Diary & Travel Reports from the saddle

Paraty, Brazil, 30 September 2003

Hello Everyone

Well I have arrived here on the Atlantic coast of Brazil. On the beach in fact, camping, at Paraty, an old Colonial town from where the Portuguese sent their gold home. Traffic is banned from the centre, quite rightly, because the streets are paved with rounded boulders a bit like a river bed. You have to walk quite carefully or risk twisting your ankle!

My bike has been using one litre of oil per day (300-500km) and stopping at the beach seemed to be the best short term cure! I´ll have to check out the engine in Rio de Janeiro. I blame a broken carburetta slider which combusted and-or myself for not taking enough care in the Peru-Bolivia stretch. I try not to think of the number of km I rode without oil. I´m surprised the Rotax engine is still working.

Let´s talk about something else, yes, the coast road here, through the Serra da Bocaina National Park, winding its way round jungled mountains, sometimes one km above the sea. This coast is superb, unspoilt too, though only a few hundred km from Sao Paulo to the south, the biggest city in the world, and Rio de Janeiro, a few hundred north.

Brazil is very different to other countries in South America. It´s big, very big, over one half of South America. It´s developed, relatively expensive and just a bit clinical too. The national flag bears the slogan ´order and Progress´. The language, Portuguese, also sounds a little like German, or Dutch. The people usually understand some of my Spanish, but I understand nothing of their tongue. If I can get a free week or two at a language school I´ll do it. Brazilian people are an interesting mix of indigenous natives, white Europeans and black Africans (the latter from abandoned slaves after the Britain and the US banned the trade). There was no war of independence, they say their country was founded on love. Stranded Portuguese sailors took the most beautiful local women as wives. In time, Brazilian women soldiers were victorious over a Spanish attack from Peru, and bedded the heartiest of the men to celebrate. It is said to be a trait, we shall see ...

It was a rainy 1200km ride from Paraguay through some heavily populated areas and fertile agricultural land. I spent one night at an orphanage where I had the chance to talk to the children, thanks to a new friend called Joao in a place called Matelandia. At the three country point (Argentina , Brazil, Paraguay) I saw two amazing sights. First the Iguacu Falls (http://www.expeditionstravel.net/iguacu4.htm), bigger and better than Niagara, made of 275 waterways of the Rio Iguacu which join and crash down 80 metres. Nearby is the world´s biggest hydroelectric powerplant at Itaipu on the Rio Parana producing 14 million KW of power for Paraguay and Brazil.

PARAGUAY ­ is an ace little place. From the moment of crossing the river in the ferry from northern Argentina I had hospitality showered on me. I spent two nights at the ship-discotech of David, who walks around with his leather mate (´matay´ a sort of herb tea) kit. Mate drinking is a continuous daily activity in Paraguay. Men hold their hot water bottle and mate cup (with stainless steel drinking straw) a little like a handbag, or pet. Many drink it cold.

I met quite a number of the local bikers as well as visiting their rally down south in Ayolas where I received a plaque on behalf of the Federation of European Motorcyclists Associations. In particular Carlos Mazo, who previously created the bike club Nomadas MC and, it turns out, is deeply motivated on both the issues of my Millennium Ride. It was his doing that got the 120 corrupt policemen sacked, an idea we passed on to other motorcycle groups in Latin America. We met the Ministry of Health together to speak about motorcycles in delivering basic health services to rural areas. Carlos had proposed this solution to them 5 years ago, but because of ministry prejudice the idea was not adopted. Anyway now they urgently need 200 motorcycles. Carlos seemed to have many solutions, like 50 sponsors for 50 motorcycles, but time will tell if we can put them into action for the poorest Paraguyans. If so, then it can only be true that I am talking my way round the world and God is putting all the right people in my way.

ARGENTINA ­ In southern Bolivia I played cowboy in Tupiza where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were shot, by spending a day horseriding. I am now an accomplished horseman, resplendant with my galloping grin equalled only by my motorcycling one. My arrival in Argentina was accompanied by more shock absorber breakages, for which I thank Jujuy Motos for repair.

The Province of Jujuy is in a poor part of Argentina and the Health Ministry needs 50 motorcycles for reaching out to mothers and infants in the remotest areas. There are three other needy Provinces in Northern Argentina too. I want to thank Lalo, a famous lawyer in Jujuy, for putting me up and treating me like an old friend. I am hoping that the Argentinian needs will encourage Argentine bikers further south, like in Buenos Aires, to support this whole deal.

Arrival and exit roads in Argentina display large ´Las Malvinas son Argentinas´ signs. We Brits know them them as ´The Falkland Islands´. A biker group in Jujuy put the question to me, ´what do you think about the Malvinas´? I have worked in democracy for most of my useful life, it is the basis for all our societies, and in my view we have to support what the people want. The vast majority of Falklanders want to be British so for me that is that. Otherwise we will have to give Bagdad to the Israelis, or all of Israel to the Palestinians, or California back to Mexico, just name it. So in Argentina I normally tell people that I am British with a bit of a grin.

Police in Argentinian Chaco, a massive flat dry expanse covering much of northern Argentina, Paraguay and Bolivia, presented the most blatant attempts at corruption that I have witnessed on my journey. The first tried to issue a ´multa´ (fine) because I had no fire extinguisher. The second, not an hour later, demanded money because I had no white sheet. The sheet is used to cover you up after a fatal accident and is compulsory for motorcyclists!! The mere mention of a multa now instantly renders me in a fit of apoplexy, the perfectly indignant Englishman threatening the call the consulate and flatly refusing to accept the fine. Sometimes the cops leave it at that. If more persuasion is needed I bring out the health by motorbike card and threaten to stop activities in their country. The third Argentine policeman gave up all pretense of a fine and resorted to outright begging after he saw that I was no easy target. I should have given him something for his straightforwardness. Here in Brazil the word is also multa, and a traffic cop wanted $60 for no daytime headlight. Make my day, I thought. I flatly refused to accept it and eventually had to use the health card. They know what they can do with their fines.

I´m off to find some fish to eat.

Ciao
Simon

A solo fundraising round the world ride on a handmade motorcycle.
Supporting Doctors Without Borders and Health For All.

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