How
could you not love a country with thirty different kinds of mango?
Brazil is for
the senses. Not just the ears and eyes but the nostrils and taste buds as well.
On one leg of our trip between Angros dos Reis and Paraty, we were taken to a
cachaca distillery hidden away in the jungle. Cachaca is a kind of unmatured
rum and has a kick like a mule. Also included was a trip into the jungle and a
visit to a waterfall.
At this stage of
the trip we were down to six people--mainly from the British Isles. There was a
Dubliner couple called Derek and Doreen, myself, an Englishman, Gary, who is on
his way back to Thailand via Brazil, a Paulista woman who spoke no English
called Ilse, and a Yorkshire couple who could only be described as a pair of
very friendly punk rockers. We all got on splendidly and when the South
American Experience suggested a stop on the way to Paraty, we all readily
agreed. Our guide was the superb Marcelo--an intelligent Carioca who had spent
ten years in London (Romford, in fact) and whose English was top-notch. She was
at pains to point things out. And the stretch of road between Angros and Paraty
takes in the famous Costa Verde. The soaring mountains of Rio de Janeiro hit
the sea here to create beautiful islands. Our mouths dropped open as it was
green cove after green cove stretching for tens of miles.
The town of
Paraty is famous for its cachaca and at the distillery we had the chance to
purchase this fearsome drink. At about 3:00pm, we pulled over in a town deep in
the jungle. First a walk, then a visit to where they make the cachaca. Marcelo
led us onto a jungle trail. The earth was scarlet and army ants crossed at many
points. We brushed past bamboo groves and lianas and emerged at a river where
an enormous, inverted, bowl-shaped rock was used by the locals as a slide (see
photo). We stood on precarious boulders as men slid down the rock on a film of
water landing with a heavy splash. A toddler had gone down it before we arrived
and had landed awkwardly. Marcelo asked if we wished to have a go. . . ummm, no
thank you. . .
We followed the
trail further along the river and stopped at a boulder-strewn waterfall. There
were little bamboo planks across the river to a barraca on the other side, but
the views upstream and downstream were the highlights. The jungle was as
mesmerising as ever and reminded me of the Erawan NP in Thailand. I always
enjoy the experience of the jungle with its thick canopy, birdcalls, and
buzzing insects. We took off our shoes and socks and dangled our feet in the
water, Ilse and Doreen slithered and slid over the rocks, having trouble
keeping their balance, and insects bit Gemma--but we all loved it there.
We ran into the
people who were on the South American Experience bus before us and had come out
on a day excursion from Paraty. There was quite a bunch of us crossing the road
to the cachaca distillery. The owner is an eighty-year-old who built the
distillery by hand and we were shown his endeavors. Inside the small shed was a
giant wooden hammer. Beneath the hammer was manioc powder/paste and a natural
water channel outside filled the hammer. When full, the waters weight pushed
the bottom of the hammer downwards so the head rose up. As the water dispersed,
the weight from the hammerhead sent it down again to crush the manioc paste.
And the process was repeated.
Marcelo showed
us the local jungle fruits that are grown nearby. Her enthusiams was infectious
as she pointed out natural pineapples, papaya, bananas, and mangos. Ilse had
discovered her own fruit and was spotted a little ways off munching on her
discoveries. Above her was a tree covered in such a delicacy. They seemed to
come out of the trunk--branches and leaves and the entire tree was covered in
pustules like a disease. We all tried some, and they had a sharp, acrid, sweet
taste and you had to remember to spit out the stones. My favorite image is
Marcelo climbing this tree and sucking on these fruits deliriously.
Even more fun
was the plant for making cachaca which was equally ingenious and powered
naturally by waterwheels. Five gnarled old men chopped up manioc and threw it
into a bucket. This went into the crusher and then a huge mixer stirred the
paste. Oliver decided to taste it and came away with white powder covering his
mouth like Al Jolson. We got to taste the cachaca at its different stages and
the drink in its early stages was pretty tough. Even at its final stages it was
strong enough to blow your ears and bring tears to your eyes. This didn't
effect Ilse who consumed it in huge quantities. All I can say is that the woman
must have a constitution of a rhinoceros.
No comments:
Post a Comment