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Manaus — Paris of the Tropics
oberto, please help! I cannot swim.
Please come back. I do not know how to row”
The black, velvety waters rippled all around. The shadows from the various trunks of trees growing from the river bed were eerie. As the waters parted with a swishing sound, I shrieked envisaging my end, with my neck in an anaconda’s mouth. Gingerly, I opened my eyes, clutching the oar of the canoe in my perspiring palms. My idea of the tropical Brazilian Amazon trip seemed to had become a nightmare. The canoeing lessons seemed to have become self-teaching as the guide Roberto had vanished and my husband too had also abandoned me, in his bid to reach the jetty ahead of others in the group.
Was it only the day before that we had travelled by local bus from our colonial period but now dilapidated hotel, to Manaus City? We had passed a huge football stadium, a game in-built in the Brazilian’s DNA. Manaus meaning ‘mother of the Gods’ was founded in 1669. The so called ‘Paris of the Tropics’ was modernized by the Rubber boom and had inherited beautiful buildings using materials imported from Europe.
The Manaus Opera House transported one to another world in contrast to the diametrically opposite wayside Municipal market, near the floating port. The Renaissance style theatre with roof tiles from France, marble stairs from Italy was a treasure trove housing 198 chandeliers, 32 from Murano glass, the curtain with its painting ‘the Meeting of the Waters’ to form Amazon and the dome of 36,000 ceramic tiles depicting the Brazilian flag.
The return journey to the hotel had been an adventure. Getting down at a wrong remote bus stop where buses did not stop after 6 pm; unsuccessfully hailing taxis; and finally, my suicidal standing on the middle of the road and forcibly stopping one.
Snapping out of my reverie, I remembered a saying, “The fears we don’t face become our limits”. After an hour of experimental oaring, I managed to reach the Lodge. The group greeted cheerfully, “Well done!”
Yesterday, reaching the lodge nestled in deep tropical backwaters of the Amazon was equally adventurous. We were picked from the Manaus hotel in a taxi and taken to a boat. The boat crossed the ocean type confluence of the Negro river’s dark waters and the Solimoes river’s muddy brown waters to form the mighty
Amazon river. Another bus, and then another boat ride through channels and huge lakes.
On way, traversing a huge lake, our boat had swayed drunkenly in the wind, while sheets of rain had made visibility impossible. A loud thud and a few shrieks and we had crashed into a local boat. Luckily, the old man was fished out. A Canadian cotraveller had rushed to his aid, her soothing voice and deft fingers cleaning the cut had traversed the language barrier as voice of humanity is universal. A long boat ride and finally we arrived at the lodge.
The lodge complex was all on stilts connected by wooden walkways. Our cabin was round shaped with thatched roof. The rickety balcony had an inviting hammock. After a short rest, we had proceeded for supper to the huge dining room. The table and benches were roughly hewn. The outer curved wall had only net through which the lake was visible.
Clive, the jovial manager, welcomed everyone. We were informed of the mind blowing diversity of about 3000 types of tropical fruits and 2,000 species of Amazon fish. The very description of ‘feijoada’ national food, consisting of black beans and different parts of pig’s body parts made me feel squeamish. We all introduced ourselves. A sense of wonder encompassed me.
People from diverse nationalities but laughing on the same jokes, all in quest of Nature and happy to let go the world of cyber zombies with its compulsive attraction to technological devices. The after dinner swing on the hammock, in the background sound of crickets and frogs was soothing.
(To be continued)