Amazon: A River and Its People (Part 2) | Belém to Manaus

The Vero Peso Market, the symbol of Belém. A small port surrounded by colonial dwellings and animated by the cries and gesticulation of the fruit sellers. But the scene was quite a different scene here at the end of the 19th century. Back then, steamers and sailing ships from all over the world crowded the harbor to take on a unique and irreplaceable cargo. A product drawn from a native Amazonian plant that was to make Belém rich. Rubber. Since the end of the rubber boom in 1910, other riches of Amazonia abound in the stands of Vero Peso. Fruit, of course, but even more so the fish of the Amazon. 2,500 species including the pirarucu, the longest freshwater fish in the world. Belém, which opens onto both the Atlantic Ocean and the vast interior, is forever and always the gateway to the Amazon basin. The airplane is far too expensive and the trans-Amazonian highway built in the 1960s is often impassable, especially during the rainy season from December to June. So the boat is still the most common means of transportation in the immense Amazon basin. In the port of Belém, our boat, which will be taking us to Manaus, is already being swarmed by passengers hours before the departure. It's a long trip, three days to Santarém and almost six to Manaus. Better get a good spot to hang your hammock. At nightfall, our gaiola, literally birdcage, a nickname that comes from all the hammocks hanging from the upper decks, pulls slowly away from the dock, where we can still see the old rubber warehouses. We leave the tall buildings of Belém behind us and set our course for Santarém. Early the next morning, far from the delta and the vast island of Marajó, we're chugging up the middle of the Amazon. The passengers, who wake at the first light of day, stow away their hammocks and in just a few minutes the folding tables, which are stored above during the night, have been taken down and the dormitory becomes the dining room. A patrol boat of the river police draws alongside our boat. We stop the engines and an officer comes on board. Just a routine check, says the captain, but he seems a bit uneasy all the same. It's an inspection, the river patrol. They're going to check the number of passengers, the life jackets, the lifeboats and the fire extinguishers. If everything's in order, we can go on. Thanks to the Amazon river and its thousands of tributaries, passengers can reach the country's most out-of-the-way towns, like Boavista, Benjamin Constant and Rio Branco. The passengers that came aboard at Belém are not all travelling for the same reasons. Some were just visiting family and are now going home to Santarém or Manaus. There are also the immigrants from the northeast. They don't expect El Dorado, but they do hope to find a better life waiting for them in some of the more remote regions of Amazonia. This is why Mariano left his village near São Luís in the state of Maranhão. After a ten-day trip, he'll reach Boavista, on the Venezuelan border, where one of his sons has already settled. Why am I making this trip? Well, of the seven states of Brazil that I know, Maranhão is the very poorest. There's no work. There's just no way for a poor person to make it. People don't know where their next meal is coming from. The only thing to do is to head for the state of Urema because there's work there. I have children. With my children and grandchildren, we're a family of 20. I couldn't bring them all along, so I brought ten this time. I'll work a month or two, and then I'll send for the others. I brought our stove, the TV, the hi-fi set along with me. I even brought beans and flour. Music and dancing, two things almost as vital to Brazilians as the air they breathe, are also on board for the trip, a way to make these long days on the river go by quicker. Time out in a hard life. For a lot of the passengers, a trip like this is almost as good as a vacation. Sometimes the boat sails close to the shore and the Caboclo villages. The Caboclos, a cross of Indian and white, live on the banks of the river in elevated houses. For the children of these villages, the passing boats are an opportunity to earn a bit of money, even if they risk their lives doing it. In this region, in this narrow channel where we're passing, there's an old tradition. The people climb on board to sell shrimp, acai fruit, heart of palm. Isn't it dangerous, the way they climb on board? No, no, not at all. They're used to it. They do it all the time. They just grab onto the lines, tie up their boat, hold fast to the lines. They don't have any problem with these maneuvers. Up to now, there's never been any accidents, thank God. There's also another tradition that has evolved. When the boats get close to the shore in certain narrow channels of the Amazon, there's the helping hand that the passengers extend to the