WHERE THE TRAILS RUN OUT AND STOP

'And beyond the nameless timbers I saw illimitable plains'
-Rudyard Kipling, The Explorer

Work has conspired to bring me again to Brazil's Uruguay, Rio Grande Do Sul. Work was dispensed with easily enough, and I was left with a long weekend to get to know the Gauchos a little better. Porto Alegre, in strictly geographical terms, is in a stunning location among hills, a lake, and a river. It is gritty, a juxtaposition of styles and ways of life which encapsulates so much of the modern Brazilian city.

Rio Grande do Sul, outside of the cities, is an entirely different matter. Rolling green and gold hills, cattle towns, and German villages nestled in the crooks of the foothills. It's a landscape at once both dramatic and pastoral. I stopped for the night in Gramado (mentioned in an earlier post, and soon to be featured in another post . . .), where crowds of scarved and shivering Brazilians bragged through WhatsApp about how cold it was there. It was 53. It was a charming town to spend a fall evening with a pot of fondue.

The new places to see this trip were the canyons and national parks near Cambara do Sul, along the border with Santa Catarina. Cambara do Sul itself is described by Lonely Planet as a "dusty frontier town", which I think sums up it up nicely. I spent the afternoon driving on an unpaved highway to Itaimbezinho, an abrupt gash in a mountainous plateau that opens into a sea level plain and the Atlantic Ocean. The hike was deserted and peaceful. After months in Sao Paulo, I've come to appreciate the color green and solitude of a national park quite a bit more. The weather cleared up and left me with a sunny view of a remarkably unexpected canyon. After 20 miles of dirt roads I was back in Cambara do Sul, and the only diner at one of the two restaurants in town.

I set off the next morning for Canion Fortaleza, which involved driving on a muddy logging road for 45 minutes. Somewhere early in the day the front tire of my Hyundai catastrophically failed, so I spent part of the day changing a tire as a tired dog and surprisingly curious cow watched (but didn't offer any assistance). But, after a long and bumpy journey and a few close calls with the mud, I arrived at the trail head, and thankfully ahead of a large tour bus. It was all worth it. Fortaleza is less sharp as canyons go, but deep and enormous. It was a hike well worth the effort.

I passed back through Gramado on the way back, but that will be for another post . . .