of the oldest parks being inaugurated in the year 1920 with the name of Sucre Park in honour of the national hero Mariscal Antonio José de Sucre in the grounds of the old hacienda "Industrial" owned by Don José Mosquera. Later in 1937 the City Council renames Los Caobos given the large number of big-leaf mahogany trees that existed on the site since the colonial era.

It is the place for one of the most important collections of ancient trees of Caracas. At the entrance of the park is the statue of Teresa de la Parra, by the sculptor Carmen Cecilia Knight Blanch. One of the most outstanding works of the park is the Fountain Venezuela by the Catalan architect Ernesto Maragall. The fountain is composed of various human figures representing the different regions of the country. This fountain was originally located in Plaza Venezuela until 1967.

I reached the museums in the Plaza Morelos passing and photographing a man carrying a stuffed crocodile. Presumably he had just bought the thing. I looked around the Museum of Fine Arts (Spanish: Museo de Bellas Artes or MBA), an art museum which was founded in 1917, and was originally housed in the building now known as the Palacio de las Academias.

Its current buildings were both designed by architect Carlos Raúl Villanueva, a 1930s Neoclassical structure and a 1970s Brutalist structure. There was some interesting modern art as well as the usual Catholic religious stuff. There were some fine models of huge black women lounging in hammocks, by a Brazilian artist.

I walked across the Plaza Morelos in blinding sunlight to the disappointing Museo de Ciencias Naturales (Natural Science Museum) which had very little on display. Early farming techniques of indigenous peoples, pre-Columbian exhibits and an array of stuffed mammals are the supposed highlights of this natural science museum.

I walked through a small hippy market and took the metro back to Capitolio Metro Station. I went to Plaza Bolívar and took a couple of photographs before the heavens opened. I took refuge from the storm in a juice bar come restaurant where I sat drinking Polar lager and chatting to a retired Venezuelan sailor until the rain stopped.

Half cut, I went back to the Hotel Edwards for a siesta. At 19:00 hrs. I went next door for Chicken Chop Suey amongst some low-life clientele. I then walked around the city centre keeping in tight to the walls to avoid the worst of the rain.

I finished up in the Plaza Bolívar where the cinema was just admitting people for the next showing. I joined the queue and saw “The Principal”, an entertaining film about the new headmaster of a dodgy American school.

“The Principal” is a 1987 crime thriller action film where the new principal (James Belushi) of a drug-infested high school joins with a security guard (Louis Gossett Jr.) to clean it up. I went back for a restless night tossing and turning in my double bed.

Caracas

Saturday 18th June 1988

The alarm sounded like a fire alarm at 05:20 hrs. when I awoke from a semi-doze. Yesterday after changing money, I had bought a ticket for 439 Bs bolivianos for the flight to Caracas at 07:10 hrs. today.

I got a taxi straight away and got to the Ciudad Bolívar airport at 06:00 hrs. for 30 Bs bolivianos. The flight left late with a stopover en route so we landed at Simón Bolívar International Airport at about 10:00 hrs.

Simón Bolívar International Airport or Maiquetía "Simón Bolívar" International Airport (IATA: CCS, ICAO: SVMI, Spanish: Aeropuerto Internacional de Maiquetía "Simón Bolívar") is an international airport located in Maiquetía, Vargas, Venezuela, about 21 kilometres (13 miles) west of downtown Caracas, the capital of the country. Simply called Maiquetía by the local population, it is the main international air passenger gateway to Venezuela.

I got the address of the KLM Airline Office from the Airport Information Desk and returned to the Por Puesto minibus stand outside the National Flight Building. It cost 20 Bs bolivianos for the long bus trip through the mountains, through several tunnels, to “El Silencio” (joke!), the centre of Caracas.

The Redevelopment El Silencio or simply El Silencio is an urbanization of Caracas, Venezuela that is located within the Central Center of that city in the Cathedral Parish of the Libertador Municipality.

I investigated a number of hotels in the busy area around Calles Sur 2 and Oeste 10 but they were all either full or would only rent rooms by the hour to prostitutes and their customers.

I walked to the Bolívar Square (Spanish: Plaza Bolívar) in Caracas is one of the most important and recognized Venezuelan public spaces. It is located in the centre of the first 25 blocks of Caracas when it was founded as "Santiago de León de Caracas" in 1567. It is in the historic centre of the city in the Cathedral Parish of the Libertador Municipality.

Bolívar Square is surrounded by important buildings such as Caracas Cathedral, Sacred Museum, Archbishop's Palace, City Hall, Chapel of Santa Rosa de Lima, the Yellow House, the Main Theatre and the building of the Government of the Capital District. The Federal Legislative Palace stands to the Southwest.

After a few more hotels with no vacancies, I got a room in the Hotel Edwards which was a couple of blocks along from the Plaza Bolívar. It was a 2-star hotel and cost 253 Bs bolivianos for a luxury room with a bathroom and air-conditioning.

I got something to eat and drink in the Chicken Grill down the road, had a shave and then set out to look around the capital city. I walked down to the Plaza Bolívar where fountains played amongst the greenery around the inevitable statue of Simón Bolívar on horseback.

Children chased the pigeons and beautiful girls strolled around amongst the photographers waiting to sell you your photograph taken in the shady plaza. I walked along streets where street traders sold their wares from blankets laid out on the ground.

The Caracas Metro (Spanish: Metro de Caracas) is a mass rapid transit system serving Caracas. It was constructed and is operated by Compañía Anónima Metro de Caracas, a government-owned company that was founded in 1977 by José González-Lander who headed the project for more than thirty years since the early planning stages in the 1960s. Its motto is "Somos parte de tu vida" (translated as "We are part of your life").

In 1978 MTA - New York City Transit's R46 #816 (now 5866) was shipped from the Pullman Standard's plant as a sample of rolling stock to be used for this new Metro system that was under construction at the time. The company is run by Cesar Vega.

I took the metro to Parque del Este where the KLM Airline Office was situated in a tower overlooking the station. The metro was excellent. For a few bolívares you got a ticket from a machine which you used to get though a turnstile on entry and was collected by an automatic turnstile on leaving the system.

