Halloween 2009: Parque Nacional Chapada dos Guimarães, Mato Grosso

I should begin by noting that I'm currently in Mato Grosso, a state to the north of Mato Grosso do Sul. (Well, obviously, Adam. It's in the title.) The two states were previously unified as Mato Grosso, and before that were part of the Province of São Paulo. Two people have mentioned to me that the capital of the Province of São Paulo was moved from its first and present location to Cuiabá for at least a short while in the colonial period.

My thoughts on the state capital Cuiabá will follow. For now, a bit of tourism.

Recall that I arrived in Campo Grande on a Sunday and confirmed that Monday was a holiday. Cuiabá had to top that: my first Friday was Public Servants' Day, which closed all schools and government offices, and this Monday is Day of the Deceased (which follows All Saints' Day). So we're in the midst of a four-day weekend, and the city is closed. 15% of my weekdays have been holidays during this trip. Dammit.

I tried unsuccessfully all week to reserve a hotel room in Chapada dos Guimarães, a small town about an hour from the capital. Despite my failure, I resolved to make a day trip to the National Park, and was confirmed for a group excursion on Friday afternoon. I was told to show up at 9 AM, which meant getting to the bus station in time to buy a ticket for a 7:30 AM bus.

Either stupid me, or malandros Brazilians. Getting to the bus station on time meant skipping the hotel breakfast and eating something I will probably regret at the terminal cafe. It meant losing sleep, hustling down the hill, and arriving at the tour office at 9:01 AM. I was the first one. We left after everyone else took their sweet time, stopped at the ATM, went fruit shopping at the market, stood around chatting, at 11 AM. I should know better by now.

No matter. I joined a group that comprised four paulistas (people from São Paulo) who largely kept to themselves, two friends, Sérgio from Belo Horizonte and Leyde from Cuiabá who used to live in Minas Gerais, and Faisal the guide, a Portuguese and literature teacher from the local high school who guides on the weekends and also runs a campsite in town. (It understates the problem to say that public school teachers are not paid well in this country.)

We set out for the Caverna Aroe Jari, the longest cave in the country at 1.2 km.

This was my first introduction to the Brazilian cerrado.

Brasília lies in that direction, about 850 km away.





The region is a massive mesa that is bordered by the Atlantic Forest to the east, the Amazon Basin to the north, and the Pantanal to the west. On some maps, it's termed the Mato Grosso Plateau. The most remarkable features are short, stubby, fire-resistant trees. A lot of the cerrado is currently being cleared, or has been cleared, to plant three crops: wheat (milho), cotton (algodão) and soybeans (soja).

The sheer vastness and harshness of the cerrado impressed me. (New trivia point: Brazil has more land area than does the continental United States. This is a big region smack in the middle.) There are multiple river systems throughout, but many are seasonal and distant from one another. In the area immediately surrounding Chapada, some rivers flow south, into the Pantanal and eventually into the River Plate Estuary near Buenos Aires. Other rivers, not five kilometers away, flow north and eventually end up in the Amazon Estuary near Belem.

There are forests, but they aren't shady, and the underbrush is thick. When the first bandeirantes (Brazilian explorers from the southeast in search of gold and Indians to enslave) pushed through into the interior, the going must have been extremely difficult. Teddy Roosevelt explored this region at the beginning of the twentieth century, after his presidency, and cut years off of his life. Even with modern conveniences, it's not the most comfortable area. (Or maybe I'm soft and spoiled.) We traveled with leather shin guards to protect our calves against the spiny, sharp, or stubborn brush that lined the trail.





Faisal remarked that Chapada dos Guimarães is not named after a Guimarães family or person, but is instead named after the city in Portugal. No one lived here when the name was chosen. You see, we're west of the Treaty of Tordesillas line. This should have been Spanish territory. However, bandeirantes representing the Portuguese crown, in order to establish a series of claims, ran around hastily giving everything in the territory Portuguese place-names.

We did explore the cave, and a nearby crystal blue pool, but the pictures from both aren't very good. It was very dark, as caves are wont to be. They were both cool with slight breezes, which was refreshing. Here are three of the best photos:







Last, we stopped at a nearby natural waterfall with an artificially-created swimming hole. No one seemed to mind that, in my rush out the door in the morning, I had forgotten to pack a bathing suit and had to swim in boxers instead. The water was cold, which was a welcome refreshment despite the onset of a thunder storm.

I was offered a ride back to Cuiabá with Leyde and Sérgio, and gladly accepted. We dropped Faisal the guide off at his house after a stop at a storied ice cream parlor (new fruit: buriti), and made our way back. It was another "huh" moment; speeding through the dark with two Brazilian strangers. They are very nice people.

Before we left, however, we stopped at the geodesic center of South America, which is perched on the edge of the mesa with a view over the valley below and toward the Cuiabá skyline. The point is equidistant from the extreme east and west, and north and south, limits of the South American continent. I presume that this measure excludes Panama. I now have a new answer to what's in the middle of South America.

I'll conclude with a photo of myself from the Geodesic Center, because I was raised with the idea that landscape pictures without people are dull. If I had included myself before, I would have left out all of the weird natural details.





Hope everyone had a scary Princeton Parents' Weekend.