26 February

Boicucan - Guaraja

86 kilometres

22.1 km/h

After a late breakfast by the caravan, consisting of chocolate cake from the day

before, we were back on the bikes. Gustavo had assured us that we would only have

to climb a couple of more hills before the road would level out.

It was like music to a biker’s ear. The directions were spot on, and after biking

for three quarters of an hour the road lay flat in front of us. The asphalt was

good and the road’s shoulder was large, the only drawback was the heat.

We steamed along for several uneventful kilometres before suddenly a man

crossed the street in front of us running. A few moments later a speeding car

made the same move as the frightened man had just performed. The car followed

after the running man, and squeezed him up against a fence. The man tried to

jump over the fence to avoid getting run over, but the driver answered by

running the fence down. The last thing we saw was an angry driver on his way

from the car towards the other man. “ This is Brazil”, was the comment from

another man who came walking from the opposite direction. I hope that we in

time learn enough of the Brazilian way of life to avoid ending up in a similar

situation.

After having been spectators to this somewhat violent circus we continued on

to a city called Bertioga. Before we arrived in Bertioga we stopped to drink

a couple of times, the last time by a cluster of roadside restaurants.

There were 6 of them next to each other with no other buildings around.

All six were offering oysters and fruto do mar (the fruits of the sea).

I don’t doubt that the food was good and a little competition healthy for

both salesman and consumer, but the need for 6 restaurants of the same kind

seems a little odd. The last one we passed was victim of supply’s victory over

demand, and was without any customers. Even so some smarty-pants had decided

that 6 were not enough and was building number 7 as we passed. This

constellation of too many salesmen and too few customers is something that we

have experienced several times, often mixed with a sub par service.

I think the heat takes away people’s energy and interest.

This sometimes substandard service is mixed with helpfulness that goes way beyond

what one can expect when one asks for help. In Bertioga we stop at a tourist

office to ask directions to the ferry in hope that they know enough English

to compensate for our lacking Portuguese skills. The girls in the office do

not speak any English, but they call their boss, who is not working that day,

at his home. We first try to explain our situation over the phone, but it is

a little difficult for him to give us directions without being able to show us

on the map. In the end he tells us to wait, and drives into the office on his

off day just for us. He gives us a map of the city and his home phone number

in case we need should need his assistance again. I think it was a little special

us being from Norway, because this tourist office sold tickets for Norwegian

cruise liners and had posters of Norway decorating it’s office walls. The boss

himself had an Italian background, something that he made a point of telling 2

or 3 times.

We found the quay without any difficulty, and were two of several bikers who were

taking the ferry across to the island of Guaraja. This island was supposed to be

the home for some of the more wealthy Brazilians, something that you got an idea

of just as you got off the ferry. The roads were namely newly paved.

This new and even asphalt made it a pleasant biking experience, and we arrived

in Guaraja ( the island and it’s biggest city have the same name) about 6 o’clock.

Here we once again experienced helpfulness of the grade A+. we stopped an older

man in his car and ask for directions to the nearest pousada. The pousada was

located in the same street as his home, so he asked us to follow him as he

drove to his house. At the pousada he got out of his car and walked up to the

woman who owned the place to help us order a room. We didn’t feel like we

could say no when he offered to negotiate our case, and it would probably have

been more difficult language wise than saying yes please. The owner shook her

head at once, but our man wasn’t deterred. As far as we could tell from a few

metres away, he tried to squeeze us in on extra beds in some of the occupied rooms.

When also this plan was unsuccessful, we had to continue our quest.

He in front in his car and we behind him on our bikes. Five minutes later with

were at the beach, and here they same scenario repeated itself. This time our

man tried to deal with the doorman, and again he tried to get us in to a

totally booked place. The poor doorman was in the end saved by a couple who

took over the task of finding us a place to sleep. Both the man and the woman

knew English, and were here on holiday from Sao Paolo. They brought us back

to their apartment, where we were served water and exchanged email addresses

while the woman called around to different pousadas. In the end we ended up

in a little too expensive hotel, and celebrated the last day of carnival with

30 year olds blowing shaving cream at each other. Cars, bikes and people all got

smudged by the end of the evening.

