Warmly welcomed in Manaus by an overexcited Wilson, we are not unhappy to leave the airport, the rhythm of plane travels as well as the rush of Salvador de Bahia.
We embark on the N/M Santarém, escorted by our small Caboclo, who has apparently decided to tell us the story of his life, as well as the entire history of the Amazon.
We finally leave shore at around 5 p.m., shortly before sunset, and we find ourselves moving slowly on this majestic river.
The two days of cruise happen without any trouble, and neither the music of the bridge nor the freezing air-conditioning of our cabin can make us look away from the monotonous beauty of the landscapes we cross.
Leaving Manaus a little late, the boat captain has probably decided to make up for the lost time, since we reach Santarém at 2 a.m., for a long stopover, which will last until late afternoon
In the early morning, someone discreetly knocks on our cabin door, and we briefly meet Jean-Pierre and Pepa, ambassadors for Terra Brazil in Santarem. Time to get our gear together and we find ourselves on the muddy pier of Santarém.
The ice is rapidly broken. After making sure that we have everything we need for the next few days, we leave the solid ground one more time, this time to embark the Eloin, which team is there to meet us.
In fact this boat is owned by Floriano, its capitain, with whom Jean-Pierre works since about 20 years, at the time when Floriano had bought its first boat.
The “Comandante” is assisted by Zenilton, the “motorista”, making sure this huge engine of 115 horsepower works like a Swiss clock. Finally, the discreet and smiling Nelly will be our cook on board, and it won’t be long before we discover her talents.
Very shortly after our departure, we reach the area of encounter of the waters; those, light brown and loaded with silt of the Amazon, two degrees centigrade warmer than those of Rio Tapajos, originating in Mato Grosso, far to the South. They are also three time faster (six kilometers per hour instead of two), constituting thus a true barrier to the deep green waters of Rio Tapajos. The two flux run side by side over many miles before mixing completely.

We spot a few dolphins jumping above the surface but, contrary to the marine dolphin, these fresh water never swim with the boat and they usually disappear as suddenly as they have appeared.

Our cruise takes us a few miles from Santarém, on Arapixuna Island. We follow the entrance of a Furo, small river arm appearing in the winter, when the Amazonian waters are higher and which can cross entirely some of the islands, or sand bands, constituting at times a real maze of natural channels. They are not al naviagble and most disappear in the summer, with the decrease of water level. In this place, the silence is extraordinary, only the rustle of the wind in the trees and the sharp flapping of a bird’s wing come disturb the absolute calm of this small aquatic corridor. The water is calm and seems immobile, turning itself into a mirror for the rich equatorial vegetation.

We leave this narrow secondary waterway, for the Jari, slightly wider and practicable year-round. This small river flows peacefully on this island and its source is the Amazon itself, offering thus one of its countless ramifications to this submerged land in the middle of a true fresh water ocean.

The village of Arapixuna is located on the shores of rio Jari, it is at this time complete deserted, and our guide shows us the local vegetation: tree with red seeds extremely staining, used in the cosmetic industry to redden the ladies’ mouth, various types of palm trees and gigantic ferns.

Back on our boat, we follow the Jari to its “mouth”, a few miles down river on the Amazon, from where we start the crossing of the big river to reach the natural park of Tapajos, on the eastern shore of the eponymous river, where we spend the night.

In this area, the river is so wide that it feels like cruising on an ocean! This 4-hour crossing is an opportunity for us to get to know our host a little better. Jean-Pierre Schwarz comes from a Jewish Polish emigrant family settled in Switzerland. From a Cuban mother, its mastery of Spanish and its taste for adventure lead him to undertake his first trip to Latin America, when he was 18 years old. Arrived in Peru to visit Machu Pichu, the city of his dreams, he gets on the wrong plane in Lima and lands in Iquitos, in the heart of the Amazon. The next plane is in a week! A little disappointed to miss the objective of his trip, he meet that same evening, in a restaurant, the camera team of the movie “Fitzgeraldo”. The one that will become mythic later on but, at that time, the filming has just started and they were hiring. Jean-Pierre is hired for one month to work in logistic. From one catastrophe to the next, the film lasts three years and Jean-Pierre falls in love with the Amazon. 24 years later, he still resides there.

