It was a bright and clear autumn morning in Rio de Janeiro when we awoke on April 30, a Sunday. We had been planning a little getaway to a small town in the interior of the state, in the midst of the mountains between Angra dos Reis and Barra Mansa. We had discovered the spot through my Gringo Boyfriend's crazy (but useful) habit of poring over maps, following the highways and railroads, seeing which direction the rivers flow, the altitude, and so forth. And so we came upon this speck on the map, about 600 meters above sea level, and 40 kilometers or so inland from the Costa Verde, in the midst of spectacular mountains. The spot? Lídice. Lídice Brasileira, to be precise.
Lídice Brasileira was born in 1944. The district was renamed in honor of Lidice in Czechoslovakia, the site of a massacre by the Nazis in World War II. Various countries renamed cities in the town's memory, among them Brazil (a fact which is perhaps a little surprising, both for its rapidity and the relatively short distance from the national capital, home of Getúlio Vargas regime, which had fascist sympathies.) One can see the Phoenix Monument in the center of the town, an homage to the people of Lidice, and a statement of the necessity for rebirth, for the continuation of life, for the perpetuation of memory.
The village, in fact, is considerably older. It is part of the municipality of Rio Claro, and its name used to be Santo Antônio do Capivari. Judging by the few original buildings in the town and close by, and by the paving in the streets, it is easy to see that the village still has vestiges of its birth in the colonial period, a time when it was probably a center for coffee plantations. The views must be very little changed from what we can imagine they were 300 years ago.
We got out of the house a little after ten, on our way to the Novo Rio bus station, having the good (?) luck to get one of those city buses driven by homicidal maniacs at an incredible rate of speed, and threatening to flip at every turn. Of course, you must be a little barmy, with suicidal tendencies, or at the very least, masochistic to get aboard, and not suffer a heart attack en route. But at any rate, with our Formula One bus driver, we managed to get to Novo Rio well before our 11:05 a.m. departure for Angra dos Reis ($R25 per person, one way). And we even got the seats we wanted.
We were aware that a few Costa Verde buses go directly from Rio to Lídice, but the next one wasn't until 6 p.m. So we headed out to Angra planning to catch a local connection to Rio Claro, which would leave us in Lídice.
The route to Angra leaves Rio de Janeiro via the Avenida Brasil, not in the least attractive - interesting at most. Avenida Brasil winds its way through almost the entire city - various neighborhoods in Zona Norte, a few in Zona Oeste, and then through the Baixada Fluminense before hitting the Rio-Santos highway, which continues through the Baixada until finally offering a view of the sea. Then we began to run along between the mountains and the water, with spectacular views, with the green of the ocean with its islands, boats, and ships, and settlements on the land squeezed between rocks and sand. On our right, the green of the cool Atlantic forest, moist and exuberant, heading up the slopes until meeting rock walls.
I knew the road well, having traversed it innumerable times, whether at the wheel of my car, or as a bus passenger. But I shared the enthusiasm of my Gringo Boyfriend, who had only been back and forth on the Rio-Santos once, and only at night, as a driver, which meant that he didn't get to see much of the marvelous scenery. This time we could appreciate every curve. And there are a lot of them. The highway follows the terrain, producing a highway with a feminine sinuosity, ups and downs, as well as chilly tunnels. Traveling by bus means that you don't have to worry about the road, can take in the countryside, and you are significantly higher than you would be in a car, which gives you a better view. And you don't need to worry about the electronic speed traps (where you must slow to 40-50 kilometer per hour, if you don't want to get an automated ticket). If you are traveling by car, you can make a stop at many of the roadside stands offering cocada and other sweets.
Two hours and twenty minutes out, we got to the Angra bus station, and went to find out about service to Lídice. Advance tickets are not available, since the bus has turnstile and clerk on board, like municipal buses in Rio and other cities. The trip costs R$4,80 and you get a whole package of emotions thrown in free: curves, ups, downs, precipices and high speed. Unaware of what lay in store, but famished, we looked around for something to eat before our departure. The Angra bus station (unlike some) had few and unattractive options - Fandangos, or hot dogs soaked in cooking oil. No, thanks! We were lucky to find across the street a MaxBurger, with interesting burgers at good prices (cheeseburger, R$2,95, soda, R$1,50).
Our bus for Lídice left at about 2:15 p.m., and in spite of our fear of imminent death, we found that the road from Angra is simply spectacular. Vertical rock walls, one after another, enormous mountains marching into the distance, giving the impression that yes, you can go to heaven without dying. Well, that's what we were hoping, at least, since our bus ride seemed not so different from the one in Rio that morning. The fact is that on a road which follows the shape of the mountains, the curves are countless and inevitable, with the abysses a little closer than a normally cautious person would like. This being the case, adrenalin was unavoidable. But looking at our fellow passengers, accustomed to the trip, we could see that they were totally relaxed (a few sleeping the sleep of the just, not bothering to pay attention to the road), and gradually we got a little more Zen. Accidents are certainly not common.
The 45 kilometers or so from Angra to Lídice take about an hour, with about a half dozen cool dark tunnels, with water dripping out of the rock. Upon getting to Lidice we could see the first inn on our left, the Pousada Águas Clara (Telephone: +[55-24] 3334-1377). Although the population is small, getting to know the vicinity on foot is something that would take a lot of time and shoe leather. But there are rewards, with numerous waterfalls, and the almost inactive rail line between Barra Mansa and the port in Angra that offers a nice place to hike.