27 February

Guaraja - Santos

15 Kilometers

We have started to feel a little guilty for not having written too much for our

homepage updates, and decide to do something about it in Santos. From what we are

able to figure out from our map Santos is a city of several millions, and should

at least be able to provide on place with Internet connection. Going from Guaraja

to Santos is not the most challenging of bike rides, and consist only of the

15 kilometers of streets in Guaraja and Santos.

After getting off the ferry from Guaraja to Santos we look around for road signs

pointing towards the downtown area. There are none. We decide to try our luck

following the cars. A few hundred meters further on we stop 3 girls on their

way back from the beach to check if we were on the right track. We get

conformation that our skillful tracking had turned out in our favor, and that

we soon will see road signs pointing to the right reading town center.

The first sign appears pointing down a narrow street. It seems like an odd choice,

and we ask again for directions. We are told to stay on the street that we are

on for a few more blocks more before we are to turn right. We continue on and

pass two more signs reading downtown before we decide to take a chance on the

third. This road is wider and seems more appropriate for a main road leading

to the town center. However a few hundred meters further on the signs disappear

and we have to go back to our original tactic of following the stream of cars.

This takes us on to smaller and smaller roads until we find ourselves in a poor

nabourhood. The houses are worn down or several places completely leveled to

the ground. The only buildings that light up the area are scattered hotels and

motels. At night it looks like an airport’s landing lights, when the flashing

hotel signs are separated by dark spaces.

It was time to find a place to sleep. We started to look at the hotels in the

area to get a feel for the level of prizes. They were fairly cheap, but they

were all fitted with double beds and rented by the hour. Several places the

beds were circle shaped and the rooms had mirrors in the ceiling and red lights

on the wall.

We ended up at one of these brothellike hotels called Xamego. Here we spent our

cheapest indoor overnight stay so far. The rooms were like described above.

A round bed with stained bedclothes covering a plastic sheath, red lights with

adjustable brightness, mirrors on the wall and in the ceiling, a Tv showing

continuously free porn and roomservice with a possibility of ordering

condoms 24 hours a day. We settled for a pizza, but this was not delivered

the usual way at the door. Next to the door there was a porthole closed on

either side by a wooden flap. One flap opened from inside the room and the

other from the hallway. When our pizza was delivered, the maid left it in the

porthole for us to pick it up. She did not come back to close the flat from

her side before we had removed the pizza. In this hotel they really mastered

the art of discretion.

After a beautiful night’s sleep we went out looking for a place where we could

get on the Internet. Fortunately we didn’t have to look for long, and at last

we were able to send some of these pages back to our webmaster in Norway. At

the Internet place we ran into another Norwegian who was living here in Santos.

He told us that the downtown we had been looking for and finally found, only

were the town center by name and not by function. The real town center was

found the next day on the way out of Santos.

28 February

Santos - Peruibe

81 Kilometers

18.9 km/h

We had a very late start this day. The writing and mailing of the first pages of

this homepage took a lot more time than we thought, and we were not ready to

leave Santos until 3 pm. This would probably not be a very productive day.

We did however find our way out of Santos on the first attempt, unlike our

lengthy effort to navigate the city the day before. After getting on the

correct road, we continued on it for about 60 kilometres before we had to

turn off towards Peruibe.

To begin with the kilometres weren’t too exciting. A road sign we passed by in

between speed bumps and shopping malls provided the only thrilling moment.

It was a warning for crossing cows. We didn’t see any of these journeyman cows,

only a couple of homeward bound horses.

After a water break we continued the next 20 kilometres together with a Brazilian

in Trek bike clothes. He had been biking for more than 200 kilometres that day

and was happy to finally reach his destination after 20 kilometres together

with us. When he left us it had started to get pretty dark. Usually we stopped

before the lights went out, but this time we had only 30 kilometres left to

Peruibe and the road shoulder was wide and easy to ride along. We had been told

that Peruibe was nice town, and well worth a visit. If nice in this context

meant rich, the predictions were spot on.

We decided therefore to try to push on and go for Peruibe. It started ok.