The trains were modern flat-fronted spaceships. A voice called out the name of the station at each stop. The KLM Airline Office was closed so I wandered around the park. Parque del Este ("East Park"), subsequently renamed as officially Generalissimo Francisco de Miranda Park by President Hugo Chávez, in honour of the Venezuelan national hero. It is a public recreation park located in the Sucre Municipality of Metropolitan Caracas in Venezuela. Opened in 1961, it is one of the most important of the city, with an area of 82 hectares (200 acres).

The park combines three differently designed areas: the first is an open grass field with a gentle undulating topography, the second is a densely forested landscape with meandering pathways, while the third is a series of paved gardens with tiled murals and water works. Hare Krishnas performed under some huge palm trees, Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts trooped about and couples wandered hand-in-hand by the aquatic plant gardens.

I returned to the Hotel Edwards for a shower and to catch up on some sleep. At 21:00 hrs. I went to a Chinese restaurant a couple of doors away and ate Chop Suey amongst the drunkards and aging prostitutes who kept yelling “Hey Chino” to the two elderly Chinese staff and shouting their orders.

I had a brief look around the central streets but nearly everything was closed. Music blared from shady-looking bars. I went back to bed at 22:30 hrs.

Cuidad Bolívar

Friday 17th June 1988

Once again torrential rain heralded the dawn, drumming on the corrugated metal rooves. The Aeropostal Airline Office next door to the hotel opened at 08:00 hrs. I changed up my last $5 US dollars cash and the Dutch girls chipped in with enough Bolívares to buy me a ticket to Cuidad Bolívar for 480 Bs.

Aeropostal (full name: Aeropostal Alas de Venezuela) is a state-owned airline that primarily operates scheduled flights within Venezuela. The carrier operates out of its hub at Simón Bolívar International Airport (CCS). The airline was founded in 1929.

My new Dutch Guardian Angels also supplied me with a cheese roll and mandarin oranges for breakfast. At 08:30 hrs. a jeep took the passengers from the airline office to the airfield. This was literally a field with no amenities but a tarmac airstrip.

The jeep hitched up to a small tanker to refuel the small 20-seater de Havilland aeroplane. The de Havilland Aircraft Company Limited was a British aviation manufacturer established in late 1920 by Geoffrey de Havilland at Stag Lane Aerodrome Edgware on the outskirts of north London. Operations were later moved to Hatfield in Hertfordshire.

Known for its innovation, de Havilland was responsible for a number of important aircraft, including the Moth biplane which revolutionised aviation in the 1920s; the 1930s Fox Moth, a commercial light passenger aircraft; the wooden World War II Mosquito multirole aircraft; and the pioneering passenger jet airliner Comet.

The de Havilland company became a member of the Hawker Siddeley group in 1960, but lost its separate identity in 1963. Later, Hawker Siddeley merged into what is eventually known today as BAE Systems plc, the British aerospace and defence business.

We paid 20 Bs for the “taxi” and 5 Bs per item of baggage. This left me absolutely penniless although I had $450 US dollars’ worth of impotent travellers cheques in my pocket.

The twin propeller plane took off into a cloudy, but clearing sky at 09:30 hrs. We flew at 10,500 feet over green plains, patches of thick forest and winding rivers. Several rugged bluffs reared out of the plains, capped in cloud.

We flew over the Angel Falls, Bolívar State, Venezuela. Angel Falls (Spanish: Salto Ángel; Pemon language: Kerepakupai Meru meaning "waterfall of the deepest place", or Parakupá Vená, meaning "the fall from the highest point") is a waterfall in Venezuela which is one of Venezuela's top tourist attractions, though a trip to the falls is a complicated affair. The falls are located in an isolated jungle.

It is the world's tallest uninterrupted waterfall, with a height of 979 metres (3,212 feet) and a plunge of 807 m (2,648 feet). The waterfall drops over the edge of the Auyán-tepui mountain in the Canaima National Park (Spanish: Parque Nacional Canaima), a UNESCO World Heritage site in the Gran Sabana region of Bolívar State.

The height figure, 979 m (3,212 feet), mostly consists of the main plunge but also includes about 400 metres (1,300 feet) of sloped cascade and rapids below the drop and a 30-metre-high (100 feet) plunge downstream of the talus rapids.

The falls are along a fork of the Río Kerepacupai Merú which flows into the Churún River, a tributary of the Carrao River, itself a tributary of the Orinoco River. The pilot pointed out the narrow stream of water which tumbled in apparent slow motion over a rugged high brown cliff. The whole area was a grand canyon, heavily forested on the wide valley floor.

At 11:20 hrs. we landed at Tomás de Heres Airport (Spanish: Aeropuerto Nacional Tomas de Heres, (IATA: CBL, ICAO: SVCB)) which is an airport serving Ciudad Bolívar, the capital of the Bolívar state of Venezuela. The airport is named in honour of Tomás de Heres, a hero of Latin American independence and governor of Venezuela's former Guayana Province.

We walked across the sun baked tarmac and retrieved our bags. I nipped over the road to the Banco Consolidado which was just closing for the 11:30 hrs. to 14:00 hrs. lunch break so I missed the chance to catch the 13:00 hrs. flight to Caracas.

The Dutch girls treated me to some excellent coffee and I sat with them until the late departure of their plane at 13:45 hrs. I returned to the bank to be told that the cambio (exchange) department didn’t open until 15:00 hrs. I sat down to wait in the air-conditioned modern bank.

At 14:30 hrs. the bank staff relented and changed a $100 US dollar American Express travellers cheque at 32.40 Bs bolivianos per $US dollar. I then stood outside the airport under a savage sun until the Ruta 2 minibus came along.

I would be staying in Ciudad Bolívar (Spanish for "Bolivar City"), formerly known as Angostura and St. Thomas de Guyana, is the capital of Venezuela's southeastern Bolívar State. It lies at the spot where the Orinoco River narrows to about 1 mile (1.6 km) in width, is the site of the first bridge across the river, and is a major riverport for the eastern regions of Venezuela.

