Fortaleza & Farewells

8-9 October.Leaving the beaches behind, we made our way into Fortaleza — a large, sprawling city stretched along Brazil’s northeast coast and our final stop before heading inland. At the end of the month, we have a river barge to catch down the Paraguay River, bound for the Pantanal, Brazil’s wild and remote heart.

The Pantanal is one of the largest wetlands in the world — a vast floodplain teeming with life. Jaguars stalk the riverbanks, capybaras graze in the reeds, caimans soak up the sun, and thousands of birds flash colour across the sky. A place where nature still runs the show. Another bucket-list stop, and we’re very excited.

For now, though, we’ve traded open beaches for city blocks. We’re camped with Mario, Wenke, and Klaas, who also needed a few days in the city to get things done.

Our camp was more of a bus storage yard than anything else — nothing special, just a clean, tidy space behind high walls and iron gates, with everything we needed for a short city stop. The toilet and shower were as basic as they come, but after months on the road, we’ve learned that basic often works just fine.

As usual, Tim and I were up before dawn, woken by a loud motorbike revving down the street. Tea and coffee mugs in hand by six, and by seven we had all the kite gear laid out to be cleaned of sand, properly folded, and repacked. Tim then emptied everything from the back of the truck and, with a borrowed vacuum cleaner, rid the truck of sand.

It was a full day of reorganizing and getting ready for the long drive ahead. The kids settled into their schoolbooks while we worked, and by late afternoon the truck was spotless inside.

Around four, we took a break and headed into the city mall, hunting for new clothes for Tim. The place was massive — bright, air-conditioned, and every bit as big as any American mall, with stores ranging from dollar bargains to designer fashion.

The next morning came early again. After the usual coffee and chatter, we said our farewells and watched the Frog roll out the gate at 7:30 a.m. It’s been great spending a bonus few days together, and as always, we’re left wondering where our paths will cross next.

Tire rotation & oil change

Soon after, it was our turn. The yard owner kindly escorted us to a tire specialist outside of town. We had the tires flipped on the rims and rotated to even out the wear — two hours’ work and $65 CAD later, we were back on the road.  Next stop: a large bucket of oil. At 12,000 km since our last change, it was definitely time.

By 1 p.m. we were finally heading west, leaving behind the white sandy beaches and turquoise waters. Ahead of us stretched the driest and widest part of the country, a 3,500 km trek across the heart of Brazil. The sun beat down hard on my side of the truck, windows down, the air thick with heat as the mercury reached 39’C.  

We knew we had some long driving days ahead of us, crossing a part of the world we know very little about.  iOverlander showed a few markers, but nearly all the descriptions were in Portuguese. Stopping a couple of hours behind a gas station, just 200 km down the road. Tim changed the oil, which as always, drew attention. Truckers wandered over, curious about our rig and our travels. Even with our limited Portuguese, we managed to communicate — mostly with gestures, laughter, and the universal language of curiosity.  They offered help, advice, and smiles. With fresh oil and rotated tires — which now made a slightly different sound — we kept rolling west, just stopping for water and food.

crossing Brazils driest desert

Before long, we found ourselves in the driest part of the country. The road was decent enough, though far from smooth. In places the tarmac had melted under the combined assault of intense heat and heavy trucks. The scenery was flat and open, stretching endlessly to the horizon. We spent our first couple of nights camped at gas stations — simple, safe, and with cool showers to wash away the day’s dust.

Keeping water cold in this heat became a full-time job. We rotate bottles through the back freezer, then filled our insulated flasks from there. Still, plain water gets boring after a while, so we started adding a little juice powder — sugary but a welcome treat. I think we’ve acclimated well to the heat, at night we find the temperatures are comfortable enough to sleep. No need for a top sheet. When there’s no breeze we use our fans.

Parque Nacional Serra da Capivara

12 October. As we moved deeper inland, the landscape shifted — scrubby bushland, dry and cracked earth, strange twisted trees adapted to the heat. We reachedParque Nacional Serra da Capivara, a UNESCO World Heritage Site famous for its ancient rock art and archaeological importance.

