Expedicionarios

Ana Augusta Rocha and Roberto Linsker Coordination

XPDs | 1 | EXPEDITIONARIES

Sponsorship

Publishers Ana Augusta Rocha | Auana Editora Roberto Linsker | Terra Virgem Editora Texts Ana Augusta Rocha Marcelo Macca Edu Petta Victor Rebouças Photography Fifi Tong Roberto Linsker Rui Faquini Graphic design Eduardo Rocha | Dpict Design Coordination Fábio Granja | Quarta Design João Junqueira (assistant) | Quarta Design Image Coordination Roberto Linsker Final Art João Junqueira | Quarta Design Maps Priscila Roxo | Quarta Design

Support

Proofreading in Portuguese Beatriz de Freitas Moreira Translation and Proofreading in English Peter Musson Editorial Coordination Ana Augusta Rocha Walderez Machado Paschoal | Auana Editora Graphic Production Heloisa Vasconcellos | Tino Editorial

Acknowledgements

Printers Pancrom Indústria Gráfica DVD Director Guto Carvalho | Dedo Verde DVD Soundtrack Luiz Macedo | JukeBox Thiago Chasseraux | JukeBox DVD Production Auana Editora Dedo Verde JukeBox

Publishers Auana Editora +55 11 3061-0609 | 3063-4469 www.auana.com.br contato@auana.com.br Terra Virgem Editora +55 11 3081-9932 | 3083-7823 www.terravirgem.com.br terravirgem@terravirgem.com.br

Dados Internacionais de Catalogação na Publicação (CIP) (Câmara Brasileira do Livro, SP, Brasil) Expedicionários / [editores] Ana Augusta Rocha, Roberto Linsker ; [translation and proofreading/English Peter Musson]. – 1. ed. – São Paulo : Auana Editora : Terra Virgem Editora, 2008.

Vários colaboradores.

Vários fotógrafos.

Bibliografia.

1. Expedições de aventuras 2. Viagens – Relato de viagens I. Rocha, Ana Augusta.

II. Linsker, Roberto.

08-06281

CDD-918 Índice para catálogo sistemático: 1. Expedicionários : Relatos de viagens 918 2. Viagens : Expedicionários : Relatos 918

Photographs © Fifi Tong, Roberto Linsker and Rui Faquini. Texts © Ana Augusta Rocha, Edu Petta, Marcelo Macca and Victor Rebouças. Copyright of this edition © 2008 Auana Editora and Terra Virgem Editora. All rights reserved by the copyright holders. Any reproduction, either partial or whole, whether by mechanical, electronic or photocopying means is prohibited without the written permission of one of the publishers. The content of this book are the responsibility of its authors, exempting Auana Editora and Terra Virgem Editora from any pending legal action.

Coordination Ana Augusta Rocha and Roberto Linsker XPDs | 3 | EXPEDITIONARIES

X P D s | 4 | C AY E N N E A N D T H E E X P E D I T I O N A R I E S

Cayenne and the Expeditionaries Twelve thousand kilometres covered.

rivers, floods, much sand, many diversions, crossroads and wrong turns.

There would be transformation, a blending with the landscape, a living machine clinging to the road, covered in earth, almost unrecognizable.

X P D s | 5 | C AY E N N E A N D T H E E X P E D I T I O N A R I E S

A long road of rocks, mud-holes,

X P D s | 6 | C AY E N N E A N D T H E E X P E D I T I O N A R I E S

Becoming, at the end of each journey,

ever more Cayenne.

X P D s | 7 | C AY E N N E A N D T H E E X P E D I T I O N A R I E S

every new emotion,

On being an Expeditionary Ana Augusta Rocha text

Fawcett in the Serra do Roncador Far is not doing anything at all XPDs | 8 | SUMMARY

Victor Rebouças text Roberto Linsker photography

Antônio Vieira, sermons in the wind Across the sands of Maranhão Ana Augusta Rocha text Fifi Tong photography

Fascination for the stunning life of the tropics Discovering the Jalapão in the company of James W. Wells Marcelo Macca text Roberto Linsker photography

The buried gold of Goiás Ana Augusta Rocha text Rui Faquini photography

Don Alvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca Shipwreck of injustice Edu Petta text Roberto Linsker photography

XPDs | 9 | SUMMARY

Travelling with the memory of Paulo Bertran

XPDs | 10 | ON BEING AN EXPEDITIONARY

On being an Expeditionary Ana Augusta Rocha text

XPDs | 11 | ON BEING AN EXPEDITIONARY

XPDs | 12 | ON BEING AN EXPEDITIONARY

The routes: the Project covered over 12,000 kilometres to capture the landscapes and stories of our Expeditionaries.

The magnificent landscapes are here. This is the real nature of

British colonel Percy Fawcett, who

our Brazil, a country blessed in its diversity and in its grandiosity.

sought the gateway to a golden world,

Eight thousand kilometres of coastline, the largest tropical for-

enigmatically called “Z” , and who va-

est on Earth and in the middle of all this, an incredible interior,

nished in Mato Grosso in 1925 without

sculpted into plateaus and tabletop mountains, punctuated by

a trace (or at least without traces au-

unique regions such as the Pantanal, and irrigated by thousands

thenticated by his family), was one of

of rivers and waterfalls, among so many other attractions. And

them. He disappeared together with

even better, a land inhabited by a friendly and welcoming people,

his son and his son’s friend, creating a

curious about new arrivals, redolent of a time when it was the

world-famous myth that even inspired

traveller, not television that brought news of the outside world.

Spielberg to create the character Indiana Jones. In 1956, Orlan-

The magnificent landscapes are here. This is the face of Brazil.

do Villas-Boas revealed to the world a skeleton he claimed to be

But in this book, as Expeditonaries, we did not wrap it in myster-

that of Fawcett, according to the story told him by the Kalapalo

ies or in a veil, as if to say: ah... look how heroic and fearless

Indians, but which the family refused to accept. “They will never

we are, explorers of the unknown... After all, nothing is unknown

swap a myth for a bunch of bones”, said Orlando at the time.

nowadays, nowhere is impossible to reach, at least on this planet, everything is seen and watched by the eyes of satellites.

In a world where everything has been seen and searched, everything discovered, what is an Expeditionary these days?

Cabeza de Vaca, a Spaniard from the 16th century, was another guest-ex-

In the past, they were men who dared to venture into the

peditionary. With an extraordinary, epic

unknown in the face of countless dangers. Often motivated by

life, he crossed a large part of North

unconfessed desires for power, fame or fortune, those that be-

America on foot, describing the lives of

came part of History were those that paused to observe the land

the Indians and the landscape in a book

and its people, leaving reports and descriptions of the period.

which made him a celebrity and which, unlike the colonizers of

This indeed is a legacy precious to us all.

his time, saw the native peoples not as wild beasts, but simply as

We have symbolically invited ghost-expeditionaries from the

human beings that were different. Cabeza, as the King of Spain’s

past to join us on the journeys, and we have sought inspiration

representative in the Cisplatine provinces, (today’s Uruguay)

and the desire for adventure from them.

discovered Iguassu Falls and hiked the Brazilian sections of the Peabirú, a legendary Indian linking together all South America.