Historic Angostura gave its name to the Congress of Angostura, to the Angostura tree, to the House of Angostura, and to Angostura bitters. Modern Ciudad Bolívar has a well-preserved historic centre; a cathedral and other original colonial buildings surround the Plaza Bolívar.

I got off at the Paseo Orinoco, the riverside promenade along the Orinoco River and asked some drunks for directions to the Hotel Italia. I found it a couple of blocks along and got a huge room on the balcony with a view over the sluggish brown river for 110 Bs bolivianos.

Consumed by thirst my first priority was to find a vendor of cold drinks. I changed into shorts and a vest and flip-flopped along the Paseo Orinoco. Shops along this road were doing good evening trade in casual clothing and shoes. I bought a can of Pepsi Cola and a roll of photographic slide film (36 exposure. 100 ASA, Kodak Ektachrome 124 for 50 Bs bolivianos).

I walked through Plaza Bolívar with it’s essential statue of the great man and some nice plants. On the west side is the huge three-nave church Nuestra Señora del Rosario de Curucay, dating from 1740, and occupying the foundational religious place of the priest’s house and the cemetery. It was declared a National Historic Monument in 1960.

I returned to my room in the Hotel Italia to get my trusty Ricoh KR10 Super camera to take some snaps as dusk fell. I attracted a lot of stares without knowing whether it was due to the fact that I was a gringo or because I was too casually dressed. None of the locals wore shorts or vests.

The South American Handbook 1988 said that a cool breeze in the evening moderated the constant heat, an average temperature of 27 ºC day and night, but today it was more like a hurricane. Trees with red flowers and long seed pods were shaken furiously and dust swirled into peoples faces and danced across the road.

At 18:00 hrs. I had some splendid cream of tomato soup (just like Heinz!) followed by steak and chips in the hotel restaurant. I had a Pepsi Cola in a small café for only 2 Bs bolivianos and went to the cinema to see a rough quality showing of “The Running Man” for 10 Bs bolivianos.

I had a bottle of mineral water back in the hotel bar and a manual shower using a plastic bucket in the sink as there was no water in the actual shower. I laid out on the super soft bed under the ceiling fan but it was a long time until I was able to go to sleep. My mind was overactive with plans for the days ahead.

Santa Elena de Uairén

Thursday 16th June 1988

It was pissing down from a dreary grey sky when I got up at 06:30 hrs. and packed up my gear. Richard changed $5 US dollars into Cruzados for my bus fare and I set off with the Danes to walk to the Rodoviária de Boa Vista.

They were unsure of the way despite having made the trip a couple of times before and we trudged through the puddles for much further than we needed to. Boa Vista is like a mini-Brasília with a lot of open space between buildings.

We got to the bus terminal at 07:40 hrs. which was twenty minutes before the bus to Santa Elena was due to leave. Santa Elena de Uairén is a small Venezuelan city in the state of Bolívar near the border with Brazil and Guyana. It was Founded by Lucas Fernandez Peña in 1923. The city's name originates from the first daughter of Lucas Fernandez Pena Elena, and Uairén by the river that crosses the city.

There were only standing tickets for the bus remaining, but we had no choice but to pay 1,550 Cruzados. I had to beg 50 Cruzados from the Danes. The bus had very high ground clearance to cope with the jungle roads and looked strangely perched on six wheels near the centre.

It was clearly custom made for the rutted muddy road ahead and an Australian had described the bus trip from Manaus to Boa Vista as “24 hours in a cement mixer”! This was a short taste of the same as it was only eight hours. Mud and spray leapt from the wheels as the bus jumped and bucked but made fast progress on the water-logged red earth road.

Your eyes jiggled too much to be able to read! The terrain was grassy plain with isolated hills, often cultivated and fenced into neat fields. It rained for a while and in places the road was barely above the submerged fields, so it was like a red dirt path across a lake. The top of fence posts protruded a couple of inches above the water.

We stopped twice and both times I had to visit the “hole in the ground” squatting toilets. Passengers ate at round wooden roofed restaurants. We arrived at the border with Venezuela at about 14:30 hrs. The Venezuelan Customs searched all of our bags but were true to their “Strict but Fair” logo on the wall above the desk.

Next stop was Immigration in Santa Elena for our entry stamps and we checked into the Hotel Auyantepuy (Canaima National Park) where a triple room was 280 Bolívares. The Venezuelan bolívar is the official currency of Venezuela. Named after the hero of Latin American independence Simón Bolívar, it was introduced following the monetary reform in 1879.

I shared the room with two Dutch girls which I met on the bus. They had had a miserable 40-hour bus trip from Manaus to Boa Vista and one had contracted malaria along the way. She had to spend four days in hospital and a further couple of days trying to get a visa from the inflexible Consul at Boa Vista.

The other girl said it was really boring in Boa Vista but her friend was lucky as she had malaria and was oblivious to their time spent there! “Our Guardian Angel has given up”, they complained. At the border the Customs Officers were most interested in the girls’ knickers in their rucksacks and had given me a conspiratorial wink as they rifled through their underwear.

I changed $10 US dollars at the bank at 29 Bs Bolívares per dollar, but heard that you could get 32 Bs for a $US dollar in big towns. I ate with the Dutch girls and an English couple. It made a change to get eggs again. I had my first Venezuelan beer, Polar, which is Venezuela’s most popular brand made by Empresas Polar, the largest brewery in the country, founded in Caracas by Lorenzo Alejandro Mendoza Fleury, Rafael Lujan and Karl Eggers in 1941. Since then, they have diversified into all kinds of industries, mainly in the food and drinks industry.

After a quick walk around the small, pleasant town and returned to the Hotel Auyantepuy to write my diary. The other guests gathered in the lobby drinking beer and chatting excitedly. Before I knew it was 20:00 hrs. I had a quick walk around the town. There was the inevitable statue of Simón Bolívar in the small town plaza.

Located in the middle of La Gran Sabana, Santa Elena is home to many travel agencies offering tours in Canaima National Park, flights over Angel Falls, and hiking tours to the famous Monte Roraima.

The town is notable for its influential presence of indigenous peoples; there is even a community called Manakrü (pronounced mah-nah-CREE) populated entirely by indigenous people. The schools in this neighbourhood use both Spanish and Pemon, an indigenous language. In Santa Elena de Uairén, it is also common to find that the vast majority of residents speak Portuguese, due to its proximity to Brazil.

