From My Notebooks In 1974: Riding south from Rio to Ouro Prêto

Friday, August 30th

My last night in Rio. Lulu, Holly, Esmeralda and Tito, and Gill Anthony gathered at “Amigo Fritz” to say goodbye. Shrimps and corn. Old sayings. Antonio came too. This morning left Rio at 7.30 (saying goodbye to Jandira for second time).

With Antonio – his clutch cable had broken, my front brake was still soft. We made a sorry pair in the Rio traffic. Saw Copacabana, Flamengo, for the last time. Then up the mountain to Petropolis where he said goodbye. We’d had breakfast and I took pictures on his Pentax. Was tempted to call on Lulu again in Petropolis but didn’t. Climb to Petropolis made engine oil smoke, didn’t realise I was pushing it so hard. 3,500 feet going up non-stop.

A roadside shrine

Determined to sleep out in hammock, and from 4pm looked for suitable place. Eventually found rising ground beside road to take bike off the road. Fell over once. Camouflaged bike with branches, and slung ‘rede’ [Portuguese for hammock – pronounced like ‘hedge’] between two trees at top of clearing by cow fence. Cooked tea, farofa and bananas. Heard crunching sound behind me, like distant cart crossing gravel. Looked round and saw great blaze of crackling grass and brushwood. Thought it would engulf me too but much relieved to see it was on the other side of the road, with wind blowing away. Took great care with my cigarette ends. Night was successful on the whole though traffic was noisy and got chilly in the morning. Trouble is still that the darkness lasts too long. Need either light or company.

[I wanted to explore inland before going south, and headed for Congonhas, a famous church.]

Saturday, 31st

Got up at six. Dawn was a lovely rosy spectacle. Little blue hummingbirds came by – and stopped a while. Called “kiss birds” in Portuguese. Enchanting and apparently unafraid. Rode on to Congonhas – lovely church, painted wood, like circus or fairground. Very joyful – birds chirping and flying under the ceiling. The 12 Apostles are quite striking and much more lively than most such sculpture. The stand around in an almost naturally haphazard manner (and remind me a little of Greek – Roman – Cyrene). Bought a stone egg, a soapstone carving and five coffee spoons with stones in handles.

On to Ouro Prêto. Bigger place. Found some students of geology, or mining, and they let me stay the night. In evening the square is lovely. Met two characters in front of top church where paintings and quick jewelry are sold. Also boy who does prints of town, which he also sells in Rio and Bahia as well as here. Says it’s a living. Other character with a bit of Paul Winstanley about his face and, I imagine, something about his circumstances told me stories about the town. The two churches with the same name. One for the whites, one for the Africans. And how the saves were freed by a slave who first bought his own freedom, then made a lot of money and came back to buy freedom for the others. They in turn repeated the process so that many were freed. They built a fortress to protect themselves of which the walls remain, complete with defensive apertures. Other character made jewelry and spoke dreamily. Another squatted and carved flutes from bamboo.

Saw a squad of DOPS [drugs] police arrive on Harley Davidsons. Geological museum has solemnly draped coffin containing the cinders of a Brasilian geologist (Goreix?) who died in France in 1919 and was exhumed in 1970 and sent back to Minas. There are xeroxed copies of the order to exhume and a sort of waybill to transport the remains to Brazil. The Brazilian and French flags droop behind the coffin, very theatrical and not unfunny.

September 1st

From Ouro Prèto to Tiradentes. San Jâo del Rei. Had my boots shined after 51km dirt road. Saw other little humming birds, this time black and white. Passed men on horses with wide-brimmed hats, Spanish style. Determined to sleep out again. Found a small dirt road and followed it. African talked to me and suggested the station where a quiet telegraphist, all alone, let me sling the hammock over the station platform. After rice and sardines, made tea. Slept very well. Hot milk in the morning. Quiet on the station bench at night. Then went back to “posto” on main road to drink some beer and fetch fresh water. Long walk through empty land under moonlight. Train came through at 3am but hardly disturbed. Occurred to me, on dirt road, to call my novel “A Private Staton.” I had no idea, of course, that I would sleep that night in a private station. [Chronology is hard to follow now.]

Have spent very little money but bought 33 cruzeiros of souvenirs in Congonhas.

[Money was an important factor. I had always intended to travel in poverty, believing that would be the best way to understand the world around me. There was always tension between me and the Sunday Times because, being what they were, they usually chose the most expensive way of supporting me (tyres, parts, funds, communications) and then complained about the cost.]

September 2nd

A colder day. Got to Sâo Paula at 3.30. Found José do P. without too much difficulty at 4.45. [I was planning to meet with my Egyptian friend, Amin Simaika, and his brother so that I could hand over the sword I had been carrying from Cairo.] The brothers drove up at 5. Extraordinary, really, to see Amin, looking the same, with pop eyes, burnished face, little moustache over the lip. Brother very hospitable, with loving Brazilian wife. No sooner settled than phone call from Rio. Lulu rang about telegram. Valerie Walker would bring it, together with other things I stupidly left behind. Everything sorted itself out too well. We talked endlessly about what the brothers would do in Brazil, about making money to escape from Sâo Paulo to a country place. Aziz works at three jobs a day – used to work five. Is a radiologist. Wife is Marilda. Have two apartments.

[As well as the sword, he also entrusted me with $2000 cash to take out of Egypt for him.]

Amin sent $35,000 by strangers like myself, in similar amounts, and lost only one amount of $200 sent with a man he had known for 20 years. Still very nervous, agitated. Noticed for first time that he expresses himself physically in very Egyptian poses, body bent slightly forward, arms gesticulating, but in frozen frames and with something of the quality of figures on a frieze. Looks always run down, but when I challenged him to run up hill his legs pumped him up much faster than I could go, and there is much power in that tortured frame.

Aziz described humorously his search for a wife. Recommendations. Even a marriage bureau.

Tank bags, type 2, made in Nairobi. The final version was built by Sr. Quiroz in Argentina

That’s all for now. I’m off to London this weekend for a fancy do at the Royal Automobile Club., and then to a gathering of the faithful at Gieboldehausen so I might have to miss a week. But I will be back.