Over the ridge

On my last day up in the mountains, I left the river and campsite behind and started the trek up to the ridge.

As I got higher, there were stunning views over the forest below and the mountains in the distance.

After an hour, I got to a small farmhouse with two barking dogs, and just beyond that a wooden gate opening into the thick forest. I'd been told that the trail from this point was easy to follow- just keep to the main one was the advice. So that's what I did and the narrow but well-worn path continued on down into the next valley, winding its way between steep slopes, around rock outctrops and over river crossings, always under a dense canopy, where the details of the forest were in constant change and there was so much to see. 

Shortly after the river crossing, the forest opened up, showing a view of the far mountains and the valley where I was supposed to be. 

Another km or so, and I got to a barbed wire fence and I could hear far-off  voices down below. A good sign. More walking and then there were some tree ferns. Next, the path bordered the upper reaches of fields as I began to see a village further in the distance.

Half an hour later, I came out onto the tarmac road, just by a shop which had the best trout in the region. I couldn't resist. A couple of smoked trout got wrapped up in newspaper and stuffed into the top of my back-pack.



It was a short bus ride to the Friburgo bus station and all the surrounding shops of lingerie. The contrast couldn't have been greater.

My bus back to down to Niteroi was only going to leave in a couple of hours' time. I grabbed some lunch and then found a café by the river where I had a Guaraná and got talking to the waiter who goes mountain-biking in the same valley where I'd been staying.  

.........

A few days later, the mountains were hit by heavy rains and catastrophic landslides and floods.

Friburgo was particularly badly affected, with around 300 people losing their lives, and parts of the town destroyed.

The valley I'd been camping in was apparently fine, with the river rising but not causing any damage. However, as I saw the terrible scenes on TV, I couldn't help thinking about the people I'd met around the Friburgo bus station, hoping they were all OK.

It was very sad news about such a wonderful place. 

Montane forest

I had a great time exploring the area.

For breakfast, I would have fresh fruit and a large jug of freshly-brewed coffee at a pousada set amongst idyllic scenery, just up the road. Not a bad start to the day.

Across the road, this is where the owner lived- in a typical local house with its vegetable garden.

And here was his beetle, another one in the forest.

At the end of the track, I got to the wood cabin where we used to spend our weekends. Below was the river, with its small rapids, pools and cool crystal-clear water where I went swimming, reliving old times.

  

In this area there were four-metre tall tree ferns everywhere. Quite impressive.

These orchids were growing on a bank at the side of the track.

And amongst some leaves, were these fragrant flowers which had fallen from a twisted tree. They smelt of lychee.

Large prehistoric-looking bromeliads were also in flower.

I had a taste of this: a wild passion-fruit. Actually not as bitter as expected.

This stand of palms caught my attention. A work of art. It somehow reminded me of Rousseau's Tiger in the Forest.

And this took me by surprise- a snake (not a tiger) sunning itself on a path leading into the forest.



In the dark damp forest there were lots of fungi. These looked particularly high-tech.

And then further up, from a clearing, there was a splendid view of the mountains, through a monkey-puzzle tree.

There were some pastures on these slopes, and the cows were coming in for the evening.

I was getting hungry towards the end of the afternoon and ate lots of wild raspberries (this story is beginning to sound a bit like Snow White).

This was the view as I walked back down to the campsite. A day in paradise.

Mountain campsite

Here are some photos of the place where I camped. 

There was thick forest all around, giant ferns behind my tent, and an incredible view of hills, peaks and the river below. At night, there were millions of stars in a myriad of constellations to admire. And the hill-top fields came equipped with four horses, which snorted and grazed around my tiny tent at dawn.

When I first heard the snorting, my first reaction was that there was a large wild cat sniffing at the tent, so I immediately started hissing myself (in retrospect, I'm not sure this would've deterred it anyway!). Then I realised the noise must belong to the horses. I just hoped that they wouldn't trip over the guy rope, think my tent was something soft to lie on or try to hurdle over me (the possibilities of getting squashed inside a flimsy tent seemed endless). Big wild cat or four horses, I'm not sure what's more dangerous.

As can be expected, nothing happened, and I got away unscathed.

However, I did still have to get out of my tent quickly.

The rising sun, which had just touched the tent, had within minutes made the environment inside as hot and steamy as a turkish bath, with beads of condensation dripping onto me. All lit up in bright fluorescent green. The aroma of over-ripe squashed bananas and muddy socks added a certain je ne sais quoi to to the experience. In summary, all très chic.

The first thing I'd do after crawling through the impossibly small side flap was to go for a swim in the river down below, which I'm sure made me look (and smell) more respectable.

Then I'd go off exploring (next post).

From Fribourg to Friburgo

A few days ago, I took the bus from Niteroi to Friburgo, a couple of hours away, up in the forested mountains.

When I was a kid, we used to go there at weekends, especially in the summer months, to get away from forty-degree heat, and to enjoy waterfalls, cool forests, unspoilt nature, peace and tranquility. Its one of my favourite places, but I hadn't been back since my arrival in Brazil several months ago, so I was now itching for a return trip. As soon as the weather forecast looked good for a few days, I hopped on the first bus out of town. 

Within half an hour, I was looking out at green pastures and palm trees on rolling hills. On the horizon, was the long line of abruptly-rising mountains. I recognised Três Picos and Caledonia, amongst the highest peaks. I was in my element, on a bus heading towards the mountains.

