Thus, from Panama city I would take a mini-bus to Yaviza, a small town in the southern part of this country, say, a town that actually marks the end of the Pan-American Highway, yeah, a highway virtually running from North America (they say) until here, then continuing (after the Darien jungle), on the east side of the Urabá Golf, after a city called Turbo (Colombia). And so, what we have here, after this village, is actually the end of the road, the so called Darién Gap, say, a remote road-less rain-forest stretching across southern parts of Panama until the Chocó department of Colombia, say, an area that acts as a natural barrier between Central and South America. And so, advised by locals, I would not go to walk in the middle of this forest, in fact, I would continue by boat, yeah, this is, firstly I would jump onto a private launch that should take me along the Chucunaque river until the mouth of the Tuira on the vicinity of the Real de Santa Maria village, where I would get on a Piragua, say, a hand-carved wooden dugout canoe traditionally used by the indigenous to travel across this sort of jungles, but, in this case, being conducted by a couple mestizos, that, accordingly, as we depart, would actually advise to put some extra clothes, to cover all my body because of the mosquito bites that may pass malaria or induce the dengue fever, they say, and so, then, already on the go, floating across some water lilies actually they call “lechugas de agua”, I would see my colleagues on board attaching this sort of visors in the front of their faces, a thing that is also being given to me in the meanwhile... this is, “put this now,” my mentor says, “and do not remove it please, coz, remember, this is very important… muy importante, si… porque… this will actually protect us from the spit of poisonous frogs we will encounter ahead...” this middle aged man with a hollow face actually wearing some sort of oilcloth suit, informs. And so, there we go, winding through this dense green forests, upstream, I get to understand... and while I talk about my travel since the United States until here, and they talk about their life here in the Darie jungle, the greens are becoming yellow and then the yellows are becoming brown, this is, in the meanwhile we are actually reaching an area occupied by large swamps, and so, as I keep looking around, at some point I spot, over there, maundering across these muddy banks, a bunch of animals that look like pigs, but actually, as we get closer and closer to them, I already can see that their snout is actually curved down, more like a half trunk, what makes me remember the African ant-eater… and so, “this is the dantas”, my captain says, “a silent animal that appears and disappears without leaving a trace… they are excellent swimmers and often flee into deep murky waters to escape land predators like jaguars…. I mean, they can actually fully submerge themselves for several minutes, using their flexible, trunk-like snouts as built-in snorkels to breathe safely beneath the surface… plus, the Guna people that are inhabitants of this forests, worship them… I mean, they consider its appearing to be a good omen…”, one of the mullatos says. And so, after a brief talk about the Guna people and other native ethnics from the Darie Jungle, like the Emberá and the Wounaan, soon we would eventually “cross paths” with other vessels coming in the opposite direction, this is, vessels actually cramped with some sort of dark skin individuals that I can easily identify as not being local Indians… and so, as they go by, our captain even wave to them, and some of them also wave back to us, and then, our catain would explain like this… “well, I may inform you that these are actually illegal migrants coming from Brazil... I mean, they are not exactly Brazilians, they are actually Africans that first fly from Africa to Brazil, as we know, and then, after crossing all the Amazonian forest, then reach here… intending to continue even further, until the border with the United States...” and so, as my colleague keeps talking about the possible trajectories made by this illegal people and the Migrant Reception Stations that actually give them bus tickets that permit them to travel across the country toward Costa Rica… I would sleep and accordingly, dream with leopard eyes actually prowling on the margins of this same river… this is, on the next morning, we would actually dismount this sort of canoe, pack our staff, and follow along some sort of muddy paths following in the middle of a very humid forest filled with haze, actually going across some mountains they actually call Cerro Tacarcun, the mosquitoes producing a deafening drone that would turn us into zombies, even so, in a couple of hours we would manage to reach the vicinity of the Urabá Golf, where we would find some villages with houses raised on stilts, and around these houses, a mix of local indigenous people and the so said African migrants I talked before. Therefore, after resting one night with