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Flying into the rainforest near the border with Venezuela.
The huge circular house, which they call a yano, measures some 400 metres in circumference and twenty-five metres across.
A tribal welcome. The Yanomami greet their link with the outside world.
At Demini airstrip. At least someone’s interested in my holiday snaps.
In my mosquito-proof hammock. I look as if I'm waiting to hatch out.
In the forest, preparing for the dance. Palm spines through the nose and mouth, toucan feathers and red dye for the body.
Harpy eagle feathers for the men.
The dancers circle the yano, women and men in seperate groups.
The warriors end up at the centre of the plaza for a hunting dance.
The reward at the end of the dance. Huge quantities of fermented peach palm.
Mestre Boa Gente, king of capoeira, with the berimbau, the instrument they fight to.
Agility and poise are taught at the Academy on the top floor of the Mestre’s house.
Taking a breather at the window of the radio station – Voice of the Valley of Small Stones – after a grueling interview with the Mestre.
Mestre leads the Capoeira Academy, and hanger-on in background, through the favela to the big public demonstration.
Capoeira as it should be. The combination of speed and balance is breath-taking to watch. And this being Brazil, they smile as they spar.
Gonçalo Ferreira, champion of Cordel literature, declaims his ‘Ode to a Book’.
A period tram station in Rio’s Santa Teresa neighbourhood.
Tasting jabuticaba with Fábio at the fruit and flower market in Laranjeiras.
At home with Fábio’s friends Marcelo and Carol and their two children.
The Lapa Arches were built to carry water from the hill of Santa Teresa into the centre of Rio. Nowadays they carry a tramway.
Dramatic escarpment on the edge of Brazil’s high plateau.
Sounding the horn.
Before antiseptic, the wounds would have been dressed with dried cow dung.
With Vespasiano, carrying traditional curved horn, and Alex, taking a drink of mate in one of the wetland lagoons.
Herding of the cattle, the most demanding part of my morning as a cowboy, as the heat builds up and dust from hunderds of hoofs swirls round.
Caimans prefer to sit in the sun.
Trying my hand at piranha-fishing with the immensely patient Juan.
Racing back home as sun sets on the Rio Negro.
End of the day. Sitting with Pollianna as Guilherme Rondon sings his songs.