Paulo Bertran was our most recent ghost-

tury, also features in the book. In addi-

Expeditionary in time. An historian from

tion to being one of the greatest authors

Goiás, he died in 2002 aged 57, and let

the Portuguese language, world famous

it be clear that he haunts no-one, as he is

for his philosophical sermons, he was

surely comfortably ensconced in heaven.

one of the most important men of his time, reigning over the

What haunts us, even today, is his vast

heads and souls of the principal kings of Europe, at one point in

work on the history and economy of colonial Goiás, and his particu-

his life holding enormous power and influence. During his times

lar and expeditionary obstinacy in finding gold mines, buried trea-

of political disfavour, he spent long periods in Brazil. On one of

sure and extraordinary tales from various epochs, including poetic

these occasions, he travelled around Maranhão preaching to the

ones. A man who led a remarkable life.

of

colonists. On the island of Caju, in the delta of the River Parnaíba (MA/PI), he founded the first indigenous reservation in the

We searched for the essence of the Expeditionary spirit. Know-

country. Need it be said that the same Indians he protected and

ing that on leaving, a person is one and upon his return, another.

settled in villages were all massacred years later?

We believe that this is the real Expeditionary: those who let themselves be touched by the landscapes and by the people on their journey.

The English traveller James W. Wells,

In the Iliad, Homer is at one point faced by a monster intent on

who lived in Brazil in the second half of

devouring him, and when asked who he is, says only: my name

the 19th century, was our fourth guest.

is nobody. Nothing more Expeditionary. Who are we, even driving

An engineer by training, Wells came to

a Porsche Cayenne, in the forgotten meanders of the Lençóis

Brazil attracted by his fascination for

Maranhenses, or in the uninhabited vastnesses of the Pantanal?

its stunning tropical life. He journeyed

What would the burity palms, the hills and the wind have to say

through a good part of the country on

about us? Who were those rogues that wept on seeing a fire

account of his work. In 1873, he left Rio

spreading through the Jalapão, leaving everything charred and

de Janeiro on a long expedition that would last two years, pas-

twisted? Nobody that nature could describe. These are the mys-

sing through the states of Minas Gerais, Goiás (which at the time

teries of an Expeditionary life: venturing afar to find what is near-

included the state of Tocantins), to Maranhão. His experiences

est – ourselves. In a grandiose landscape we feel minute – and

were told in the book Explorando e viajando: três mil milhas

yet the bigger for this. Seeing an equal reflected in the eyes of a

através do Brasil – Exploring and travelling: three thousand miles

different other. By not being, we become who in truth we are.

across Brazil (Fundação João Pinheiro, Coleção Mineiriana, 1995).

XPDs | 13 | ON BEING AN EXPEDITIONARY

Father Antônio Vieira, from the 17th cen-

Our teams at various moments on the journeys made between 2007 and 2008.

THE EXPEDITIONARIES OF THE PRESENT MATO GROSSO (COLONEL FAWCETT) Victor Rebouças (writer) Roberto Linsker (photographer)

XPDs | 14 | ON BEING AN EXPEDITIONARY

Guto Carvalho (cinematographer)

CEARÁ/MARANHÃO (FATHER ANTÔNIO VIEIRA)

Ana Augusta Rocha

Roberto Linsker

Edu Petta

Fifi Tong

Guto Carvalho

Marcelo Macca

Rui Faquini

Victor Rebouças

Ana Augusta Rocha (writer) Fifi Tong (photographer) Guto Carvalho (cinematographer)

TOCANTINS (JAMES W. WELLS) Victor Rebouças (writer) Roberto Linsker (photographer) Guto Carvalho (cinematographer)

GOIÁS (PAULO BERTRAN) Ana Augusta Rocha (writer) Rui Faquini/Liana Fraifeld (photographer/assistant photographer) Guto Carvalho (cinematographer)

SANTA CATARINA/RIO GRANDE DO SUL (CABEZA DE VACA) Edu Petta (writer) Roberto Linsker (photographer) Guto Carvalho (cinematographer)

XPDs | 15 | ON BEING AN EXPEDITIONARY

XPDs | 16 | COLONEL FAWCETT

Fawcett in the Serra do Roncador Far is not doing anything at all Victor Rebouรงas text Roberto Linsker photographer

XPDs | 17 |COLONEL FAWCETT

XPDs | 18 | COLONEL FAWCETT

PREVIOUS PAGE: the view revealed above the Vale do Eco in the Chapada dos Guimar達es.

XPDs | 19 |COLONEL FAWCETT

ABOVE: jaguar footprints at the Gnose ranch, Serra do Roncador.

XPDs | 20 | COLONEL FAWCETT

XPDs | 21 |COLONEL FAWCETT

XPDs | 22 | COLONEL FAWCETT

PREVIOUS PAGE: the cave of the Gnose, the mysterious site where Fawcett is believed to have disappeared

XPDs | 23 |COLONEL FAWCETT

ABOVE: the team leaves the Vale dos Sonhos in the Serra do Roncador.

XPDs | 24 | COLONEL FAWCETT

XPDs | 25 |COLONEL FAWCETT

PREVIOUS PAGE: the cave with the Blue Lake, a secret place.

Today it’s February 19th 2008, ten fifty-four in the morning and

Spielberg to create the character of Indiana Jones, based on the

the effects of the ten-day journey undertaken by the Expedi-

adventures of this British explorer.

tionary Project team, composed of Guto Carvalho, Beto Linsker

It didn’t take long for us to feel the imprint of Mato Grosso

and Victor Rebouças, continue to cause strong emotions. Our

during the season of heavy rains. But we had to face it! We tast-

Porsche Cayenne, nicknamed “Ferdinando”, silver when it left

ed the salt in our sweat and felt the pain in our muscles for long

Goiânia, is now the colour of Brazil’s red earth on its return to

days that began at around five in the morning and only allowed

Cuiabá.

us rest at close to midnight.

