|
 Sometimes the usual enticements of Rio de Janeiro are too sweltering to handle, especially in December and January. On occasion, in searing daytime temperatures, the hot white sands of Ipanema and Leblon that slope down to the cool Atlantic waves bake the feet too much, the expansive shores that often teem with impromptu soccer or volleyball games go comatose, the ubiquitous sarong, T-shirt, and chopp salesmen start using their wares and empty beer coolers as hats in the noonday sun.
Even the entrepreneurial coconut-boys normally climbing the palms along the beach boulevard, Avenida Atlântica, go to ground, and the beautiful girls stop swaying with samba sashays along the mosaic walkway of Copacabana. Those seeking the sensual delights of surf and thongs now look for respite in the shade. To be sure, there are many ways to find relief in the heated haze of Rio. But for us, the knuckled mountains beckoned, rising in the shimmering air beyond The Sugar Loaf or Pão de Açúcar at 400 m., or the Corcovado at 700 m. We took the advice of a local businessman, Roberto, who saw us trying to cool down in the air-conditioned hotel foyer, and decided to go north out of Rio to the mountains. Low mountains actually occupy 52% of Brazil, one range of which is the Serra da Mantiqueira, running from São Paulo northeast to Rio de Janeiro. Roberto suggested we drive out of the city smog on highway BR 040 to sample the cool refreshing air in the mountains only an hour away. After all we were in good company. Not only Cariocas (Rio residents) but also the royal family used to escape the mugginess by going to the mountains. In fact, the current heir to the throne, Dom Pedro, lives in Petrópolis, a mere 60 km. from Rio (although Brazil finished with monarchy in 1889). The highway from Rio passes through industrial blight before it reaches a jungle-like mountain ascent. Quickly, the road climbs, bordered by a winding hummock of purple and white wild impatiens. Overhanging palms with silver fronds and bright hibiscus flowers brushed by the open car window. The cooler air was palpable and invigorating. Eventually the highway takes you to the knobbly, rounded peaks, like thick finger-tips, of the Serra dos Órgãos. Many of these bald peaks are over 2,000 meters. By comparison, the Appalachians are approximately 1,000 meters and the Rockies are 3,000 meters. At the western edge of the Serra dos Órgãos is the Parque Nacional of the same name. If you drive off the main highway, Petrópolis (800 meters and 68 km from Rio) is the first refuge at the western edge, Teresópolis (900 meters and 91 km from Rio) in the middle and the highest town in the state of Rio, and Novo Friburgo (850 meters) is at the eastern end. These three resort towns offer plenty of diversions such as the Bohemia beer brewery, colonial coffee fazendas, riparian hikes, picnics by waterfalls, and Swiss chalets dating from the immigrants who came in 1818. The highest peak is the Pedra do Sino or Bell Rock at 2,600 meters. There are good hotels and restaurants and ample infrastructure for tourists' needs. Our Rio Roberto, however, had suggested we go to Itaipava, a small town 20 km. beyond Petrópolis on the BR 040, and a popular weekend getaway with the Cariocas. Itaipava is at the junction of the main highway and the BR 495 to Teresópolis. The town is a bit novo, spread along the Rio do Jacó, with steep hills climbing out of the valley. Off a spacious boulevard, there was a strip of modern banks, Swiss-styled taverns and restaurants, boutiques, textile outlets, and a local market, or feira. We marveled at the crest of one rutted hill road dipping like a roller coaster track before us, to see rooftops cluttered with satellite dishes like dark upturned mushrooms. We were looking for a quieter and cooler resting oasis though and proceeded on the river road out of town. About two kilometers on the road towards Teresópolis, we noticed some very posh gates on the right hand side announcing the Pousada Capim Santo, a Roteiro de Charme hotel. The gatekeeper said it was closed, but in typical Brazilian style, smiled and appreciated my friend, Peter's Christmas-like query, "Would you turn away four hungry travelers who have come all the way from Canada?" He telephoned up to the restaurant, raised the gate and with a cheery "boa tarde," waved us along. We were welcomed onto a shaded patio to lunch al fresco on fresh tortellini and cappacia, prepared specially. A zephyr breeze and a gurgling stream had a soporific effect, but we went on looking for further delights. We carried on exploring the river road and at mid-afternoon stopped at a pousada, Tambo Los Incas, set in a glade by the river. The rooms were lovely: cool and named for the colorful paint. The champagne yellow and the midnight blue were available, each