Carla Fabiana

The Amazon grabs all the glory - and all the tourists - but for wildlife, the Pantanal is as good as a David Attenborough documentary on acid. Isabel Choat goes on safari

Guardian

Why make such sartorial sacrifices? Because the Pantanal is an unparalleled wildlife sanctuary whose rivers, woods and plains teem with an astonishing variety of flora and fauna. Every year, the land floods, creating a vast lagoon that fills with squillions of fish, shellfish and molluscs. When the water begins to recede in May the fish that haven't made it to the permanent rivers are stranded in the disappearing pools and tributaries, providing a feast for the aquatic birds and animals. It is nature at its most abundant.

It's not just the proliferation of wildlife that sets the Pantanal apart, but the weirdness of the bird and animal life. Going on safari here is like being in your very own David Attenborough documentary. On acid. Every creature seems to be a grotesquely oversized version of its normal cousins - insects the size of small birds flew into the windscreen as we drove along dirt tracks; the giant anteater, the giant river otter and the giant armadillo are all found here; the biggest snake in the world (the anaconda) lurks in the shallows waiting for unsuspecting rodents or deer. The symbol of the Pantanal, the jaribu stork, is the largest of its kind, ditto the magnificent and rare hyacinth macaw, and the greater rhea, the world's largest flightless bird, which stalks through the grass like the John Cleese of the avian world.

The rhea isn't the only creature with comedy value. When I wasn't staring, slack-jawed at the proximity and variety of nature (true city girl that I am), I was laughing my head off at the preposterousness of it. The capybara - the world's largest rodent - is a classic example. I had seen one (well, a pair actually) many moons ago, aged eight, in a game of "animal snap", but hadn't realised they actually existed. But the capybara turns out to be alive and well and snuffling round the undergrowth of south west Brazil. On my journey to the Refugio Ecologico Caiman, an ecolodge 263km from Campo Grande, the main city in the region, the driver pointed out a family of these giant guinea pigs making their way across the road like they had all the time in the world. It was the first of many bizarre sights.

All of which begs the question, if the Pantanal is so vast - and it is immense, covering 54,000 square miles (roughly the size of France) across the south-west corner of Brazil, and into parts of Bolivia and Paraguay - and such a haven for exotic creatures, why have so few people heard about it? Brazilians know the Pantanal as the largest provider of beef in the country, thanks to thousands of acres of cattle ranches, but few have actually visited. Outside Brazil, awareness remains incredibly low. This is partly because it hasn't had as much exposure as other great wildlife destinations. Attenborough filmed Life Of Birds here, but there have been many more documentaries on the Amazon, not to mention celebrity-backed "Save The Rain Forest" campaigns.

The only other explanation is that when it comes to looks, the dramatic Amazon, with its bulging river and lush towering forest, beats the Pantanal hands down. In the rainy season, the Pantanal bursts with life and colour but when the flood plains dry up and the colour drains from the land, it can look a little monotonous. Yet the Pantanal's "plain-Jane" appearance is also its trump card - the lack of dense foliage means it's much easier to spot wildlife. There's no crouching in the bushes for hours on end, binoculars primed, here. On the contrary, you're practically tripping over critters - not because they are used to people and have come to expect food, as in some safari parks; rather, the animals see so few people they have no fear. This is their domain and a group of people in a jeep is simply a curiosity, not a reason to flee.

The only creature that did prove elusive was the jaguar. The once healthy population is dwindling; many have been killed by farmers trying to protect their cattle or poachers after their skins. Now hunting is illegal and the hunters are employed by conservation agencies to track down jaguar so they can be tagged and monitored. But that's another story. We set out in the truck each night, scanning the velvety darkness for pairs of "green lights" (the jaguar's eyes), but they are shy creatures and refused to make an appearance. It was frustrating but we saw so much each day, it was hard to stay disappointed.

Five minutes into our first safari we came across two caiman (Pantanal alligators), warming themselves in the morning sun. Much clicking of cameras ensued, though we soon learned that caiman - one of the few creatures that is smaller than its cousins elsewhere - are two a penny in these parts. There are an estimated 10 million in the Pantanal - compared with some 206,000 people.