Having done some calling and made a reservation beforehand, we stayed at the Pousada Recanto (+[55-24] 3334-1103). The pousada, like most dwellings in the vicinity, climbs up a steep hill, with a series of little chalets. We stayed in number 2, combining a fine view with the advantage of not having to get completely out of breath. The pousada is not top quality, sinning exactly where it ought to gain points: a family atmosphere and flexibility. I always like the feeling of staying with friends. As long as I am not imposing on these "friends,” and everything is ship-shape. But since the Recanto is a family operation, the service is not always quick, and the chalet needed a little tidying up. But a call to the office resolved our problems. The breakfast the following morning was ample, tasty, and home-style. Worthwhile, and included in the daily rate (R$60).
The truth is that the village is definitely off the beaten path for tourism in the state of Rio, with little infrastructure for visitors. The pousadas are simple (and cheap, a point in their favor), and restaurants are practically non-existent. There are padarias (bakeries), not charming, but with good quality products - pão de queijo (cheese rolls) and local sweets. All at modest price. We were lucky to happen upon the Parador Santana, a very snug and charming restaurant, opened by a Carioca (native of the city of Rio de Janeiro) with a vacation home in the region, who plans to open a pousada directed toward ecotourism. The restaurant is right in the middle of town, facing the Phoenix monument. You can't miss it. We had a nice meal: pumpkin soup (R$4,00), pitanga juice (R$1,50) and "vovó gelada" (frozen granny), a dessert of chocolate cake and walnut ice cream (R$2,50). No 10% service charge, which most Brazilian restaurants add automatically to the bill, but they deserved our tip. The restaurant is the only one of its kind, and probably the only one you will find open at night.
The morning of May 1st offered a spectacularly clear blue sky. The temperature was moderate and excellent for hiking. After breakfast, with some bottles of water in our bag, cameras at the ready, we headed toward the Lídice train station, departure point for the tourist train which used to run up the hill from Angra through the Atlantic forest. At present there are no longer passenger trains, but usually one freight a day, carrying ore heading from Barra Mansa to Angra. This means the railway is a tranquil place for a hike, and we headed down the tracks towards Rio Claro.
We were rewarded with views of countless hills and dales, cattle perched on the mountainsides, farmhouses in the distance, people out for a walk after church, lots of green, and the river running parallel to the train tracks, sometimes broad and turbulent, sometimes serene and tranquil, murmuring over the stones.
We had a peaceful walk, but we had heard that the train would be coming from Barra Mansa, so we had to keep alert for the sounds of an approaching locomotive. It was not hard to hear it approaching, since the sound of a diesel at ground level is close to deafening, and we heard it from quite a distance. As we watched it pass, I got the impression of a enormous, noisy dragon, breathing fire, ready to swallow you up. We stood back and looked on amazed, in the midst of all that green, no prohibitions, no barriers, waving to the engineer, happy as clams.
We had decided to keep on walking until the next station, or at least until we crossed the next road, allowing us more time for our trek, and planning to catch a bus for the return trip. The railway hugs the mountainside, but finally it crosses a stream. On a bridge, of course. I had not stopped to think that railroad bridges are not made for pedestrian crossing - you have to step from tie to tie, and there is space in between for you to look down at the water below. My Gringo Boyfriend assured me that this was just a little bitty bridge, but I was convinced that this was the bridge from hell that would lead me to an early death, swallowed by the raging water beneath. Panic! Well, I managed to get past this first great obstacle, unaware that worse was yet to come - a real bridge, the kind you see in the movies, made of steel, much higher, and with the same problem with the ties. I only kept on going because I knew the other bridge was behind me. I thought about clambering down to river and crossing, but only for a moment, since I didn't know how much water there was, what sort of currents, etc. I went forward, but I couldn't tell you how long it took. The bridge seemed endless, and each step an eternity. But finally, it was over. Gringo Boyfriend, on the other hand, was enjoying the bridge, the view, the river below, the beauty of the construction. Two views of a bridge: to heaven, or to hell?
Well, in my case, hell was just the road, and not the final destination. The trek was worth the effort, even worth the moments of panic. Our walk was filled with an atmosphere of calm and peace, crystalline sky, tranquil green hills. Along with a canine friend we met along the way, we came to a dirt road which crossed the line, going from the highway to a spot named Santana. There we bid an unwilling farewell to the railroad, wanting more, wanting to relax and savor our adventure without worrying about where we were going, but knowing we would certainly arrive somewhere, since that's what trains do.
We hiked up to the paved highway to wait for the bus from Rio Claro to Lídice, but before it arrived we were offered a ride from a local, and returned from our three hour hike of over seven kilometers in about 10 minutes, a relief after so much sky and sun. We hopped out, thanking our benefactor profusely, at the padaria across from our pousada, wolfed down a snack, picked up our bags at the pousada, and walked down to the center to catch the bus back to Angra. A sleepy and warm afternoon in the center, but an exciting and brisk ride (downhill, much quicker than the ascent). The drivers must have special courses to maximize the thrills and chills.
After yet another snack at MaxBurger (you don't mess with a winning team) we hoped on the bus to Rio (no AC this time !?$%^&!). And since it was the end of a long weekend, there was a bit of traffic as we got closer to Rio. But nothing to spoil our mood, or our memories, our smiles, after another pleasant jaunt.
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