caboclos. The locals come out on the water and the passengers give them clothes or food. It's usually old clothes, cookies or shoes. They put the things in a plastic bag so they don't sink. As evening falls at the end of the first day of our trip to Santarém, the boat is suffused with a warm, friendly atmosphere. The Amazon River, used by the Indians for their migration towards the Caribbean islands or by the Spanish conquistadors in their search for the mysterious El Dorado, has always been the royal road of the South American continent. With an average depth of 50 meters, cargo ships from the Atlantic can navigate without a break from Belém all the way to Manaus, 1,500 kilometers inland. For the lighter boats, like our wooden Gaiola, the Amazon holds many dangers. There are large, rapid fluctuations in the depth of the water, floating tree trunks, sandbanks. All that plus the charts of the river that are rarely updated means you need a lot of experience with the river to avoid all these pitfalls. After many years on the river with a lot of experience, you learn how to navigate in all seasons, in summer, in winter. In summer, the water level is low, so we navigate close to the banks and we get our bearings from the emerged beaches. In winter, it's easier, the water is higher, so we can navigate anywhere, even close into the shore. It's the same thing at night. We know the routes and we also have a whole battery of instruments like sonar, compass, and we have radar, which we only use when it's raining and also when we're going downstream, because then we always stay in the middle to take advantage of the current. So we use the radar to locate the shores. On the other hand, going upstream, we always stay close to the shore. We have our landmarks. It's easier, and we can do without the radar. It's 8 a.m. and we're stopping at Almerim, a little village where the Rio Paru flows into the Amazon. This short stop allows the passengers continuing on to Santarém to stretch their legs on solid ground. There are no roads connecting Almerim with the rest of the country, so the boats heading up and down river are its only link with the outside world, and when they stop, it's time for the vendors crowded on the dock to earn a little money. But we're already casting off and continuing on our way to Santarém. Marcello and his family are going home to Santarém. He's a pastor of one of the many evangelical churches that have been set up pretty much all over Amazonia thanks to American funding. The name of our church is the War of Peace because in connection with the Project Amazonas mission, we want to reach all the river people and bring them the word of God, social services, and all sorts of help. Our headquarters are in Santarém, but we also have offices in Manaus, Macapá, Belém, Boavista. We want to reach all the people living along the Amazon. For our first contact, we use what we call the Jesus film method. We arrive in the community, we meet with the chief first to get permission to come in, and then we start to show the Jesus film. We'll show it several days, weeks, or even months in different houses and in different villages. And in this way, we win the friendship and affection of the people, and then we begin to bring them into our church. Aren't you tempted to take advantage of this trip to approach the other passengers, to evangelize them? That depends. If I'm having a conversation with someone and I feel that it's all right to talk about religion, I'll go right ahead and do it. But usually I don't like to be so forward. Yes, if I get along with the person and I feel the need to talk about Jesus with them, maybe I'll try to evangelize them. But I don't force it. The second day of our trip is coming to a close. The festive atmosphere that has reigned on board since we left Belém is warming up even more. Of course, the cachaça, the Brazilian rum, may have something to do with it. On deck, conversations are becoming more personal, shared memories, plans for the future. As long as the voyage continues, as long as the boat is not moored fast to the dock, the wildest dreams, buoyed up by the waters of the Amazon River, are still possible. Last stop of the day, Prainha, a dot on the map, a wooden pontoon reaching like an outstretched hand into the river. In all the Amazon River towns, the arrival of a boat is always an event. It's really quite satisfying to transport these people, to see them in such moments of joy, right there in front of us on the dock. Most of the time the people in the port are dockers, but there are also a lot of people who come to welcome relatives. They're happy to see a member of the family again, a son or a brother. There are other people who are boarding, others saying goodbye, people crying because a loved one is leaving. In the morning of the third day, we reach Santarém, at the confluence of the