Our adventure in the Pantanal started well. On the drive from the city of Cuiaba into the wilderness we had to swerve to avoid hitting a spider. No joking: a brown, hairy bird-eating spider that could be seen from 50 yards away, and was as big as my head. Joe was considerably rattled, and only reluctantly left the safety of the car to inspect said insect.
I have to admit to feeling slightly apprehensive before our little safari. I had spent a lot of money booking us into a remote bird-watchers' hotel and had paid for a guide for the full 4 days - quite an extravagance given our budget, so I was really hoping it would be good. For those that don't know, the Pantanal is the world's biggest wetland, pretty much in the centre of Brazil, and home to crazy creatures such as jaguars and things that look like foxes on stilts. It was something I'd been really looking forward to. And it didn't disappoint - in fact I think it's the most amazing place I've ever been.
To get a sense of how remote our hotel was, the drive from Cuiaba took about five hours, much of which was on a dirt road with railway-sleeper type bridges over patches of marsh and lily pads. We came at the end of the dry season, but by January time the whole road looks like it's floating on a vast lake. Even by the side of the road we saw toucans, hawks, capybara (big ginger guineapigs) and caiman. And so began four heavenly days. My binoculars worked overtime. There was life everywhere you looked, and just walking about and peering into bushes revealed something unexpected and beautiful.
In total we saw 90 species of bird, and our guide never minded me bugging him with endless questions or notes I'd made from his Portuguese bird book. We spent many happy hours under trees just looking up at owls or a woodpecker moving around the canopy. One of my particular highlights was getting up to see the sunrise and watching two hyacinth macaws flying overhead in the stillness. Understandably for a place full of wildlife it's also full of mosquitoes - which aren't scared to go straight for the face - and ticks - which burrow into the legs. It's also, as Joe says, unbearably hot in the middle of the day - which makes putting on all your clothes to ward off insects seem like hard work. But I've never been to a place like it. Our hotel was right on a waterway, covered with luminous green foliage and pale blue water hyacinths. Capybaras and ibis wandered around. Scary old Finnish birdwatchers dragged £8000 telescopes to the top of scaffolding towers to capture barred ant shrikes mating, or something.
For me, some of the best parts were just watching wildlife near our hotel - tiny black and white birds calling in little ponds, incredible prehistoric looking storks in the grassland, and a huge Guinness-type toucan at a bird feeder right outside our room. But the trips out were incredible. We had a mixture of walking safaris, trips on boats, and one in a high-sided jeep. On each occasion it was just Joe and I, our lovely guide, and an amazing old Brazilian cowboy who lived on the ranch. He became a particular favourite, with his happy ways, toothless grin and big paunch. He had a way of smiling and giggling to himself in very nasal-sounding Portuguese, while wielding an enormous machete close to Joe's head.
Without boring everyone senseless I will just describe one particular incident which will stay with us forever. We were on a little boat cruising down the river, discussing the difference between striated, capped and little blue herons while Joe dozed and cursed the heat. We had been feeding kingfishers and hawks by throwing fish into the water. (Our cowboy would put a bit of meat on the end of a small bamboo rod and line, and within 30 seconds another piranha would take the bait. He would then stuff a water hyacinth bulb down the half-dead fish's throat - mumbling happily to himself - and lob it in.) But I digress. We had stopped to look at a giant potoo (my favourite bird, a nocturnal grey chap with huge eyes, who spends the day pretending to be a branch) and when I turned round there was a jaguar there. Not 20 metres away, nonchalantly walking down the opposite riverbank. We followed her for about an hour. She was hunting, and as she walked down the riverbank we heard jays sounding the alarm, and capybara taking to the water. She was so beautiful and huge and sleek, with a glossy coat in perfect patterns. We saw her swim out before us, all streamlined with her tail in the air. Then she reached a family of giant otters: aggressive types, about four-foot long with big sharp teeth. She crouched and tried to attack one, and suddenly all seven turned on her, rearing out of the water and screaming while she bared her teeth and growled. This standoff went on for about a minute, with water churning and deafening cries before the jaguar backed off. Amazing.
Other highlights of the trip included seeing a tapir and lots of nightjars on the night safari, seeing a giant anteater from a distance, as well as various monkeys, deer, a tortoise, a raccoon and something Joe swears was a puma. My favourites were the birds, something Joe didn't quite share my enthusiasm for. One or two of the plumper, more tasty-looking ones he called 'Christmassy'. And he made himself laugh out loud with a 'it caiman went' joke.
The final moment that will stick in my mind was on the car journey back. The guide asked if I'd like to stop in one of the lodges to buy a copy of the bird book. But when we found one it was expensive, so I said no and we drove on. Ten minutes later as we'd stopped to look at yet another bird, he scribbled something in the front of his guide and handed it to us. So now we have a much-loved copy with his notes in it. A lovely gesture, and one which made me cry.
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