We have faced rain, floods, mud, rocks, mountain gorges,

We left Goiânia, where we had captured our stalwart pack-

mosquitoes, storms, lightning, getting stuck in the mud, flooded

horse of some two hundred horsepower, and set out in the direc-

rivers and precarious roads for three thousand kilometres, in one

tion of the River Araguaia, more precisely for Barra do Garças,

of Brazil’s most beautiful and mysterious regions.

and continued northward toward Araguaiana, Nova Xavantina,

We were completely wrapped up in the mist and shadows of

Areões, Água Boa and Cocalinho without missing a single side-

the vanished expedition of 1925, led by Englishman Percy Har-

trip, which sometimes cost us many hours and changes in plans

rison Fawcett, the famous explorer and colonel in Her Majesty’s

but also provided us with the biggest and best surprises of

Royal Artillery, a personal friend of Queen Victoria. Fawcett, after

the expedition, such as seeing the Vale dos Sonhos (Valley of

some expeditions at the beginning of the last century, wandered

Dreams)!

in the same region in search of a secret city, a remnant of At-

From there, we were pulled by the magnetic attraction of

lantis, called “Muribeca”, or the “Temple of Ibez”, before disap-

the Serra do Roncador range to a succession of marvellous

pearing completely. An event important enough to inspire Steven

events...

ABOVE: the journey’s animal life: the rich fauna of the region photographed, principally, in the Pantanal where more can be seen with the naked eye.

XPDs | 28 | COLONEL FAWCETT

LEFT: in the Vale dos Sonhos, Euvirão and his cheeses. A warm welcome for the team.

We crossed immense distances without seeing a living soul,

To you, reader, eager to find some emotion that will make you

but rather a profusion of the region’s fauna. Eyes peeled, ready

feel like an explorer, I wish for you to organise and undertake

to shout: look, a mamifo! - an affectionate nickname for mam-

your own expedition as quickly as possible.

mals invented on the expedition. Many were our encounters with those furry, breast-feeding creatures, such as the maned wolf, capybara, deer, howler monkey, tapir, giant anteater, peccary, opossum.... and even a jaguar was around... we saw its tracks!

Following the steps of Colonel Fawcett had even greater sig-

All you need is a destination, a goal, some companions, and a few days for its enjoyment.

Feeling the emotion of discovering each and every one of the marvels of this great heritage that is Brazil could be the difference between living and having missed out on living!

You think you are far from able to do this?

honour the English explorer, we ended up becoming involved in

Far is not doing anything at all!

subtle but strong currents of energy, which, if not actually scary, added another dimension to the expedition. I don’t believe in

THE FAWCETT LEGEND LIVES ON: THE JOURNEY

witches, but they exist for sure!

The quality of our trusty steed eliminated a large part of the impact caused by interminable obstacles.

But if anyone thinks we were immune to the dangers - think again!

They were many and serious, and could have included yellow

The sun was setting in a confusion of colour, bleeding into the whole horizon. Something shone intensely in the middle of that cliff of superimposed, super-fused and supernaturally multicoloured sheets of rock...

Something was moving...

fever, dengue fever, a poisonous snake or a caiman that might

The drops of spray from the cascading water falling elegantly

run faster than our curiosity had thought, or a mass attack by

perpendicular create a white curtain across the whole Vale do

the huge family of howler monkeys that had us surrounded thirty

Véu (Valley of the Veil)...

metres above the ground, or even the Cessna 1975 with faded

Who knows? It may be a secret passage.

paint that, door-less, took us for an unforgettable panoramic

A lanky shadow approaches, and in the background the form

flight over a totally flooded Pantanal.

If being fully alive is to feel strong emotions, these were ten

of a cave shimmers... I can clearly hear footsteps… and someone begins to speak

extremely well-lived days, and we will surely be reliving each of

“My name is Fawcett... Percy Harrison Fawcett! I am a colonel

the beautiful experiences provided us by the expedition for many

in Her Majesty Queen Victoria’s Royal Artillery, but for a long time

years to come.

I have lived here, in my Muribeca, the mysterious Z. If you know

To my exceptional companions in this enterprise, Guto and

how to keep a secret, you are welcome...”

Beto, architects of its foundation, my deepest respect and

A tall, thin man, elegantly dressed in white linen, practi-

thanks, given that I will definitely be another person after this

cally floating on the blue waters of the limestone cave, cam-

chapter in my life.

ouflaged by the bush... Behind him is a city built entirely of

XPDs | 29 |COLONEL FAWCETT

nificance, since, if at the beginning the idea had been merely to

XPDs | 30 | COLONEL FAWCETT

RIGHT: the Serra do Roncador is dotted with small roads surrounded by bush. Full of surprises.

gold, with castles, towers and floors all reflecting the sunset...

continued on to the Field of the Dead Horse, crossing the River

gold on gold!

Culuene, the River of the Dead... well, it’s best we leave the ac-

The colonel needs to speak...

tual route there, between you and I,... Our expedition had twelve

“There have been so many paths travelled to reach here...

pack animals. With me were my son Jack Fawcett, his friend

so many struggles... my expeditions in Brazil to the basins of

Rimell, two experienced bush guides, Simão and José Galdên-

the Xingu and the Araguaia were difficult and full of mysteries.

cio, and our two dogs, Chulim and Pastor.

Discovering the secret city, with the treasures of Muribeca, hid-

A little before reaching the ranch, it seemed safer to dispense

den for so long, was worth my life. I left my great love, Nina,

with the help of the two bush guides, so that just the three of us

waiting along with two children, but with my first-born, Jack, and

could find the long- dreamed-of Muribeca and its treasures.

his friend Rimell, I was able to enter here. We now belong to a

We left the property of Hermenegildo and for seven days we

higher order of clean energy beyond the senses, without need

deliberately followed a false trail, making smoke in our camps –

for excretions; an existence full of light.

we didn’t want to be followed, given that all the hired gunmen

From Atlantis we receive the higher knowledge of the Incas,

at the ranch knew of our plans... and in fact we took a different

the earthly wisdom, and from this place, the alchemic gold that

direction... My messages to London were also in code, as we did

slowly but surely transforms those who are worthy of contact

not want company at the moment of first contact”.

and are willing to approach. But be careful! I can tell you a little of our last adventure on the expedition of 1925, the one that brought us here...

The road you are travelling now is part of our last moments on Earth.

Till this moment in the conversation with the colonel, everything matched with what I had avidly read in the published material...

“I’m very sorry for the adventurers who came from all over the world and tried unsuccessfully to find our expedition... In truth, many died unaware of how difficult it would be to find us!”

After various journeys around Brazil, all the signs we had re-

The mysteries surrounding the disappearance of Colonel Per-

ceived indicated that the entrance to this sacred place was in the

cy Harrison Fawcett, his son Jack and their friend Rimell, along

area of the Serra do Roncador range and the Pantanal. That was

with everything belonging to the expedition which left Cuiabá on

why we prepared the 1925 expedition, which never returned. We

April 20th 1925, remain unsolved even today.

continue its course, but on a different level!

