Yep here it is. I know you´ve spent the weekend trying not to take out your frustrations on your nearest and dearest at the way I left the last blog hanging. I know that the tantrum in the living room and subsequent argument was not really about which movie to go see. Fear not, here is the thrilling conclusion to the previous ramblings.
So we opt for the 3 hour walk to the beach on Ilha Grande. And as a snake thrashes away unseen through the greenery, bear in mind I´m wearing sandals, I am beginning to think this wasn´t the best idea I´ve had. I look around at the jungle canopy above us. The air is hot and thick, it feels like there´s an Iguassu (waterfall) pouring down my back. There are snakes and spiders and all kinds of other nasty things here and we still have 2 hours to go. You´ll be pleased to know we made it. Was it worth it? Was it fuck.
Okay first, the beach. It was stunning. About a mile of pure white sand bending to the right. In fact the sand was so fine that when you walked on it it let out a squeaking sound. I just thought it was Alison´s runs coming back but nope, it was the sand. There are no boats allowed to pick up and drop off here and no parasols or chairs. No sunbathing, no swimming no breathing. Just kidding about the last three.
Now because you can´t get boats from here you have to walk 20 minutes back to another beach to get the boat back to town. In that walk you are gently raped by monkeys and scratched by palm trees with a grudge against white folk with no tops on. So after our 15 minutes of enjoying the beach we wander back to catch the last boat back to town. And we sit at the back of the boat for what seems like an hour still tied to the pier. People are getting annoyed, nothing is happening. Eventually the captain decides (under threat of mutiny) to cast off. We just get underway when I hear someone whistling. I look back to see a guy waving. He wears silly Brazilian trucks with a girly pattern on them. He has perfected the surf-dude look down to a tee. He seems to be trying to attract attention. ´Don´t go! Wait...´ He barks in Portuguese. He´s obviously got there a fraction too late and don´t forget this is the last boat back to town. I look at him, then I turn to the captain who´s got Bob Marley blaring out of the stereo and is blissfully unaware of what is going on behind him. I look back at the man, this poor guy who´d missed the boat by the slightest of margins.
You know what I did. What any normal, sane, right-thinking person would do in that situation. Nothing. I actually sat there and just stared at him. He carried on shouting and whistling. I just couldn´t bring myself to do anything about it. My mind began justifying my actions by saying things like ´Well he should have got there earlier.´ But as we sailed away, knowing full well that chap had a 3 hour walk, in the dark, with the snakes and other nasties back to town, I heard a strange voice in my head. I can´t remember the details but the basic gist was ´You´re going to hell Daniel Grant´.
So the next day, for lack of a better idea we decide to go back to the same beach, Lopez Mendes. Why not. It wasn´t a bad beach by any stretch of the imagination and now that we´d learned the hard way, we decided to take the boat there...AND back. Good thinking Sherlock.
I almost gave it no attention whatsoever when I saw the large Brazilian Naval battle cruiser parked in our bay. I just thought ´Hey look, a warship.´ Then went back to the brainal equivalent of the television colour bars. But as our boat pulled away I heard what sounded suspiciously like a siren. Sure enough a smaller patrol boat was speeding its way towards us. Lights flashing, the whole show. People looked at each other, I glanced at the battle cruiser, wondering if she was preparing to blow us out of the water with those two big cannons sitting on her deck.
The patrol boat pulled up alongside our little innocent tourist boat and (I kid you not) a guy called Ronaldo boarded with his crack amphibious search team and announced something to us in Portuguese.Boy I sure was glad I didn´t speak the language cos he sounded pissed.
So I sat there in blissful ignorance until a small thought came across me. Had I remembered to hide my stash?
Ronaldo finished making his speech and then went to the ´bridge´ or as I prefer to call it, the little hut where the captain sat and steered the boat. The captain translated what Ronaldo has said in to English.
´They´re just making sure everything is in order on the boat, please wait 10 minutes.´ Like a bunch of Goofies we nodded in earnest agreement with the plan. 45 minutes later Ronaldo and his crack amphibious team were still serving the Captain his own six-pack for dinner and we were still bobbling around on the sea like a shark with no fins. Every so often, out of view of Ronaldo and his crack amphibious team, the captain would give a look to us that said he´d been given such a severe bollocking, I thought the boys were going to take him round the back and give him thirty lashes. So what did I do whilst all this seriousness was going on? What any decent, western tourist does in these situations...I got out my camera and filmed the whole thing for the benefit of you. See video.
After an hour Ronaldo was happy to let us carry on to the beach. The captain by this point had soiled himself, he´d obviously not filled in the right form or failed to make sure the boat had life vests or some other trivial failing. I found myself feeling sorry for the poor chap and as we motored passed the Oil Tanker Terminal on the way to the beach all I could think of was, I don´t think I want to be a ship captain after all.
So after all that excitement it was time to leave Ilha Grande. So we caught the ferry to the mainland and then a taxi to the bus terminal. After waiting an inexcusably long time the bus rolled in and we got on. Except this bus was like a citybus not like the coaches we´d been using thus far. And it was packed. So packed that we didn´t have a seat. So for 2 hours I had to stand to get to our next destination of Paraty. Was I amused? Was I fuck. However as it turned out I thought Alison had paid for the tickets. Only when we got off, stiff as a randy elephant, did we realise that neither of us had paid for our tickets. I´m sure you´re assuming I went straight up to the bus driver, money in hand to correct the mistake immediately. Well you´d be wrong. We scarpered to a waiting taxi who floored it to our guesthouse. Ha. Every so often the good guys triumph over the commies!
And thus, here we are. Paraty is a beautiful colonial town with cobbled streets and a lovely harbour. It has over a hundred beaches in its vicinity and is one of the most beautiful places in all of southern Brazil. Of course I don´t know this first hand because ever since we arrived it hasn´t stopped bloody raining. I mean it started raining four days ago and it literally hasn´t stopped since. At one stage I was walking back to the guesthouse, drenched, cold and rapidly losing my tan, I started conversing with God.
´´God´´ I said ´´You promised you wouldn´t flood mankind again after Noah, what gives?´´
God replied ´´You believed me on that? HA! Dickhead.´´
So yes, here we are stuck in a beautiful beach location with sod all to do except write these bloody blogs. Well we leave tomorrow for a 24 hour bus journey to Florianopolis. That´ll be a hoot!
When I have more, dear readers, you will too.
Until that time, live long and prosper.
Dan
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