We finally make out Maguari, a small river village, or should I say coastal the river being so wide at this spot (10 miles), to the North of the natural park of Tapajos. Spreading over 125 miles, this natural park is a wide land-strip of about 20 miles average between road BR163 and the river, essentially first growth forest. 3500 Caboclos leave there, in 22 communities. Maguari is a small latex and essential oils traditional production center. Jean-Pierre and the Indians are in fact associated to produce the famous liquid. In addition to their therapeutic effects, these oils have the immense advantage to require, to be produced, a live and healthy forest. The commercialization in Western countries via the internet, assure therefore at the same time a decent income for the Indians and also the preservation of the forest. It is therefore a sustainable development offering equal opportunity trade.

Jean-Pierre has long ago understood that the only economic sustainable alternative to mechanized forest exploitation will assure the survival of this fragile ecosystem.

Thus, for each liter of oil sold, a small sum is used to reforest. Thanks to this, and to this enterprise with reforestation as a goal, Jean-Pierre and a small group of friends have replanted six hectares in 4 years, principally Açai palm trees.

Just during the course of last year, Cargill has cut down 80000 hectares of forest to plant soybean plants.

Welcomed like if he had just left the previous day, Jean-Pierre comes to warn the Indians that we will enter the forest the next day. After all, they are the “guardians” of the Mata, the great Green Fortress, and being a guide oblige him to sign the visitor’s book. While night falls slowly on the village, the young offers an unexpected sight. In the middle of the jungle, on a dirt ground, they play pool, and drink beer while joking. How have these two pool tables arrived here, when this village still seems devoid of anything resembling an article of comfort? “Civilization” has weird ways of entering people’s life.

We spend our first night on the boat, in Maguari, sheltered from the wind in a bay of Rio Tapajos. The river water, slightly acidic, forbids the breeding of mosquitoes. While further north on the Amazon, the region is so infested that even stables are equipped with mosquito nets, here the comfort is extraordinary. Only the noise of the wild life inhabiting the shores of the river come disturb our Amazonian night.

We wake up at dawn and, after a hearty breakfast prepared by Nelly, we pass by the village to pick Francisco up, or Chico, to accompany us in the forest. He is part of the eight or nine young apprentice forest guide that Jean-Pierre takes with him during his excursions in the area. They go one at a time, sometimes only once a year, guide groups in this vegetation the have traveled through since as far as they can remember.

Chico knows all the trees, all the plants and all the animals of the forest. Excellent hunter, he knows how to move silently under the canopy and nothing escapes his eyes apparently relaxed. From the small mygale near her hole to the cutia, elusive small rodent of a light yellow, we discover little by little abundant life invisible to the profane.

We drink water filtered by imbauba roots and the long and fine creeper sipo de fogo, we learn the virtues of the sucuru seed and of the sacaca bark, observe all sorts of ants, from the minuscule red ant to the enormous black toucandera, half an inch long. We pass near gigantic anthills, home to probably millions of specimens. We are stunned when we look above, the apex of immense trees, as much as when we look down, the cicadas’ nests in light ocre earth sticking from the ground like a hollow cigar. We learn to use the leaves of some of the palm trees to communicate from a distance in the forest, or the loud trunk of a tree called “telephone” by the Indians.

Chico makes us notice each element, but Jean-Pierre knows each name, In French and in Portuguese, and the use of each plant. Eighteen years in the Amazon and an insatiable curiosity gave him an encyclopedic knowledge of the forest.

We take a snack at 10 at the base of a gigantic tree, affectionately called “vovo de mata”, the grand-mother of the forest, which age is estimated at 800 years. Chico respectfully presses his body to the colossal trunk and murmur “energia”.

This gesture by itself, symbolizes the deep gap existing between the “natives”, and the exploiter of the forest. Few in fact are the men who like Jean-Pierre among the 20 millions inhabitants of the Amazon, see the forest for something else than a source of income.

rain will welcome us back at the village and we rapidly visit the traditional latex factory before embarking for Alter do Chão and Jean-Pierre’ home, where we arrive at night fall.

Like a true Robinson, Jean-Pierre live in a hut barely improved at the end of one of Tapajos river’s arms, called Lago Verde, in a domain he has baptized “aqua verde” and which gives its name to the essential oils.

Like every evening thanks to Nelly, our dinner is excellent. We taste simple but varied plates, watered by fresh pineapple juice, and we fall asleep early in our hammocks, disturbed by the insistent croa-croa of an invisible insomniac toad.

After having scooped the water from Jean-Pierre’s barge, we paddle the next morning towards the “enchanted forest”. It refers in fact to a ygapo, meaning a wooded area flooded six month a year. This area is only accessible by pirogue via numerous ygarapés, small and narrow waterways snaking along the shores. After about 30 minutes, what we see is and we understand the nickname fo this forest. Large twisted trees emerge from the still water like petrified giants, under the surrealistic light filtered by the canopy.

