The day after New Years Day we collected our gear and headed off to the Central Bus station in Rio. We’d been here before, although that was after our mammoth 24 hour bus journey from Paraguay when we’d been ‘hijacked? This time however things were a little more serene and we soon located our coach and left on time bound for Arrial do Cabo. Our journey took us West along the coastline. Pretty soon the urban sprawl of Rio began to thin and the scenery became greener. It was raining as we rolled into Arrial do Cabo. After leaving the bus it only took us a few moments to get our bearings before heavily laden, we set off up the main street to find accommodation. The first few poussadas were fully booked, but after a few conversations in broken ‘Spanish-cum-Portuguese?we were pointed in the direction of a hotel that had vacancies. It was more expensive than our budget allowed, but we decided to take the room as most places locally were still full as it was still the first week of New Year.
Arrial is a small coastal town famed as the scuba diving centre of Rio State. However, as usual our luck was out. Somehow I’d managed to twist my lower back to the point I was finding it painful to walk. To make matters worse, the moment I stepped off the bus I developed an ear infection which would exclude me from any diving activities. So we spent the next few days walking to the many beaches surrounding the peninsula, which to be honest weren’t fantastic. As always we tried to locate a good restaurant and surprisingly found a few gems including an extremely cheap Churrascaria, always great on a backpacker budget. At the opposite end of the scale we found a really good fish restaurant in the town centre that served the most incredible Bachalau (cod cakes) a Brazilian dish we were really taking a liking to. It was in this restaurant that we got chatting with a couple who were on vacation, a Brazilian and an American. They kindly offered to pick us up that evening and drove us up to Buzios, a much more attractive town a short way along the coast. With us not diving, Buzios would have proved a much better place to stay in terms of local interest. It was both livelier and prettier than Arrial, although possibly a little commercialized. By this stage my back had continued to deteriorate. I was now doubling up on pain killers to try and numb the pain. To compound matters my tooth shattered while eating dinner, Sarah had also managed to get pretty badly sunburned on the beach at Praia Grande ?I just couldn’t believe the bad luck we were having. I think it was the first time on our entire travels we’d considered it fortunate that we’d soon be home, before we fell apart completely!
By the 6th we were back on the bus to Rio and thankfully we were in better health. We’d run out of cash so had to make a brief stop in Ipanema, at the American Express office situated below the beautiful Copacabana Palace hotel. Failing to check the closing time, we decided to nip around the corner to grab some food. When we returned the office was closed! We’d missed closing time by five minutes. We were now stranded in Ipanema without a hotel and the chances of getting in a backpacker during the New Year break were pretty slim. We opted for a hotel nearby in central Ipanema. It cost us a fortune, but for the first time in ages we stayed in relative luxury ?to hell with the cost! After changing our money next morning (and getting ripped off yet again for using Amex traveler’s cheques, which are supposed to be commission free!) we made our way in a taxi over to Rio Rodoviaria. We were soon booked on the Costa Verde line bus bound west for Paraty (pronounced Para-chee) and found ourselves weaving along the coast, looking down on azure, palm fringed bays.
We found a backpacker/poussada run by Joseph, a Belgian, in record time when we reached Paraty. It was late so we wandered out to grab some food and then returned to our room to turn in. Next morning we walked down into the old quarter of Paraty, what an incredible place. Paraty sits on the route of the old ‘gold roads?and was a major Portuguese port for the export of gold to Europe and the import of slaves during the 17th century. However, during the late 18th century the gold road was re-routed and the British enforced their global anti-slavery policies. Without gold or slaves, the death knell rang for Paraty; the town literally became a ghost town until the mid 19th century, when it was rediscovered allegedly by artists, which would explain why every second shop in Paraty is a small art gallery. UNESCO realized the importance of this perfectly preserved 17th century town and listed it as a World Heritage Site ensuring its preservation. The best way to describe the place would be to say that it looks like the perfect set for a Pirate movie! The only thing missing are galleons and barques in the harbour to complete the image. I got the same feeling in Paraty as I did when I entered Pompeii and Herculaneum in Italy, it literally looks as though the whole population just got up and left overnight. We spent the next few days exploring the town’s Churches, tight cobbled streets and also the fortifications up on the hill overlooking the approaches by sea, many of the old cannon (British?) still in situ. Although generally very hot and humid, we did get caught out in a few nasty rainstorms and got soaked to the skin. When it rains in Paraty the whole place floods as it still retains the old drainage system which is centuries old. This encourages armies of foraging crabs to literally swarm into the streets nearest the sea. The day before leaving we took boat on the trip, on the Antigoa, out along the coast with a Brazilian friend we’d made called Diogo, a cool guy from Sao Paulo. Fortunately the weather held, and we had a great day swimming in the clear waters and sailing into secluded bays.
On the whole the weather had been getting generally worse. We had planned to get over to Illa Grande where we would have camped for a few days. We met a few other travelers returning from there who’d had a pretty miserable time. Not only did they say it was wet, they all commented on how they were plagued by swarms of mosquitoes. We decided to stay put in Paraty a few more days and relax. We also got most of our gifts bought for people back at home and treat ourselves to a relatively cheap but huge piece of artwork for our house (when we finally get another!) back home. This turned out not to be such a great idea, as we had to lug the five foot square box around with us until we went home.
By the 13th we were ready to leave and headed back on the bus to Rio. Carlos met us at the station and we spent the next few days relaxing at his place near Freguesia. Ivete cooked us more traditional food including a beautiful Fejouada also made red-grape Caiparinha. We also ate with some of Carlos?airline pilot friends at a very good Churrascaria and perhaps had some of the best beef I’ve tasted. We managed to devour two entire fillets by the end of the evening! The 15th was soon upon us. We squeezed all we could into our packs, mine must have been up to 30kg by now, and Carlos ran us over to the airport (again at additional cost...!). Our mood was somewhat somber, as was the weather. It poured with rain. I can honestly say I never heard a word Carlos said as we drove along the freeway. My mind was firmly fixed on the fact that our incredible year traveling together was at an end. I won’t write more on my feelings at that moment, unless you’ve been in that situation you will have no idea what I’m trying to convey. There are only a few people I know who have experienced the same sadness, born from the conclusion of such an incredible personal journey of cultural, sensory and social experiences.
Rio airport surprisingly had the worst duty free I’ve ever seen. So I apologize to all of you who didn’t get gifts, as that was where we’d planned to buy them (honestly!). Our flight left on time and headed back south to Sao Paulo to pick up more passengers. By the time we left for the UK the aircraft was completely full and extremely uncomfortable. We’d both had so much hope for the British Airways flight home. All I can say is we were sorely disappointed. The aircraft was tired and dirty, the seats were uncomfortable and thin, and it seemed unless you were in business or first class you just couldn’t get any kind of service. All in all, it’s the worst flight I’ve ever taken.
So our amazing journey had ended as we took to the skies over a grey and rainy Brazil and turned northwards over the Amazon towards the Atlantic. Our low spirits began to lift and we were soon filled with excitement about seeing family and friends ?none of whom (other than Nick & Kerri) knew that at that very moment we were en-route home.
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