Beaches from Brazil to Buenos Aires & Beyond

-Day 5-

After yesterdays ‘excursion’ (or exertion!) our third day on Ilha Grande felt like it ought to be a day of rest! And so we rested. We flip flopped our way to a cute little beach called Praia Preta just East of the village. As usual we were the palest people on the sand… surely my tan should be developing by day 5, but alas, my factor 50 seems to be taking care of that one! Ian on the other hand is already sporting white bits where the sun don’t shine, and is very smug about it too. Losing myself in a good book is one of holiday’s most guilty pleasures, because I often don’t have the time back home. Ian and I are both keen readers & easily polish off a novel in a week (currently I’m reading The Help, Ian: The Kite Runner). However until today, we have not seen a single soul reading a book ANYWHERE?! I’m thinking they must be concentrating on their tan instead! In the midday heat we went for a stroll in the shade to see some of the island’s history.

Though there’s little trace of it now, Ilha Grande used to be a leper colony, then a prison for Brazil’s most dangerous criminals, and at one point in time was even a quarantine stopover for diseased European immigrants. Luckily things have changed since those days! The food here is delicious, fresh fish is plentiful… but other food does seem to get a bit samey after a bit. A chicken & cheese sandwich for lunch today was a welcome treat after five days of ham & cheese baguettes ‘stealthily acquired’ from our inclusive breakfast spread ;P

This evening we watched the fish being brought in by the fishermen & then ate them fresh from a beach BBQ at ‘Cafe do Mar’. Washed down with Caipahrinias under a twinkling starry sky… this is such a magical place- I don’t want to leave tomorrow!

- By Cass

-Day 4-

“Without darkness, there is no light” read the exquisite calligraphy tattooed across the tanned chest of the Finnish guy on our boat, as we departed the island paradise of Ilha Grande. This reminded me of my own pleasure/pain theory – admittedly not an original one, but which again rang true for the highlight of the trip so far; our trek to Lopez Mendes beach.

Mark and Sebastian, Cass’ dad and brother had teased her that on our travels I’d subject us to perilous trails and enquired if she was prepared with heavy walking boots.  I had reassured her that this was a coastal discovery trip with a few vineyard excursions thrown in. On arrival in Arbraõ on Ilha Grande however, we soon learned that one of Brazil’s most celebrated beaches lay on the other side of the island. Although accessible by boat from the many operators in the tiny village, a 6Km trail was also marked through the verdant Atlantic forest that carpets the interior.

With blue plimsolls and box fresh white Converse on our feet, a supply of purloined ham and cheese rolls from the breakfast buffet and a bladder of water in Cass’ new camelback, we hit the trail.

Beads of sweat rolled down our foreheads as the shady but humid forest and steep climb pushed our rested muscles. We were treated though to captivating views of the coast as we reached the upper canopy as well as screeching cicadas, booming monkeys (we hoped…), giant fluttering sapphire butterflies and the odd flying squirrel.

Avoiding the temptation to stop at the three beautiful small hamlet beaches and entreating emerald sea along the way, we pushed on and in just under 3 hours emerged from the leafy shadows on to the blistering white sand of Lopes Mendes. With grains so fine it squeaked as we took turns running down to the refreshing gentle waves, this was our well-earned reward. Even after swimming in Rio, the unspoilt natural beauty of this lime tree fronted beach and turquoise water felt truly invigorating. Sadly there were no waves to surf, which would have made it perfect, but then that may have curtailed our mission or the trip far to early.

Deciding against trekking our return, we opted for a schooner in the previous bay to take us back to Arbraõ. Now I having nothings against a pair of speedos for swimming in, but off the beach they really don’t do any man any favours, especially the “Cuban Brothers”, or so I coined them. Sporting matching white fedoras, feminine gold neck chains, and as a slight departure from the uniform, respective red and white mini  swimming briefs. Stranger though, despite being completely waxed, one had a hairy shoulder patch reminiscent of a gun holster slung under his arm. God knows why, but his attentive girlfriend didn’t seem to mind.

After a decadent few days of evening Epicureanism, we decided to share a pizza in the main church square. Thinking the Saint Sebastian festivities were over after last night’s celebrations, we were surprised by a full Sunday service to accompany our meals, complete with a procession and communion. I guess more than most, Christian’s believe in the pleasure/pain theory.

 - By Ian

-Day 3-

You see, there’s a small part of me that feels like I may have missed the rite of passage portion of my angsty, chain toting gothic teen years - all because I didn’t take a gap year to go traveling.

This afternoon, on a rustic white wooden sail boat bound for Ilha Grande from Agra, we lounged around with about twenty other optimistic (& slightly sunburned) travelers. As Ian and I park our pasty white derrieres in the shade at the nose of the boat, we gaze ahead in utter awe as we set sail into what feels like an endless ocean of islands, and then I observe how interesting it can be see the ways in which other people pass time.