In an attempt at declaring the question resolved, in the fifties,

We left Corumbá by river, bound for Cuiabá, where everything

the famous Brazilian explorer of the country’s interior, Orlando

had been carefully prepared, and from where our expedition de-

Villas-Boas, obtained information that the expedition had been

parted toward the north. Our goal was to reach the Rio Novo

massacred by Indians between the villages of the Kuikuros and

Ranch belonging to my friend Hermenegildo Galvão, where

the Kalapalos, and that they had buried the bones beside the

we would wait for Rimell’s feet to heal from the festering sores

River Culuene, a tributary of the River Xingu.

caused by tics and other bloodsucking insects. We then left for

This version is strongly denied by the family, through his se-

the Simões Lopes Post, in the Bacaerí village, and from there we

cond son Brian, who gives as evidence a series of errors con-

XPDs | 31 |COLONEL FAWCETT

XPDs | 32 | COLONEL FAWCETT

cerning the discovered skull and the marks that he knew from his

son Jack and the latter’s friend Rimell, nor to throw light on the

own father, and firmly refused to “swap the legend for a pile of

esoteric aspects, abundant all over the region, but to collect the

bones,” as Vilas-Boas remarked.

most objective and present signs: flora, fauna, topography, the

In support of the decision not to accept the bones as a way

local customs and culture. Talking of riches, we saw pure gold in

of ending the Fawcett saga, Timothy Paterson, Nina’s nephew,

the limpid waters of the rivers and creeks, and brilliant green in

affirmed even more outrageously that Fawcett had lived for an-

the deposits of untouched nature covering the whole region.

other thirty-two long years in a subterranean city underneath the

We forged ahead in our search for our golden, evolved civi-

Serra do Roncador range, dying only in 1957, at ninety, when he

lization, inhaling the delicious aroma of lemongrass in the mist

finally and definitively dematerialized.

after the rain that accompanied and delicately blessed us at that point in the expedition.

THE EXPEDITIONARY SPIRIT

At a certain point on the trail leading us down into the Valley of Dreams, we were convinced we’d reached the end of the trail,

Undertaking a journey, whatever the destination, can always

but for a detail as we crossed a sandy plain, where various ani-

support an objective beyond the traditional “let’s see some new

mal footprints had been left, and found the path that would lead

places”.

us to the Cachoeiras Gêmeas - Twin Falls, set in the red walls of

From a recommendation given in the middle of our trip, we left our route in search of the Vale dos Sonhos –Valley of Dreams.

the Roncador.

Stopping to observe the cliff walls placed us various times

Plains of an intense green, composed of a generous distribu-

on the trail of Colonel Fawcett, as it was exactly what he had

tion of broad-canopied trees, the natural habitat of a varied fauna

done on his travels through the region, and, with focussed bin-

of parrots, parakeets, caracarás, curassows, toucans, hawks,

oculars, we could penetrate the crevices of the cliff walls. The

song-thrushes, flycatchers and tanagers – the male black and the

recesses ranged from the absolutely beautiful to the mysterious.

female coffee-coloured, in an infinite variety of types, species and

It could be right here… or here… the sacred entrance taking us

colours capable of astounding anyone bold enough to watch.

to Muribeca. Right after this, we saw on our right, in the distance,

We didn’t intend to find any definitive proof of the 1925 expedition, when Percy Harrison Fawcett disappeared with his

the two waterfalls plunging in parallel from the plateau, leading us to believe we had found the Twins.

We walked a little further and parked the packhorse by a cor-

WHAT PLACE IS THIS?

falls, with a recommendation from the owner of the land that we

Leaving the Valley of Dreams will be forever etched in our

should immediately climb a tree in the case of attack by a herd of

memories!

peccaries, which roam freely in the area and can be a danger to

On the horizon, the sun melting the remaining clouds on the

passers-by. Our incursion into the bush, with the added extra of

limit between sky and earth, created an incandescent scene.

hearing the deep, disquieting grunt of these animals, led us along

A little further ahead, a dark cloudburst of rain created an is-

an almost three-hour trek in a fine drizzle - sliding, tripping, falling,

land of water, surrounded by an orange light on all sides...

until finally reaching the bottom of the larger, left-hand Twin, from

fascinating!

which poured crystal-clear, ice-cold water. We immersed ourselves, body and soul, cleansed of everything! What a reward!

We had a ringside view of the storm, a real show of multicoloured sparks and lightning.

The exuberance of the place could inspire all kinds of beliefs,

Tens of thousands of insects surrounded us, declaring their

surrounded by an immense diversity... unshaped energies, natu-

dominion... mosquitoes, gnats, crickets, butterflies, moths, la-

ral beauty, sounds and noises, spirituality... and scaled down to

dybirds - there’s some kind of celebration... so many colours, so

size in the face of the forest of ormosia, bignonia, copaiba, brazil-

many flights that it took us a while to realize the feast that a flock

wood, caraíba, cork oak, lianas and the leguminous garapa...

of birds was making of this dance... it was almost seven o’clock

And so we drove on to the house of Euvirão, the owner of

in the evening!

these lands, where Beto and I delighted in the couple’s warm

We decided it was time to leave, even if with some difficulty,

welcome, between generous slices of cured cheese, balls of

as several seriemas, a red-legged wading bird, had dared to ap-

hard tapioca, mangoes, fresh water, freshly filtered coffee and

proach the Cayenne’s window. We could see the texture of their

the most variegated stories of the jaguars that surrounded the

enormous eyelashes and their languid but sharp blue eyes.

place... who could ask for more?

Night falls suddenly, and we continue on toward Nova Xavantina, leaving behind many feelings and the certainty of a speedy return.

An entire lifetime would not be enough to explore so much diversity...

We slept in Nova Xavantina, where the Xavante Indians wander the streets in the daytime in search of their lost identity, as if

XPDs | 33 |COLONEL FAWCETT

ral, and in less than fifteen minutes we were on the trail for the

XPDs | 34 | COLONEL FAWCETT

PREVIOUS PAGE: cattle and soy beans take up ever more land in the region of Água Boa and Nova Xavantina.

THESE PAGES: a family of howler monkeys; wild animals victims of the roads.

they were silently screaming with their stares that it wasn’t pos-

word, sentence or phrase that can do justice to the beauty of

sible any longer to be just Indians and much less, to become

this place!

integrated.

And it’s evident that the energy that conspires around here

In Água Boa, a planned town, we make our base for survival,

can be captured, making the experience unique. Colonel Percy

as we are about to depart for the Gruta Azul (Blue Grotto) and

Harrison Fawcett could have entered here and be living the es-

the Gruta da Gnose. We have at this point become a party of

sence of other dimensions. We felt a certain delirium, which

four, as we have been joined by our friend João Santini, one of

manifested itself silently, but absolutely.

the founders of the esoteric Gnose sect, and who is to lead us to the two caves and to other marvels.

Our next experience, on the ranch where the Gnose community lived, had another kind of impact reserved for us.