them, we would get into some sort of vessel that would take us across the Urabá Golf until the Turbo city where I would get in a bus due to Medelín, and then another one to Bogotá. And so, after visiting the Monserrate Sanctuary, aka, la Basílica del Señor caído de Monserrate, I would leave the city again by bus, continuing eastwards, in the direction of the Tuparro National Park, and so, accordingly, after I get to Puerto Carreño, a small vilagge already on the border with Venezuela, actually a village situated in the place where the river Meta and the river Orinoco get together, and so already on the other side of the border, I would follow along the Troncal route, going south until Isla Raton, where the route would end, once more. And so, once again, I would jump into some kind of local vessel that would take along the course of the Orinoco river, going south until the Brazilian border, and then, already inside the Amazonian forest, a forest dominated by towering trees and high canopies that often keep the deep interior understory more open… I would continue along the stream of the Rio Negro, passing villages like Missão Boa Vista, São Joaquim, Bonfim, Juari, Barcelos, Carvoeiro, Taucapeçaçu, and then Manaus, the Capital of Amazonia. that I would visit, walk along plazas with traditional Portuguese cobblestone patterns, and here on, from the negro river, we would flow along the Amazon river properly saying. This is, once in Manaus I would disembark at the Balsa Azul harbor, where I would see a constant influx of double and triple-decked regional wooden boats loading passengers and food supplies like, big sacks of grains, exotic fruits, fish and meat… and so, in the meanwhile, following some of those porters, I would reach the Adolpho Lisboa Municipal Market, where I would get into conversations about the colonial past of this country, this is, they actually tell me that this city was actually founded by the Portuguese in seventeenth century as the Fort of São José do Rio Negro, then elevated to town two centuries after with the name of "Manaus", an altered spelling of the indigenous Manaós peoples, I get to know. And plus, this man, actually a fish sellers here in the market keep explaining, “Amazonia was the only place in the world where you could find this tree, the seringueira, also known as rubber tree or rubber plant, a flowering plant belonging to the spurge family, and the most economically important member of the genus Hevea, because the milky latex extracted from it… this is, the nineteenth century, Manaus would become the major rubber producing center in the world, and so, during that they, it was like this… one rubber baron would buy a vast yacht, and another would install a tame lion in his villa, and a third one would water his horse on champagne… the city built a grand opera house, with vast domes and gilded balconies, and using marble, glass, and crystal, from around Europe... in one season, half the members of one visiting opera troupe died of yellow fever, and so, this opera house, then called Teatro Amazonas, was effectively closed for most of the twentieth century, however, after a gap of almost ninety years, it reopened… you can visit it, it’s only a couple of blocks away from here, located on the Ten of July street... and eventually, as he keeps talking about the Brazil imperial history, there I go, along Rocha dos Santos street, a street that is home to several clothing stores, all packed inside, stores seemingly focused on resale, and then, at the end of this street I would do right and left and now I go along the Floriano Peixoto avenue, being this name a remembering of an army marshal that fought in the Paraguay war, “elected vice president by the end of the nineteenth century, he rose to the presidency after the resignation of generalissimo Deodoro da Fonseca, the first president of Brazil…” someone tells me as I hit the cross with the seven of September avenue, an avenue that accordingly commemorates Brazil's Independence Day that as it seems, happened on the seventh of September of eight hundred twenty two, tells me the shopkeeper of one of those all-in-one retailers selling a wide variety of home electronics, small appliances, cosmetics, and groceries under one roof… and continuing, further ahead I would quickly reach the ten of July street, I would do left, walk for some five minutes more, and then, on my left, I would finally meet this pinkish palatial building, the so mentioned opera house, the ex libris of the city, a building actually surrounded by some peddlers and streets sellers of indigenous appearance, some selling caju and peanuts, others trying to pass their herbs and roots from the amazonian forest, like this bearded man, now proclaiming, “Exchelchior Elixirs, Exchelchior Elixôr” while actually shaking his hand kit of maracas, rattles and bells… and then, after several turn around the city center, wandering through this single-storey buildings with palatial verandas on the front, then, I would eventually see