Phillipe comes from the
French colony of New Caledonia, a tropical island off the coast of Australia,
with white beaches, clear blue seas, and all the trimmings needed to garnish
your paradise turkey. So I
have it on pretty good authority that the northern Brazilian beach village of
Jericoacoara is something special.
He walked around with his jaw as wide open as his eyes, amidst the tall
sand dunes, crystal lagoons, warm sea breeze and coconut groves. When he met the gorgeous Camilla
from Sao Paulo, in her bright blue Brazilian bikini, I had to pick his pupils
off the sand, dust them off and hand them back to him. "Ah, Robin, man, this is paradise!" Coming from someone born and raised under a palm
tree, that means a lot.
I first heard about
Jericoacoara (pronounced Jeri-kwa-kwa-ra) in southern Argentina. It was the tongue-busting answer
to my question: Where's the best
place to go in Brazil? The
name came up again and again, so I knew it was something I had to do,
especially with the short time I have to explore such a vast, vibrant
country. Finding this
remote fishing village would involve a flight from Rio, a night in the seedy
town of Fortaleza, a seven-hour bus, followed by another hour on an all-terrain
vehicle. Like so many
magical places around the world, it seems the harder it is to get there, the
better the place will be.
The same could not be said for Fortaleza, even with its first-class
airport where I find myself writing my second report in as many weeks. After finishing up my Rio
extravaganza, I caught an expensive cab to the HIN hostel to meet Phillipe, who
had journeyed to the mosquito-infested Pantanal inland to view the same animals
I had seen up-close in the bird park in Foz de Iguazu. Neither of us was sure who made the
right decision, but I'll take hang-gliding over animal spotting most days of
the week. Anyway, I kind of
saw it in Fortaleza, when we explored the tourist strip to find dozens of
teenage prostitutes surrounded by overweight European men with strands of hair
slicked across their sweating skulls. The girls were tragically young, but any
sympathy disappeared when they physically try to jostle and push you into the
girlie-bars. Refusing
such advances resulted in hostile shoves and name calling, a particular
harrowing experience even if it did teach me what it's like to be a piece of
cattle. Moo.
Together with a lunatic
named Adrian from Australia, we caught the first bus out in the morning,
driving further north towards the equator, which lay only one hour's flight
away. The bus window was
scorching, and I knew instantly that just about every item of clothing I had
lugged around this crazy continent would be inappropriate to deal with this
kind of heat and humidity.
Transferring to the open-air all-terrain bus, we drove for an hour
through lush, tropical landscapes, eventually hitting the beach that stretched
on forever. By the time we
arrived in Jeri, I was well ready for a glass of freshly squeezed maracuja (passion fruit) juice, perhaps with a dash of pinga (cane spirit) to acclimatize to the pace. Or lack thereof. Phillipe and I have this thing,
having connected in Bolivia, Argentina, and now Brazil, to always look at a few
hotels (called pousadas in this part of the world) before making a
decision. So we lugged our
stuff around while touts showed us their goods, patiently waiting our
decision. Naturally, the
last guy had the best placeŠan air-conditioned bungalow right on the dune, with
a hammock-view of the famous sunset. The three of us settled in, bought some supplies
(beer, juice, pinga, beer) and got down to a week of chilling out the likes of
which I have never quite experienced. Herewith is my daily schedule for the last seven
days.
7am: Enter the bungalow after a) watching
the sunrise from the dune b) partying all night at Planet Jeri c) eating a
chicken pie at the 24-hour bakery d) crashing in the hammock
12pm: Wake, cold shower under the waterfall
shower outside, $2 lunch at Amanda's (drink a few religious glasses of the
Passion of the Fruit, fish, rice, beans), meet the girls.
1pm: Beach
3:55pm: Tropical Storm
4pm: Back to bungalow to
read one page, then nap in the hammock to the sound of rain
6pm: Sunset from the dune, or capoeira
on the beach, or drinks at Skybar to chillout music
7pm: Nap
10pm: Pick up the rest of the gang, go for a
$2 dinner at Amanda's, or maybe splurge on a delicious pizza or pasta
12am: Hit the party at
Planet Jeri, or Mama Africas
4am: Return home, check to see if someone is
shagging in the bungalow, oh look, someone is, bugger, guess it's the hammock
for me again.
7am: Enter the bungalowŠ
Some explanations. Our bungalow was one
of four at the dune end of town, and hosted a multi-national group of friendly
travelers. Subsequently, we
enjoyed a terrific social vibe, which I later learnt was quite difficult to
find in low-season Jeri.