We penetrated the first big chamber of the grotto, where adepts

incredible succession of exotic places, under the tutelage of our

develop their connections, and there we were able to feel a suc-

guest, who brought a rare aura of luminosity to the expedition.

cession of different emotions. Enormous stalactites and stalagmites

The limestone hill hidden within the midst of the cerrado

growing from the limestone, chambers of various sizes, vast popu-

(savannah), where the grotto with a lagoon of turquoise blue

lations of bats, and so we walked on under the beam of the lantern

waters is encrusted, can only be accessed after almost two

and went deeper, as if pulled by the total and absolute darkness.

hundred kilometres of potholed roads, a crude ferry crossing

After going through various chambers, we saw a crack under

the River of the Dead, followed by a long stretch of potholes al-

an enormous rock and decided to wriggle through, to find one of

ternating with beef ribs, on a dirt and gravel road. Various rivers

the greatest marvels of the expedition.

without a bridge then follow in succession, where the crossing

In a space of approximately five hundred square metres, a

depends on the courage and daring of the adventurers, who

small lagoon of transparent water, surrounded by various lime-

at various times found themselves submerged in water up to

stone formations that were reminiscent of several meditating

the car’s bonnet. In other words, you don’t get to this paradise

Buddhas, which produced continuous rings on its surface, a

by accident.

sign that here everything is in constant transformation...

The Blue Grotto is a wonder!

Our contact with this diamond, under the responsibility of a local farmer, is a strongly emotional experience. There is no

Inevitably, we gathered to chant a universal mantra and produced an OM that continued for many minutes, still astounded with the access granted us.

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Over the following twenty-four hours, we were blessed with an

RIGHT: the River Cuiabá and its tributaries and meanders.

Water in abundance creating life in the Pantanal.

We discovered that the peace we were looking for outside was in fact vibrating in here!

Since all expeditions are alive with contrast, we did our part and launched ourselves on a five hundred kilometre adventure the next morning on a road totally destroyed by successive storms.

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Little remained above water, and thus immersed in a rough trail

Sitting on one of those magical peaks in the Valley of the Echo or on the City of Stone feeling the vibration of the place is unforgettable. Watching the splendid acrobatic flight of the blue macaws is beyond description.

We drove south to Poconé, looking for a flooded Pantanal and its diversity of plant and animal species. And we found it!

of mud and stones, we took on one of the worst stretches of

Caiman, otters, deer, the maned wolf, tapir, capybara, jaguar,

the whole journey. It took us over thirteen hours to cover the first

howler monkeys, ocelots, wildcats, monkeys, foxes, opossums,

three hundred and fifty kilometres. Without mentioning the heavy

coati, giant anteaters, cavy, land turtles…

jolts to which we were subjected.

We took on the mission, skirting the towns of Canarana, Garapú, Gaúcha do Norte, Paranatinga, until seeking shelter in Primavera do Leste.

Help! These had been almost four hundred kilometres totally surrounded by soybean plantations, where we could see for ourselves the imminent risks all forms of life run in such a scene. Mankind has reached the height of negligence, as he

Macaws, wood ibis, ducks, guan, flycatchers, woodpeckers, seedeaters, tanagers, wren, toucan, owls, hawks, caracarás, goldfinch, hummingbirds, spoonbills...

Anacondas, boa constrictors, rattlesnakes, river dolphin, fish species such as lambari, bonito, snapper, traira, piranha, curibatá, catfish... and that’s not all in these parts!

Driving along the Transpantaneira Highway is exciting enough.

has neutralized all natural feeling and manages to live in the

Flying over this green, flooded universe is a reward beyond

midst of an ocean of soybeans, without a single sign of the

expectations, and supplies a real notion of the grandeur and im-

original savannah vegetation, stripped of any diversity in the

portance of this Brazilian region.

flora and fauna, the only allies able to guarantee him physical,

Seeing this impressive but fragile nature, mirrored in giant

emotional, social and environmental health. To make matters

massifs, but which melts away from the simple action of wind

worse, he is subjected to constant dusting of the most varied

and water, is enough to cause in us a deep desire to protect our

kinds of poisons, in the form of clouds of defoliant and fungi-

environment, and thereby elevate our existence.

cides, composed of all that is most harmful to any living organ-

“God Save the Queen! My Muribeca exists and the whole

ism. It was the worst aggression against the environment we

world will bow in homage to the beauty of this place hidden in

saw during the entire expedition.

the heart of Brazil... I always believed in this and now such a mar-

The Chapada dos Guimarães tableland was balm to the eyes after the horror of the degrading soybean monoculture. Its rocky formations constitute one of the world’s greatest geological heritages.

vel shimmers intact.... Those who manage to attain this place will inevitably leave richer than ever!”

For it is without a doubt from the action of the winds blowing over us that we are polished.

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PREVIOUS PAGE: the many colours at day’s end and the magnificent waterfalls of the Chapada dos Guimarães.

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ABOVE: rain approaches in the Vale dos Sonhos.

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PREVIOUS PAGE: the viola of the Pantanal and the skilled fingers of violeiro Dito Verde.

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ABOVE: the sedimentary rocks of the Serra do Roncador.

A spectacle full of mystery that must have fired Fawcett’s imagination.

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Antônio Vieira, sermons in the wind Across the sands of Maranhão Ana Augusta Rocha text Fifi Tong photography

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PREVIOUS PAGE: in Bitupitá traditional fishing is the main activity. The life of the fisherman is not easy – fish stocks are diminishing day-by-day in Brazil’s coastal waters.

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ABOVE: in Camocim, at day’s end, the fisherman repairs his nets, to fish again another day.

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PREVIOUS PAGE: the wind tilts the fishermen’s sails, bending the will of men and even the vegetation at the sea’s edge.

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ABOVE: the sunset turns the landscape silver at the sandbar at TrairĂ­, soon after Fortaleza.

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ABOVE: children that we met in Bitupitá and Rio Novo.

A childhood spent playing in the sand and the lagoons.

RIGHT: the church in Rio Novo during the São João festivities.

Dancing, competitions and fireworks till the small hours.

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LETF: the road to Santo Amaro. Five hours travelling to get 70 kilometres – mud-holes, rivers and challenges along the whole route.

the dust rises, and what does it do? What the living and the

Father Antônio Vieira perhaps received his inspiration for his

very alive do. The dust doesn’t settle, neither can it fall; it walks,

Ash Wednesday Sermon, in 1672, from the coastal landscape of

runs and flies; enters one street, leaves by another; it advan-

Maranhão, the stage of several of his stays in the lands of Brazil

ces, turns around, fills everything, covers everything, overwhel-

during his lifetime of 89 years. Maranhão state and its sea of

ms everything, disturbs everything, takes everything, blinds

dunes facing the Atlantic Ocean: a world of sand, principally in

everything, penetrates everything; it gets into everything through

the southern strip of coastline, home to the Lençóis Maranhen-

everything, without quietening down or settling for a moment,

ses National Park, over 155,000 hectares of blinding white pitted

while the wind lasts. Isn’t that the way it is? That’s the way it is

with lakes of many colours extending to the state of Piauí. The

(...) the dust is ouselves (...) the wind is our lives (...)

lagoons appear in the rainy season, and only Heaven knows why they are of so many different tones.