The ‘Young Set’ (let’s call them that, because I saw it in a 70’s fondue recipe book while I was packing & it’s stuck in my head ever since!) So, other than us and another couple around our age, the boat is pretty much made up of ‘The Young Set’ on their gap years. A group of 18 year old girls coalesce in the centre of the boat and proceed to preen each other like monkeys for the next hour completely oblivious with headphones jammed in their ears, so irreverent about being in the midst of the most beautiful surroundings I have seen in all my life.

Then it suddenly occurs to me - I am so pleased I am not on a gap year.

Like good wine, there are some things best saved for a more mature palette and I feel that this might just be one of them. As we sail out to an island untouched by motor vehicles or ATM’s, I am basking in the shade, and the dawning realisation that only after ten years of studying and working in London is this experience so incredibly blissful and inspiring. Freedom from the constraints of the modern times we live, which until just three days ago appeared so integral to our existence (err she says while typing into her MacBook pro lol, hey, I can’t go complete cold turkey!)

But tonight as the teen gap yar girls tuck into their hostel bunks after cheap cachaça and a snog with José, I’ll be settling into our ‘Pousada’ filled with grilled calamari and king prawns, thinking thank god I had the chance to experience this now, for what was always a regret has now revealed itself as something that the ‘me’ from ten years ago would not have been capable of appreciating.

- By Cass

-Day 2-

Those of you who know Cass and I will understand we like a plan. Being the ‘reliable couple’, as we have been referred, you’ll probably be surprised to hear we only booked accommodation for Rio, and left our other destination hotel beds “flexible”. What we hadn’t accounted for was the festival of Saint Sebastian. Like a great British bank holiday weekend, this Rio de Janeiro state only break leads Cariocas (Rio’s residents) to head to the islands, and importantly for us, Ilha Grande.

Admittedly, I should have studied my Brazilian Portuguese more thoroughly in London. Though ordering a beer and getting away with pointing at the menu carried us yesterday, deciphering the accent over the phone is a completely different matter. As with learning all new languages, picking your question in your phrase book, complete with phonetic guide, is simple enough. The machine gun response however leaves you stumped. The overriding repeated phrase though from the twenty posadas (guest houses) on Ilha Grande was ‘Não há vagas’ - no room at the inn! With the mounting irritation Mary must face felt with Josef for not booking ahead, Cass and I persisted until finally Hélio and Norma at the ‘Portal dos Borbas’ said they had an available, if somewhat pricey room - we just hoped it wasn’t the stable…

Feeling relieved but intent not to repeat this mistake and spend more hours locked in a hotel room while the sun blazed outside, we quickly organised our buses for the next nine days and shot emails to hotels in Paraty, our next destination in 4 days. To say Ipanema was packed is an understatement. Almost every square inch up to the crashing water’s edge was occupied with a family celebrating/sheltering under a red parasol. The holiday had brought everyone who couldn’t escape the heat of the city to the beach. With seconds to spare, Cass spotted a prime clear patch by the sea and swooped in with our sarongs. Brazilian’s are not worried by personal space and despite our close proximity, others soon clustered around us to enjoy the lapping waves and cloudless sky. From here, we had a perfect view for more people watching of every shake and size; bootlicious thongs to ‘back burrito’ bulges.

Though I’m not religious, I’m always astounded by the incredible fears of design and engineering it inspires. And so we headed to ‘Cristo Redentor’ (Christ the redeemer) who towers with open arms, surveying the staggeringly beautiful Rio landscape atop the 710m Corcavado peak. Via a relay of public bus, shared taxi and tourist bus we reached the summit in the mid afternoon. Although pleasingly cool, the overcast sky made for dull photographs, save for the spectacle of tourists lying on their backs to frame their standing partners echoing the Christ’s outstretched arms looming above. What we did realise though, was that the twin peaks at the end of Ipanema we had taken for the famous sugar loaf mountain, we’re infant another range, and the loaf itself stood prominently to the north closer to Copacabana.

With some recommendations in hand from Brazilian friends, in the evening we headed for the trendy area if Leblon. Cass put on her heels and so was a little self conscious when we arrived at ‘Bracarense’. What we had took to be a cool cocktail bar was actually closer to a New York style alfresco diner. However we soon settled in at the bar stools and sank some ice cold tumblers of choppee, delivered in rapid succession by our eager barman who served up a range of delicious appetisers : prawn balls with cream cheese, squid and crab patties, followed by a hearty pork sandwich carved from the bone in front of us. Again in fragmented Portuguese, we chatted with a Brazilian family who took to us enjoying their local before we headed to the ‘Academia Cachaça’. For those unacquainted, Cachaça is Brazil’s national spirit, a ‘put Hayes on your chest’ sugar cane liqueur usually unadulterated with any mixer except sugar and fresh lime. Thinking I was choosing a “healthy” option, I opted for a combination with Coconut juice but on arrival bore a strong resemblance to a lethal ‘Bushwhacker’ Cass’ brother Sebastian bought me in Nashville. Cass meanwhile was served an innocuous looking fruity number but on tasting could strip point and killed a small part of her liver. When asked to suggest a mixer to soften it, the sheepish waiter suggested more ice! After a boozy season extending since early December, we’re astounded we need more drinking practice.

- By Ian