myself following along a very long avenue actually named Av. Constantino Nery, this is, at some point, after passing the Bilhares park, and the stadium Arena da Amazônia, I wound see myself entering the Terminal Rodoviário de Manaus, this is, the Manaus bus station, where I would beg people to buy me a ticket, and so, “a ticket to where”, people would demand, and I, well, “anywhere east, anywhere in the direction of the Atlantic sea!” I would say, and so, accordingly, some smiley lady wearing some sort of flared dress, would actually pay me a ticket to São Salvador da Bahia, “original name, the great savior of all saints’ bay” she would say, and so, I would even kiss her as she presented me this offer. And thus, after a two days half trip, passing along the enormous states of Rondônia, Mato Grosso and Gôais, I would finally reach the capital city of the Bahia state, São Salvador, this is, a city with the largest number of African descendants in the world, they tell me, still inside that bus… And accordingly, as I arrived in the Aguás Claras bus station, I would walk through the city advancing in the direction of the city center, passing neighborhoods like Pirajá, Campinas, Calabetão, Bom Juá, Barbalho, Pelourinho, Barroquinha, Graça, and then I would reach the Barra beach, a beach on the southernest part of the city, just on the side of an old light house, The Barra Lighthouse, that, I got to know, was the first nautical signaling system to become operational in the Americas, plus, “it used to be fueled by whale oil…” this old man actually wearing some sort of waistcoat over his naked trunk, actually says. This is, after some days going around the so mentioned All-Saits bay, talking to some quirky characters on the was, masculine and feminine ones, I would come back to the road… this is, as I was leaving the city, going through the Nazare neighborhood, I would first get a ride with this guy from Minas, a guy that came to visit his family here, he says, and so, as mote for conversation, here he goes, already asking me “what kind of Brazilian things are actually famous outside Brazil?”, and well, straightway, “the hips of Brazilian women, for sure, plus, the Carnival and the Brazilian heavy metal band Sepultura”, I would say, and by its turn, he actually would remark that he also was a big fan of of this band, but “just until the album Roots, then, they exchanged the vocalist, this American guy came to be the front-man of the band and, I didn't like him, I didn’t like and I still don’t like… for me, he looks more a pugilist than a musician…” he says. And so, in the meanwhile, I also tell him that “I’m in fact a big fan of the album Roots as well...” plus, I avow that I very much appreciate this crossover of heavy-metal sound with the Brazilian rhythms that are evident in some tracks of the “roots” album, and then I remember “What about this tribe that participated in one of the tracks from the album… are they from Amazonia? If yes, it's possible that I have just crossed paths with them, coz I’m just coming from there…”; “Oh, no, no, they are not from Amazonia, the Xavante tribe are actually from east Brazil, from Mato Grosso, the interior… not only the Amazonia has Indian blood…” he says. And then he explains to me that the expression “Mato Grosso” actually means “thick bushes” and we exchange smiles about that. And, as it goes, we then speak about other bands that cross heavy metal with folk music, the folk-metal genre. He refers “Mago de Oz”, a Spanish band with some sort of Celtic influences, and other northern European bands that mix viking music with heavy metal, and I say that “I’m not a big fan of Celtic or viking music but… I used to listen to the American death metal band Nile, a band with an Egyptian imaginary, mainly in the lyrics…” And then we start to speak about soap operas, another thing that Brazil exports to the world, I say that last time I was in Turkey they were watching a Brazilian soap opera in the prime-time, and he says that “here is also happening the same… we are importing a lot of Turkish soap operas in the recent times, they are getting popular here… it looks like the Turkish are so or more dramatic as us, that's why this is phenomenon is happening… I guess”, and I ask him if he is following any of these soap-operas and he says. “Yes, I watched a bit of Kurt Seyit ve Shura, just to understand about it… it’s about the adventures of two people in love who are forced to leave their lives and family behind and escape, more precisely, it’s about the journey of Kurt, a handsome lieutenant from Crimea, and Shura, the beautiful daughter of a noble Russian family, and it shows the days of magnificence in Petrograd-Russia, and then the occupied Istanbul, during the war time, it's a very dramatic thing” he says and then, “but, have you been to Turkey?” he asks, and “Yes!” I say, “a couple of times… I wanted to go to the middle-east, to see the Arab countries, but it happened that I got stuck in Turkey, and, just then I understood that