Shipping Home

It took two days to ride through the wet mountains of Colombia into the capital, Santa Fe de Bogota, and a beautiful ride it was. Climbing once again into the Andes, over 12,500 feet, the cool air brings chills down the spine, as memories of six months prior tingle my brain. I have such wonderful feelings for Colombia, it is very exciting to be back. And then I remember why I am going to Bogota; I have no money and I have to fly my bike back home.
I found a company today, Girag, who will ship my bike next week to Miami International. There were no other cargo flights to the Midwest, and so I will be venturing through one more week of culture shock before returning to my home in Kansas City.
I shall spend the weekend with friends in Bogota, while receiving the excellent hospitality from a new friend Michael, out of London, who is also a biker that decided to just stay in South America. Not a bad idea.
So friends, this will be my last blog from South America. Latin America is a wonderful place filled with love and hospitality, of which I shall cherish dearly for the rest of my life. I will take the values that I have learned from my friends on this trip, to try and live with such modesty, patience and empathy. Gracius para todos.

Angel Fall

While in Ciudad Bolivar, Ted, Cristi and I looked into prices for the tour to Angel Fall. The package that we were looking for was for one day and included a flight out to Canaima National Park on a Cessna six seater, a flight over Angel Fall, and a tour around Canaima lagoon. We found the package for 1,000 Bolivars Fuentes and Ted and I decided to go with it. I ended up taking a loan from Ted in order to do it, but I figured this may be the only time in my life where I had this chance to fly over the tallest waterfall in the world. The flight was nice and smooth, cruising at 3,000 feet to Canaima. Ted and I had a little to drink the night before, so we ended up struggling through the day just to keep everything down. Nonetheless, it was a beautiful ride moving over the jungle of Canaima in a Cessna. After arriving in the national park and paying the 8 Bolivar entrance fee, we went straight back onto the plane and headed towards Angel Falls. Ted and I were the only two going on the fly over, and had the airplane to ourselves (pilot included of course). Flying over the bluffs, the anticipation was craving, so was the alcohol from the night before, as the pilot swung the plane around and shot into the clouds. We crossed over a number of large drop offs with small waterfalls, and then the pilot pointed over to the right. There it was, in its pristine beauty of the morning sun. It was breathtaking and wonderful, and after our fourth fly around, we received the thumbs up. On the way back we followed the river with canoes filled with tourists heading up stream towards the fall. We nosed dived and skimmed the water as the tourists waived from below and cruising into Canaima lagoon. We made a fly by of the waterfalls in the lagoon and then circled into the runway. I was all smiles. Ted and I were greeted by our tour guide outside from the plane, and escorted down to the lagoon where we took a quick swim in the earth tone waters before jumping into our own canoe to head out to the falls of the lagoon. These falls were much shorter, however, they had their own spectacular beauty. Golondrina fall has the larger water output and was definitely impressive. The second fall in the lagoon, Hacha, is a wide fall where we parked the boat and took a stroll behind the fall itself. The water came crashing down over as Ted and I crept along the wet stones enjoying the tranquility and coolness. Once again, all smiles. We brought the boat back in and had a nice lunch in Canaima, just before the downpour came in. The Cessna was waiting for us after our meal, and took off as the rain started to fade. It was a nice choppy flight back into Ciudad Bolivar this afternoon, with smiles of a perfect journey. I feel like I can come home now.

Angel Fall from top.
Side
979 meter drop.

Golondrina fall.

Hacha fall.

Behind Hacha fall.

Oh...Venezuela.

Our trip into Venezuela was very comfortable. We did not have temporary import papers for our motorcycles in Brasil and were a little worried, so we decided to ride on through the Aduana after getting our passports stamped out in immigration on the Brasilian side. Well, it worked and we soon crossed over to Venezuela, where we were sure to get our temporary imports. We already had the acceptance ticket into Venezuela for tourism that we picked up for free in Belem, so it was quite easy getting into the country. The border town of Santa Elena was only a few kilometers away, and we had enough gas to get us into town.