After more scenic foothills and cattle ranches, we reached the agricultural town of Cachoeiras de Macacu (which, if it were in Queensland, would be called Palm Tree Falls). It's a good place to stock up on sweet dried bananas and it marks the start of the steep and winding climb up the mountains. This part is truly spectacular, with thick spongy rainforest covering a wide amphitheatre of imposing mountain slopes. But it's surprisingly quick to get to the crest - only twenty minutes- and I was now having to keep a keen look-out for a small family-run hotel, marking the turn-off into the valley and hills we used to go to.

There it was. I ran to the front of the bus and asked the driver to stop when he could. He reacted immediately, slammed on the brakes and got the bus to come to skidding halt on a sharp corner. By this stage, I was half-way back to my seat, gripping on to head-rests, with passengers looking on wide-eyed, slightly concerned and confused. Backpack on and jumping outside, it felt cool compared to Niteroi, with a characteristic fresh mountain smell of pine hedges and dewy grass.

Before my walk, I wanted to grab something to eat and ended up going to the first place I saw, a smart wooden chalet restaurant on the side of the road, specialising in trout, good company and Bohemian beer. Sounded good.

Friburgo got its name from Fribourg in Switzerland, and the story goes back a long way (for Brazilian standards). The area was settled in 1820 by 261 Swiss families, totalling 1682 immigrants. They'd been granted land by the emperor Dom Joao, who was keen to attract immigrants from Europe, in order to settle empty parts of Brazil. This also happened to be during the Napoleonic invasions and wars in Europe and these families probably saw a better future for themselves in a new and distant country. The added attraction was that they were going to something familiar to them- a cool, forested and mountainous region. Four years later, 332 German immigrants joined them. As it happens, Friburgo ended up becoming Brazil's first Swiss and German colony. Shortly after, most would begin to settle in the south of the country.

Still to this day, the Swiss and German origins are surprisingly strong. Its quite common to see blond kids running around the place, wooden chalets with chimneys, tidy gardens with vegetable plots, stacks of precisely-chopped firewood, sausages, smoked trout, home-made beer. To me, it's Lauterbrunnen in the tropics.

As I came out of my daydream, thinking of what it would've been like for the first Swiss immigrants, and by now well-fed on delicious smoked trout pasties, I got up and started my walk to the start of the dirt road.

It was steep and continued on  and on, past small farmsteads and rural folk by the side road, until I got to a high ridge an hour later. From there, I looked over a breath-taking panorama of mountains and forests, stretching far inland. Wunderbar.

At this stage, and starting what I thought was a fairly well-deserved rest, I felt something rasping on my neck, a branch perhaps.

No. Not at all. A beetle, I soon found out, as I prised it off me and looked at it.

After the initial scare, it was actually quite harmless, and on the plus side it was stunning to look at. Luminescent green spots in lines painted on a black body, and a long anteater-like snout. 

As beautiful as it was however, I didn't particularly want it gripping onto my neck again, so I put it amongst vegetation at the side of the road. I looked at it for a bit longer and then as I stepped back, it flew straight towards me, expertly landing on the same spot of my backpack. This was definitely a fatal attraction- between a stunning beetle and a faded red and green backback smelling of damp cupboard and sweat. 

I got my backpack off and watched the beetle crawl over it for a while. Eventually, I plucked it off, and as I did so, it escaped my grip and flew onto my leg. Without knowing it (but rather cleverly, in retrospect) I pressed the shoot button and took a photo of the latest scene:

The struggle went on for a bit longer, but I managed to prise it off (I was surprised at how determined and strong it was), and put it back in the bush.

Backpack on and quick escape. Made it!

The rest of the walk was less eventful, but beautiful nonetheless, with stunning views of mountain-peaks and forest all the way. Exotic plants and trees were constantly within an arm's reach, and occasionally butterflies would flutter on the road in front.

Towards the end of the 15 km walk, the dirt road met the river down below. I indulged myself and went for a refreshing swim in a shallow sandy stretch, bordered by palms and overhanging branches covered in bromeliads. Absolute paradise.

Then it was another kilometer or so, past a farm with a tall palm and a few cows, until I got to a wooden bridge with a field next to it, which looked like a good place to set up camp. 

In the rainforest

On several days I walked on paths which link coastal villages. Over headlands, past small beaches and onto fishing communities, it was a great way to see the rainforest up close, with virtually no worry of getting lost. It was also good exercise, walking up steep slopes in hot and humid conditions, and the sweat poured off as if in a sauna! Every so often, I refreshed at cool mountain streams, and timed my dry bread-roll (yum!) breaks with a sit on some rocks and a swim in the sea.  The highlight was seeing so many incredible trees and plants in the forest. Here are some pics:

Flowers dangling three metres down from a vine

Huge buttresses on a massive tree

Parrot Heliconia bordering a village path-way

Aphelandra

   

      

Banana palms planted near villages



Trees and seed pods overhanging the sea

  

Quaresma

Frisbee-sized lily behind a beach

Cabbage palm grove beyond the high-tide mark

Bromeliads

Coin-sized orchids on a granite boulder



Fishing from dugout canoes

While kayaking, I noticed that the local fishermen have a far sleeker form of transport, which also doubles up to help them catch seafood from the bays. Their dugout canoes (made by themselves from large trees in the forest) are painted in all colours, including the black and red of Flamengo football club! I was lucky to see a couple of fishermen come in with their catches- prawns, bream and sole.



In for the day

Nets and canoe

Shelters for canoes, motor-boats and equipment

Buoys and baskets

Traps

Ramps made of wooden beams over rocks

The Flamengo Canoe

And 4kg of prawns caught by its 17 year-old owner

Almost home

Bringing in the canoe

The catch amongst dried banana leaves

Proud son

Son and grand-father help out

Into a yellow crate to feed the extended family

For more photos on a video clip (with the Moro na Roça song by Mônica Salmaso), check this: