So, no
sooner had CapTim’s taxi turned the corner than we were casting off and bumping
our way out of the marina. With about 300 tonnes of bread, cheese and Doritos on
board (Neil had done the shop) we were off and heading for an anchorage off Muta
in the Itaparica Channel, keeping close on the tail of the lovely Minnie B who
promised CapTim they’d keep a close eye on us while he was away.
As we approached
the anchorage Neil (the Acting Temporary Upstairs Skipper) become very quiet and
transfixed on the depth...err...thingy. He’d managed to get us out of the marina
but would he be able to drop the anchor without first running us aground? With
caipirinhas in hand the rest of the crew watched on in delight at Neil’s clear
discomfort. He kept edging into the shore and we’d all shout “Perfect – let’s
whack the anchor down here - it looks fine!” and suddenly he was full throttle,
swinging round and shooting back out into the middle of the bay. In the end Neil
chose a spot that, while I can’t be sure of the exact coordinates, seemed to be
somewhere slap bang between the Muta anchorage and...Salvador. The rest of the
crew speculated whether half a tank of petrol in the dinghy would even be enough
to get us to shore. Poor Neil, he endured our wrath, but later that evening as
we watched the river practically drain away, it turned out that had we “whacked”
the anchor down where we’d suggested we would have been dry on our side.
Run up to Christmas
- Muta
In the warm up to
Christmas we spent a couple of lazy days meandering around the river, diving off
the back of the boat and occasionally swimming ashore to enjoy a bit of land
sway helped by a drink at a local beach bar.
In the
evenings we plundered the fish from the freezer, caught on the passage and
proudly vacuum packed by Tim and his on-board vacuum packer (bizarre but useful
it turns out) and cooked it up on the tiny but brilliant tin BBQ that Tim and
Selina had bought at the amazing Sao Joao market in Salvador that was a sea of
stalls bursting with vegetables, live chickens and goats in
wheelbarrows.
The
nights were clear and we gazed up at the stars, but it was Sarah who seemed most
over-awed as she gazed up from her cabin and marvelled at the brightness of the
stars only to be pointed out by a sniggering Neil that those “stars” were
actually the anchor lights at the top of the mast.
Christmas Eve -
Santiago de
Iguape
We had arranged to
meet other members of the Rallye in Santiago de Iguape. We made our way up the
Paraguacu river, stopping off at an idyllic bay for lunch. As we arrived at
Iguape with a huge church looming up on the river bank the DS (Maria – the
Downstairs Skipper) was busy making caipirinhas and Selina was feverishly making
xmas decorations out of newspaper. Once we’d anchored the boys put up the fairly
lights that turned Mina2 into a giant Christmas tree - we got cheers (or maybe
they were jibes) from the shore.
At
about 8pm we settled down to our Christmas Eve dinner with the saloon turned
into a Santa’s grotto with glittering candles, paper snow flake chains, crackers
and Andy Williams belting out Jingle Bells.
After
our Christmas dinner we went into the town nestled behind the majestic church on
the river bank. We found the crew of African Seawing dancing with locals and
enjoying some strong caipirinhas. We ordered a round and within half an
hour with her usual complaint of “This doesn’t taste like it has any cachaça in
it at all!” the DS became highly “animated” and was ordering another
round.
Feeling by now in a thoroughly festive mood we went with African Seawing
to gate crash the far more civilised evening that the rest of the rally were
enjoying at a local house cum restaurant. We rounded the evening off singing
Christmas carols - French vs English and then made our way back to the boat with
the DS insisting on rowing us back gondola style. If it weren’t for Pete
valiantly wrestling the oar off her I’m not sure we’d have ever got back to the
boat that was sticking out like a sore thumb on the river, lit up like one of
those houses that has the Santa climbing up the side of the house and a full
team of reindeer on the roof or, as the DS pointed out, slightly
vulgar.