The ATM machines do not work for our cards and so after five days in this country, we are still running off of the extra Reais we had from Brasil that we exchanged over the border. However, we have been able to use our credit cards at super markets and hotels, so we are making it through. This is where it gets interesting.

In terms of prices in this country, a person will pay around 15 to 30 USD for a hotel room. Pretty reasonable. You will pay 10 USD for a hot meal, a little expensive for a South American Country. At the super market, you will pay 40 USD for bread, ham, cheese and juice. Ok, this is getting expensive. Beer is about 1 USD per can, and you can only buy them at liquor stores. Different. Water is about 1 USD for a liter container. This is where it gets really interesting. If you want to buy 1 liter of gas, it is going to cost you about 0.06 USD. This means that water costs 17 times more than gasoline in this country.

Ok, I understand that this country has surplus of gasoline. I know that there are a few people is this country that are making a lot of money off of it (will explain later). However, if you cannot afford a car, how are you going to afford a sandwich?

We met a group of BMW riders in Santa Elena at the hotel (4/30). They live up around Caracas on the coast, and were down in the southern part of the country on a tour for vacation. They were all driving brand new shiny beemers (oil business) when I pulled up in my classic Airhead covered in red clay with a dirty sheep skin on the seat. I do not need to front in order to prove my status of masculinity; I was proud. They ended up being incredibly friendly and helped us out a lot in terms of information on touring in Venezuela.
We took off the next morning and filled up for the first time, laughing at the prices. We made it to kilometer maker 88 when we ran into a couple from Venezuela on a Honda Shadow heading north as well. They told us about a biker rally in Puerto Ordaz and asked us if wanted to go. We told them that it had been a long day and were actually looking for a hotel. They were great and showed us to one, exchanging info before they took off.

About an hour later, we heard the Shadow roar back up to the hotel. It turns out there was a protest going on down the road where some angry workers set fire to old cars in the middle of the highway and were not letting anyone pass. But not to worry, although it was a national holiday for workers in Venezuela, I was able to find a phone card and call my sister on her birthday.

The next morning, we took off early with our new friends on the Shadow, Orlando and Joseliana from Barquisimeto, thinking the protest would be over and we would be able to pass. Unfortunately, the rusted cars were still in the middle of the road, with trucks, cars and touring buses stopped up for miles as people shouted back and forth over the economic hardships of Venezuelan life. We turned around and went back to the hotel to ask about an alternative route. The ended up taking us up into the mountains on dirt roads filled with clay pits filled with water and makeshift bridges that formed tricky obstacles. The road took us through a series of mining facilities that extracted minerals from the mountain sides. They used old techniques of pumping water through tubes up the mountain side on supports made of sticks tied together. It was classic and adventurous. When Cristi fell over in the mud, we had our laugh, however, that turned around and they soon were laughing back at me when the guy from the hotel that was showing us the way, stepped out of his buddies pick up truck and asked to ride on the back of my bike. He was not a small man, however, the space left on my bike certainly was. I was feeling mighty friendly with my gas tank as we went through mud pits and puddles. I ended up taking him to work, which was not far off from when we made it back to the highway, around the barricade. We ended up running into another group of bikers wanting to head south. They did not feel like taking a Gold Wing through mud, so they headed up to Puerto Ordaz with us.

Orlando and Joseliana were wonderful. They let us shower at their place and camp out at Orlando´s sisters for the night. They took us to the biker rally, where they gave us free admission and introduced us to all the clubs in the area. Our bikes were a major attraction as well. Apart for the Moto Guzzi, the fancy Suzuki Boulevard, a nice Harley, and the boys pulling spinners, I really think they were attracted to the dirty sheep skin on my seat.

The next day, we had breakfast with Orlando and Joseliana, who then went and purchased our gas for the fourth time, and sent us off to Ciudad Bolivar. They were wonderful and amazing and have given us a warm feeling of this country. Americans are definitely welcome here...excluding the President.

Jasper Fall, north of Santa Elena.

Of road detour around demonstration.

Do I even need to explain this one?

Friends Orlando and Joseliana with their uncle at the farm.

