The Amazon River
Picture a vat of butterscotch ice cream topping several miles wide and a thousand miles long. Now imagine yourself floating on it. The vision is sweet enough to rot your teeth. At this time of year the Amazon is exactly the colour of butterscotch. Its roiling surface even has that butterscotch gloss. As things float by—sticks and such--you can gauge how far down into the water you can see anything, and the distance is less than two inches. Things disappear in the murk immediately.
We entered the river mouth about midnight. It was totally overcast and totally dark out there, I didn’t stay up to greet it. But I’ve been hanging out either in the Commodores’ lounge or my balcony just watching it. Statistics don’t tell you about the reality, imagination cannot prepare you for the immensity. Sort of like the Grand Canyon.
Then we sailed into a geographic black hole as regards communication and could not contact our satellite. We are again approaching the mouth of the river. If you’re reading this, we found our satellite again.
Greeting in Manaus
As the Queen Victoria entered the harbour at Manaus, fireboats greeted us with their hoses spraying. It sounds ordinary, but it was thrilling and joy-filled. Really. This may be her maiden port of call in Manaus. Much is made of first visits by large ships, with plaques and speeches. Our queen has a wall full of such plaques.
There are few roads and even fewer automobiles. Lots of pirogues and canoes. For some reason, locals never mastered the J stroke. I watched canoes being paddled; two strokes on the left side, switch hands, two strokes on the right, switch hands, two strokes on the left…. And they paddle from the front. Most larger boats and launches have outboard motors on the flat stern, and the guys who run them are good. Toss a dime in the water and they can put the boat on that exact spot. Big or small, the boats don’t bump a dock, they kiss it.
I went on two tours, boat rides in the areas of Manaus and Santarem. Both were led by local Indians and on both we learned of the plight of subsisting in the forest. I saw not one snake or turtle, and I was looking, too. They are, after all, tasty and protein. Birds are scarce but wonderful.
One tour had a great twist. The tourists were given hand lines, lengths of monofilament on wooden spools, with a wooden bead bobber and, 18 inches below it, a hook. In a few minutes these lubbers had caught two fishes, a 5 inch piranha (there are many species of piranhas in these waters) and a white catfish about ten inches long with amazing long barbels; that is, whiskers. The tour before this one, we watched a fellow in a canoe bring in a catfish on a hand line as well, also white, and a good 18 inches long.
Much of the shoreline is cleared of trees and given to cattle raising. A lot of cows have at least some Brahman in them. Most are ranches. The indigenous people on the backwaters raise a few cows also, but they are in poor condition. I doubt they’re well enough nourished to give milk. Pigs, goats, and a few horses show up here and there.
I mentioned the need to gussy up after six on Cunard. It’s not as bad as it may sound to a casual PNW sort, and the elegance is infectious. And fun. I’ve been able to put together satisfactory attire. I don’t have cheap elegance, I have understated elegance, thank you very much.
Hey, it works.
(Note: some photos were delayed in getting via satellite, so if you’re reading this as the posts become available, go back to see some more photos from the trip!)