This area, State of Piauí, is one of the most significant prehistoric sites in the Americas. The sandstone formations and caves hold paintings dating back over 25,000 years, depicting daily life, hunting scenes, rituals, and animals long vanished. The park lies in a semi-arid region of plateaus and deep valleys — a landscape shaped by wind, time, and water that once covered it when this whole region lay beneath an ancient sea.

We arrived and began the challenge of finding a guide. In Capivara, you can’t enter the park without one, and the guides come from nearby villages.  Eventually, one was arranged, and we set off on a 7 km hike through dry, dusty trails leading to towering rock walls shaped like cathedrals. The paintings were remarkable — vivid ochres and reds telling stories of a time so long ago. 

We climbed to a plateau with sweeping views over what was, millions of years ago, the oceanfloor. The heat was fierce, the sun relentless, but we did have a warm breeze.  I could feel a blister forming on the back of my heel — probably a sign that after ten weeks of living barefoot, my feet aren’t quite used to shoes anymore.   

In the three hour tour we managed to drink 6L of water, finishing the last drop 10 mins before arriving back at the truck.  

Locals in chairs

Leaving the park, we wound our way through simple rural communities like Caracol, where life slows to a standstill during the midday heat. There’s no TV; people come out to the street and watch the world — and the occasional strange Canadian truck — pass by from the shade of a tree, seated on their plastic chairs. At the edge of the village, the pavement ended and the real adventure began — what we hadn’t realized yet was that the next five days will be driving on dirt roads, sometimes smooth, sometimes firm, but many times bone-rattling washboard and deep red sand. But always interesting and always an adventure.

Serra das Confusões National Park

We pulled into Serra das Confusões National Park the same day, late in the afternoon.   Another remote and rugged area of canyons, caves, and prehistoric rock formations.  Once again, a guide was required — Brazil’s national parks are free to enter, but you must go with a licensed local guide, typically costing $60–80 CAD.

Through Google Translate, I chatted with the gatekeeper — a kind man with a calm energy who genuinely wanted to help. He explained that we couldn’t camp inside the park, nor in the empty car park, but he made a call to a co-worker who offered us a spot on her nearby property which was a manioc flour farm, a simple rural homestead where she and her husband lived and worked. 

They offered us a bucket-flush toilet and a 1,000-litre water tank for bathing, demonstrating how to scoop water with a bowl, and stand on a wooden pallet to wash. The water was crystal clear but scattered with tiny saline crystals floating on the surface.

That night, under the stars, we had our outdoor bucket bath — the dirt replaced by salt crystals that acted like an exfoliant and were all through our hair.  Strange, but refreshing, and it felt good to cool down before bed. Shaking out my hair after it was dry, all the crystals fell away. 

The next morning, we met our guide at 7 a.m. — the same kind man from the gate.  I had to laugh; Google Translate had clearly muddled some details the day before.  We set off on a 7 km round-trip hike, my blister now rubbing raw.  We followed a sandy track that led us to a lookout with sweeping views over wave-like formations of red and gold sandstone, shaped by millions of years of rain, sun and wind. 

Exploring Slot Canyons

Later, we followed our guide on his motorbike deeper into the park — about 6 km along a firm sand road that turned to steep, paved switchbacks. Bruce handled it effortlessly, thanks to Tim’s expert driving.  We parked and began a walk over the smooth rocks and down into a slot canyon.

The 1.5 km canyon trail wound between towering walls that sometimes touched above our heads, narrow passages where beams of sunlight pierced through the gaps, illuminating the red stone and casting long golden shafts of light. Swifts darted and flitted overhead, clinging to the canyon walls, their calls echoing in the cool shade.

Back at the surface, the kids ran off some energy, climbing the rounded sandstone boulders to the highest point. 

As the sun dipped lower, we left the park and continued south along the rough, red road toward Canyon Viana. We didn’t make it that night — instead, we pulled over just as the last of the daylight faded, way out in the middle of nowhere.

Tomorrow we’ll explore the farmlands occupying Viana Canyon and all its dusty beauty.