Each excursion into the wilderness brought a different array of sights and sounds. On one trip we spotted the shy marsh deer darting into the bush, heard howler monkeys calling to each other, and saw the strange but beautiful tapir. Another day, we were walking single file, our regulation plastic mugs (to save on throwaway ones) clattering against our belts, when we came under attack - high above us a group of capuchin monkeys were lobbing fruit at us.

I'm no twitcher but the birds of the Pantanal had me reaching for the binoculars. The greater rhea (and its nest of giant Jurassic-like eggs), jaribu stork, green ibis, whistling heron, great egret, savannah hawk, toco toucan, roseate spoonbill and southern lapwing were all ticked off. But there were many more.

Even the vegetation holds a certain fascination. The strangler fig, which does exactly what you expect, squeezing the life out of its host tree as it grows up towards the light, is like something out of The Day of the Triffids. We also came across fantastic bromelias with brilliant red inside leaves, the 'nipple tree' (only in Brazil), the ximbuva tree with fruit so poisonous it can kill a cow and another plant whose leaves are like sand paper - and make rather good nail files. Not that good nails are high priority in the Pantanal. Tramping through the wilds in sticky heat puts the kibosh on any beauty regime.

A lie-in was not an option either. When the woods and marshes surrounding the lodge came to life at 4.30am it was not so much a dawn chorus as a cacophony of screeching, squawking, twittering and cooing, with a family of feral pigs providing background harmonies of snorts and grunts. Over the din the call of the chachalaca bird, whose name suggests it should be musical but is in fact utterly tuneless, could be heard loud and clear, a cross between an angry seagull and a very noisy chicken. The first morning I was woken by the racket outside, I buried my head in the pillow. But I soon got in sync with nature - pretty much a necessity when you're expected to be up and out at 7.30am prompt. Still groggy, we would set off in an open-sided truck, or sometimes on horse back in search of wildlife. The fact that each expedition was led by a Pantaneiro wearing a palm-leaf hat and a machete tucked into his belt only added to the feeling that this was a proper adventure. En route, we stopped to drink maté out of cow-horn cup. A bitter herb tea, maté is - to my taste - disgusting, but in Brazil they drink it cold and, in that heat, that's all I cared about. I was there in October, just before the rains came, when it was sticky and humid and every breath felt like sucking hot air through a wet flannel.

If you're not watching wildlife, there's not a whole lot else to do in the Pantanal but somehow I never got bored. Much like the animals, when we weren't out and about we were either eating or sleeping. No sooner had we had coffee and cake at 11, than it was time for lunch, always three courses and always delicious. To start, we might have seafood salad, followed by hearty meat stew with manioc (cassava), then a passion fruit tart or lemon mousse. Having a beer at midday was lethal - the combination of the early start, oppressive heat and alcohol would mean the rest of the afternoon would have to be spent lolling about by the pool, or comatose in a hammock. Our lodge, Cordilheira, was small and simple but not uncomfortable. The colourful main living area had a huge wooden table for communal meals, sofas and cushions. "Entertainment" involved nipping up to the observation tower to see what you could see or watching videos of - you've guessed it - the Pantanal.

One afternoon, we summoned up the energy to venture out on a fishing trip. I can't say I was very excited by the idea but it turned out to be rather more adventurous than your average afternoon on the riverbank. First, we had to kayak across the caiman-infested waters. Then we were given a home-made rod and chunks of raw meat - worms just won't do when you're fishing for piranha, you know. Unsurprisingly the piranha turned out not to be the ruthless killers I was expecting - although I turned down the offer of a swim to prove it. They certainly liked the steak though and were expert at nibbling it clean off the hook without biting. After two hours sitting on the jetty, we had only caught two tiddlers. But the meagre haul didn't stop us concocting exaggerated tales of derring-do, once we were safely back at the lodge drinking our passion fruit caipirinhas. And anyhow, we got our revenge. Our starter that night was cream of piranha soup.

Further information: Refúgio Caiman