Manaus day 1: Into Amazonia

Arriving at night, it was hard to appreciate the context of Manaus, Brazil. We saw the stadium from the recent World Cup en route to the hotel, but otherwise it looked like many other cities. You’d never know we were surrounded by the Amazon rainforest for hundreds of miles, or that most people and goods must arrive here by plane or boat. Thankfully, we arrived a few days early to get that perspective.

The guide picked us up at the hotel the next morning and we drove through the city to the river, crossing it on a fairly new, expansive bridge. What I didn’t realize is that this was one of the narrow parts of an Amazon River tributary. Seeing the new road we were driving on being widened gave me an appreciation for the enormous task of clearing jungle for this infrastructure. We passed some small villages, and after a while pulled over after crossing a “normal” river and drove down to its banks. Here we were met by a small boat to take us and our gear to our lodge in a real-life jungle cruise. It was a cozy fit for the seven of us and our luggage, and like most aluminum fishing boats without keels, it didn’t feel that stable getting in or out.

On our way

As we motored along the river, we saw a few wooden huts way up on the hillside and a plastic bag clinging to branches overhead. What I’d later learn is that we were there during the dry season when the river is at its lowest; the rains combined with snowmelt from the Andes would raise that river nearly 30 feet! It was too loud for a conversation over the boat’s motor, but the guide and captain were able to point out a few gorgeous birds and we even saw some iguanas along the riverbank. After a while, we reached the end of this river where it joined the Rio Negro, a river so massive I think it deserves a different name—maybe “uber-river.” It was so wide that in parts we couldn’t see the other side; any land that we could see across the water was an island in the river. The name translates to black river, and sure enough the water had the dark tint of root beer—no suspended sediments, just lots of tannin. We turned up the next tributary and eventually made it to our lodge. It was a bit of a hike up the dirt bank but I’m told it is right by the water in the rainy season.

 

The lodge had palm-thatched huts connected by a raised boardwalk, and a main dining hall where we enjoyed some local fish and rice for lunch. We relaxed through the hottest part of the day in hammocks on the shaded porch overlooking the river, admiring the occasional bird and even some pink dolphins swimming by in the distance.  

the main lodge

Our hut at the end of the boardwalk

Dolphins!

That afternoon, we took the boat to visit a local community that had lived there for a few generations to see how they lived and worked. One of the main businesses was making and repairing wooden boats, from a small fishing boat a teenager was buying as his first boat, to a two-tiered passenger transport vessel in for repairs. They had their own school, church, and even a rough soccer field on the largest flat bit of land where the local women were playing. This was especially impressive to watch, given the heat and that some were barefoot. It was also interesting to see their handicrafts shop where they turned jungle plants into jewelry and purses.

tapping a tree for rubber

villager demonstrating how they build canoes

dinner back at the lodge

While it was cool to feel like we were in the middle of nowhere, I was grateful they had electricity to power small oscillating fans in our rooms. As it was, the heat was nearly unbearable until the coolest part of the night, just before dawn. I was also grateful the gap under the door to our room was too small for visitors after discovering a frog in a shower near the dining room.