The Last Leg

The final leg of the Brazilian adventure was - as seems to be the pattern - not as straight forward as planned.

Firstly there were only two boats off the island a day. 11am and 4pm. Our flight from Rio was in the evening (agreeably not until 9pm, but still) so we (I) opted for the early journey. Back on land we were literally packed to the rafters with everyone's bags - there was certainly no quick fire escape from this mini bus.

The drive back into the city was actually fine, despite Rio traffic generally being some of the most horrific. We arrived at the airport a full five hours before departure. And there really is not a lot to do at Rio airport. Listen to the samba school music on repeat perhaps... but that's about the extent of it.

Finally on the plane (awful air Iberia, no movies, no space, no free drinks) and back to Madrid at some unearthly hour in the morning.

Madrid airport is a little bigger than Rio. A little bigger in fact that we nearly missed the connecting flight as we were sat in the wrong terminal.

A kind airhostess spotted the stupid English and ushered us onto an inter terminal bus, and straight onto the plane back to Blighty.

But we're not there yet. The little aircraft flew into London City airport, the other side of London to where we departed, and where my little Clio was parked. And it was mid-afternoon tube rush hour.

And THEN back to the car at full on rush hour, and... it had a puncture!! Sort the puncture, get on the road home THE WRONG WAY!!

Anyway, what's important is we did get home, eventually. (Or is that even important?)

Signing off from the Brazilian adventures. For now.

Ilha Grande - island hopping

Final stop on the South American adventure: Ihla Grande. Backpackers playground, Emily sick inducing jealousy centre.

We took a mini-bus from Paraty winding along the coastline to a smelly town and pier where we'd catch the boat out to the island paradise.

Ihla Grande was the point on the trip (appropriately about two days before we're due to return) where I really felt that I could do more of this travel lark. Meeting so many travellers who were either on their way around the whole of the southern continent, or on their way back, turned me a shade of forest.

But our few days in the fleshy jungle and on the hot sands was nothing to be sniffed at.

High point was the boat trip - a whole 9 hours in blistering Brazilian sun speeding around every corner of the island. The little boat was filled with 15 Europeans and true to form the mad dogs and Enlgishmen chose to sit out front with no sun shade. Cue this fantastic picture of the boys mid-afternoon.

Had a great time floating off snorkel masks in full action, as we were gently caressed around the corner of the bay by the sea whilst in search of puffafish and tortoises. Also included in this most brilliant day; jumping off rocks, climbing in and out of the speed boat at each beautiful beach, making new friends and generally having a fab time - none of which I have a photo of (of course).

So instead here's a pretty beach shot...

Seas of green and skies of blue

Swimming, boat riding, relaxing. That's all.

A drive down south

After the incredulous experiences of Rio we felt we were in need of a little relaxation - que most luxurious hotel yet; Pousada do Ouro.

The journey was just under 4 hours - a blink of an eye for a Brazilian. We saw traffic tailing back most of the way, as Rio's population returned to their day jobs after the carnival holiday. Luckily Parati was not the destination of choice this side of festivities.

Finally we turned off the main road into the medium sized fishing town. It was not quite as colloquial as we were led to believe however once we were past Brazil's version of the one stop, the mini bus trembled its way around the historic centre, along the biggest cobblestones I'd ever seen. We circled the town centre (perhaps made up of just 10 rows of buildings) and parked up on a patchy grass bank near a double garage door. Closed for siesta perhaps?

The staff of the oversized pousada were not long to come to our aid and as we trundled along behind our suitcases we were revived from the drive by tumbling leafy outdoor corridors and tinkling water. 

Our room was over the other side of the cobbled street, through a bright yellow door with a window in it, and along another open corridor with colourful windows either side. Up some stairs and into a chilly but traditional room with rustic style bathroom. Not the epitome of comfort but oh so gorgeous.

We mucked around in the hotel for the remainder of the afternoon, enjoying the colonial settees, patterned paintings, dabbling in the geometric pool and supping fruity caipirinhas.

In the evening we went out to celebrate Jonny's 29th. After circling the block under the soft glow of the street lights and the murmur of music, we found a sufficiently upmarket restaurant which served traditional fish dishes. I had octopus on bruschetta followed by white fish with rice and Jonny had spiced soup with a juicy steak, washed down with a deep burgundy red. A wonderful evening.

Rio's A-listers

Taking a step back… (the whirlwind that was carnival mixes the mind a little, not least the order of the photos!) So, before our second night of carnival we were bundled along the coastline to the most exclusive part of town, over looking the south end of Ipanema beach. The tower blocks here are not as high, and although they may be overlooked, they aren't overlooked by just anyone. 

We were invited to an exclusive BBQ on the roof terrace of Goncalo's sister Seline's and their parents' private flat. We entered through the car port at the bottom, with a polite, rather large, Brazilian with dark glasses to hold the door and summon the lift. The lift took us to floor 2 where we found another big, dark oak door with giant bronze knocker. Through the living area, adorned with African art and glinting sculpture, we went outside to the pool side terrace where a handful of floatily clad Brazilians and Americans were clustered around a table decorated with fruit, a selection of alcohol and an ice bucket of beer.

The roof terrace was unbelievable. Glass balcony around the front side, with sliding doors onto the main room of the house. A side room was kitted out with a brick BBQ, along with chef, and aforementioned bar. Four tables with beautiful white canvass sun umbrellas sat between the pool and the glass wall, overlooking Ipanema beach.

After a couple of beers to loosen the vocal chords we got down to the business of mingling (luckily Michael knew several of the Americans who were all in the racehorse sect) and Selina coaxed a few lucky ones out into a chink of stone where a DJ and a rather glamorous dancer were already flinging around a few moves. We were to learn the salsa ahead of the evenings festivities. Oh dear.

Of course, with flip-flops Jonny did not take so easily to the dance, and the crowd of bespectacled gentlemen the other side of the pool was not exactly encouraging, although, in true Brazilian style, everyone is admired and dance is part of the language.

The afternoon got hotter and meat appeared (I think some of which was a small animal's kidney). We met some interesting people, spoke with Selina who was cultivating a wild grass rooftop above the patio, and briefly met the big dogs - Goncalo's parents, who were sensibly sitting inside.

At about 6pm we took our leave and went for a couple of hours rest before continuing the party at the sambadrome. But it was certainly an afternoon not to be forgotten.