beautifully appointed with lace and pottery, and dark shutters that opened onto pastoral riverside meadows of grazing horses, rutting goats and clucking chickens. The main foyer was replete with ancient Incan erotic pottery depicting enough poses and apparati to render our ancestors truly superhuman. But it was too early to check in, and Peter persuaded us to keep wandering up the ever-narrowing valley. We followed the paved road along the river and stopped at a roadside barraca that was Spartan except for a remarkable stained glass window and soccer memorabilia. The shuffling waiter was a Vasco fan and he warmed to us when I was able to name some Brazilian soccer stars. We asked about the pousada below and he shrugged that it was alright but if we wanted something special, then we should try a new resort up in the mountains a short drive ahead. With several obrigados we followed his directions to a fork in the road. We veered along a devolving roadway - a cobbled cart way that gave way to rutted, red clay. The road twisted and wound upwards but we went slowly enough to notice macaws and huge butterflies in the verdant overhanging trees. Finally, after a few kilometers (less than 20 from Itaipava), we turned at a sharp hairpin left and drove under a wicker arch announcing an eco-resort. The road kept climbing through an escort of monkey-puzzle trees and bamboo, past a restaurant set along a mountain stream, until we came to a clearing and a large lodge. There was a beautifully carved sign, three otters chasing each other in a circle around the name Tankamana, which was Tibetan for 'peace'. How appropriate! It was like entering Shangri-la. The lodge was a huge post-and-lintel log structure with some hotel rooms. On a level clearing above the lodge, via a walkway along fragrant hydrangea bushes and purple flowered trees there was an open acreage that included another huge log café and games building, a pool and a sauna. All around us in this alpine clearing were the organ-pipe picos of several Machu Picchu-like mountains. Below on the steep-terraced mountain meadow there ranged sixteen, doll-sized cottages dotting the hillside, only four of which were being occupied. The wooden beamed chalets were diminutive in scale but luxurious in appointment. The floors had flagstone tiles, the walls were cedar and redolent, the windows hung with Battenburg lace. Just inside the door, there was a cozy and cute breakfast nook by a window that looked out to a piton. There was a spacious ensuite bathroom with a deep tub and shower. The 'bedroom' went up three steps to a raised platform under an alcove, the bed fluffy with a duvet and a fireplace nearby if the night got too chilly. The temperatures here ranged from 73 degrees Fahrenheit in the day and 57 degrees at night. The prices for the cottages ranged from 360 reais to 490 reais, approximately US$ 170 to US$ 230. We had found an alpine idyll only two hours from Rio. We walked back up to the pool level in our thick fleecy bathrobes in the late afternoon, stopping to admire the purple florets that seemed to be providing their own light in the lengthening shadows. Several times, we combined a healthy sauna with pool plunges and relaxed on lounges sipping the classic lime, caipirinha de vodka until dusk was settling in and the fireflies began flitting. But like Canute we could neither hold back the night nor prolong the velvety waning afternoon. Stars were blinking as we walked down to the riparian restaurant. There was a bridge walk over a weir and in the main dining room, translucent floor tiles revealed the trout-filled stream rushing below. Warm candle lamps made us feel cozy and private. After the house special, truta Tankamana, we had liqueurs and coffee in the adjacent garden. The fuzzy, spindly tail-like branches of the monkey puzzle trees and the almost phosphorescent impatiens, the cool mountain air and gurgling stream, and the bird ululations (or was it bats) treated our five senses. As I tilted my head back to drain my nightcap, I saw the Southern Cross through the ring of peaks. We were only 1,000 meters above and 100 km. away from tropical Rio but we had found our alpine, mid-summer night's dream. Important Tips: There are 4 daily buses from Rio to Teresópolis, taking two hours at about US$ 5. Car rentals are plentiful and it takes about two hours to Itaipava on the BR 040 The Tankamana Eco Resort website is www.tankamana.com.br. James Ellsworth has had lengthy stays in Brazil. He is a free lance writer for Oxford University Press, McGraw-Hill, Scholastic, EQAO, and OSSTF Education Services, You can find more on him on his webpage: http://www.wordsworthje.com and messages are welcome at
This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it
.
 |
Subscribe to this comment's feed