Due to its proximity to the Brazilian state of Roraima, Santa Elena sees a busy exchange between the two countries of Brazilian consumer products from Brazil and Venezuelan oil and petrol. Other Brazilian cities that trade with Santa Elena de Uairen are Manaus, Santarém, Macapá, Belém.

Most of the locals were in various bars. I bought a can of lemonade and went back to the room where I had a long and amusing chat with the Dutch girls about our experiences in Latin America.

The tall Dutch girl (I still don’t know their names!) said that after a ridiculously huge breakfast in Columbia “I was like and exploding food bomb”! We eventually settled down to sleep at about 22:00 hrs.

Boa Vista

Wednesday 15th January 1988

We laid in late while it pissed down with rain outside. We had the sweet coffee and cream cracker breakfast supplied by the Rio Branco Hotel, while watching cartoons on television. The kids from the hotel sat mesmerised in front of the TV screen.

Mike moved into a single room and lit up a jasmine joss stick, courtesy of the Hare Krishnas, to get rid of the damp smell. I dumped my bags in his new room and finally managed to retrieve my sheet sleeping bag and T-shirt from the over-zealous laundry who had scooped them up with our dirty sheets.

Mike told me that his venture into South America was to help recover from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) after a horrible accident at his college in America. Apparently too many students packed into the elevator for a photograph and the excess weight caused the elevator car to drop. A student tried to jump out as it unexpectedly went down and was scissored in half, blood spraying and legs dropping into the car and all over the other students.

We then walked down to the city centre where we browsed around some of the foreign import shops which stocked American sweets, foodstuffs and toiletries. We took lunch in the vegetarian restaurant on Avenida 7 de Setembro, which was excellent as usual.

I dropped a note in at the British Consulate telling them that I had got my visa for Venezuela and thanking them for their help in this. Back at the hotel I met Richard, a Welshman who was also taking the same flight to Boa Vista, and we walked down to the bus stop together. Mike came along to see us off.

I cost 35Cz Cruzados for a trip on a battered green bus which took a while to get to the airport. Manaus International Airport – Eduardo Gomes (IATA: MAO, ICAO: SBEG) is the airport serving Manaus, Brazil. It is named after Brazilian politician and military figure Air Marshal Eduardo Gomes (1896–1981). Opened in 1976, the International Airport of Manaus is the most important in the state of Amazonas and is one of the busiest in Brazil. It has the strategic function of integrating the huge Amazon region with the rest of the country and the cities within it.

As Manaus is a Duty-Free Zone we had to pass through Customs. We had to push a button on a randomised machine. If a red light came on you were searched but a green light allowed you to proceed unmolested.

In the air-conditioned Departure Lounge I chatted to Richard and drank Guaraná which contains high levels of caffeine, as much as four times that of coffee beans, as well as other psychoactive stimulants (including saponins and tannins) associated with improved cognitive performance. And numerous research papers explore its potential in the prevention of cardiovascular disease, as an anti-inflammatory, antioxidant, antidepressant, intestinal regulator and even an aphrodisiac.

We boarded the plane at 16:30 hrs. and had a snack and a beer whilst flying through pregnant rain clouds over an endless vista of trees spreading in all directions. The jungle was dissected occasionally by a winding river or dirt road.

Trees gave way to green plains and swampy lakes as we began our descent into Boa Vista. It was 30ºC and humid and the flat landscape made the sky with it’s cloud sculptures look huge. We left the airport and decided to walk towards the centre of town and were soon picked up by a pickup truck which ran us into the centre.

We initially walked the wrong way along Rua Benjamin Constant because of a mistake on the South America on a Shoestring guidebook map of the town. We didn’t realise that the road was numbered starting from number 1 on each side of the huge central roundabout.

This meant that we went to 591W (west) and found nothing before trudging across town to 591E (east) where we found the Lua Nova Hotel by the Venezuelan Consulate. It was full up but we were now sweating profusely so we stayed for a beer and talked to some Danish people, the first of several groups of people we met who described the Venezuelan Consul as an arsehole!

Many people were having problems getting a visa and were having to stay longer than expected in Boa Vista. The Danes, three boys and a girl, told us that they were sleeping on the floor out back so we asked if we could too.

We were told “yes”, so we ordered a meal and a succession of beers. We were joined by a gold-mining diver who operated the huge “vacuum cleaners” that sucked up alluvial gravel which was gold bearing.

We conversed simply with sign-language and simple Portuguese as the empty beer bottles lined up. He was a friendly fellow but only contributed 100 Cz Cruzados to our bill, mumbling something about being a bit short at the moment.

We brushed the cobwebs and bugs off of some damp polystyrene sheets to make insulating mats to sleep on on the restaurant floor. The front gates were closed but several card schools (playing cards) that were in session continued all night long.

I awoke to dash to the bog (toilet) a couple of times with the shits (diarrhoea) and a tiny black kitten snuggled up on my pillow against my neck.

Joaquim Nabuco

Tuesday 14th June 1988

I got up early, showered and splashed through puddles to the 504 bus stop. At the Venezuelan Consulate I was told to return to the city centre and deposit 1,743.40 Cruzados ($10 US dollars at the current rate of exchange) in the Venezuelan Consulate bank account at the Banco de Brasil and then return with the receipt.

This I did and was told to return, yet again, at 15:00 hrs. to pick up my passport! I went back to the Rio Branco Hotel where the cleaner was servicing our room. I sat downstairs and chatted with the other travellers.

Back in my room I discovered that the cleaner had taken my YHA sheet sleeping bag away with the dirty linen. I had fun trying to explain this to the hotel staff who couldn’t speak any English or me any Portuguese. They told me that it would come back from the laundry later.

I dodged the rain running to a nearby restaurant for lunch and then met Ken, an Australian who wanted a visa for Venezuela, to return to the Venezuelan Consulate. At last I was able to collect my passport complete with a 60-day visa.

We went back on the 504 bus. I knew every inch of the route now! Next, I went to change up some money, with a bit of difficulty locating the entrance to the W. Ayoub Office, camouflaged as it is within the narrow jewellery store.

