Infrastructure deficit If you think you have a long haul to the elevator, how about seven days?
Reuters / When Marcondes Mendonça hauls corn from Brazil’s Farm Belt to port in the distant south, the young trucker prays for protection from gaping potholes and dangerous drivers, and dreads the squalid toilets on the seven-day journey ahead.
He also braces for other hassles: traffic bottlenecks, backlogs at port and stifling bureaucracy.
Overwhelmed infrastructure is one of the biggest challenges facing Brazil. Transporters estimate road haulage rates will rise about 30 per cent once the grains crop is harvested, with a shortage of drivers and new legislation that will keep trucks off the road for longer by requiring minimum rest periods for drivers.
To see the problems up close, a Reuters reporter and photographer hitched a ride with Mendonça on a recent journey. A 27-year-old father of two and fan of Brazilian country music, he hauls freight for a truckers’ collective and doubles as an instructor for aspiring drivers.
“May God protect us,” he said, above a hiss of the air brakes. Our 1,600-km (995-mile) stretch of his 2,100-km (1,300-mile) journey took us over broken asphalt, past points of deadly smashes, and on a nightly search for a rest stop with space for a last truck.
The trip, from the western farm state of Mato Grosso, across Brazil’s central savannah and southeast to the Atlantic port of Santos, highlighted rigours of the road familiar to truckers anywhere — long hours, loneliness and bad meals.
But it also made clear how Brazil’s ambition of supplying more of the world’s food is being hampered by inefficiency.
“Logistics are jammed up,” says Glauber Silveira, head of Mato Grosso’s association of soy growers, who lose a quarter of their revenue to transport. “The buyer is losing out and the producer is losing out.”
The jaunt from farm to port in Brazil already costs more than twice the sea freight fees to China, and that ratio is about to climb sharply as wages rise and the laws on rest periods for drivers take effect.
The rising costs are forcing commodities traders to bid higher for Brazilian soy just to make sure growers keep planting. If prices approach costs, “it will seriously disincentivize Brazilian production,” said Kona Haque, an analyst at Macquarie Bank.
Off the rails
The cabin of Mendonça’s Scania truck affords ample views of the chasm between Brazil’s first-world ambitions and the much humbler reality on the ground.
Reuters joined his journey on a Monday afternoon in Rondonopolis, a dusty logistics hub in southern Mato Grosso. By then, he had already driven three days north and back to load his two tarp-covered trailers now brimming with corn.
From there, we headed south. Three hours in, we reached Alto Araguaia, a town where Mendonça’s journey could easily end. That’s where America Latina Logistica SA, a rail operator, runs the one link from the Farm Belt directly to Santos, the country’s biggest port.
The company’s 80-rail-car trains haul as much corn as 230 two-trailer rigs like Mendonça’s, but burn the diesel of just 40 of them. High demand after the harvest, though, means the trains run full and at prices producers say don’t save much money.
Besides, the train takes just as long, with extended loading times at several terminals along the track and a steep decline near Santos port that has to be taken at crawling speed.
Brazil’s rail network, spanning 29,000 km, is now smaller than it was 90 years ago. The government is spending 22.4 billion reais ($11 billion) to build two major new rail lines that should help the Farm Belt. One stretches north-south, the other runs east-west.
Commodities firms say the investments can’t come soon enough, but most new rail projects are still five years away, or more.
So Mendonça drove on. Before midnight, we pulled into a rest stop. Mendonça slept on a mattress at the rear of the cabin. The reporter and photographer made do with a bench and a hammock.
On Tuesday, we headed for Mato Grosso’s southern border, a swooping toucan and cluster of ostrich-like rheas breaking the monotony of the flat terrain of brown, harvested fields.
Life on the road
The work is steady but trucking companies are struggling to find drivers. With unemployment near record lows, workers in Brazil have plenty of other, less demanding opportunities.
“There are no decent toilets or rest areas and so much dust everywhere,” complained Aguinaldo da Silva Tenorio, a 28-year-old trucker along the route. In the cab beside him were his wife, three-year-old daughter, and a month-old son. Taking them along, Tenorio said, is “the only option” for family time.
Truckers also complain of the dangers — occasional muggings and bad, congested roads. Driving across Mato Grosso do Sul, the next state down, Mendonça pointed to a spot where a drunk driver slammed into his cabin, killing the car driver’s girlfriend. “I can’t blame myself for something that wasn’t my fault,” he says.
Often, it’s fellow truckers that he worries about. In a rush to get to port — many are paid by the load — drivers make reckless efforts to pass. Many also take cocaine and an amphetamine derivative known as “rebite” to stay awake.
“When you’re sleepy, it sorts you out, but you can end up causing a huge mess,” says Ademir Pereira, a 36-year-old driver who admits to once popping the rebite pill.
Mendonça says he never takes drugs to stay awake.
Time at the wheel
More than 1,200 truckers died on Brazil’s federal highways last year, according to police data. To dissuade drug use and reduce the death toll, the government recently mandated rest periods for truckers for the first time.Employed truckers who drive most of the truck miles covered in Brazil are now restricted to eight hours at the wheel per day, but self-employed truck owners can press on for 13.
On Tuesday night, we slept at another rest stop.
At midday on Wednesday, Mendonça pulled into a restaurant in the north of Sao Paulo, the last state on the journey.
There, a worker said she sees benefits from the new law.
“Before, you would see truck drivers coming in with their eyes almost closed,” says Nilda Pereira Alves Pinto, who works the restaurant’s CB radio, touting its rice and beans over the airwaves. “They aren’t in such a rush anymore.”
On Wednesday evening, we bypassed Sao Paulo, South America’s biggest city, and the traffic thickened as trucks from across Brazil funnel onto the two highways to Santos, 80 km away.
The lack of rest areas was painfully clear. Mendonça paid a 150-reais toll for one highway but had to circle back and repay after leaving the road, only to find all rest stops were full. He’d gone beyond his legal driving time but had nowhere to stop.
At 2 a.m., as we descended through Atlantic rainforest, a wreck halted traffic. An hour later, we reached a rest stop.
“It’s looking ugly,” a gate attendant said, waving Mendonça in to try his luck for a parking spot to end a 20-hour day.
On Thursday morning, Mendonça waited for clearance to proceed to the Santos terminals. The port is infamous for red tape and is strained by rising cargo volumes. Not until 4 p.m. was the terminal ready for Mendonça.
It wasn’t until Friday morning, nearly seven days after he first left Rondonopolis, that Mendonça was finally able to pull up to a platform and off-load, just yards from the docked bulk carrier ships filling with grain bound for other continents.
The corn’s value: $10,200. The cost of the haul: $3,800.