Status
	A change of transport. (28/04/03)
Crowded beaches...	Da Fridge. Esmerelda. The White Lady. Hmmmm, we've had ups, and more than a couple of downs, but for better or worse, poorer or poorer, in sickness and in gas-guzzling health, she has dragged my carcass through nine countries and is now long overdue for a rest. Promises to all and sundry that we'd be back in June mean that this long awaited break from driving, coincides nicely with us being in one of Brazil's largest ports, Vitoria. So farewell it is

Fortaleza to Pipa

The day we left Jericoacoara I'd been thinking we'd drop by Fortaleza for 24hrs and then head on to Praia do Pipa, one of the north east's best surf beaches, for a few weeks surfing prior to carnival. Could I really have been that naive??? Perhaps this long on the road has turned me into the world's greatest optimist. Suffice to say that two weeks later we finally dragged ourselves out of Fortaleza and on to Canoa Quebrada. Unfortunately our stay in this supposed highlight of Ceara was cut short by my need to surf the brand new, custom-made, just-for-ali, surf board attached to the side of the car. The anticipation was killing me so we made tracks, cut through the parched caatinga of Rio Grande do Norte, bypassed the gaudy Natal and arrived in Pipa in time for a sunset session.

Pipa, like any number of nationally famous beach resorts, is just a little over-developed for most travellers tastes. The main road is neatly cobbled, the shops all clean boutiques, the VISA signs hung on every door, the dogs friendly and mange-free, espresso & cigars easily available; none of which fit in with the travellers ideal beach resort. Did I notice? Did I give monkey's?? Would it have mattered if a gaggle of New York's finest Chanel wearing execs had wandered down the road complaining about local property prices??? No. Because directly in front of town you could see the effect of the forthcoming full moon mixed with a reasonably sized mid-atlantic groundswell, which neatly translates to 6' - 7' glassy green wedges, perfect for breaking in the new stick. We stayed in Pipa only four days, during which I surfed every hour of daylight available. Thankfully we had time to catch up with our old friend Ciao Perrera from Panama who showed us a couple of top surf spots and how to ride an 8' gun like a longboard... The boy can really surf.

But the clock went on ticking. We hadn't had an appointment to keep in nearly six months so this carnival thing was getting might stressy for our liking. We still had over 1000km to go before hitting Salvador where one of the Merida crew, Adam, was waiting for us to kick off carnival. He'd flown all the way from Mendoza in Argentina for carnival so the least we could do was to be on time... The drive south along the littoral got more lush every km, huge open coastline being traded for steep, jungle backed bays, endless straight, flat highway giving way to rollercoaster dips and curves, the beggining of a rumpled duvet that last all the way down to argentina. The landy cruised the whole lot, purring in fourth, sucking gas like dehydrated elephant at an all-you-can-drink banana juice bar. Nice engine but driving in the UK is completely out of the question....

Krazy Kommercial Karnival

And so to Salvador, or to give her her full name, Salvador de Bahia do Todos os Santos, two million strong and the centre of african heritage within Brazil. The drive in was blissfully easy as we were staying at the tip of the peninsula right next to the lighthouse, keep driving til you hit the sea. We quickly arranged digs in a flat which came to be known as the 'crack-house' on account of it's peeling walls and almost complete lack of furniture. Fortunately the owners had been kind enough to create a sofa by laying the fridge on it's side in the living room and chucking a manky old mattress on top. No fridge then. On the other hand it was a tenth of the price of anywhere else, slap bang in the middle of everything, and had two balconies from which to watch the hoards drinking, dancing, fighting, and generally behaving like Milwall fans on a trip to Torremelinos.

But before the main course, a little on Bahian geography & carnivology. Carnival in Salvador consists of many events centred around music and dance. In the lead up to the six main nights there are balls, recitals, folk performances and all manner of cultural festivities that tourists know nothing about, at least none of the ones I met. What you do know about are the 'Blocos'. Blocos are (mostly) commercial ventures composed of one or two huge trucks (trios), rammed with sound equipment, surrounded by paying guests, surrounded by hundreds of security people, surrounded by rope. The trucks all follow the same route at snails pace and the guests dance alongside and infront or behind, a sort of gently rolling nightclub. The blocos are the focus of carnival for the younger generation and (unbeknownst to us beforehand) play almost only Brazilian pop. No Samba then. The attraction for brazilians being that many of the country's most famous stars come and play all their greatest hits (and anyone else's) on top of the Trios. Great if you know all the words to every song in the national Top 40, for the rest of us dodgy euro types the blocos offer only one significant bonus - security.

