Colonial sightings in Brazil's interior

When you leave Tiradentes and head to Caraça, over 400 kilometers away, you hardly ever leave 18th century Brazil. This is not only due to the colonial nature of both places – Tiradentes was founded at the outset of the same century on the back of one of the world’s largest gold rushes, while Caraça started with an 1820 seminary, tucked high up in a mountain bowl – but to the road between. It is the Estrada Real, or Brazil’s equivalent of the Camino Real, the meandering old trading route that transported half the world’s gold production at the time down to the sea, on journeys that took over three months by mule-train, for export to Portugal. It is lovely old road, full of unexpected sightings.

I live most of the year in Tiradentes, a Brazilian Baroque gem of a village with five major churches to service the needs of six or so thousand souls. Fearing the rivalry of the Catholic Church in the interior of its largest colony (the size of all of Europe), the Portuguese Crown decided to exclude the church hierarchy and instead establish Brotherhoods, which soon competed to build the most sumptuous, gold-laden church possible – hence the heavenly over-building. While there is only one Catholic priest in town, Father Ademir, the churches themselves are still run by the Brotherhoods, which today behave like spiritually-minded social clubs.

I took the two day trip to Caraça not long ago, on my way to teach American exchange students at the far end of Minas Gerais state, which is the size of Texas and with many fewer working roads. One of the Estrada Real’s great pleasures is that it no longer links places of economic importance, so it is a bucolic & curvaceous two-laner with precious few of the diesel fume-belching underpowered trucks – the modern day beasts of burden, substituting those mules – that infest most Brazilian highways. Minas is also an endlessly hilly state, up on a high plane defended by a tall inland range, so old roads such as this one tend to follow the ridges, affording frequent views on both sides. All of which means that while traveling from one colonial oasis to another, one’s pressure level doesn’t have to jump forward two extra centuries of stress, and one can make believe that the landscapes, of rolling hills and pastures, haven’t changed at all.

Caraça is now a privately run Nature Reserve (the seminary, after teaching many of Brazil’s future presidents & dictators, closed down in 1911), which may explain why it is in much better shape, with better maintained infrastructure than most of Brazil’s national or state parks. Formally called the Caraça Nature Park & Shrine, you can rent out a spartan yet clean room (formerly for the teachers and priests) with a view over the nature reserve for under $30 a night, three meals included. The tourists are a mix, understandably, of both spiritual and environmental pilgrims. The Our Lady Mother of Man Church, one of the country’s best neo-gothic churches, holds mass every day, and contains a priceless Last Supper by the colonial master Ataíde – here, in the middle of nowhere. There are numerous waterfalls to visit on several trails ranging from several to 8 kilometers in length. Other than the Church, and largely burned down seminary, what surprises during any hike is the lack of any other man-made creations within eyesight.

But my favorite activity is waiting, after nightfall, for a sighting of the rare Maned Wolf. The Fathers partly tamed them by offering leftovers and bones, and if you’re quiet enough they come right up to the church’s front steps to take the easy prey. Most Brazilians avoid fixed schedules, even more so if they’re wildlife, so one night every other visitor had given up by 10:30pm, with the tin tray of offerings gone wanting. I thought I’d enjoy the quiet nightscape by myself for a few more minutes when a young wolf suddenly paid a visit. For me the distinguishing characteristic of the Maned Wolf is the length of its legs which appear encased in black boots. Yet even this young one was surprisingly tall, at nearly three feet taller than almost all dogs, and when he popped out of the night to just ten feet in front of me, I nearly jumped in my skin. Such are the unexpected pleasures of colonial Brazil in the present day.