Von Däniken LivesYet another cleaved chicken bites the dust. That makes two in a row. I have to start eating in higher class joints...perhaps tomorrow.I had been riding the lowland and coastal frontage for almost two months now. Pretty much all of the time since I and we had left the state of Minas Gerias and headed for the Foz, returned to Rio and headed north for Belem, elevations had characteristically remained in the less than 1,000 foot range and more often than not in the 300ft and less range.

Now, here in the state of Ceara an escarpment loomed before me. I spiralled upwards from the parched lowlands at a few hundred feet to 2,800 feet. The late afternoon temperature dropped 10 degrees to 26 C. I welcomed the relief. Parque Nacional de Ubajara was my destination.

The caves of Ubajara were not remarkable but rather normal, as I had suspected. However, not willing to pass up on a good prospect I gave it a try. The location however was spectacular, much better than the attraction itself. The teleferico (cable car) to and from the caves was also and intimidating experience especially with the gusting cross-wind.

The host of the Pousada, where I spent the night, offered an interesting side trip on my way back to the highway. I accepted, but probably misunderstood the instructions or went to the wrong falls. After about 30 minutes the road dead ended at some falls which were unremarkable. I had understood that the road would continue and connect with the main highway.

At the falls I approached an older gentleman to see if he could confirm my suspicions. Intimidated by my poor Portugese he volunteered the assistance of his daughter who spoke perfect English. It turns out she was married to Stan and they live in Lethbridge, Alberta. Stan is from Lethbridge. They were vacationing with her parents who live in Fortaleza. What was looking like a wrong turn had some unexpectedly, pleasant results.

On the highway to Natal I met Eric. He was from Cordoba, Argentina and in my brief encounter I received a paraphrased summary of his life...past, present and future. He was riding an aging 2-Stroke twin, 250cc or so, heavily laden and moving north for the Amazon. The blue smoke from the oil-rich mixture almost passed him as he plodded along at 70 kmph. Any faster he explained and he would get detonation at these low, sea level elevations. He had changed the plugs and the jets to no avail and so settled on this compromise of speed and rpm.

He had liquidated his assets to finance the trip. All of his worldly possessions were contained within the bike and its contents. He would have to work in Venezuela he volunteered as he would be out of money by then. In the meantime life was fine except for the temperment of his bike.

I indicated I was getting off of the highway at the next town and heading for the more relaxing pace of a coastal secondary highway. My eyes followed him down the road as he disappeared in the cloud of blue smoke that was his constant companion. I finished my water break and checked my maps before continuing. My mount was looking rather "top drawer" compared to his. An hour later I passed him on the coastal highway, forewarned of his presence by the blue cloud announcing his passing.

I had an intruder in my room the other night...actually two. A flash of movement caught my eye at the edge of the sink. Not sure what it was, I peered underneath. Hiding beneath the lip of the sink was a tiny tree frog, dark green in color and looking quite contented with his lot.

Early the next morning I tugged on the roll of toilet paper. It felt like it had a heavy counter-weight attached. Then as I overcame the inertia the roll spun forwards. My eye caught the flash of something attached to the roll and I released it and instinctively sprang backwards, expecting a cockroach or some other terrible beast, more frightful in its appearance than deadly. There clinging to the paper was a bright orange tree frog, his suction cup toes firmly attached to the paper as he rode out his wild ride.

At the Parque Hotel Siete Cidades I had still yet another visitor. Returning to my room after supper I settled on the edge of the bed to do some paperwork. A flash of movement caught my eye. I followed it along the edge of the wall where it meets the floor. It was a rat! This place was built in 2001. I had picked it over the older hotel because I had expected it would be rodent free.

I hurried out to get the bell boy/waiter/receptionist. He returned with his mop, which looked more like a witch's broom, and squeezed the life out of the pest. Then he whisked it out of the door, onto the balcony and into the night. Together we checked the room. The rat had probably entered through a loose board in the bathroom ceiling. I kept that door closed with the light on for the rest of the night. "Sorry", was his parting word as he departed to continue with his other duties.

Parque National de Sete Cidades. You don´t have to be in a drug induced stupor to imagine that these natural rock formations are the ruins of ancient cities but it sure helps. That is the conclusion Erich van Däniken came to after visiting the site. "Destroyed and burned by aliens some 15,000 years ago."

Hallucinagens, a wild imagination, a publisher and an audience willing to pay money for your thoughts is a recipe that has served van Däniken well. A dozen or more books theorizing on extraterrestial involvement in everything from the Pyramids at Saquarra to the temples of the Aztecs and the Mayas, to the cities and constructions of the Incas is proof that van Däniken's mind is not at rest but simply disconnected with reality, history, logical thought and evolution. Perhaps he never believed what he wrote. Perhaps he simply invented an alternative choice to create income. That is more plausible than extraterrestials and time travel.

The Park runs on a different program. The entrance fee is nominal at 3 Reals but you can only visit if accompanied by a guide. The guide service costs 15 Reals. At 3-4 hours for a tour the guides don't get rich, but they do make a living.

Cities they were not. Perhaps an interplay of some igneous activity or not, and natural erosionary forces combined with some other interplay of rock composition and weather has resulted in the formation of these weird and unique formations.

Ancient peoples were here but they were of the Cave Dwelling genus, perhaps some 15,000 years ago. They painted the walls with their red ochre formula in shapes of the human hand, lizards, a man (flying?), a solar calendar (some interpretation required), and an assortment of geometric designs perhaps representing....what??? For the most part these petroglyphs have not been studied or deciphered. They are just waiting....

I like it when a young lady greets me at reception. They go out of their way to help you. The men just shrug you off. Today was no exception. At Hotel Pousada dos Ventos here in Paraibu, before I checked in I wanted to see if and when I could take a tour of the Mangrove Swamps. Initially I was told the tours ran only on the weekends. Today was Thursday. I didn't want to wait an extra day.

Perseverence and persuasion paid off. There were four service companies providing the service. Calls were made, a connection was established and yes I could get added to the list of a tour departing tomorrow at 8 AM. They would pick me up and drop me off at the hotel. Now that's service! A man would never had done that, for me! And to top it off I received a 25% discount on the room rate.

Finally I found a restaurant in Brasil that knows how to cook shrimp...Camaraos del diablo...simply perfect. Served with a pasta and a "hot", tomato pepper sauce it was just excellent. I was almost ready to give up I had had so many disappointing dishes. The Mexicans however are still KING of the shrimp dishes.