The first 10 kilometres went by in less than half and hour. Then we passed by a

road sign that read proximo 13 kilometres plus something that we soon found out

meant no asphalt. 13 kilometres in the dark without asphalt is not something

one dreams about, but by now the buildings by the side of the road had

disappeared so we had little choice but to go on.

The first few meters the road shoulder was a nice and level gravel path, but that

didn’t last long. Only interrupted by small pockets with asphalt at the bus stops,

the next more than 10 kilometres were biked on a narrow, bumpy, almost invisible

path meant for walking. It felt like riding through a overgrown forest path,

as the 25 kilos of luggage on the bikes were doing the samba to a beat set by

the many rocks on the path. One hand was holding a flashlight and the other hand

was attempting to control the bike as we leaped and twisted our way forward.

Fortunately we escaped without any flat tires, something that would have made

our language at the time even more colourful than the path alone could manage.

We arrived in Peruibe around 21:30, and were fairly quickly able to confirm that

this was not a poor city. After having turned off the highway we passed through

a modern looking citygate, before we continued on between large houses and

green areas. Granted that good taste has individual differences, we thought

the city was lacking a little in charm department.

It was too much of a holiday place for the rich and famous. Many banks, many

of the same style restaurants and too few of the small local shops.

1 Mars

Peruibe - Iguape

135 Kilometres

21.2 km/h

We left Peruibe around 12 o’clock, but not before having spent annoyingly long

time at the bank and eating lunch at the most service minded place I have ever

been to. The eatery also had delivery service, but all the time we were there

the food was dangling from the owner’s bike’s steering wheel. I think his menu

was made up of one item, as he rushed off to the kitchen without having taken

our order when we asked if it was possible to eat at that time. When he came

back again it was carrying the several dished that made up the Brazilian

speciality PF. This consists of rice, several kinds of meat, beans and gravy.

In our case he had also included mashed potatoes and vegetables.

While we were eating he came over to the table several times to check if

everything was to our satisfaction. When we had to turn down a second serving

he was almost disappointed.

After a few kilometres with monotonous cycling we luckily see the road sign

from yesterday. This time it read proximo 30 kilometres with no road shoulder.

Since this time we have daylight on our side, we pull out on to the road but

stay as close to the white line as possible. This kind of bicycling does

wonders for your hearing.

After having cars passing by you constantly for several days, you learn to tell

them apart just by the sound they make. You are able to tell the difference of

a honk hello and a honk telling you to get the hell out of my way. The first

one is made up of two quick beeps of the horn, while the second one consists of

one long intense hooting that doesn’t stop before the car has passed you.

You can tell by the sound of the engine whether it is an old or new car, small

or big car. If the driver lets off on the gas and waits for a good time to pass,

or if he keeps his speed up and takes a chance squeaking by.

The meeting traffic also had its dangers, especially when cars were overtaking

each other. The overtaking car would change lanes even though we were taking

up so much space in the other traffic lane that overtaking was not possible.

Not possible if we both stayed on the road. However the car was not backing down

in this Eastwood like duel, and we were forced to take the sideway.

The next 30 kilometres we ride with the helmets on, trying to protect our melons.

This was really not a very sensible decision considering the helmets effect in

a meeting with 10-20 tons mass travelling with a speed of more than 80 km/h.

We are several times forced into the ditch during these 30 kilometres, by trucks

that for some reason always seem to travel in pairs. The second one only a very

short distance behind the first, like they were connected by an umbilical

cord in a mother child relationship.

The cars, especially the heavy trucks, are in general not very nice to the

lighter members of traffic. We experienced in Santos that the Police had to

be present at the pedestrian crossing in the middle of the main street.

Without them the cars just wouldn’t stop. You could as pedestrian or bicyclist

be half way across the road, but instead of stopping the drivers pushed their

way through.

Knut Morten had an encounter like this with a truck driver, when the vehicle

exiting from a gas station suddenly jumped out in front of him. The international

gesture of a raised middle finger was mutually exchanged, resulting in the truck

slowing down and turning onto the road shoulder. However Knut Morten didn’t

back down and after a standoff lasting for a few seconds, the truck again gained

speed and disappeared.

