|The Rio Tapajós|
The crossing was a mere five minutes. The peninsula was a low-lying spit of fine white sand, with a few trees and almost no elevation. At the nearest tree, our friends had erected a sun shelter with a yellow tarp and rope. Under the shelter were chairs, packs, baskets and sand toys. Several women, all about thirty something, were sitting and chatting. They greeted us in lyrical Portuguese. Two small children, about six or seven were playing in the sand and laughing.
Troy was right. The water was amazing. Like a great big warm bathtub. No wonder everyone was sitting so happily. I walked to the group and sat down in the shallow white sandy-bottomed water. Someone opened the cooler and handed us cold beers. We sat in a circle and chatted. Somehow or other every time I just did not know a word, someone who spoke more English than I spoke Portuguese volunteered it. Most of the folks were Brazilian academics who had some English skills. But I also had some Portuguese skills.