The next stop was the VARIG office where I bought a ticket for a flight from Manaus to Boa Vista for tomorrow at 16:45 hrs. This set me back 11,748.00 Cruzados. I walked back munching cashew nuts, bought a new watch strap and met a German girl who was looking for a book to read on her trip to Benjamin Constant by boat.

The town of Benjamin Constant is located by the confluence of the Javary River and the Amazon, close to the border with Peru. However, there are no customs or immigration facilities in Benjamin Constant, and entry and exit formalities take place at Tabatinga on the opposite bank of the Amazon. There are no roads into Benjamin Constant and the only access is by river boat. By fast boat it is about 31 hours from Manaus (about 7 days by slow boat).

I had started reading “Sea of Death” by a Brazilian author. It is a Brazilian modernist novel written by Jorge Amado. Amado wrote the novel in response to his first arrest for "being a communist". The novel follows the lives of poor fishermen around Bahia, and their relationship with the Afro-Brazilian religion Candomblé, especially the sea goddess Iemanjá.

I found it a bit boring, so I gave it to the German girl and I was delighted when she insisted on giving me $5 US dollars for it. Mike came back after visiting the INPA Research Centre and we read and wrote while listening to the radio.

I started reading “The Dharma Bums” by Jack Kerouac. The Dharma Bums is a 1958 novel by Beat Generation author Jack Kerouac. The basis for the novel's semi-fictional accounts are events occurring years after the events of On the Road. The main characters are the narrator Ray Smith, based on Kerouac, and Japhy Ryder, based on the poet and essayist Gary Snyder, who was instrumental in Kerouac's introduction to Buddhism in the mid-1950s.

We went out for our evening meal and met the other gringos from our hotel at the bar on the corner. Together we all went to the good fish restaurant at 497 Joaquim Nabuco. We had a good meal and chatted over Antarctica beers.

A German girl related her miserable experience of trekking in Peru, nearly perishing with exposure. An English lad told of his exploits on a trip which started as a London to Nairobi cycling trip. They got passage on a yacht from Africa to Brazil and these two blokes were continuing their epic cycle in South America.

I agreed to take some photographic films back to London for them as their last ones had been lost in the post. Beers led to caipurinhas and by the end of the night (midnight) I was well merry!

Depredador

Monday 13th June 1988

I went to the British Consulate at 10:00 hrs. He got no reply on the telephone from the Venezuelan Consulate so he told me to give him my passport and aeroplane ticket and he would go there in person. He told me to come back at 15:00 hrs.

I went back to our room in the hotel to write up my diary. I was now on my third A5 book. It is a hot humid day. For lunch we went to O Vegetariano at Avenida 7 de Setembro 874. We entered through a narrow optician’s stall and took a lift to the sixth floor.

It is a clean airy place with friendly staff and a help-yourself smorgasbord (buffet) of vegetarian goodies for 300 Cruzados (230 Cz = $US1). Rain followed the darkening of the sky and rumbling thunder with lightning flashes.

We watched people run for cover in the streets far below as the heavens opened with a vengeance. When it had subsided a bit I went to the British Consulate and found out that the Consul was preparing a letter which should do the trick and get me a visa.

I had to come back in an hour, so I went out and bought some toothpaste and an Amazonas T-shirt in the busy shopping area. The rain did little to dampen the locals enthusiasm for shopping. I picked up my letter which would assure the Venezuelans that the Queen had vouched that I was a good egg.

I returned to the room where Mike and German Matis were fast asleep. I went to see “Predator”, an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie, in a nice little cinema on Rua Joaquim Nabuco. This was an enjoyable bit of violent escapism with Arnie locked in mortal combat with a space monster in the jungle.

Following the release of Rocky IV, a joke circulated in Hollywood that since Rocky Balboa had run out of earthly opponents, he would have to fight an alien if a fifth film were to be made. Screenwriters Jim and John Thomas took the inspiration from the joke and wrote a screenplay based on it. The Thomas script for Predator was originally titled Hunter.

The original concept, centred on a plot of "what it is to be hunted," concerned a band of alien hunters of various species seeking various targets; that concept was eventually streamlined to one extra-terrestrial hunting the most dangerous species, humans, and the "most dangerous man," a combat soldier. Additionally, the setting was chosen as Central America for having constant special forces operations during that period.

An alien spacecraft deploys a shuttle to Earth. Meanwhile, Vietnam War veteran Major Alan "Dutch" Schaefer and his military rescue team are tasked with rescuing a foreign cabinet minister and his aide from insurgents. They are followed by a hidden presence using a cloaking device who wreaks havoc on the team.

Afterwards I found Mike drinking with the other gringos from the Rio Branco Hotel at the nearest bar on the corner. I joined the group for a beer and then later we went with an American couple for a meal across the river in an area of wooden shacks where children threw firecrackers around bonfires in the roads.

We finished up in a wooden bar with a pool table overlooking the river and it’s illuminated shipping. We drank beer while curious children scampered about in the alley alongside. A lot of these shacks were nicely decorated inside with decent furniture, the obligatory music hi-fi system and colour televisions.

The inhabitants were very friendly to us visiting gringos. At 23:00 hrs. we returned to our room and said goodbye to Matis who was flying to Rio de Janeiro.

Meeting of the Waters

Sunday 12th June 1988

We had black coffee and dry crackers in the hotel dining room where a crowd had gathered to watch England versus Eire in a European Cup soccer match on the television. The Republic of Ireland's first match in the 1988 Euro finals was against England on 12th June 1988 at the Neckarstadion in Stuttgart, West Germany. It was also Ireland's debut match at a major international football finals competition.

Former English world Cup winner Jack Charlton had guided Ireland to qualification for the finals at his first attempt. During the Euro 88 qualification campaign other teams had difficulties coping with Charlton's football style.

His soccer philosophy of playing direct, long ball, tactics helped the Irish team to compensate for what he perceived was a lack of quality (when compared to the bigger football nations) in the Irish squad. Ireland won the match 1 – nil.

