Back to the beggining. June 1st, 10 PM. Navegar Amazônia’s boat anchors at the Vila Progresso port, the biggest community in Bailique archipelago, with an estimated population of four thousand and six-hundred people, who live on fishing, apiculture and family agriculture.

At 10 PM, the Vila seems asleep, for there is no one at the streets/palafitas* in this town, built by the Amazon riverside. The peace here is just apparent, because once the crew turns off the boat’s engine, we can hear a corny sound running loose through the Vila, brightening the Canadian faces, who were whishing they could put under practice their new learned steps that would follow such tacky music.

We disembark, trying to find out where the sound comes from: Selma’s bar. It is a wooden building, raised over palafitas, as are all the constructions in this community. Before arriving to the party, passing the bridge which divides Vila do Progresso in two parts, we meet a group of youngsters in an excited quadrilha** rehearsal, at the community center, anticipating the Festas Juninas. The young expeditionaries stop and let their bodies flow to the sound of the music, which cadences the dancer’s steps.

Arriving to Selma’s bar, this very reporter meets a friend from other expeditions. She is Mar, a Ministry of Health nurse, who’s job was given by Macapá’s city hall, and has a lot of work at Vila Progresso.

The relationship between Navegar Amazônia and Mar started when the nurse lent her house for the Canadians and Brazilians to watch their national soccer teams play each other in a “historical” game, at least for these youngsters, who crowded the couches and living room flours of my friend’s house. The game ends at a three to one for Brazil, leaving a mood of celebration between the rooters, an example that should be followed throughout Brazilian stadiums.

The soccer game magic relieved the souls and the tacky music fulfilled the bodies, and the young expeditionaries went back to Navegar Amazônia’s boat for their first night on the Amazon River.

Rain, a boat ride through Heaven and… an arraia*** in the middle of the way

Sunday, June 2nd. A weak, persistent rain curtains the view. Both Brazilians and Canadians – the majority never having slept on a net before – rise in high spirits, with their cameras and curiosity ready. Vila Progresso has also risen for another Sunday. The men talk in small groups scattered over corners and businesses; the children pass us in a hurry, taking breakfast bread to their homes. We get out to buy fish, and learn about the difficulties the Vila’s fishermen have in getting their livelihood everyday.

Despite the rain, we are able to maintain our schedule and pay an afternoon visit to the Reserva Biológica do Parazinho (Parazinho’s Biological Reservation), at Amapá’s Atlantic Ocean shore. We align the logistics with Sema’s (Secretaria do Meio Ambiente – Environment Bureau) technician Luís Gonzaga, who is also our guide while visiting the Reservation. He lends us a motorboat so we can take the whole group.

The rain forces the Canadians to protect themselves with jackets and raincoats, which are immediately put aside when we step on the beach for a soccer game, inspired by the “classic” match between Brazil and Canada.

Parazinho is surely sureal. The river force, in its direction to the shore, has left dead trees on a sand patch that goes for miles. In September, on this same sand patch, the sea turtles come and lay their eggs, which are gathered by Sema technicians. On March, when they’re born, the baby turtles are released into the wild.

The island provides shelter for hundreds of chameleons and several bird species, such as the swallows covering the leafless branches of the trees, as if they were leafs themselves.

After a half an hour walk, and another ten minute track into the woods, we got to the Reservation headquarters, where we could see the routing freighter’s lighthouse.