Turkey is not an Arab country at all, rather the opposite, nowadays the young Turks hate Arabs” I say. And “beside Turkey, where have you been more?” he asks. “Well, I have been to a lot of countries…” I say, “But where?” he insists. “Well, I have been to almost all European countries, minus the Nordics… I have been to Syria before the war, Egypt, Iran, India, Indonesia and also some countries in Africa…”; “and South America, only Brazil?”; “No, as I was telling you, before Amazon I have been to Colombia, Panama and other Central American countries…” And so, then we start a conversation about the Central American countries and Mexico and the United States… and as it goes, when we actually get close to the state of Minas Gerais, the man arrived at his destination and I just got another ride, this time with a middle aged guy, wearing a tie, his face more swarthy than the previous one. We started to talk about international politics, and then, just to contradict, I said “So, Lula is in power again!”; “Yes, indeed!”; “Directly from the jail to the power… hum”; “Yes, this is Brazil… but, by the way, do you know what the word Lula means?” he asks. “No idea… isn't it just a name?”; “No, it's not just a name”, he says, “Lula actually means squid, yes that tubular thing from under the seas, ahah”. “Oh, is it!?”; “yes, but his real name is Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva” he says, and then, just like that, he actually begins to explain me his biography… and, I let him talk…“So…” he starts, “Lula began his career as a metalworker when he was still a teenager, and later he would become a trade unionist… then, during the military dictatorship in Brazil, he led major workers' strikes, and helped start the Workers' Party during the eighties… his first presidency was marked by the consolidation of social welfare programs such as Bolsa Família and Fome Zero, which propelled Brazil to leave the United Nations' Hunger Map… so, during his two terms in office, he undertook radical reforms in the country, which eventually led to growth in GDP, reduction in public debt and inflation, and helping twenty million Brazilians escape poverty… I mean, poverty, inequality, illiteracy, unemployment, infant mortality, and child labor rates fell significantly, while the minimum wage and average income increased, and access to school, university, and health care was expanded… he also played a prominent role in foreign policy, both on a regional level and as part of global trade and environmental negotiations... so Lula is considered one of the most popular politicians in the history of Brazil, but, despite its popularity, his first term was marked by notable scandals, such as the Mensalão scandal and the Sanguessugas scandal, also known as the “Mafia das Ambulancias!”; “oh, Ambulances Mafia, funny, what was that about?” I ask. “That was, actually, a corruption scandal based on the discovery of a gang, were Lula was involved, whose objective was to divert public money intended for the purchase of ambulances...”; “ahah, funny” I say, “What about his last imprisonment and subsequent release!?”; “That is a big story, but to cut it short, it was more and less like this… Lula was convicted on charges of money laundering and corruption in a controversial trial that was later nullified by the Supreme Court Justices, due to the court lacking proper jurisdiction over the case… and, before the annulment of his cases, Lula was actually sentenced to nine and a half years in prison, and after an unsuccessful appeal, was arrested and spent almost two years detained... until that, the Supreme Court ruled that the federal judge presiding over the case, Sergio Moro, who served as Minister of Justice and Public Security in the presidency of Jair Bolsonaro, was biased, and all of the cases Moro had brought against Lula were actually annulled… then, following the court ruling, Lula was legally allowed to make another run for president, defeating Bolsonaro in the runoff and would became the first Brazilian president to have been elected to a third term, and the first to have defeated an incumbent president in an election…”; “oh, but, I can’t still understand what he was accused of!”; “it’s difficult to explain… say, it all started with an accusation referring to the concealment of ownership of a triplex penthouse in Guarujá, on the coast of São Paulo, received as a bribe in exchange for favors at Petrobras, the main petroleum industry in this country… and then a series of minor cases linked to passive corruption and money laundering would follow… cases without conclusive evidence, that later, would be taken to international court… more precisely to the United Nations Human Rights Committee, that would consider his arrest illegal… and then, a long ideological struggle would ensue between the international court and the national government until his release…”; and, as he actually finish to say those things, some silence would follow… until my intervention, “What about Dilma Rousseff?”; “I