Mike and I left them to it and walked down to the Central Bus Terminal and tried to find a bus to the Careiro Ferry Dock. If there was any order in the layout of the bus stops we failed to discover it’s secret.

We were eventually shoved onto a bus, which was none of the possibilities listed in our guide books, by a friendly local. The bus did get us to the ferry terminal from where the car ferry crossed the “Meeting of the Waters”. This is where the dark waters of the Rio Negro meet the silt-laden brown waters of the Rio Solimões forming the mighty Amazon River.

The coffee-colored water, rich with sediment, runs down from the Andes Mountains on the Rio Solimões. The black-tea water from the Colombian hills and interior jungles is nearly sediment-free and coloured by decayed leaf and plant matter; it bears the name Rio Negro. Where the two rivers meet, east of Manaus, Brazil, they do not mix but flow side by side within the same channel for six kilometres.

The cooler, denser, and faster waters of the Solimões and the warmer, slower waters of the Negro form a boundary visible from space and from the water surface itself. Turbulent eddies driven by the faster-moving whitewater eventually mix the two, as they merge to become the Lower Amazon River.

We missed the 11:00 hrs. ferry so we had a couple of Fanta orange drinks at one of the wooden shacks which served waiting ferry passengers. Powerful truck tractors hauled big trailers from a flat barge. We got talking to one truck driver and when it was apparent that we would have a long wait for the next ferry we decided to skip it and go to Ponta Negra Beach.

The trucker said that he would join us and led us through a wooden shanty town to his big Scania tractor. We jumped aboard and hammered through town and out to the small beach resort on the Rio Negro.

We swam in the river and got talking to two local girls who fed us with rice and fish while we drank Antarctica beer. At 16:00 hrs. our driver friend ran us back into town where we got a free ride on a terrifying kamikaze local bus to the hippy fair at the Praça da Saudade in Manaus.

This is a garden square on a former burial ground, featuring a memorial to poet Tenreiro Aranha and a pergola. Bento de Figueiredo Tenreiro Aranha (4th September 1769 to 11th 1811) was a Brazilian writer. There were stalls selling local handicrafts, but the majority sold typical Brazilian foods.

We had chips at on stall by the kiddies fun fair and then walked back via another spacious plaza with a modern arty fountain. We walked back, glowing with sunburn, to the Hotel Rio Branco. The Hare Krishnas in the temple opposite were going great guns, bobbing around chanting to jingling bells. Inquisitive locals peered in the window.

The International Society for Krishna Consciousness (ISKCON), known colloquially as the Hare Krishna movement or Hare Krishnas, is a Gaudiya Vaishnava religious organization. ISKCON was founded in 1966 in New York City by A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada. Alfred Ford is one of the prominent patrons.

Its core beliefs are based on Hindu scriptures, particularly the Bhagavad Gita and the Bhagavata Purana. ISKCON is "the largest and, arguably, most important branch" of Gaudiya Vaishnava tradition, which has had adherents in India since the early 16th century and American and European devotees since the early 1900s.

ISKCON was formed to spread the practice of Bhakti yoga, the practice of love of God in which those involved (bhaktas) dedicate their thoughts and actions towards pleasing Krishna, whom they consider the Supreme Lord.

Marlene and a German lad returned from their Jungle Trip while I was having a shower. Torrential rain hammered down outside. At 21:00 hrs. we joined the Jungle Tour veterans with their guide for a night out on the town.

The young manager of the Jungle Tour company drove too fast through the drowning streets in limited visibility, but we survived the ride out to a restaurant at Ponta Negra and back to the Jet Set Night Club by the Opera House.

Here we danced amongst the pornographic murals on the walls and watched a couple of strippers while drinking the caipurhina drink which came included with our 400 Cruzados entry fee. Caipirinha is Brazil's national cocktail, made with cachaça (sugarcane hard liquor), sugar, and lime.

All the girls in the place appeared to be professionals (now known as sex workers) but we resisted the temptation. At 02:00 hrs. we walked back home in the rain which was finally abating.

Praça da Policia

Saturday 11th June 1988

It was pissing with rain when we woke up so we laid in until late. When it had lightened to just a drizzle we went out for a breakfast of sandwiches and an avocado milk shake! This was at a juice bar near the Amazonas Hotel.

Mike changed some money and we went to the Post Office which used the international system of manning only three of the twenty windows to maximise queuing time. We then joined the locals in the Saturday shopping fever, wandering around the busy shops and market stalls.

At 14:00 hrs. we had a pizza in a good Italian restaurant overlooking the Praça da Policia. A crazy car wash man on the Praça da Policia kept us amused with his antics. He made a few bob cleaning cars while the owners went shopping.

We walked passed a big school where the pupils were rehearsing their marching band, to the Galeria De Arte Espaço Cultural. It was shut so we ambled back to our room at the hotel for some Saturday afternoon slovenliness.

Once again we fell asleep and it was quite late when we walked down to the Praça da Policia in search of something to eat. We went into the pizza place again, overlooking the fountains and statues of a hunting Diana and Mercury on the leafy Praça da Policia.

We were joined by two suspiciously friendly girls. “You look sad”, said the one next to me. “I am tired”, I replied. “So am I, but not too tired to make love”, she said. They were both “on the game” (prostitutes) so when we finished our lasagne, we made our excuses and escaped in search of a discoteque.

The Discoteca Spectron was expensive at 1,000 Cruzados for entry, so we walked down to the port where we found Turbo Seven. Mike decided that it looked a bit “shady” and indeed it was in a very dodgy looking dockland area.

We settled for a beer in the dark air-conditioned interior of Mandy’s Piano Bar at the Hotel Amazonas. A smooth looking singer crooned ballads to the well-dressed clientele.

Hotel Rio Branco

Friday 10th June 1988

I awoke wishing that I hadn’t drunk so much beer the previous night. I walked to the city centre and posted some cards before taking the 504 bus to the Venezuelan Consulate. Here I waited for three and a half hours to no avail. Luckily there was a Canadian there who I chatted to in order to pass the time in the map filled waiting room.