Christmas
Day
Pete and Maria then
took their hangovers to the early morning Christmas service at the church on the
river bank. Two hours later they returned with their hangovers still very much
on board. At midday we all swam or rowed over to African Seawing with the crews
from Minnie B and Suzie Too to sink down Christmas beers, pancakes and smoked
salmon.
Boxing
Day
We were all woken
up at 7am by the sound of a
horn, that kept blowing with momentary pauses getting closer and closer to the
boat. Pete took a look out of his cabin window just in time to see a dug out
canoe with 4 men inside being rowed silently past us about 2 metres away heading
for the town. Another dug out canoe rowed with them and at the front of one was
a man blowing a conch shell. We could see that villagers were gathering on the
shore. Not sure whether this is the norm, to announce your arrival by blowing a
massive shell but it was all rather magical.
Later
that morning, before heading off, we went to visit the mangroves in the dinghy
and then picked up the anchor and floated back up river and anchored off at the
monastery that we’d passed a few days before. Built in 1692 - amazing really to
imagine what life must have been like for the monks out there trying to convert
everyone to Christianity. It does appear to have been plonked in the middle of
nowhere though, so who exactly they were there to convert apart from the
occasional conch blowing fisherman passing by, it’s not entirely clear although
a little later the Reconcavo as this area is called was important for its sugar
and tobacco plantations.
As we left, one of
the kids from the village had charged up on his horse and was cruising around
chatting with his friends. We’ve seen quite a lot of this - the local lads all
getting around on horse-back. They look no different to guys in
Italy that beat around
on mopeds, except the mopeds are replaced by horses.
In the
evening we anchored off a paradise island, lush with trees and a long stretch of
sandy beach. It was a beautiful clear and calm evening and we rowed ashore with
Suzie Too and African Seawing and had a BBQ beach
party.
The
caretaker (a toothless old man) of this private island welcomed us, having taken
a definite shine to Selina, and with the help of his sidekick with incredible
agility sprinted up the coconut trees handing out coconuts and cashews (the
fruit) to us all. We invited them to join the BBQ beach party, sharing with them
caipirinhas, beers and food. The DS was delighted when the caretaker announced
that her caiprinhas were good - too good in fact. Selina was less
delighted as her mother’s infamously potent caipirinhas only seemed to further
fuel the caretaker’s ardent proposals of marriage.
But
the night was magical. The moon shone down and twinkled off our 3 boats anchored
close to the shore and we all lay back in the sand and enjoyed a warm and balmy
Brazilian evening on our private paradise island.
Back to
Salvador
The
next morning we waved goodbye to our Brazilian friends as we left their island
and set off back to Salvador, about 3 hours
away. I think it would be safe to say that Neil was sh***ing himself at the
prospect of getting Mina2 back into position in the marina. He slept or prayed
or drank heavily (we weren’t sure as he’d locked himself up in his cabin) for
most of the journey back. But whatever he did, it worked. We genuinely glided
back into our spot on the pontoon with no problems at all. At which point Neil
collapsed and (we suspect) cried a little.
We had
the night and next morning to stock up on provisions before we’d be heading back
out into the bay for our New Year’s adventures...
Postscript… Malvinas invasion cancelled
You may have
noticed that since the last blog, the route map on the blog homepage has shown
our position as the Falkland
Islands – known to the
Argentine DS as the Malvinas. This was supposed to be a joke intended to spook
the Absent Upstairs Skipper. The joke however has backfired. Whilst we were
sunning ourselves on a beach just round the corner from Salvador we understand
that Mina2’s insurance underwriters (avid readers of the blog) had withdrawn all
insurance cover and, knowing that the boat was now under the effective control
of an Argentine national (the Downstairs Skipper), they informed the UK Ministry
of Defence. As a result there has been a major invasion alert. Nuclear
submarines have been deployed to the South
Atlantic and a Task Force
is being assembled in great secrecy as I type. It’s all rather embarrassing.
So the offending and erroneous plot
has therefore been removed. Sorry everyone!
Mina2’s saloon decked out for a festive
Christmas Eve
The Lambretta’s of
Brazil
The church of Santiago de
Iguape
