The Pantanal is an area covering 150-190.000 sqkm (roughly the size of Uruguay or Tunisia), mostly in Brazil, but also Paraguay and Bolivia. It is more often than not referred to as swampland, but the more correct term would be wetland, as it is a patchwork of rivers, streams, islands, savannahs, forests, all gathered in a basin of sorts, surrounded by mountain ranges, thus making it more water than land in the rainy season and vice versa in the dry. Before heading into the Pantanal, however, we spent a couple of days in what is known as the eco-tourism capitol of Brazil: Bonito.
The first thing we saw upon entering the campsite was another overlanding truck, though of a different colouring. Its small group of passengers and crew, we soon found out, was going to follow the same itinerary as us, more or less, all the way to Rio, so we might as well get acquainted with the gender-balancing group (balancing the male-heavy Dragoman group, that is).
And just like that, I left my thirties and entered whatever stage in life comes after. I treated myself to a birthday wifebeater (a genuine RipCurl for 15 brazziebobs, roughly 4 eurobobs; has to be legit, yes?) and got ready to go snorkelling in possibly the clearest riverwaters in the world, Rio de Prata.
Snorkelling is a bit of a stretch, though; facedown-floating would be more accurate. The guide was completely clueless. He had no idea about bouyancy, he forced everyone to wear life-jackets and he constantly used the thumbs-up for OK. That is something you never ever do while wearing a mask and being in or near water. Any professional worth its salt know this very basic knowledge. I highly recommend going to Rio de Prata, but make sure that your guide knows what signs to use in water, and who considers life-jackets optional rather than mandatory.
I didn't let that drag me down; the waters were indeed crystal clear and filled with fish and a tapir, the food was great and the hammocks were gently swinging, and it was my birthday! And so, we all went out for a celebratory dinner, where I sampled the local reptile (cayman) and happened to go to a free booze-tasting (Taboa, the cinnamonny liqour of the region).
Getting in the pool is a great way to treat a slight hangover. Getting in a natural pool is greater. Getting in a natural pool through means of zip-lining and trampoline is greater still. Doing so with the new acquaintancies from the other truck is even greater still, so that's what I did.
But Pantanal beckoned, and we heeded. A sight to behold, I'd imagine, seeing a caravan of sorts with two big-ass overlanding trucks, orange following yellow. Eventually we reached our christmas destination, Estancio Santa Clara, in the Pantanal, after having travelled the last hour or so on in places muddy dirt roads in a bumpy 4x4. The area has some of the greatest biodiversity in the world, what with the differing and versatile biotopes and all. Most animals you'd normally associate with South America (barring llamas, marsupilamis and alpacas) can be found here: Tucan, capybara, parrots, tapirs and jaguars. And piranhas. The toothy little carnivores roam the waters, and so we set out for some piranha-fishing. Baiting with pieces of beef, the nibbles were obvious but cautious, and hooking the little munchers proved tricky. I caught one, though (far from everyone did), but in a way they caught me as well. As the bigger ones stay in deeper waters, a good way to reach is to wade out a bit. So there I was, waist-deep in piranha-infested waters, with caymans circling about and baby piranhas nibbling at my feet.
The wilderness was explored; by boat, by car, by foot and by horse. And the wildlife was there for anyone to see and photograph: Caymans, capybaras, howler monkeys, deer, coaties and more birds than I can word. Herrons, vultures, storks, kingfishers, you name it. But the highlight came just as we were heading back towards the estancia for christmas dinner after a night safari: A jaguar. And I don't mean the high-end car. The big cat. Well, this specimen was rather small, it being a youngling and all, but still. Unfortunately it was too dark to take a photo.
Christmas was spent with friends, new and newer. The day before christmas eve, a tradition died, or at least got put on hold: I didn't watch The Nightmare Before Christmas. However, a new tradition might have emerged, by means of watching Love, Actually. Come christmas eve, a spread of meats, including peccary and turkey, was downed with the local brew, payed for by an ingenious system of beads, so as to not needing to bring the wallet to the pool area. The currency, obviously, was coined beadibobs. With no access to Swedish telly, I bemoaned the lack of Donald Duck, but Zeb made a good duck impersonation, so all was well. We were chilling in the pool, with beers, after all. The festivities included painting fingernails in various christmasy symbols (I got a christmas tree and what I first assumed was a christmas lobster, but upon further investigation turned out to be a reindeer) and singing karaoke. I Just Called... and I Can See Clearly were on the machine, interpreted by myself and various yellow truckies. Unfortunately Fairytale of NY wasn't available, so we did that one a capella. And thus, the hottest christmas I've experienced was celebrated.
On christmas day, which would be the actual day for celebrating christmas for the rest of the truck, we set off for a long day's drive, camping by a service station for the night, having a traditional christmas spread of crackers, cheese, salami, grapes, the works, and handed out our secret santa presents. With a budget of 5 brazziebobs or less, it was more about shits and giggles than actual thoughtful gifts; constantly smoking Sam got a lighter, bald man Jack got a hairbrush, and Pythonite me got a parrot pen, ready to be knocked on desks and screamed at. And just like that, x-mas had come and gone and we set off towards the coast.
To summarize: In a few activity-filled days I celebrated mine own birthday as well as christmas, saw heaps of wildlife, was as much in/on the water as out of it, and met some new people.
Fun factoid: It is well-known, to those who know it well, that there are in fact only three species of bird: tweety-bird, duck and eagle. The tweety-birds are small and feed off breadcrumbs brought to them by retired citizens, ducks are any birds in or by water, and eagles are big carnivores that will poke your eyes out given a chance.
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