I took a bus to KLM Office at 335 Avenida Japurá where I got my ticket changed for a flight on 21st June 1988 from Caracas to London Heathrow Airport. I then went to the British Consulate at “Wilson Sons Shipping Agency”. The Consul was doing his best to help me but I would have to return on Monday for an official letter or for a new passport to be ordered.

On my way back I met Mike in a souvenir shop. We found a place to change travellers cheques at 230 Cruzados per $US dollar. This was W. Ayoub at Avenida 7 de Setembro 711, an office up some stairs at the back of a narrow jewellery shop.

Vendors tried to sell us digital watches, contraceptive condoms and perfume as we walked through the pedestrian streets back to the Hotel Rio Branco. We picked up some mineral water and did some washing (laundry) before laying down to relax. We both dropped off to sleep and by the time we awoke and got ready to go out it was gone 21:00 hrs.

We went to the Chinese Restaurant “China” at 1127 Avenida Getúlio Vargas. The bars en route were doing a roaring Friday night trade. We started eating as the last diners were just paying up and leaving.

We ploughed into a huge bowl of egg soup. When Mike tried to order some rice the waitress misunderstood and thought that we wanted to take the rest away. Thus, she transferred our main course into a foil take-away tray.

Thoroughly full we walked back to our hotel, stopping for a Coca Cola in the bar on the corner.

Edifício Manaus Shopping Center

Thursday 9th June 1988

I got up at 08:30 hrs. and set off for the Venezuelan Consulate at 1620 Rua Recife. Several friendly people aided me to get the right bus and told me when to get off. I got the bus from the main depot by the cathedral.

In the Venezuelan Consulate an attractive female secretary got me to fill in a duplicate application form for a visa while she sang along to her radio. I had the requisite ticket out of the country, yellow fever vaccination certificate, a wadge of travellers cheques and two passport photographs, but a problem emerged when she noticed that I had less than a year validity on my passport which would expire on 22/03/1989. She said that I had to get a letter from the British Consulate.

I took Bus 505 back to the city centre and found the British Consulate in an export agency office on the twelfth floor of the Edifício Manaus Shopping Center located in Avenida Eduardo Ribeiro, 520. The Consul complained that the Venezuelans were always coming up with new conditions to make things difficult for British travellers.

He rang the British Embassy in Brasília and told me to revisit the Venezuelan Consulate tomorrow and come back to him if there were still problems. My next destination was Boa Vista but I met an Australian who told me that the road to Boa Vista was washed out so there would be no buses for at least a month. I would have to fly there.

Boa Vista (literally Good View; figuratively “Fairview”) is the capital of the Brazilian state of Roraima. Situated on the western bank of the Branco River, the city lies 220 kilometres (140 miles) from Brazil's border with Venezuela. It is the only Brazilian state capital located entirely north of the equator.

I then spent a happy couple of hours browsing around the shopping lanes. I bought a new diary (notebook) and some flip-flops as my current ones were practically worn through. I tried to ring the KLM Airline Office on Avenida Japurá but as it was so difficult to make myself understood I had to walk up there.

They told me that they had telexed the Rio de Janeiro branch but had had no reply so I should come back tomorrow. I got a cold litre of milk at the supermarket and bought some postcards which I wrote in a bar near the hotel while I waited for Mike and Marlene to come back. They had been to the zoo (Zoológico Manaus Tropical).

In a room a procession of Jungle Trip agents came to call and Marlene got a cheap 3-day tour leaving tomorrow. A group of us then went out to eat in the same place as last night. We kept bumping into people from the boat who greeted us enthusiastically.

I finished up having a beer drinking session with an Aussie guy and Israeli Jem until 01:00 hrs. The bars on the Avenida Joaquim Nabuco are quite lively with prostitutes, friendly drunks and an eccentric medicine man with a musical instrument which looked like a bow and arrow. He was a great character.

Manaus

Wednesday 8th June 1988

A commotion awoke me at 05:00 hrs. People were untying their hammocks and scrobbling with their baggage. A lot of lights were visible on the bank. We had reached Manaus. We tied up alongside another riverboat which stunk of oil and went ashore after the initial mad rush to get off the boat had subsided.

The sky was lightening as we walked through the dockside market which was setting up in preparation for the days business. After a hike up and down the Rua Joaquim Nabuco we settled for the Hotel Rio Branco on the Rua dos Andradas. Joaquim Aurélio Barreto Nabuco de Araújo (19th August 1849 to 17th January 1910) was a Brazilian writer, statesman, and a leading voice in the abolitionist movement of his country.

Mike, Marlene and I got a clean airy triple room with a private bathroom for 1,500 Cruzados. We had the hotel breakfast of bread and very sweet coffee and then eagerly showered. We called for Frederick who was staying at a more expensive hotel and had fruit juices and hamburgers in a popular bar opposite the Colégio Einstein de Manaus on 7 de Setembro.

This common road name is based on the Independence Day of Brazil (Portuguese: Dia da Independência), commonly called Sete de Setembro (Seventh of September), which is a national holiday observed in Brazil on 7 September of every year. The date celebrates Brazil's Declaration of Independence from the United Kingdom of Portugal, Brazil and the Algarves on 7th September 1822.

Children scampered about in their white college vests playing games and squabbling. We walked across the lively town in the 33°C heat of the Amazonian region that we were in. The sun blazed down and we kept to the shadows as much as possible.

At the Post Restante at the Post Office I was delighted to get six letters. We had some iced caipirinha cocktails in a bar by the quaint old market sheds. We then browsed around the market looking at exotic fruit, nylon and electronic goods, strong-smelling meat, grain and what appeared to be charms and ingredients for voodoo or black magic.

Do you know that Brazilians worldwide do not give their picture to anyone or someone they do not know personally? They believe that photos can be used for inflicting pain or causing harm on them because, in the ritual of Macumba, the Macumbera practices this when asked to cause a pain spell or cast a black magic spell for killing. That means the Macumbera requires a picture or photo of the person on whom the other person wants to inflict or bring upon pain, misery, death, or ill luck. Unlike other countries worldwide, Brazilians practice different forms and types of magic and voodoo.

Lots of spirits in the form of deities are also worshipped in Brazil, and black magic is performed in front of these deities, with offerings ranging from small chicken’s blood to that of a man’s flesh being given. It is believed that the spirit of these deities would help the person performing the ritual become pleased.