The living are raised dust, the dead are fallen dust; the living

“That’s why we’re so full of wind”, I conclude. Vieira didn’t say it exactly like that. We think of grandeur, but we’re nothing more than dust and wind.

are dust that walks, the dead are dust that lies: Hic jacet. The-

When we were in the dunes of the Parnaíba Delta and the

se places are covered in dust in summer: a breath of wind and

Lençóis Maranhenses, I thought of these piles of grains of which

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“Man is as raised dust”, said Vieira.

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RIGHT: textures of Maranhão. The markets of the small and large towns are a temptation to the eyes.

Vieira spoke. The wind came and whirled them about, hitting one

the sea in their small boats. A time of simplicity in tune with the

another; we ourselves are human restlessness, running round in

tides, the rising and setting of the sun, darkening the skin, of

circles in cities: what is the difference?

canoes that leave, sometimes never to return.

But in an instant the scene took me far away from the philo-

It’s all true. In 1941, three fishermen left that coast in a jan-

sophising of Father Antônio Vieira. My thoughts were obliterated

gada (a one-sailed balsa raft, typical of the Brazilian North-East)

by what I saw: dunes and more dunes. A great whiteness, pat-

to protest, in Rio de Janeiro, against the terrible conditions fa-

terned with the turquoise and clear green of the lagoons; in all di-

cing the local fishing industry. (Nothing changed, only worsened).

rections, colour bordering on white as far as the eye could see. It

Then-president Getúlio Vargas, fearing repercussions against

took my breath away: for an instant only the landscape existed.

his government, made political capital out of their epic struggle

Father Antônio Vieira, our book’s 17th century guest, was our

by calling the fishermen “heroes of the sea”. The news spread

guide through the region. Or was it the landscape itself, so well

around the world and filmmaker Orson Welles arrived the follo-

travelled by the revered priest, which brought him along with us?

wing year to make a film of their story, involving the original fi-

I feel now that the initial reason was of little matter for this great

shermen, including the leader of the undertaking, the legendary

reunion which, forgive me holy priest, is diabolical in the best of

Jacaré, Manoel Olímpio Moura. During filming on an extremely

senses: the eloquent words of Vieira, a man who led an extra-

windy day, Jacaré set out, never to return. He drowned when his

ordinary life, in this environment, so magnificent that we find it

jangada capsized. Orson Welles paid an indemnity to the family,

difficult to believe. The Lençóis Maranhenses, the Small Lençóis

and left the film unfinished: magnificent scenes of men and tiny

and parts of the delta of the River Parnaíba, led our team on with

boats against the immense ocean. But everything is still there,

its vast size, the unique quality of its landscape of dunes, dunes

just like in 1941: the lack of support for the local fishing industry

and yet more dunes and the purity of the waters adorning them,

and its fishing folk, the beauty of the landscape... And our team

whether in swift-flowing rivers or in transparent many-hued lago-

filming, Guto our Orson Welles: those men setting out wrapped

ons. All this in a landscape devoid of people: here and there a

up against the breaking waves and the cold wind, would they

small settlement. Our conversation was with the scenery.

return? Only the sea knew for sure.

We set out from Fortaleza on a day in June 2007. Ten days

Jericoaquara, frequented by tourists from around the world,

later, we arrived in São Luiz do Maranhão. The whole journey,

marked the formal start of our journey. Structured around a

including comings and goings on small byroads, totalled 1,200

national park, it is a popular destination, with many hotels, and

kilometres. Some stretches probably took as long as in the times

magnificent dunes that turn gold at sunset, where local children

of Father Vieira. And this was why the journey occurred, not only

turn somersaults, play, slide down and have fun. Next is Tata-

in a stunningly scenic region, but also in time. A time of fishing

juba, how “Jeri” must have been 30 years ago, also surroun-

folk: nets patched up and cast, nets patched up again and cast

ded by dunes and dotted with lagoons. From here on there’s

again; waves rolling on to the beach, the men thrown about on

almost no tourism until Maranhão. Long beaches, greyish

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PREVIOUS PAGE: the unbelievable transparency of the Lagoa da Gaivota (Seagull Lagoon), near Santo Amaro.

sand: an immense sea. Bitupitá and Camocim, the largest and

hair, hypnotising us; other times strong, making life difficult for

most inhabited, halfway along the coast, rely on fishing as their

the fishermen, who insisted on taking their canoes and jangadas

main activity, supplying fish and shrimp to the city of Fortaleza.

out to sea from the simple necessity of not wasting a single

Hundreds of coloured boats decorate the shoreline at day’s end,

opportunity for a catch. Fishing is virtually the only means of

when the fishermen return from work. From Camocim, we hea-

sustenance in the region. And the fish are disappearing from the

ded inland toward Barroquinha, more like the interior than the

sea: pressure on the stocks, foreign fishing boats that pillage

coast, and here one has to stop for a sweet after so much salt.

our waters, or even powerful trawlers from our own Brazilian

Dona Adelaide serves her special sweet potato conserve in her

fishing fleet have all impacted the lives of the men and women

house, in the town’s main square. A bit of advice: open the tin

of these shores, who every day see conditions worsen for their

(the delicious sweet is kept in powdered milk tins), and stick your

timeless lifestyle.

spoon in. Hunker down on the pavement. The church in front is perhaps finished by now, built mainly by the priest himself.

The first part of the journey’s objective was to get to the Island of Caju, in the Parnaíba Delta, between Piauí and Maranhão,

For almost the whole route we travelled along the sand. The-

where Father Vieira had celebrated mass. The Jesuits owned

re are no other roads. Our wheels left tracks in the dunes, mes-

the island in the 1600s and some historians hold that they brou-

sing up the beaches. But then the next tide or the wind would

ght the Tremembé Indians together into a reservation, to protect

come along and nothing would remain of our passing. Just as

them from the wrath of the colonists. Others claim that it was

well: the wind was our constant companion from beginning to

Vieira himself who managed to win recognition for the island as

end, sometimes gentle, making the coconut fronds wave like

an indigenous enclave, which would make it the first Indian reser-

ABOVE: Bumba-meu-boi (Dance of the Bull) celebration in Santo Amaro.