Amazon and the Rio Tapajós. This is the halfway point between Belém and Manaus. We get off in Santarém, along with a lot of the other passengers. We've decided to visit the Caboclo communities along the Rio Tapajós before continuing on to Manaus. It's a five or six hour boat trip. Santarém has a population of 250,000. Its economy depends mainly on agriculture, fishing and small industries like this navy yard, where they still build gaiolas in the traditional way. Attention! The Pinta fans are world champions! This Saturday, the Valda encyclopedia promotes the Pinta dance! Most people think of the Amazon as a green hell swarming with insects and criss-crossed with rivers teeming with giant anacondas and flesh-eating piranhas. These old clichés die hard. And yet, just a few kilometers from Santarém, Alter do Chão shows us another facet of the Amazon, a beach, a perfect spot for swimming and relaxing. And during the dry season, when the water level drops, you can find the same thing pretty much all along the Amazon and its tributaries, from Belém to Manaus. Even though Alter do Chão is a beautiful spot, visitors to the Amazon hardly ever stop at Santarém. They usually spend their time in Belém and even more in Manaus, the legendary capital. Certain towns have, however, managed to attract a good number of visitors, like Parintins, with its famous Boi Bumba festival, inspired by the Indian and Amazonian legends. And yet, there are hardly 150,000 Indians left in Brazil, and most of them have been moved on to reservations in the Mato Grosso and Ouroraima. What remains of the Indian culture in the Amazon is now preserved by the Caboclos. Some of these white and Indian mixed breeds live in communities around Santarém, and Radio Rural is one of the ways they have to stay in contact with each other and to stand up for their rights. I'm his father. What's your name? Nenna. I'd like to thank the people of Fete Cibar, I'd like to give my thanks to them. They're very popular people, they like you a lot. And I'd also like to thank all the opportunities we've had. And I'd like to say hello to my community, Castanha Dova, who are definitely coming, my family, my wife, my parents, and my friends. Carariacá Orange Festival will be hosting the Sedução band. And you're coming with us, right? The Orange Festival, there, to show your art. Radio Rural plays an important role because we strive to speak for all of our communities. Our radio concentrates mainly on leisure and educational programming. We give advice on how the inland communities can improve their lives. There are special programs to help them farm better, to improve their local production. There are also programs that teach them how to cook a good meal with local products. The mission of Radio Rural is to educate the communities, to lend them support, and even to defend them. The community of São Miguel is one of the 40 Caboclo villages on the banks of the Arapiuns, a tributary of the Amazon. It's Sunday. A few families left before dawn to attend a religious festival in a neighboring village. Like most Caboclos, the inhabitants of São Miguel are Catholic, and this Sunday, like every Sunday, is the Lord's Day. After his studies in the big city, Antônio Rudian has come back to live among his people. Now he's become village headman, but he still listens carefully to the advice of the elders. This is where we were born. This is where we live. We've learned how to live with nature. And this relationship we have with the river, it's our freedom. We can go out at any time, leave our house open. We're not afraid. I lived in the city for a while, but I really prefer living here. I really wanted to come back, to reconnect with nature, and also to help the community. I've had an education, basically a religious education, and my main motivation to study was the idea that I would someday come back here to help the community. So that's what I did, and continue to do, help the community to the best of my ability. In São Miguel, the men are mainly fishermen, whereas the women bring in some money with their basket weaving. A simple life, the life of the caboclos. This term, caboclo, it wasn't we who invented it. It's the others who call us that. For them, it's a pejorative term. For them, caboclo means a peasant. Or a yoko, who's easy to fool. But there are people for whom the word caboclo has another meaning. For them, caboclo has a positive meaning. For them, it's a humble person who knows how to share what they have, and who has respect for other human beings. The caboclos, guardians of the Indians' lore, also preserve the poetry of the old legend. It's said that these freshwater dolphins are responsible for mysterious pregnancies. The lives of the river people are very closely linked to the river itself. Outsiders look down on us because we believe in the legends. For example, in the