don't like her…” he would say, and then, I would actually be damped somewhere in the suburb of a small town in the middle of Espirito Santo state… and so, now, as I walk along some secondary road with a few warehouses and small patches of forests I'm actually listening some kind of bird singing, some kind of owl or, probably the so-called night-jar, sometimes also called goat-sucker, due to an ancient folk tale saying that this kind of birds used to suck the milk from goats during the night and so, that was a warning… a warning for something that would happen with me later that night… thus, as I walk, some car would actually stop in the middle of the nowhere, a car with a few guys inside... this is, thinking that I was a gringo, say, American, they would give me a ride and try to steal on the way, but, I had nothing valuable to steal, so, they would actually take me to the beach and... try to suck me, to rape me, but... they were actually ineffective in their efforts… this is, I managed to escape, I would run along the beach, and, eventually, on the going, I would somehow reach some kind of yamanja ceremony, and well, I participated on it and then I would run away from it… this is, when I came back to the road it was already morning … and so, this time l wouldn't go with anyone, coz, now, I wanted to choose the driver that would take me, and not be chosen, thus, I would hide myself in the middle of the bushes in a roundabout, and there I would wait during some time... until that… meandering in the middle of the road, a brand new Jeep would finally approach, this is, as it comes, popish-electronic-dance-music is actually blasting from the insides, and well, on the approach, I can already understand something like “U kiéééé kié… essê amor dá-á-água… deve sentir muit… o queém ki ééééé… esse amor dá-águá... deve sentir muit… underwater love... underwater love…”, this is, actually a song from Smoke City, I mean, a trip hop band I actually know from places, I mean, a band actually mixing electronic music with homey styles such as samba and bossa nova, and so, as the car turns around the roundabout, it would continue like “O qui-é qui ééééé… esse amor dá-águá… deve sentir muit-uh… aiiii... O qui-é qui ééééé… underwater love… so deep... aiiiiii… underwater love… aiiiiii… so deep… esse amor con muitá paixau!!… aiiiiii” and, at some point, from the back of the bushes I would finally get out, this is, here I go, at this point already appearing in the middle of the road with my arms turned up, and, well, as the car brakes, inside, eventually I would see two young females with freaky hair wobbling in the air and bulgy eyes now getting lost, this is, as the car stops, almost on the ditch, straight away the back door opens, as if automatically, and, on my I approach I'm actually receiving grumpy bidding to get in. And so, after a couple of “sorryies”, once inside, the girls are actually unleashing their anger on me, and then, as the music comes back, here we go, already hitting the road again, this is, after a few questions, a few suppositions, the driver, this is, the one with red hair and a slender face, just says “never-mind it OK, we are also fugitives like you OK, I mean, we just stole this car from my parents, and… ker dizer, we are actually on the going to the big city...” she says, while the other on the side also says something, I mean, actually something in Portuguese language that I can't really understand, and so, as the sound from the stereo comes back, here they go, making their head and shoulders shake, this is, now, we are actually listening to some jungle, some drum n’ bass music… this is, British styles of music... and so, in the meanwhile, the other girl, I mean, the one with bluish hair and a more chubby face, is already asking me, now in some kind of broken English, “But... if you no Brazil, ueare you, and, uere you go?”; “well, from uhere I'm from... I'm not sure” I say, “but, my name is Shima, they say, and actually, I just came from Amazonia, this is, I was there living with the natives and stuff…”; “oh, you really mean it?” the driver kinda asks, “yes, I mean it!”; “Don't you tell me that you, also got tired of that kind of monkey life and, you are also on the move to the city!?”; “Yes, I'm telling you that, it's actually something like that, yes…'' I say, and so, both of the girls softly laugh on this one and then... the driver speaks again, “My name is actually Mila and I don't like boys Ok, but, it looks that my inner-self is actually accepting you…” she says. And then, the other one, say, the one with blueish hair, also advances like this “My name is actually Daphne, and, but, I have nothing to do with Greek mythology OK!”; “Okkkkkkkkk!” I just say and then, “but, are you sisters?” I manage to ask. “Yes, Criminal sisters” the driver actually says while turning up the music volume again. And so now, I even have to grab myself on the back o the front seat coz Mila's driving style is turning uooouuuh. And so, at this point, Daphne begins