Viewing page 76 of 108

This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.

we had passed little boats from the houseboat all a.m. on the river -- people were fishing. One tall man, brightly burned, standing in a boat secured by nothing but a thin jack, had flown on the plane with us wearing a Hawaii fishing T-shirt. We also passed a bus filling w. tourists at a roadside refreshment place down past Urucum. Tourism has indeed taken hold in this area. 

Out-of-gas gave us another chance to walk around. It occurred in front of a tent from which policemen monitored the road. Nearby was a flowing stream to which children were coming to fill cans & plastic bottles w. water. Across the road, 2 women were washing clothes in it. We searched for shade & found patches of it & waited a long time. O senhor was evidently waiting until someone familiar to him drove past. After nearly an hour he stopped a car and siphoned out some gas. It was his cousin.

Meanwhile, Tom and I discussed his story. Tom swallowed it hook, line, and sinker. I doubted it from the first. He had to justify to us, his running out of gas, so he [[strikethrough]] l [[/strikethrough]] said he was robbed. I think he just ran out of gas. Either he or one of his [[??]] forgot to fill up. (He would have needed strong justification ^[[indeed]] if we had been aiming for a VASP flight out of here -- as most tourists are. We wondered if our German friend made an 11:15 plane after leaving the Fazenda about 7:20). We began to speculate: would an experienced tour operator really leave his truck alone

[[end page]]
[[start page]]

at Maipu (or anywhere else) long enough for someone to siphon out 20 gallons? Where could he go at Maipu? To buy a crush at the open air store? You can see the whole layout at a glance. Well, but would an experienced tour operator let his gas run so low? Was it a bit of both? Very fortunately for everybody we were in no hurry.

At Carumbá he drove us to his home, where he had carried our 3 suitcases and my Chilean grass handbag. A nice place with banana trees showing over the wall. I wondered if he could be the fabled Sr. Aguilar, owner of the Fazenda and host to early guests [[strikethrough]] the [[/strikethrough]] including Ridgley. Tom said that Sr. Aguilar did not get where he is in life on "this kind of stuff." (Running out of gas). We passed our old Grande Hotel and checked into the Santa Monica -- room on 6th floor facing the Pantanal. Glorious view we do so well remember: the river below the city, the flooded green beyond, blue mountains on the horizon. Our sunset was obscured by tall buildings in the heart of town. We had a bright, coming-on-full moon; a dramatic lightening display in a great cloud bank on the horizon. A glorious, glorious night.

We cleaned up & had a late lunch of grilled chicken at the Restaurante Pantanal. Went to a Turk at a warehouse for soap products to change $100 of my traveler's checks @ Cr [[blank space]]. Stopped at a store & bought Tom some sandals (which proved to be too big), and bought me some Modess. I'm sure the women emptying our toilet paper basket must be surprised at my condition, but no more so than I.