When we travel on foot through these woods, walking slowly, we are impressed by the silence, we can’t hardly even hear the noise of our own. Here, the silence is total, absolute. The barge floats on the water smooth as a mirror, barely leaving a mute wake behind. We pass numerous hours listening to this rare silence and contemplating the magic of the place, as to immerse ourselves in the essence of the forest. We have, in fact, a hard time finding our exit way in this vegetal labyrinth, like if it wants to keep us close for just a little longer.

It is on foot that we make our next exploration of Lago Verde. Jean-Pierre and some of his friends have built a trail in the first growth forest on the hill behind his hut: the trail of the elders. It is, in fact, used to support a historical tale of the area, to attempts making people understand what is at stake and the perils awaiting the Amazon. We learn that on the exact site of the house Jean-Pierre inhabits today house used to live in the last century an old Grandmother who knew how to make remedies from the forest’s plants. The essential oils are not the first produces of Aqua Verde to have medicinal virtues. It is very old lady of Alter do Chão who told Jean-Pierre of this ancient resident who was no less than her own grandmother!

Very steep, the trail snakes on the hillside among countless vegetal species, some of which have become extremely rare, like the Amazonian rosewood, wonderful essence which formerly also covered a large part of Madagascar. One of the clues that indicates that this forest is indeed a first growth forest, is that even though most of the trees are not imposing like the ones find in the natural park of Tapajos, the creepers are. One of then is indeed so big that it is impossible to go around it with both hands. It is attached to trees younger than itself, but when those end up dying and falling, its size allow it to stay attached to nearby trees and to survive all these “hosts” one at a time.

During our ascent, Jean-Pierre tells us stories about the Indian people of this region, and about the disruptions caused by the arrival of the “whites”. Suddenly, a scream resounds from behind a shrub and Marina jumps screaming at my side. Dissimulated by think palms, we had not noticed the Indian covered with war paint who was awaiting to startle us.

Romulus is a part of the trail of the elders, he is a friend of Jean-Pierre and also responsible for the trail, who tells us the rest of the story. Back from our emotions, we listen to him evoke 500 years of forest exploitation. First there was the age of the explorers, then the one of rubber, bringing wealth to Manaus and Belém, the age of gold provoking a true rush in the last century accelerated by the construction of road BR-163, the age of wood and the massive clear cutting of millions of acres of rainforest and the disappearance of rare essences, and finally today the era of soybean, transforming the rainforest into an agricultural plain under the pressure of large groups. For the last 500 years Brazil offers its wealth to the greed of men.

It is in fact ironical that it is Romulus, which name is synonym to the birth of the first western civilizations, that makes us aware, us westerners, of the preservation of this land of the New World.

We reach the end of our hike on the trail of the elders, touched by the wisdom of this place. We enter a clearing on the hillside, where is located Romulus’ house. Attorney at the court of Belém, he does not live here permanently, but frequently comes to spend his rest days here. Without walls nor doors, his house shows well the open mindedness of our host, and we meditate over the words exchanged during the afternoon while drinking a fresh fruit juice and contemplating the landscape of Lago Verde à l’horizon.

It is now time for us to say our goodbyes, as Jean-Pierre absolutely wants to take us to Serra Piroca (the bald hill, that we can see on the picture). We warmly thank Romulus. He decides to symbolically offer Marina the key to his house, which doesn’t have doors, so that we can come back whenever we want. Emotion and very good feeling.

On board a canoe we cross Lago Verde to reach Serra Piroca, located on the North shore, we slowly shore on a beach and leave Zenilton to relax while we head towards the butte. The walk is pleasant and the ascent fast even though steep. Once we reach the summit, what a treat! The Amazon region being pretty flat the slightest butte, like this hill not even reaching 130 meters in height, offers an extraordinary panoramic view. We see a large part of last 20 miles of Rio Tapajos before it reaches the Amazon, which is to say the whole region of Alter do Chão. We can even make out in the distance the last land before Maguari, more than 35 miles to the South. On the summit of Serra Piroca there is a large iron cross, with at it’s top a white and pretty much shredded piece of white fabric where we can still make out some unreadable writings. It is in fact the logo of a brabk of Cachaça which financed in part the project.p>

It is with this marvelous vision still burning our retina that symbolically ends our travels in the Amazon. The sun sets behind our backs, while a shower generates an amazing rainbow. For the first time we see perfectly both of its bases, it is gigantic and seems to open in front of us a huge portal inviting us to come back.

Marina and César Tourdjman