to speak louder, again in portuguese, and then, it's Mila's time, again, probably making the translation “But, what's this story about Amazonia, where have you been before that?”; “Oh, I'm not sure, my memory is actually fucked up, something is missing… that's why I'm on the road, I mean, I do not know who I'm and from where I'm actually from! I mean, I have been to countries I no longer remember, but, I still can recall that, the time I spent in Amazonia was actually wonderful, thinking about that now, it looks like that was ages ago, but, in truth, it was just some days ago, I guess… “What?” says Daphne, and then, “so, just tell us where have you have been in Amazonia?” Mila asks. And I, well “I remember names like Porto Alegre, Bom Futuro, Nova Vista, Aqui Perto, São Lázaro, Santarém, Leitoso, Marabá, and obviously, São Salvador da Bahia de Todos os Santos” I say, and they, I mean, they even clap hands as they listen to this, and then, Daphne even pass me some kind of rolled up joint, and so, I take some deep puffs on it, some deep puffs that make me stick against the back of the seat, and so, in the meanwhile, they even tell me that they want to know nothing more about my persona, and then, the music volume is turned up again, and, actually, the selection goes from goa-trance to dubstep, and then, from dubstep to afrobeat, and then, from afrobeat to tekno-punk, and then, from tekno-punk to acid-house, and then, from acid-house to lowfi-electro-ethno-something or whatever... and, further, as we relax ourselves, "Aren’t you tired of traveling?” Mila just asks, and, “no, never!” I say, and then “mentirozo” Daphne just says , this is, as we leave the main road we take another smaller roads by the coast, and on the going we actually pass small towns like Quissamã, Macaé, Rio das Ostras, Cabo Frio, Marica and so, at the end of the afternoon we actually arrive at Guanabara bay, just on the other side of Rio de Janeiro, and, accordingly, while crossing the Niteroi-Rio bridge, a bridge with almost ten kilometers, down there on our right hand, I actually see a big island, this is, as it goes, they tell me that that is the “Ilha do Governador” or “Governor's Island”, and “it is on this island that lays a famous house of correction, to where the social actually send the worst vagabonds in the country…” says the voice of the experienced… and then, “around there, there are huge fleas and ticks everywhere, I mean, at the houses, in the supermarkets, on the beach… it’s disgusting… you should never go there…” she voice of experience finishes to say. And so, then, as we reach the end of the bridge, we actually pass a decrepit portuary zone, they call Caju, then it's the São Cristóvão neighborhood, a neighborhood with numerous early colonial-period buildings, and then Maracanã, “a middle-class neighborhood where is Maracanã stadium”, one of them also says, this is, “a stadium used for major football matches between the main Rio’s football clubs, like Flamengo, Fluminense, Botafogo, and Vasco da Gama...” and then, we reach Tijuca, “one of the most traditional districts of Rio de Janeiro…” Daphne says, and then Mila clarifies “Tijuca is a name from the Tupi (Brazilian Indians) language and means "rotten water", this is, “ty” means “water" and “îuk-rotten", and the name actually refers the Tijuca lagoon, a big lagoon that has some islands where some freaks live, including our grandma, and so yes, it’s there our destination… it’s there we are going…” and then, as we reach the top of the hill, also called “morro da boa-vista – hill of the good view” we can already see the just-said lagoon and the atlantic ocean on the back. And, then, as we go down the Itanhangá neighborhood, “a name also of tupi origin, meaning stone devil, a combination of “itá” meaning “stone” and “anhanga” meaning “devil…” Daphne just explains. And then, at the bottom of the hill, we take a small boat with other local tourists and soon we are actually getting to the Gigóia island, an island with no cars, only barren walking streets… and not many houses also, some over the water… and so, in the meanwhile, I get to know their grandma, Dona Aparecida, who owns a small cafe in one of these areas, on an embankment between the forest and a swamp area… and well, later, Dona Aparecida, actually a Cowrie-shell reader, a practice taken from the Yoruba religion, in Africa, would start read my future, so, the shells are thrown and the number of shells that fall with the opening facing up is associated with a certain Odu, and, accordingly, each Odu is actually associated with a certain Orisha that says who we are and what we are doing here in this world and what's our destination… and so, as it goes, Dona Aparecida tells me that my name is “Shima… and you are here because you have something to learn here, on this island, but, your destination is not here, you should continue your travel, you should go even further south… were the sea and the sky mixes” she says.
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