legend of the botos, or the one about giant snakes. And yet it's through these legends that our culture stays alive. They are the proof that the traditions are being preserved, traditions that have been handed down from our grandmothers and our great-grandmothers. The teenagers of São Miguel, pushed on by their leader, have decided to take advantage of our boat to go to a soccer tournament that's taking place in a neighboring village. According to them, they're unbeatable. This type of exchange takes place quite often between the villages, not only here in São Miguel, but all over the region as well. It usually happens when there's a religious festival. There are tournaments between the clubs. We arrive, we play, we pay a registration fee, and it's a way of contributing to the festival. And when it's our village's turn to host the festival, all the others come to pay us a visit. Come, come, come. With their black and yellow jerseys borrowed especially for the occasion, the boys from São Miguel live up to their reputation by winning 2 to 1. And we celebrate their victory late into the night with music and beer, as is fitting. A few days later, we're in Manaus, a city of symbols and fantasy, a lavish city born of the extravagant adventure of rubber. Manaus, the mythical capital of the Amazon. Like Belém, Manaus lived its golden age from 1890 to 1910. The worldwide demand for rubber had skyrocketed. The prices soared, and immigrants from the northeast poured in by hundreds of thousands to work on the rubber plantations. In a few years, adventurers, mostly Europeans nicknamed the rubber barons, amassed colossal fortunes. But then, due to the competition from Asia, the price of rubber plummeted, and Manaus was condemned to an inexorable decline. It was only in the 1960s, with the opening of the Amazonian tax-free zone, that Manaus has had something of an economic rebirth. Almost one century after the rubber boom, this city of nearly 1.5 million inhabitants is still the symbol of the Amazonian dream. Even today, Manaus is still the city that symbolizes the Amazonian forest, and it will continue to be so in the 21st century, and in the coming centuries, the 22nd and the 23rd, and will represent the resistance of the Caboclos and the Amazonian Indians. Manaus will always be the rubber capital, the capital of the free zone, and the symbol of biodiversity. Manaus is situated on the Rio Negro. A few kilometers downstream, this river joins the Rio Solimois, and from their marriage, the Amazon is born. This is where the waters meet, but the two rivers take their time before joining. They flow side by side for a number of kilometers before the acidic waters of the Rio Negro from the north mix with the silt-laden waters of the Rio Solimois, flowing down from the Andes. It's the end of the rainy season, and the plains and the forest are still flooded, forming an incredible labyrinth of rivers, lakes and tiny streams. Sailing up the igarapes, the water roads in Indian, we penetrate into the igapos, the flooded forests. This is one of the most typical Amazonian landscapes. With all the meanders, we've covered about 60 kilometers, but we're only about 30 kilometers from Manaus as the crow flies. People get lost all the time. Just a few months ago, a French couple that went into the forest for about 10 days got lost. They were with their guide, who didn't know the region. He wasn't from the Amazon. They got lost, and they only made it out thanks to one of our caboclos, an Amazonian caboclo. Even when I was a kid, I was already working on a pirogue, a bit like the kids we saw a while ago. Then I got more experience working with the old-timers. At first, I would do two or three day trips, and now I sometimes go out with tourists for three to four days, up to 20 days even, and there's no problem. Back to Manaus. The caboclos, who live along the banks of the Amazon and the Rio Negro, come to the market every day to sell medicinal plants, manioc flour and fish. This port is the heart of Manaus. Once the great adventure of rubber was over, the city sank into lethargy and became a sleepy provincial town on the banks of the Rio Negro. In the middle of the 1960s, tempted by the government propaganda campaign, hundreds of thousands of Nordestins flocked into the Amazon basin. Isolated, lacking resources, most of them abandoned the little plots of land that they had wrestled from the Amazonian forest and moved to Manaus, where they swell the favelas on the outskirts of the city, whose population has now grown to 1.2 million. When the Rio Negro is in flood, it can sometimes rise 10 meters. In 1902, English engineers constructed a floating port, which enables the freighters to load their precious balls of rubber whatever the season. This dock, the last structure of its type, is still in use. One century after its installation, it continues to