I Heart Lençois

We left Salvador after a couple of days, feeling like we´d exhausted things to do in the old part of town. On the way to the bus station, I was amazed by the freeways, malls, and skyscrapers throughout the rest of the city. Spending most of our time in old Salvador (apparently slated for destruction until UNESCO stepped in) gave us a skewed view of the place for sure.

Lençois

Is an old diamond mining town inland from Salvador, whose economy now relies on tourism to the Chapada Diamantina national park. With only 9000 residents, Lençois has a nice small town feel. After only a couple of days we were seeing familiar faces on the street. It´s totally safe, too, a nice change from Salvador, where the fear of pickpockets (justified or not) and aggressive panhandlers burns you out after a while. Lençois is the kind of town where I could walk down to the river, pay a nice lady to wash our clothes, then come back to find them hanging to dry without anyone watching them.

This is the place for photos to make your friends jealous at home. Countless waterfalls and swimming holes were just a short hike from our hostel. The park itself consists of high dry mesas, with deep river-cut canyons where the vegetation and climate gets more humid and tropical.

Our Trek

Three days, two nights crossing the park from east to west. Like Jen said, it was tough descending and ascending the canyon walls. Hot as hell, and our guide, Washington, had pretty weak cooking skills, though you had to give him an A for effort. He´d prepare multiple dishes at each meal, each salted like it was going out of style. But the falls made it worthwhile.

The Ride Back

Getting back to Lençois from Capón, the town at the western end of the park, proved interesting. First, our group was collectively reamed by the driver, who charged $10 each for the 2 hour ride. I assumed we´d be in the nice air-conditioned minibus parked outside of the cafe, and was surprised to see the guy pull up in a pickup truck and start chucking our backpacks on the bed. The grim reality set in when he motioned for us to climb in next to the packs. For an hour we bounced along on a dirt road, our asses battered into a fine pulp.

When we finally did hit cruising speed on the asphalt, the cops promptly pulled the driver over for illegally trasporting passengers. None of us had any cigarettes to bribe the cop, and we were definitely not going to give up any more cash, so despite the guides´protests, the driver abandoned us at a gas station by the side of the road. The good news was that we found ourselves next to a gorgeous mesa. The bad news was that we were still 25 k from Lençois.

For 30 minutes the guides joked about more trekking, after which half the group thumbed a ride, leaving the rest of us to wait for the bus. Seconds after the hitchers drove off, one of the guides said "something something domingo!" and slapped himself on the head. Ah, yes. Apparently the bus doesn´t run on domingos.



So Washington hitched a ride solo to some other town near Lençois, where his buddy met him with a car. He came for us after an hour or so. (While waiting I had the most delicious sweet corn tamale from the gas station snack bar.) Of course, when we saw the car, it became clear that we wouldn´t fit, forcing Washington and another guide into the trunk. Sadly, Wash´s buddy drove like a real newbie, with a steady look of fear on his face. Having to dodge cow-sized potholes and cargo trucks probably didn´t help. At some point on the ride, one of the bumps slammed the trunk shut, leaving Wash and the other guy in a dark hot hole full of carbon monoxide. Occassionally, we´d thump on the backdash to make sure they were still alive.

It was all good though, when we got to Lençois and had dinner at Wash´s house. His baby mama is a significantly better cook than he is. Beans, rice, noodles, a delicious mystery chicken paste (best not to ask), fish, salad, and fresh passionfruit juice.

Climbing

I also did a one-day climbing trip in Lençois. Was I worried that the guide had a huge tattoo of a marijuana leaf on his arm? Eh, maybe a little. Perhaps to quell any fears, he also had a tattoo saying "Highly Experienced Guide."

At the crag, I was happy/surprised to see multiple well-protected bolted routes. I led something that felt like a 5.8, floundered up a 5.9, and fell off a 5.10something.

Sure enough, the guide sparked up some European weed (stronger than the local stuff), but remained committed to safety, always pre-clipping the first bolt when possible and making sure the quickdraws were facing the right way.