Ride north of Manaus through the Indigenous Reservation

From Manaus, we left the boat and Ted, Cristi and I split from Pete and Carol to head straight north towards Venezuela. In order to do so, you must first cross an Indigenous Reservation with plenty of fuel in the tank.

So, we took off north in the rain, and made it about 50 kilometers before it stopped and the sun and humidity came out. We ended up filling our tanks just outside of the reservation. While in the reservation, Ted and I had pulled up ahead of Cristi and pulled over to wait for her. They tell you never to stop in the Indigenous Reservation north of Manaus, but they have never told us why. We figured they were just telling us that there was no gas or amenities there.

Cristi finally came up to us, we took out some sausage and crackers for lunch, and Ted used the jungle facilities. I was joking to Cristi while Ted was position up against a tropical bush, and told her that he will probably get a blow needle soaked in poison shot into his neck while he was over there. Luckily for Ted, but unfortunately for the aesthetic uniqueness of my blog writings, that did not happen. So we continued on.

Up the road, there was a guy on a scooter waving us down. So we stopped and he ended up being from Colombia and on a similar trip as us. His key was broken off in his panel and he could not get it out. He seemed to be very worried. We flagged a pick-up over and the nice gentleman inside took the guy and his scooter to town 100 kilometers up the road. So we continued on, happy and hot, watching the 4 foot lizard that looked like an alligator run out in front of the bike as the parrots cawed in the background of the dense forest.

Towards the very end of the reservation, we came upon another traveler. He was from Brasil and had traveled up to Alaska and all the way back through South America to Ushuaia. A really nice guy and his Spanish was perfect, so we were actually able to communicate with him. We told him about the guy on the scooter and about stopping for lunch, and then his jaw dropped, with eyes wide open. Perplexed at his expression, we asked why. He then went on to explain to us why they tell you not to stop in the reservation. It turns out that the Indigenous people of this reservation like guns, and they also like to kill people that stop on their land. We thought the guy with the shot gun just before we entered the reserve was going duck hunting...oh we are such ignorant tourists. So I was wrong, they would never of shot Ted with a blow gun...they would have just blown his head off with a rifle!

I guess we were pretty lucky, so we said our goodbye to another traveler and headed north to the equator. It was a funny line, about 20 feet off the actual GPS location of 0 degrees, with a hockey stick posted on the side. We took pictures anyways, and then headed north to a nice town with a hotel to camp out for the night.

Over all, the boat did not sink, we had enough gas to make it through, and we were not shot. I consider it a successful day.

Interesting birds, they looked like half flamingo and half vulture, north of the reservation.

A little closer to home.

Amazon Boat Trip (5/23 - 5/29/08)

I remember my sophomore year in High School biology class when we learned about the ecosystem of the tropical rain forest. There was this laser disc movie about the Amazon which included a rap song called the Rain Forest Rap. The only part of it that I remember is the chorus, which repeated, “the rain forest, the tropical rain forest.”
This is what I had going through my head, as I walked out of my room the next morning on the boat and saw the sun rise over the river. The jungle was full and crowded with vegetation, which is actually second growth, after the deforestation occurred around 100 years ago.
Thicket houses line the edge of the river, literally built into the jungle side with docks edging into the water. The canoes that give the homes their only means of transportation, are carved out of whole tree trunks, and ebb to the ripples made by passing cargo and passenger ships. Children from these homes are told to take the canoes and paddle out next to the large boats, with engines screaming, and wait for alms to be tossed down from the boat’s passengers. It was amazing to see these children, no older than 8 years old, paddling out to gigantic ships, waiting for a plastic bag to be thrown off the side
The night afterwards, I went into my cabin, and dug through all of my things, trying to think of what may be useful to the Amazonian river dwellers. I put some clothes, kitchen supplies from camping, and other miscellaneous things in plastic bags, added a plastic bottle for buoyancy, and threw them off the next morning to the kids in the canoes. The smiles on their faces as they paddled toward the floating gifts were magical and unforgettable.
The living situation of the boat is divided up into three parts, the outside hammocks, the indoor hammocks with air, and the cabins with air. With our entire luggage from the bikes, we paid the extra 30 USD for the cabin to keep them secure. With the upgrade, also comes separated eaten quarters. I was disappointed about this, as I watched the interactions between the people staying shoulder to shoulder in hammocks, with children running around and laughter in the air. Our separated eating room was quiet and dull and filled with the same rice and beans every day. Those rice and beans would have been more special having come from a room filled with people who actually appreciated them. However, I must say having a separate shower was very nice. Besides the eating quarters, there was also a bar upstairs, which simultaneously filled the men’s bathroom with the smell of urine and vomit.
The river is large and very alive. It is the major transportation system for the northern section of Brasil, shipping a vast amount of manufactured goods between Manaus and Belem. I spent numerous nights up on the top deck, watching thunderstorms over the Amazon basin or looking up at the stars south of the equator. I will never forget the sunsets over the flowing river or when the Rio Negro and its black waters mixed with the brown waters of the Rio Amazona. The families taking naps in hammocks, the domino players at the bar, the same rice and beans, the children in canoes waiting for the plastic bag from the outside, and the life of the river itself; these will all be wonderful memories in my mind. The rain forest, the tropical rain forest.