receive container ships from all over the world. Standing opposite the Rio Negro, the Adolfo Lisboa market is another prestigious testimony to the golden age of rubber. The Art Nouveau style pavilion in cast iron was prefabricated in Glasgow in 1882 and still receives products from all over Amazonia. Manaus went through a very interesting period between 1900 and 1905. They started building a totally original complex called Paris Tropical. The complex would welcome cultural activities, theater companies through the intermediary of the English, the French, the Portuguese and even the Spanish. The very latest technological innovations were introduced here. For example, one of the first tramways of Brazil was built here in Manaus. Likewise, Manaus was one of the first Brazilian cities to have urban electricity, a system of running water and main sewers, and they still work today. It's amazing when you walk through the old town that the whole epoch is right there before your eyes. The Manaus Customs House, the port built in 1902, 1903 and the Amazonas Theater, which dates back to 1896. It was built by the Portuguese and it presented shows from all over the world. Opera companies would come from Europe, go straight to Manaus and then they would go back home. Manaus was the nerve center of Brazilian culture. Sao Paulo had its theater, Rio and Belém as well, but here in Manaus there was the added charm of a theater in the middle of the tropical forest. The Amazonas Theater is more than a masterpiece. It's the epitome of extravagance. Crystal from France, marble from Italy, stone from Portugal, ironwork from England. Nothing was too beautiful to render homage to the god rubber. And Raimundo never thought that one day he would be holding the keys. When I was young I had a lot of different jobs. I was apprentice shoemaker, milkman. I brought the milk from out in Cachoeirinha to the center of town. Then I was a mason, and so I worked on redoing the facade of the theater. I worked on the marble. I was taken on by the theater for a 90-day trial period and now it's been 28 years that I've been working here. When I was a kid I had a friend I played soccer with. His name was Biramar. He played on a team, a team that belonged to Jorge, who worked here in the theater. Sometimes my friend would go inside. I'd have to wait outside. I'd have loved to have gone in, but I wasn't allowed. So later, when I came to work in the theater, it was like a dream. I just stared everywhere. Yes, I looked and looked. When I have a bit of free time, but here at the opera there's not much free time, we do work hard, but when I do have a moment, I try to watch the shows now and then to have something to talk about. But what I like most of all is the finale. The normal retirement age here is 60. I'm 67 and I don't want to retire. But if someday they don't want me around anymore, then I'll retire. The favelas that are spreading in certain parts of the city are mainly populated by the unlucky refugees from the Project Amazonas and Nordestin immigrants. But they're not the only ones. Small communities of Indians, cut off from their land, struggle to survive in this hell and are making a pitiful last-ditch effort to preserve the scraps of their ancestors' culture. This is what Valentin Batista is trying to do. He's the chief of a group of Sateri Indians from the Rio Tapajós. We're from Sateré. I came here to find a better life for my family. My children wanted to go to school, to have a respectable life like the white people. That's why I came. Others came for health reasons. But then they became dependent on the doctors and their medicine, so they couldn't go back. When I saw how hard my life was, how hard my parents' life was, I came up with an idea. A lot of our children were born here, so they don't know our culture. So I said we should make an effort to transmit the basics of our culture. So that's how, today, we all work and live just from the crafts of our culture. We are deeply aware that we are Indians and will always be Indians. Even if we're victims of discrimination, we'll always be Indians. The youth of Manaus is not about to waste time crying over the fate of the Indians or their own. They could care even less about the city's glorious past. The only thing they care about is the pleasure of the moment. And at the moment, that means the pagode, a samba that comes down from the favelas every weekend and invades the more fashionable districts. While the present pulsates in the streets to the rhythm of the percussion and the cavaquinhos, the applause of the audience once again brings the Amazonas Theater back to life. Recalling the golden age when the Amazonas Theater would ring with the greatest voices of opera, the vibrations of the symphony orchestra takes wing once again to blend in with the chant of the Amazonian wild. © transcript Emily Beynon