As far as geography is concerned there are only three carnival-relevant areas, Barra, Campo Grande & Pelourinho. Barra and Campo Grande host the processions of Blocos while Pelourinho, being the oldest part of the city, hosts the more traditional small samba bands and concerts. We were staying in Barra due to its proximity to the more friendly Bloco procession (Campo Grande can get a bit too intense), but a better bet would've been to find similar digs in Pelourinho and taxi down to Barra for the occaisional Bloco.

So what was it like??? Hectic and ooohh-so-long. Our flat was full the day before it all kicked off (3 norwegians, 4 english, 2 irish, 1 finn) so we went out, until sunrise. Repeat for the next six nights or until falling apart. Pelourinho was packed but fun, smiles all round, small samba troupes, super-camp gay blocos, reasonable food and some cool little bars. Barra was a war zone.

Do not go out with jewelery or a watch. Do not go out with anything in your pockets. Do not take a camera, even a disposible. Do not expect to hear one decent song before the last of the blocos comes by. Day by day we learnt, money in socks, necklaces off, travel in packs, steer clear of busy junctions, go out late - come back later. In six days I saw thousands of police but not one single smile from any of them. Sounds miserable? Not entirely. The last few blocos tended to be small, privately run affairs with much better music and a friendlier crowd. Add that to the fact that most of the streets were clearing after 3am so you could actually get some space to dance in and you had a decent night on your hands. Worth travelling several thousand miles for? Forget it. As far as myself and the majority of travellers were concerned Brazil's reputation for being the party animals of this, the liveliest of continents, had taken a severe knock.

On the other hand, being a brit, I had a duty to see it through to the end. The general appearance of my flatmates deteriorated, playing cards replaced conversation and food consisted entirely of three minute supernoodles, three times a day. One final effort for the last night saw all of us in the same bloco (along with 4000 other people) dancing until our bodies signaled the retreat. A quick day of rest and we were out of there, smiling like kids on the first day of summer holidays as we boarded the ferry across the bay. Salvador looked surprisingly beautiful behind us but the anticipation of the forthcoming weeks of rest kept us moving in the right direction.

Itacaré

A swiss surfer in Malpais, Costa Rica, had been so impressed by Itacaré that he made me get out my map of south america and marked it with a bloody great arrow and notes on the surrounding breaks. I knew from his descriptions that here was the perfect spot to catch up on my surfing after the hard action of carnival.

For non-surfers it's just a pleasant town (c.2000 pop.) near a few pretty beaches. For the other 90% of town it pans out like this:

Rent a house for £60/month (2 bed, 2 bath, living room, kitchen, garden). Every day check the remarkably accurate surf report, and choose between one of ten beaches, all with different characteristics, to surf. From the packed barrels of Tiririca to the deserted line-up at Praiainhas, from the bowling beach break at Pontal to the beginners heaven that is Engejoca, there is enough to keep you happy year round. The water never suffers from the chill the southern resorts succumb to at this time of year, and the windy south atlantic keeps the SE swell coming, day after day. Like all places
it has it's flaws, the night life is terrible, most of the restaurants are expensive (£3 each) and if you're not a surfer you'd better like reading, but overall it's spot-on. I surf an average of 6-7 hours a day, mostly from 5am until early afternoon, and get to see some of the most beautiful sunrises imaginable, all against a rain-soaked jungle backdrop.

So if you need me until mid-april, you know where I'll be. After here we'll be making a bee-line for Rio, Foz Iguazu & Argentina and then home for June(ish) and the icy british winter.....

Até logo,


Ali

The idea to go travelling has always been on my mind and the recent 'lull' (read disaster) in ecommerce activities means that a while away might be a good idea while the dust settles. Rather than go backpacking again I'd like to take a few luxuries with me and, more importantly, see areas that most backpackers never get the chance to.

That left two possibilities. Either I have to find enormous sums of cash and get my helicopter license, or drag a car halfway across the world loaded up with enough goods to keep me company for a couple of years. No choice really, as I'm sure that another year in Switzerland would leave me with severe character issues.... Car it is then.

Round about March fate smiled upon me (once more) and I found myself in an email conversation with another brit living in Basel, who just happened to be going to South & Central America for a couple of years. Even better (for me) was the news that one of their original two-landy team was dropping out and the rest will undoubtably be history. (July, 2001).

Ahhh, what an interesting history too, but far too little space here on the web to tell that story. Suffice to say that picking someone to go travelling with is undoubtably the hardest part of the trip.

The current (old) route plan looks(ed) something like this/that.

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