It's the journey, not the destination

   The hard thing with writing is that when you leave it a little while you fall out of the habit and by the time you sit down with intent you have too many ideas that should have previously been expressed in a much better order.  So I’m going to put one down up front that just came to me: mum, why haven’t you commented on our blog yet?

   We left Rio for Ilha Grande on Monday and since then we have been without internet or even a reliable power source so I’ve continued writing in my diary but it becomes silly trying to transfer daily prose into the past tense.  We spent our last full day in Rio ascending Pão de Açucar (Sugarloaf Mountain), after reinstating all of Kizzy’s bank cards that had seized up in the flurry of international transactions.  The views across the harbour to Corcovado and the Christo Redentor were spectacular but the day was a bit hazy for good photos (see photo, Panu).  We ended up strolling the beach in the afternoon where the atmosphere was more relaxed than on previous days.  It seems like Rio has a lovely family day vibe on Sundays, certainly along the beaches.  It was as though there were more women around and fewer young-ish men and that happened to relax things.  Occasional bars along the beachfront had live music and there were markets in the near side of the road which was closed to traffic for the day.  There were also three girls dancing suggestively to the live music at one bar and that was a trap that had drawn a certain type of men all into one discreet place that was easily circumnavigated.  Sadly we were too terrified of being mugged (guidebook: "do not take anything to the beach") that we left our camera behind on the first day with the lovely blue skies and sunshine.

   We journeyed to Ilha Grande the following day, by minibus and schooner, with our destination Camping e Cabanas Paradiso.  The camping is obvious – reserve a pitch by the beach, simple.  The cabanas?  We were in a tent.  I don’t mind but the booking was for a cottage.  There are no cottages so I didn’t make a fuss about the tent. 

   To get there we walked for an hour and a quarter in the rain, up and down a very slippery hill.  In a way the rain was a blessing – it gave me an excuse for being drenched on arrival.  In actual fact I was dripping with sweat having carried 25kg (still too heavy!) up and down the hill.  Incidentally, some chap who writes for the Rough Guide tested this and the average backpack weight is 17kg, so between the two of us (Kizzy: 11kg) we’re not far off that.  I need to get more stuff into her bag while she sleeps.

   At “Paradiso” it really was quite lovely.  It’s a small campsite (let’s be honest) on a small beach just a short walk from a slightly less small beach (Palmas), a good hour from anything approaching a link to civilisation.  When we were in the cable car up to Sugarloaf Mountain Kizzy remarked that it was strange to have days in which your attention was focussed on the events before you and not on some more distant anticipation.  Lying on the beach in that remote-ish corner of Ilha Grande I could not think of a more apt thought.  After the rush and bustle of the last month in London, to be in a place where filling your day takes attention to each relaxing detail was a staggering change.  However, I must admit to also being staggered by the ridiculously alcoholic welcome Caiprinhas at that point.  I think I have a fair constitution but two of those at Paradiso (Kiz was gone on the first mouthful of hers) and I was struggling to walk straight. 

Am I not adventurous?

   Kizzy has something of a bone to pick with those who suggested that she might not be the adventurous type.  She has now braved the journey between Palmas and Abraão – one hour and 15 minutes up and down a slippery and treacherous clay track (see photo, Panu) no fewer than 5 times, one of those carrying a heavy pack in the rain.  On two occasions she braved the “rock of death” (again, see photo, Panu) and on Wednesday morning took a valiant role in the massacre of the invading ant horde (no photos – still dealing with post-traumatic stress).  She is very brave and I am very proud of her.  Incidentally, she managed to reconcile the massacre with her vegetarianism: “they’re invading our cottage!”, “It’s self-defence” and my favourite, “they’re like machines, they just won’t die!”

   We recovered from that ordeal with a lovely few hours on what felt like our own private beach with blue skies and morning sunshine topping up Kizzy’s tan and threatening to burn me through my factor 30 sunscreen.  In fact it did burn me (see photo) but on the bright side I have discovered that that my new sunglasses have a super-power: they can tell how burnt I will look in an hour’s time, long before it is visible to the naked eye.  I thought they were rose-tinted at first – I looked a little pink through the sunnies but without them I retained an unblemished pasty hue.  I stayed in the sun for another 30 minutes and then went for lunch, still luminous white.  Over the next hour the pink emerged, finally settling on a tender fuscia.  Lesson for the day – listen to the sunnies and stay out of the midday sun!

   We met a lovely couple at Paradiso, Wellington and Tachi, two missionaries from Sao Paulo travelling with Wellington’s sun Viktor and a friend Marcel.  Viktor must be about 14.  He’s a sweet kid who speaks English well and has an endearing habit of patting me on the shoulder every time we passed each other, although with the sunburn I had to stifle the winces for fear of hurting his feelings. 

   Yesterday (finally, almost up to date) we took the water taxi back to Abraão (no way were we doing that journey again with packs and sunburnt shoulders).  Although it was prohibitively expensive (£40 for a twenty minute trip) it was actually quite nice to see the island from offshore and Kiz was very excited at her first trip in a “speedboat” – it was a tinny with a 40hp outboard on the back.  

   Ilha Grande was lovely – we made new friends on the transfer there and then on departure too so I was able to give out the first of the calling cards (very exciting and self-fulfilling moment!).  It seems that couples naturally gravitate towards couples, and unsurprisingly the two couples we’ve met are both from Australia.  The cricket bat seems to attract them!  I knew it was a good idea.  We had a lovely dinner in Paratry last night: we’re cheap so we went somewhere (with our new friends Ben and Zac from Melbourne) that you pay by the kilo so we could load up on almost weightless salads and then treated ourselves to some Acai for dessert – thanks for the tip Farhan.  Paraty is a charming seaside village with cobbled streets and pretty little shops and lots of beautiful beaches.  Now that it’s stopped raining we might go visit some of them.