I’m not sure how you lose an entire city but yesterday we did just that. An easy two hour drive turned into an epic failure lost in the backcountry of southern Brazil. Plus we found ourselves back wandering dirt roads. It’s enough to give a driver a bad case of what the hell just happened?
Thursday dawned wet and blustery so we left the beach campground as planned and drove through a deserted São (pronounced “San”) Francisco do Sul:
Who goes to the beach in the rain? There were RVs in the free waterfront parking lots so next year when we plan to return, (we want to drive Brazil’s coast thoroughly) we might do the free parking for a couple of nights to explore downtown.
I wasn’t planning on writing much about our inland journey as we were going back to the German town of Pomerode where we spent three days last week. The idea was to jump off from there to head south on the main road to Florianopolis, one of the most famous beach resort areas of southern Brazil. But things did not go as planned yesterday. I missed getting a picture of this white elephant, a bridge or overpass to nowhere, on the way in to the beach so I photographed it yesterday on the way out.
The town was grateful for our visit and wished us a pleasant journey. How nice but we couldn’t keep it that simple, we had to screw it all up.
It was a slow tedious drive off the peninsula but once we crossed the main north- south freeway traffic eased and we drove inland by ourselves toward the hills.
The sun was coming out and we had about two hours driving to reach Pomerode beyond the mountains of doom:
On the map below the red line marks the easy route. But the red dot marks where we accidentally took a short cut and got lost after Jaraguá do Sul…
In Jaraguá we stopped around eleven o’clock to do the wash in one of the usual splendid do it yourself laundries. Each machine cost less than three bucks and they provide the soap, dispensed automatically. Layne sat in front of the a/c while Rusty did the usual.
Just to make it easy we found parking right in front of the laundry. Everything was going our way and Layne had plans for a splendid lunch in a restaurant in Pomerode 50 minutes down the road.
For some reason my Google Map diverged from Layne’s as we drove away. My route led us up a back road which promised a 59 minute journey as opposed to Layne’s 49.
We pulled over and pondered our options but as the sun was out and the colors were vibrant we thought “why not take the slightly longer scenic route?” Why not indeed…
Three long hours later we pulled into Pomerode famished with restaurants closed for the afternoon…
It was a steep winding drive up followed by a precipitous descent into this lovely hidden agricultural valley, beautifully cultivated in the orderly German style:
It was indeed a colorful drive…
…and everything was going well . What a great day.
And then the pavement ran out. I colored the day with a few choice words of my own.
Oh well we said philosophically, we’ve seen worse. Besides I said, mansplaining manfully, this road has only recently been graded. We should be fine. Notice how the curve turns off into distant hazy mountains? That promised no good to the acute observer which I’m not.
Sure enough it had been recently graded:
The thing about graders is they throw up dirt and rocks to smooth the surface and until they finish the dirt road can be a bit… jumbled.
Photos courtesy of Layne.
I can only say it got worse and we faced the task of getting out and moving rocks out of the road - or of turning back. We chose turning.
I struggled to make a 78 point turn on a steep section of rock strewn road that disappeared into the hills. We were a bit stressed and forgot to take pictures but we broke nothing so that was good. We have had experience at this by now. Our poor GANNET2.
Well bugger. Now what? I felt like Mr Micawber telling myself something was bound to turn up.
Keep on keeping on, that’s what. The peasants stopped their work and stared at us slack jawed as we swept by, a Flying Dutchman of a delivery van in the back of beyond.
I saw one teenager blowing his lawn with an electric leaf blower. I wish I had had the presence of mind to photograph the blond Aryan kid perfecting his dad’s front yard with a leaf blower of all things. Never seen that before and I probably never will again. Oh well.
The restaurant closes at four my ever helpful co-pilot pointed out as we drove on at random in the wilderness.
At last, out of nowhere pavement returned, unbidden but most welcome. Of Pomerode there was no sign.
A restaurant Layne cried out hopefully but it was just a bakery:
Where we were we had no idea but we pressed on hoping we would get somewhere else. Luckily we had filled up with gas because they don’t sell that stuff around here.
We feared it couldn’t last but it was a great road for a while.
This too was not a restaurant but a small supermarket. We were fully stocked already and swept by.
There must be some money in agriculture around here as we saw lots of palatial homes all along the highways and byways we wandered.
Even the modest ones looked exceedingly well appointed.
And on every pimple rising out of the valley the good burghers have built their proudly Lutheran church.
Perhaps we found ourselves in Lake Wobegone?
In any event Layne the navigator claimed we were close to Pomerode and then this. Sigh.
It may have turned to dirt again but lo, what is this I behold with mine weary eyes?
A signpost, including the word “Pomerode” - we’re saved!
Salvation doesn’t come easy though and we had miles of dirt to cover.
It was gorgeous countryside neatly farmed with superb mansions dotted among the farm houses.
The only pavement was the driveways leading up to the palaces hidden among the trees.
You’re just looking at the pictures. Imagine being there, ravenous with nowhere to pull over and no actual idea where Pomerode might be. What a day.
Pavement was for the driveways and for a change we saw a paved church parking lot. The road remained obstinately dirt.
Layne gave me this fragment of a map she was following. It looked hopeful especially after we saw this sign.
The map by contrast was a bit vague. It promised well but lacked details.
It looks easy doesn’t it? Twenty miles and done. We did not arrive at 2:39 but much closer to four o’clock.
It went on and on.
Up and down.
These containers are where you put your bagged trash for pick up. Like mail boxes in the US they mark residential side streets and driveways in rural Brazil.
Let me just say we made it finally to Pomerode Layne made steak sandwiches with lashings of mustard and cold beer and Rusty ate his dinner and spent the night snoring under the van refusing all encouragements to join us in comfort inside. It was a long day for him too with lunatic Team Lost.