We arrived, found people rehearsing and within half-an-hour the whole scene was set.

vation of which we have news in Brazil. Caju has always been an

a violent and remarkable event in the history of Brazil, and led,

island surrounded by fantastic stories on all sides. According to

among other dramas, to the killing in 1760 of all the Tremembé

an old story told to a vicar from Parnaíba by a fisherman named

on the island of Caju, from whence the belief that the island, in

Barra Grande: “Caju is a treasure trove. But once it was even

addition to treasure, is home to hundreds of lost souls lamenting

more. It was a marvel. The Jesuit fathers, the ones that preached

their terrible fate in the dark of night.

God into our souls, lived for a long time there. The chapel of Our

We reached the island by motorboat, on a stretch of the River

Lady of Sailors is there, made of whitewashed stone, as well as

Parnaíba that took us around two hours. In the time of Vieira,

the convent, where the school was. It was the fathers that made

with small sailing boats, it would have taken a whole day and

everything, yes sir. Later, the government fought and expelled

night. The river, however, has not changed: hardly any people

them, taking everything for themselves; and the years came and

or houses to be seen, just tall, lush mangroves on each bank,

went, until Caju fell into the hands of an Englishman – a mister

and a passing canoe or two. Besides visiting the place where

Paulo. One night he was wandering about like some crazy guy,

Vieira held mass, today part of the main house, we spent the

when he found the treasure. – Treasure?! – Yes sir, my old vicar…

day gently floating on the waters of the region, until leaving Caju

of the Jesuit fathers. They buried it there when they left...”

at the end of the afternoon, when the sky catches fire from the

The people of the region believe in the Jesuits’ buried trea-

sun sinking on the horizon and from the thousands of scarlet ibis

sure. And that an Englishman, owner of the island sometime in

returning to their nesting grounds in the middle of the river. The

the 1800s, found part of it and then vanished... The Jesuits’ ex-

bright-red birds follow a schedule: beginning to appear on the

pulsion by the Marquis of Pombal from all Portuguese lands was

horizon at 5pm, always in groups, with the last stragglers arriving

by 6pm, leaving the trees of this small island dotted with red, like

in his trajectory of influence in the courts of Europe had chosen

blossom. The scarlet ibis, a South American species threatened

queens, and drawn up and signed treaties in his role mediating

with extinction along with their mangrove habitat, is of a bright

international conflicts. The journeys to Brazil arose, therefore,

crimson that stands out against the sky’s vivid blue. The feathers

from his need to distance himself from the stage of international

are dyed this colour from the bird’s eating habits, based on a

political theatre. He had the backing of the Company of Jesus

small crab living in the mangrove. Sitting quietly in our small boat

and the king interceded on his behalf, naming him “visitor” to

with the engine switched off, we watched the birds circling the

the lands of Brazil. Controversial as he was, he arrived in the

trees, the older ones teaching the chicks how to land, perch, fly

colonies openly criticizing the settlers for their lifestyle, based on

a little further and return. Each flight leaving red scratch marks

greed and the abuse of the indigenous people and African sla-

on the sky, tracing an elegant synchronised ballet. We returned

ves. Not that he proposed freeing the slaves. He knew that the

to Parnaíba with little sensation of Vieira’s time on the island, but

question was beyond his reach. But Vieira spoke. He attempted

with our eyes filled with flame-coloured ibises.

to resolve his ethical conflicts and use his influence in Sunday

Father Antônio Vieira came to Maranhão preaching to the

sermons attended by hundreds of people. These echoed deeply

grains of sand three times in his life, staying for several years on

in the lives of the colonials, to the extent that he questioned their

each occasion. They were delicate moments in his personal life,

way of being and intended to change it.

when the immense political power he held had diminished. Vieira

ABOVE: a companion from the São João festivities in Rio Novo, Chico Viola sang his songs with gusto.

Vieira fought for the Indians. He did not want them enslaved by

the Europeans, but rather submitted to God and settled in the fa-

the crowd, he preached to the fish in the sea. I think of the sea,

mous missions and reservations led by the Jesuits. Either way, he

an ocean of drops, of tides… first advancing then retreating. We,

did not accept them for what they were. Vieira also preached on

humanity, restlessly on the move: what is the difference?

behalf of the Africans: not before recommending that they should

From the Parnaíba Delta we proceeded to the Lençóis Mara-

become resigned to their fate and that in heaven they would be

nhenses. The two are virtually joined together: one of the ocean

the masters. As regards the Jews, he certainly defended them

sides of Caju Island – Melancieiras - has the same landscape

against the Inquisition: he knew how important their money was

of continuous dunes dotted with small lagoons. We set out by

in financing Portugal’s colonial empire. Vieira was therefore a

back roads to Barreirinhas, considered to be the main gateway

man with one foot in the future, raising ethical and humanitarian

into the Lençóis.

questions, while at the same time with the other set firmly in the

The city has changed over the last ten years: there are luxury

present, ever ready to kick at the stones in his path. The wor-

condos on the banks of the River Preguiças, contrasting sharply

ds, the sermons, bridged the gap between present and future

with the confusion of the town: ugly buildings, mud and rubbish

and suggested how the crossing from one to the other might be

in the streets. The urban mess is a paradox, after all Barreirinhas

achieved. But the people were disinclined to make the transition.

is a town eminently suited to tourism. Vieira gave a sermon spe-

In a famous sermon in Maranhão’s capital, São Luiz, he pro-

aking of human contradictions, the immense distance between

tested that people were not paying attention: turning his back on

intention and deed. He said: “each person is the sum of their

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ABOVE: on the way to São Luiz, a panoramic view of the sunset.

actions, and nothing else”. Barreirinhas in many of its actions is

Rio Novo, as the name implies, has a river, and kids jumping

the antithesis of tourism. Can it be that nobody sees this? There

into the water. It has streets of sand, and kids playing football in

is a circuit of tours surrounding the town. Beauty begins at the

the streets, and time that passes slowly, inviting us to wander,

town’s limits: go down the river to the Mandacaru lighthouse in

slowly, drinking in small sips of the simple beauty in everything.

the tiny settlement of Atins, from where the Atlantic can be seen,

Over the years, the river has changed its course, eating into the

or take a walk in the dunes and visit the lagoons. We opted

banks: some people have had to move their houses. They build

to spend as little time as possible in Barreirinhas and enter the

other ones, small, whitewashed, cool. And life goes on gently

Lençóis via the small town of Rio Novo. Rio Novo, officially called

here - impossible not to be moved. Rio Novo was for us the real

Paulino Neves, is a land between rivers – the Preguiças and the

gateway into the Lençóis Maranhenses, necessitating a change

Novo, a Mesopotamia in the midst of the sands of the Pequenos

of pace. Travelling in the dunes must be done slowly anyway

(Small) Lençóis. It is a trip back in time: unpaved streets, small,

even when in a Cayenne. Seeing the sun rise over the dunes is

pretty houses, a little church readied for the festivities of São

almost like feeling the sun rise within one’s own body: we really

João (St. John the Baptist), conversations in Dona Mazé’s bed-

are as dust.

and-breakfast or at night in the bar on the bridge, where there’s music, a fresh breeze and stars in the sky.

