From My Notebooks In 1974: Brazil to Argentina

September 10th, Paraná

The deep rich soil of the State of Paraná

Travelled from Curitiba 350 km app. Find dirt path off road leading down to reaped maize field and clearing above stream with shed and slimsy wooden shelter of branches and veneer over heap of corn husks. Put my ‘rede’ [hammock] across two posts, tying it to crosspiece. Got out tin of feijoada [Black bean stew] and coffee. Went for short walk and came back just before dusk to light a fire, feeding it carefully since half the countryside seems to be burning and I don’t want to give the corn husks a chance. The stars are very bright and there’s one – Venus? – that’s bigger than I’ve ever seen it. Find myself thinking about Jo, recalling moments of our life together with sweet and painful clarity. I am always expecting a letter to tell me she’s given me up. A tremendous shooting star strikes across my head. Not falling away as usual but travelling towards me with a big trail and actually bursting above me – can see the fragments. What luck that must bring! Unless it’s a satellite, with people frying inside.

Hope my hammock doesn’t bring the house down over my head. Funny thought – could hardly have serious consequences. Unless freak accident. Instantly I see myself in dark struggling with my eye gouged out by a broken stick, screaming for help, staggering up to road, blood streaming through my fingers, to be run over by a lorry. I amaze myself, even, by the gruesomeness of the scene. I realise that my imagination always anticipates the worst and runs through the horrible consequences with practiced relish. I’m afraid to imagine beautiful sequences for fear of disappointment? Is this everybody?

The flimsy structure held up my hammock and survived the night

Night is a series of problems. At first warm above, cold below. Eventually put Lilo under me as insulator and it works. But temperature keeps dropping. At 3 am feet are frozen (despite thick socks) and I have to get up to fetch long pants and long sleeves. But even these don’t get me quite warm again. There’s a freezing mist. Lorries keep going all night. How great it would be to get away from those grinding diesel engines. Noise carries so far and lights sweep for miles.

Morning watch birds through strings of hammock as they fly down to peck at the earth. Oh, the mice in the corn husks are busy at night too, and once a bird flew down to attack them. Its black silhouette rushed past my face but I couldn’t see if it had struck successfully.

There’s a small bird of deep dusty red with crimson cap – a very plump biggish bird with a fine pointed beak – hops along like a big red India-rubber ball. Then there are the two wood-peckers sitting on a stump and looking at me, perhaps nine inches to a foot long, yellow head with markings, yellow breast, mottled plumage, looks grey from a distance. They work on a tree over my head. Flocks of blue birds and green birds flap about, and smaller yellow birds swoop down from the ‘blob’ tree. Can’t get near birds with the camera. Despite trucks it’s so peaceful and interesting. The colours and shapes of things feel hospitable. Sun breaks up mist by 8am and by 9am it’s hot.

200 miles to Iguaçu. One stop at a fruit stand. Group of road workers (DNER) talk to me. “Every day is Sunday for you:” Tell me of nice site with good water at Km 12 “out of Iguaçu” and Supermercado Moringa where Japanese will sell me pesos. Go there. No pesos. Buy meat and butter and condensed milk. Go to site and make dinner. Water is good, as promised, but people have used fountain as a latrine. Want to sleep there but decide against it. Too near road, and prospect of 12 hours darkness drives me to motel. Not bad at 30 crz but not enough bedding. Paraguayan boy speaks a very clear English. Says he learned it for three months.

September 11th

To Iguaçu Falls. Spectacular. Breathtaking. Leaves me in a strangely depressed mood. Was there only an hour taking pictures – composites – thinking “all this way to spend an hour.” But that’s all it takes. After that the impact lessens.

After the turbulence of the falls the river crossing was unbelievably peaceful and calm

Should have gone on to the Argentinian side but couldn’t bring myself to do it. Why? Because it’s not what I need. Instead ride south over dirt road into Missiones.

Missiones is a state of Argentina. That afternoon I found myself in Germany. You’ll find out all about it next week.