We pulled off the highway and reached a small shop by the side of the road just

as the day was turning into night. The shopkeeper told us that we had

50 kilometres to go before we reached Iguape, and that there were no pousadas

before this. She had herself never biked this far, and thought we were loco (mad)

for trying this in the dark. It proved to be a pleasant ride.

Temperature wise it was a nice change from the melting sun, and the 50 kilometres

were without a single hill. The dark even makes the cars pay more attention.

The glow in the dark patches on our bikebags and backpack probably looked like

the eyes of wild animals the way they moved around when we were pedalling.

These patches were not usual among the local bikers, and therefore a strange

sight for the car drives. This resulted in cars taking wide circles around us,

some barely moving faster than we were. We also rode past some local bike riders,

but they were barely visible because of the lack of any lights or patches.

We had the feeling of travelling with ghosts, the way they glided silently and

hardly visible past us.

We entered Iguape around 10 pm, and soon found a good and cheap place to spend

the night. Iguape is a small but charming town, with brick layered roads and a

beautiful open square in the middle of an old town centre. We had our dinner at

a small pizzaplace facing this square, and were entertained by skaters and

loving couples going for walks. The city didn’t seem to host any other tourists,

except some Brazilian surfers. The next couple of days we found out why.

2 and 3 Mars

Iguape - Ilha das Pecas

130 Kilometres

This has to be one of the most beautiful routes for biking on the South American

continent. 130 kilometres of white beaches, with only the seagulls and 4-meter

high waves as our travelling companions. Even though this detour takes us

somewhat off our intended course, it delivers nature and bike adventures the

likes of which neither of us have experienced before.

We wake up after a good night’s sleep in the best hotel room so far. It costs

about 160 Norwegian Kroner and is very luxurious by our standards. We don’t

feel like leaving, but rather spend one more night at this palace.

After a little back and fourth we do however decide to go on, and initiate

our beach adventure. This route was recommended to us by our Brazilian friend

Gustavo.

We start off by taking the ferry from Iguape to Ilha do Comprida, where 70

kilometres of sand and water awaits us. The first few meters are met with

scepticism and carefulness. I have never before seen a beach where it is possible

to ride one’s bike, but this beach’s surface is hard like asphalt and 60 meters

wide. We feel like real adventurers as we are flying across the sand with 25 km/h,

not a soul in sight. The only other forms of life are the seagulls flying above

us and the ocean tempting us with it’s soothing sound. It gives you a grand

feeling to be biking like this in total isolation, and soon we become pompous

and lyrical. We solve many of life’s big questions these two days, and if we

had written our solutions down many prestigious awards probably would have been

handed our way (I think I should add that by this time we had had a little too

much sun, and were not thinking straight).

It is a tiny itsy bitsy bit of an exaggeration when I write of biking in total

isolation, but I think we can agree on this sounding better than being almost

alone. The isolation story however puts our adventure in a better sounding

context, and the adventurers become adventurers and not just two jerks.

As we are biking in our disillusioned state of isolation we see mirages of

happy people bathing and laughing, cars skidding through the sand, and somewhere

in the distance a school bus is letting off a couple of kids who soon after is

swallowed up by the waves. The ocean smiles cunningly and we are spared for now,

but who knows whether we in the future will have to kiss the mermaids that

follow us with their watchful eyes. After a while we meet three old men who offer

us the blood of a guitar fish, it is suppose to give us strength and has

immediate effect.

After three hours we reach a beach full of surfers. We ask for directions to

Cananeia, they point towards the ocean and tell us that is the only way. With

these religious words as our guides we find the way to the ferry, which takes

us to the city with the many churches. Here amongst the priests playing electric

guitars we feel welcome. We find a pousada run by a Japanese family. They have

a swimming pool where we are able to cool off are sun overheated bodies.

A parrot sits in a cage just outside our room and shouts obscenities as we pass

by. We fall asleep early. Tomorrow we have to find a boat that can take us to

Ilha do Cardosa.

While I am packing Knut goes out to look for a boat that can take us to our next

destination. He finds a boat full of biology students who are going to the same

island as us, only instead of biking they are going for a 6 days of field work.