From Rio Novo one can travel by foot to the lovely Caburé, another place unique to the Lençóis, a small settlement and a

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beautiful, simple bed-and-breakfast, in perfect harmony with the

parting the waters. “Shallow...” Our Cayenne had water halfway

landscape. Six hours of walking among the dunes, then the re-

up the doorframe, slowly but surely… the five longest minutes of

turn to Barreirinhas by boat on the River Preguiças. We decided

the whole journey. It was our last crossing, the car and the souls

to go further in, to Santo Amaro, after five hours in the midst

of its occupants washed clean. Vieira’s Tremembés, the slaves

of the sand and achieving only 70 kilometres. We got stuck,

of yore, awaited us in the doors of their houses, watching these

took wrong tracks, and we also looked about in wonder. The

strange people with their big cars coming out of the river in the

narrow road was often flooded. At these times, João Gaúcho,

middle of the night. We were in the last town before the void,

our experienced guide, took off his boots and walked through

almost in the heart of the Lençóis Maranhenses.

the flood, feeling the bottom with his feet, looking for bumps and

Our heartbeat picked up again the next day. On our wande-

holes that could damage the car and leave us stranded for many

rings around town we came across tambourines being played,

more hours. A few cuts and bruises later, he pointed out the

in preparation for the festa de boi (dance of the bull) festivities

way. At the end of the sand, almost at nightfall, the Cayenne’s

in two days time. We started taking photos: two, three, four,

headlights shone on a very wide river that had to be crossed,

ten people... Four bottles of locally distilled brandy to warm the

the few lights of Santo Amaro shining on the other side. “The

spirit: twelve, fifteen, twenty. The pantomime bull arrived from

river is shallow”, said João, who was driving the car in front,

somebody’s house, all embroidered and aglitter. A dancer got

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LEFT: fishing between Camocim and Bitupitá involves many people. The fish goes to Fortaleza, every day.

inside and began to twirl. Right before our eyes, in just one hour there was a festa de boi to photograph, film and dance to.

Santo Amaro is the centre from which all roads and adventures radiate into the Lençóis, and we stayed here a few days, to visit the lagoon of seagulls, a place difficult to reach and almost impossible to leave, as big as it is blue and transparent. We let ourselves float for hours in that immensity of blue water, looking

the movement of the clouds, the only ones passing, as we… stayed and stayed.

We left for Santo Amaro, retracing the entire outward trip, crossing rivers, creeks, water and sand, to São Luiz do Maranhão, the end of our journey, our farewell to Father Antônio Vieira made in the midst of the old townhouses that witnessed his life, his wanderings, and his restlessness. Dark alleys, tiles worn by time, centuries-old mango trees, labyrinthine rows of houses, their steps full of history. We lost ourselves in the city, going back in time, and were able to get closer to the magnificent Vieira and his writings, visiting museums that kept his memory alive, measuring our footsteps on the stones that he trod. With the lagoons, golden sands, the unquantifiable treasure that is the Lençóis Maranhenses Park fresh in our minds, so fragile and unprotected. “(...) and we do not wish you treasures hidden in your hearts arousing envy in others: principally when these are not surrounded by walls strong enough to defend the entrance”. Yes, father, the treasure is there and without “walls” to protect it, at least not yet. All that remains, therefore, is to ask each visitor to do what is right, to set their best example: discover, wonder and preserve, so that our footprints may be easily and gently erased by the wind.

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at the sky, the walls of sand shaping it, Guto Carvalho capturing

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PREVIOUS PAGE: the region of the Lagoa da Gaivota, near Santo Amaro – an endless sequence of beautiful lagoons.

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ABOVE: scarlet ibis in late afternoon, returning to their nests near Cajú Island. The sky turns incandescent...

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THESE PAGES: in São Luiz, mosaics of time.

Centuries-old tiles, colonial townhouses, colonial Brazil.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS COLONEL FAWCETT

PAULO BERTRAN

João Santini; Prefeitura de Água Boa; Projeto Gnose; Dito Verde;

Bismarque Villa Real; Fábio Martinelli: Pousada Arvoredo; Maria

Euvirão; Roberto Cartaxo; SESC Pantanal Estância Ecológica.

das Graças Fleury Curado; Pousada Dona Sinhá; Sr. Otávio Severino de Menezes and Priscila Vilarinho de Menezes; Fazenda

FATHER VIEIRA

Babilônia: Família Lopes Machado.

João Teodolino (João Gaúcho); Paulo and team; Casa Inglesa/ Ingrid Clark; Ilha do Caju; Dona Adelaide (Barroquinha-CE); Dona

CABEZA DE VACA

Mazé (Rio Novo-MA); Pousada Massai Mara (Jericoaquara-CE);

Domingos Cardoso Pereira; Francisco Pereira; Anápio Pereira;

ICMBio Parque Nacional de Jericoaquara.

Agripino Francisco da Rosa; Erno Franzmann; Getúlio Santana; Claimar Granzotto; ICMBio Parque Nacional de Aparados da

JAMES W. WELLS

Serra and da Serra Geral; ICMBio Parque Nacional do Iguaçu;

Ramis Tetu; Korubo Expedições: Cinthia Krause Batista e Lu-

Parque Nacional de São Joaquim; Hotel Tropical das Cataratas;

ciano Rodrigues Cohen.

Macuco Safári; Helisul Táxi Aéreo.

This book was typeset in Helvetica Neue and printed on Couché Suzano Matte 150 g/m2 by Pancrom for Auana Editora and Terra Virgem Editora in July, 2008

EXPEDICIONÁRIOS In this world where everything has been seen and scrutinized, everything discovered, what does being an expeditionary mean today?

In the past, they were men who dared to set out into the unknown and face countless dangers. Driven by not often confessable desires such as power, fame and fortune, those that passed down into history were those that took the time to observe the land and the men and women of the land, leaving journals and descriptions of the time: a precious heritage for us all.

We symbolically invited ghost-expeditionaries from the past to share the journey with us. We sought inspiration from them and the urge to set out. The English colonel Percy Fawcett, who vanished in Brazil in 1925; Cabeza de Vaca, a Spaniard from the 16th century; Father Antônio Vieira, from the 17th century; the English traveller James W. Wells, who lived in Brazil in the second half of the 19th century; and the contemporary historian from Goiás, Paulo Bertran. They inspired us on our travels.

The journeys are an invitation to the reader to become involved and, who knows, follow their own expeditionary hearts: by going afar to find what’s closest, our own selves.