The lovely hammock quarters where joy and happiness took place.

Children in canoes riding out towards the ship in the late afternoon.

Children going after the bags thrown off the ship as alms.

Sunset from the boat over the Rio Amazona.

Para Moto Clube in Belem

Through a few connections, we were able to find a boat called the Rondonia to Manaus very easily. With our bikes, it cost us around 400 USD for the five day trip up the Amazon River. Our connections in Belem were also part of the motorcycle club known as the Para Moto Clube. Belem is the Capital of the state of Para.
They guys from the club were great. They are not the Hell’s Angels type what so ever. Actually, they are very involved in the community, and seem more like the Rotary Club on Harleys.
One of the clubs social chairs, Alfredo, took us in his arms and showed us around Belem. He invited us on a day trip up the river to a beach that is one-of-a-kind. It is the only river beach in the world that has waves! Go figure, the width at this end of the Amazon being 80 kilometers across. Not to mention, the Amazon has two separate mouths to the Atlantic!
We went for a swim and body surfed in the waves, as tree limbs and nut shells floated across the brown water. It is amazing to think of all the nutrients in this river, not to mention the other living organisms. The day was very nice, and everyone from the Para Moto Clube was incredibly hospitable, except when I tried to trade my BMW for Alfredo’s 1000cc V-Strom.
We were able to get our tourist cards for Venezuela at the Consulate in Belem without any problems at all. There was no charge, which made us all very happy.
Alfredo came out to the port and saw us off on the ship. It took a day of waiting at the docks for us to get our bikes loaded, and we were surprised at the loading crew (aka dock mafia), who insist on loading all of your things, and then give you an outrageous price to pay in return. The boat then filled up with an assortment of cargo on the bottom deck before finally setting off into the Amazonian night.

Road to Belem

The road, or rather collection of roads, that lead you to Belem from Salvador, stream you through hills and valleys filled with grazing pastures, small villages, and amazing life...and death.
Here is a short list of what we saw from the road:
Ford factory
excavated forests
naked black boys bathing in a tub
flooded villages
women washing laundry in brown rivers.

Here is a short list of what we saw on the road:
Locals selling fresh fruit, coconut ice, and hammocks
herds of goats, cattle, donkeys, mules, dogs with cowboys
vultures eating the corpses of cows, donkeys, horses, dogs
six foot cobras and other Amazonian snakes jumping at the bikes
lizards racing across
10 inch grasshoppers
three semi-truck accidents
one dead body.

The small villages that sit between Salvador and Belem are filled with warm hearted people and tasty food. They do not see many gringos in this part, and the interest is pure and exciting. This is also the area where you see the real Brasil. An area without money and very little tourism, however, the culture is pure and includes the indigenous peoples, traditional foods, and plenty of truck stops. It was a very pleasant ride, although hot and humid, we rode into Belem with smiles.