Jericoacora - A Slice of Paradise

« Return to Brazil

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 bungalowä

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 cafÈ, 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.

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