Although the village has well over a hundred pousadas, many of which are
foreign owned, most were closed or sitting empty. We also had a reasonably priced mini-bar, stocked
daily, and a couple of lovely Brazilian girls cleaning up and changing sheets
and generally making our pousada fun to hang around. The two main village bars rocked out from Wednesday to
Saturday, offering a bizarre mix of hardcore techno and fohrro, a traditional
Brazilian dance just a hop, grind and jump from the bedroom. A criminal dance remix of
California Dreaming seemed especially popular with the Brazilian girls, when
perhaps in California they should be dreaming about Jericoacoara.
Amanda's isn't called
Amanda's but we called the rustically cheap eatery that anyway, after our
12-year-old server Amanda, who had the manner of a 79-year-old Midwest diner
waitress. For a little over $2US,
we'd get a big plate of fish, chicken, beef, or stew, with rice, beans and
salad. While more than a few
beers were consumed, Brazil is all about the juices. Passion fruit, orange, pineapple, banana, melon
freshly squeezed, somewhat sweetened,
always delicious.
When blended with milk, it's called a vitamina, the best of which was an
avocado concoction made from the largest avos I've seen this side of Bolivia.
The beaches were green or
grey, but nevertheless spectacular in the context of the surrounding
landscape. Best of all, we
would walk a few minutes up or down the coast and be the only ones in sight, an
enjoyable contrast to the flood of suntans on Copacabana in Rio. The sea was warm, the air
warmer. And then a storm
would hit and refreshing rain would drench everything in minutes. It is low season because it is
rainy season, and indeed, it proceeded to rain every day, sometimes for a few
minutes, sometimes an hour.
The only real annoyance of all this was the impact it would have on my
photos, which could not possibly capture the colours of the sea and sand with a
constantly overcast sky.
Especially when we hired a dune buggy to take us to Paradise Lake and
the Blue Lagoon, fittingly named and breathtakingly gorgeous. Lying in sea hammocks, staring at
the perfect beach café, we toasted our good fortune and the last soldier of
stress was gunned down in the small of my back. This, my friends, truly is the life.
The sunsets in Jeri are
famous throughout Brazil, most likely due to the massive Sunset Dune from which
to watch them. At about 5pm,
all the gringos, and no small amount of locals, would flock like ants up the
dune to watch the day fade away.
Young boys backflip down the steep banks to the appreciation of all,
others sandboard, a hippy might drum a bongo. The sea breeze is warm, and the energy is so positive you
could charge a battery.
When the sun is gone, we head towards the drumming on the lower beach in
front of the appropriately named (for once) Skybar. Here we gather in a circle to watch the capoeira masters and
students leap and somersault in the air. Capoeira is a Brazilian martial art that combines
dancing, gymnastics and deft agility to create an awesome spectacle of movement
and acrobatics. Two
people will go at each other, landing kicks millimeters from each other to
create a beautiful tango with dangerous undertones. When the stars arrive and it gets too dark to see,
it's time to nap in preparation of the night ahead.
After months of going solo,
I enjoyed finding a gang of fellow misfits to waste the week away. For the first couple of
days, Adrian amused (and scared) us all with his utter determination and devotion
to the art of hunting women.
This reached its climax when he brought home a young girl and proceeded
to have his way with her, mere inches from my hungover head and to Phillipe's
unmasked horror. My bed
shook, the girl screamed, and it just wasn't good cricket, as one would
say. Adrian left to pursue some
girl he met who lived in Fortalesa, and along came Tarka aka Sorry to be Frank
from Ireland. A
semi-pro musician, Tarka brought with him great speakers for our iPods, a good
guitar, and a refreshing bluntness, hence his quickly earned nickname, Frank. We met the stunning Juliana
and Camilla, vacationing from Sao Paulo, and later the striking Hila from Tel
Aviv, and formed a happy hang to waste the week. We walked to Pedra Furada, a beautiful rock
formation up the coast, or danced to bad music, or hung out in the hammocks
listening to Tarka's mellow guitar.
Not even the mosquitoes or burrowing beetles (which require you wear
sandals when walking around) could dampen the mood. Together with Hila, who had never rode a horse before,
I explored the dunes on a mule I'll call Jigsaw, because she was falling
apart. Long dinners, quiet
afternoons, great company it was sad to see the week vaporize. They say time goes quickly when
you're busy, but it truly does fly when you're doing absolutely nothing, but
having fun. Catching
the night bus back to Fortalesa was upsetting, to depart from the magic of
Jeri, to depart from the wonderful people I had met there. Sitting in the back of an open
all-terrain bus, driving along a beach beneath an almost full moon, I felt an
electric buzz at the sheer exoticness of this kind of life.
The night before, I bumped
into Neil, who I met in Buenos Aires.
He was on his way to catch the bus back to Fortalesa, and was looking
somewhat troubled.
"I hated Jeri," he
said. "I couldn't find
anyone to hang out with, and everywhere I went was empty." Goes to show.
It is the people you meet
who create the paradise you find.
Fortalesa Aiport
May 19, 2005
Brazil