With a boat full of beer and food they behave like most students. With a bottle

in our hand and accompanied by samba music from the tape player we cast a shore.

We find ourselves in the Brazilian student’s world. A world where the beer is

easier absorbed than the lecturer’s monotonous voice speaking about what it is

biologists speak about.

When we are let off we are about half drunk. The next 50 kilometres brings more

beach riding, but first we are force fed oysters by a 40 year old Brazilian woman.

During these kilometres our isolation is no longer an illusion. We ride through

scenes that could have been cut out of movies about tropical paradise.

We are in Bounty country and expect to see Christian Fletcher coming towards us

with a coconut in his hand at any second. But no one comes and we are totally

alone. We are able to keep up a good pace and 30 kilometres goes by in a little

more than an hour.

At the end of the beach we have to cross the ocean to get to the next island

Ilha do Superagui. Two boys in their twenties get an opportunity to make some

extra cash. In about 10 minutes we are on the other side, at 1 real per minute.

What lies ahead is the most spectacular part of our beach adventure.

We are biking along on a beach covered with trees and small rivers.

The rivers are of various depths, some can be crossed on the bike while others

take a little more effort. The first deep river comes up after 1 kilometer,

and Knut Morten tells stories about saltwater alligators. This tactic backfires

and leads to me (Knut Morten) becoming the designated guinea pig. With a

worried look on his face Knut expects an attack by the storybook monsters at

any time, but except a little bit of quicksand feeling the crossing goes by

without any problems. Crossing the rivers with the bikes turn out to be a

manageable task, as the bikes float on the air trapped in the waterproof bike

bags.

After and additional 15 kilometres we are closing in on the next place that demands

a boat crossing. Before we get that far however we catch a glimpse of moving

object on the horizon. It turns out to be another cyclist. The myth of isolation

goes down the drain. We try to catch up to him, but every time we get a little

closer he pushes on and disappears again. It develops into a race where we are

trying to catch up to the only other sign of civilisation, while he is trying to

escape from just the same. In the end civilisation triumphs over isolation.

He smiles when we finally catch up, and we walk the last part into the village

together. In the village we have to find someone who can help with today’s

second boat crossing, this time to the island Ilha das Pecas. Yet again two boys

come to our rescue, and as we reach the other side it has turned dark.

In only 5 kilometres we will reach the place where the ferry back to mainland

Brazil leaves from, and our beach adventure will be over. In the dark 5

kilometres become 10, which leads to a little bit of swearing and some frustration

before we finally reach the ferry’s destination. Here more frustration follows

as we are informed that the ferry leaves only once a day, and tomorrow this is

not as usual at 7 am but at 5 pm. We get to spend 18 delightful hours at a place

that offers no more than sand and water. This might be a good combination for

most people, but not after two days with nothing else than these two elements.

4 Mars

Ihla das Pecas - Paranagua

0 Kilometres

Since our ferry doesn’t leave before 5 pm, it means a day of relaxing and a day

of sand and water. I (Knut Morten) usually wake up a couple of hours before Knut,

and to day these are spent reading in peace. I walk down to the pier with my

copy of Nicolas Shakespeare’s Bruce Chatwin biography. As I am sitting there

reading a flock of dolphins swim by. In a heartbeat I get California religious

and experience an overwhelming urge to swim amongst them. To feel these animals

intelligence as only Americans can. However the fishermen’s catch of a small

shark only a short distance from where I am sitting suddenly makes it all seem

less appealing.

After Knut wakes up we check out of the pousada, which had been our home for the

last 10 hours. Now it is no more than 8 fun filled hours to our ferry arrives.

These hours are spent in the company of the five women running the islands only

bakery/shop. A continuous flow of warm pastry makes the hours pass by a

little faster.

Knut falls in love with one of the women in the shop, and serves up a few

awkward and inept attempts to charm her. They all fail miserably, and the

dolphins outside shake their heads in embarrassment for the not so young Casanova.

After arriving in Paranagua we leave our luggage at the cheapest hotel in town,

before we sit down at a restaurant/bar in the town centre and get somewhat

intoxicated.

Photos from week 2