Some of the most frightening and shocking rituals are performed by Brazilian witch doctors. They might include killing small animals, killing infants, or making small toddlers gobble up items that should not be eaten.

Amidst the squalor was a Yellow Fever Vaccination Post mounted on an upturned crate. We took a bus to the Museu do Índio which admitted us for 50 Cruzados but warned us that there was no light. The Museu do Índio in Manaus is the biggest and well detailed museums on the indigenous residents of Brazil.

Run by a convent of Salesian Sisters, the museum is spread over 6 rooms and does a fantastic job of presenting the social hierarchy and culture of the Indians. Their hunting gear, clothes, ritual paraphernalia, and photographs, etc. are just some of the artifacts that help the visitors to take you back in time and help you understand what life was like in the olden times.

There was sufficient light to see the collection of pots, hammocks, drums, weapons, ceremonial knick knacks and canoes of the Amazonian tribes. There were also photographs and a few insects on display, including some fist-sized stag beetles.

We waited for a rain shower to pass before walking back to the city centre, passing poor wooden houses perched on stilts over stagnant tributaries to the river. Manaus lies along the north bank of the Negro River, 11 miles (18 kilometres) above that river’s influx into the Amazon River.

I went to the KLM Airline Office on Avenida Japurá to ask about flights home from Caracas. They had to work through their main office in Rio de Janeiro by telephone so they said that they would contact my hotel tomorrow with the information.

I walked back down the busy but uninspiring Rua Getúlio Vargas to the hotel where Mike and Marlene were just emerging from a siesta. Incidentally, Getúlio Dornelles Vargas, also known by his initials GV and nicknamed "the Father of the Poor", was a Brazilian lawyer and politician who served as the 14th and 17th president of Brazil, from 1930 to 1945 and from 1951 to 1954.

I spent a happy half hour reading my mail from home and then caught up with writing my diary while the ceiling fan fought to keep the steamy heat at bay. A refreshing shower served to cool me down and then we went out for a meal.

An Israeli lad called Jem joined us and took us to a restaurant at 497 Rua Joaquim Nabuco with propeller bladed fans overhead and animal hides and snake skins on the wall. Bottles were arranged on the shelves behind the bar like a Western saloon.

We had a huge portion of river fish with more rice, beans and salad than we could eat. A couple of cold Antarctica beers also went down a treat. We were tired from the boat trip and headed back to the hotel fairly early, stopping at a bar for some mineral water. The bar was really lively with amicable drunkards, both locals and travellers.

Back at the hotel on soft beds, not hammocks, for a change, we were soon asleep.

Nova Olinda do Norte

Tuesday 7th June 1988

I awoke on the floor, having decided that it was damn near impossible to get back into my hammock when I returned from an early morning piss. There were suspended intertwined sleeping bodies hanging everywhere in this hammock “dormitory”.

After breakfast of coffee and dry crackers, although margarine was available, we docked at a town of Nova Olinda do Norte(?). Sweepers in broad-brimmed sun hats swept the steep concrete loading ramp. Passengers swarmed ashore to buy snacks and treats to supplement the monotonous shipboard menu.

The town had a nice plaza with a blue and white church which made it look like a cake decorated with icing sugar. The shops stocked only dried and tinned goods, not anything readily edible.

Back on the boat I started to write my diary but couldn't concentrate for long as my sunburned chest began to itch insanely. I had a shower which didn’t seem to make much difference, and then laid in my hammock until the maddening itch faded away.

Lunch was the usual rice, spaghetti, and chicken. They must have run out of beans. I wrote my diary as the jungle chugged relentlessly by. It was like being on the fictional United States Navy PBR (Patrol Boat, Riverine) on the Nùng River in “Apocalypse Now”.

The domino players slammed their tiles as noisily as possible on the dining table. I read my book and idled in my hammock, watching the distant storm clouds move across the jungle until it got too dark to see anymore. I went to bed early and slept better as I was becoming accustomed to the hammock. Even so I would wake up every few hours with numb feet which a walk/crawl under the hammock array to the rank toilet usually put right and also relieved the pressure on my bladder.

cachaça

Monday 6th June 1988

At 06:00 hrs. precisely Manicoré was rudely awakened by blaring music from loudspeakers in the square. I walked around the town with Mike and Marlene browsing through the stores buying drinking water and bananas.

We sat at a café overlooking the dock and drank freshly squeezed orange juice while loading and unloading continued. Men humped boxes and sacks between a truck and the boats in the dock. Frederick and a few other familiar passengers returned to our new boat, somewhat the worse for wear for drink, having found a discotheque and an all-night bar to see the night out in. Most of them continued drinking the potent lime and cane spirit drink which is the national drink of Brazil.

Brazilian spirit cachaça is typically mixed with lime, sugar and ice to make the cocktail caipirinha There is no other drink that represents Brazil more than the sugar cane spirit cachaça.

Before the sun got too hot dolphins and/or huge fish could be seen breaking the surface of the muddy brown river and gliding gracefully back into the depths. Lunch was served at noon, by which time the sun was blazing and most people had been driven into the shade.

Those with direct tickets to Manaus were served with a heaped-up plate of spaghetti, rice, beans and chicken in a surprisingly orderly sitting. At 13:40 hrs. we finally sailed off from Manicoré. I lay in my hammock reading my books.

We stopped at several small hamlets of wooden houses on stilts along the way. At one they slaughtered a pig and loaded it on board. The scenery was a solid uniform mass of trees on both banks, with no distinguishing features, so it was amazing that the boat knew where to stop. Mike and I clambered onto the roof to watch the sunset.

Just after dark there was a commotion as our boat towed a barge away from one bank with a lot of shouting, frenzied paddling of our unpowered tender and even some swimming. Millions of stars came out in the night sky and it began to get cool. The air around the light bulbs was solid with insects.

We retreated below where I had a beer while lounging on the deck below the hammocks. Most of the men played cards and dominoes at the long dining table. Dinner was the same as lunch but served in the communal trough fashion.

I slept quite well that night in spite of the ridiculous density of hammocks in our part of the boat.