Icoaraci and Belem
Today, having sailed out of the mouth of the Amazon, headed South a little way, and then back West, into Brazil along the River Para, we dropped anchor by our final Brazilian destination, Icoaraci, a stone’s throw away from the city of Belem (which is a shortened version of ‘Bethlehem’).
We were given escorting duties on the ‘Belem Transfer’, which isn’t really a tour; more an opportunity for independent passengers to take a coach ride into Belem and do their own thing for three hours.
Once again, the Marco Polo Mr Fixit Squad went ahead in the Zodiac to make the quayside fit our tenders, delaying the tender operation by about an hour. This meant that by the time we were ashore, and herding people towards the waiting coaches, the shore guides were starting to wonder if we’d ever turn up at all.
The drive into Belem, from Icoaraci, took about 45 minutes, but the return times were adjusted accordingly, to still give folks as long as possible in the city. The guide on my coach wasn’t up to much at all. It didn’t help that her microphone kept cutting out, and when it did work, it was very quiet. I don’t think that mattered very much since she didn’t seem to have a great deal of anything interesting to say anyway.
When we arrived in Belem, Tracey and I headed straight for the free wi-fi (along with many others, I might add). What used to be the old quayside has been transformed into a large commercial visitor centre, with crafts, restaurants and even its own brewery; when we came here for the first time in 2011, on Fred Olsen’s Boudicca, we boarded small boats here, for the Lake Guama tour. We recognised the yellow cranes that still stand there (actually, I’m lying… Tracey recognised them…).
Beyond the quayside attractions, Belem becomes a conflicted place when it comes to tourists. We didn’t venture very far at all, choosing simply to wander along the promenade as far as the market and back, but those passengers who did walk into the city told of several instances when they were turned back, or were warned about venturing into certain no-go areas; we’d even been warned about the market we walked to, and told not to have cameras on show or anything of value.
I don’t think I got a real sense of the division between rich and poor until we were on our coach journey back to Icoaraci. Brazil is a massive country, and quite wealthy, internationally speaking, but the squalid conditions that many people appeared to be living in, that I saw, didn’t reflect any of that wealth.
It was dark when we finally arrived back in Icoaraci and had to wait for the tender boat to return to the ship. Icoaraci itself seemed like quite an interesting, and vibrant fishing village, with lots of activity around the quayside, interesting old fishing boats and even (apparently) free wi-fi in one several of the bars. We made a mental note to maybe try and skip any tour escort duties here in future (should we have the good fortune to return) and to explore Icoaraci by ourselves instead.
Which completes the Brazilian leg of our voyage. By tomorrow morning, the Brazilian authorities will have vacated the Conference Room and I will be able to resume my classes as we head towards our next destination – one of my all-time favourites – Iles Du Salut…
