So with just one day left of my travels, I feel I have neglected the blog and have a lot to fit into just one post...This week has followed much in last week´s footprint, with a beach-swim-drink-sleep-drink-beach cycle. I also decided to brave the language barrier and go for a wax (´when in Brazil´...). Unhelpfully, the closest the phrase book had to ´can I get a leg wax´ was ´can I get a haircut?´, which I asked, while pointing to my legs, much to the confusion of the receptionist. She offered me a leg/bikini package at about a third of the cost of London, which seemed a great deal. However, once I was lying on the beauty table, resplendent in just a pair of paper pants, the beautician, humming and chattering to herself, began to get a bit carried away.
`Oh, sorry, erm, don´t, no, not that much...it´s ok´ was the only incoherent stream of consciousness I could manage. She carried on regardless.
´Sorry, could you just, it´s fine there...´ still got me nowhere. Racking my brains, I stumbled upon the only Spanish (and hopefully also Portuguese) word I thought appropriate, and shouted ´PELIGROSA!´at her (which means either ´danger´or ´dangerous´.) Her look of abject confusion was almost comical, but it distracted her from her kamikaze application of hot wax, and I was able to communicate (via sign language, naturally!) what I had actually asked for. When I got back to the hostel, I thanked the receptionist for telling me about the salon, and was rewarded with her, sighing, telling me (in a Portuguese/English/sign language combo) that she tried to wax her underarms the night before, but got wax in her hair (how?!), and then flicked her hair back to reveal a line about 7cm where her hair was literally cut to her neck. The things we do in the name of beauty.
On Sunday the decision was made to have a change of scene, so Jake and I followed Piers and Alex to Ilha Grande. This is an isolated island reached via a 3 hour bus ride, and 1 hour boat trip from Rio. Everyone had hyped it up, and I had heard ´you simply have to see it´ so much, I was seriously tempted not to go on principle. Thankfully, we committed to the trip and the four of us piled into the bus (Alex & Piers looking slightly green following the previous night´s flavella party) and off we went. As with Iguacu, there really aren´t words to describe the extreme tranquility, beauty and paradiseness of the island; it truly was breathtaking. There are over a hundred beaches around the island, most of which have to be reached via a rocky mountain path; dirt tracks connect the few hostels and bars; and white sands and clear, warm waters (where we saw a clan of dolphins showing off their synchronised swimming this morning) stretch as far as you can see, interrupted only by the occasional sailing boat.
Lopes Mendes, the third most beautiful beach in the world, is reached by a 2.5 hour trek over the mountain and through the jungle. Bright eyed, heavily sun-creamed and drowning in insect repellant, we woke early on Tuesday morning to tackle the route. Like four mountain goats we tripped lightly up the almost sheer path, and in about seven minutes, I felt the effect of doing nothing more strenuous than lifting my hand to sip a cocktail over the last two weeks. After climbing for about 30 minutes, we reached a glorious beach. Piers suggested stopping there. I already had my towel out on the sand, but Alex (the most mountain goatenous of the group) insisted we continue. Dazed, and blinded by the sun, Jake followed him, walking precariously close to the edge of the water. Predictably, a large wave crashed over him, resulting in a squelching (and exfoliating, courtesy of the sand) onward journey for him. His toes will never be the same again. Likewise Alex´s heart-rate after he stumbled across a snake boasting the national colours of green and yellow across his scales.
Two hours later, sweaty, a bit muddy, grazed, (I slipped down some rocks while chatting) and breathless, we arrived at what is the most phenomenal beach I have ever been to. The sand (bizarrely) had the consistency of snow, there were about 25 people in total, and the waves were a surfer´s dream. It was absolutely worth the hike (although I was the first in line for the boat home!)
The atmosphere is very chilled out there, so despite inadvertently holidaying with three of the inbetweeners (Will, Simon and Neil in case anyone wondered), the evenings weren´t as wild as some of the guys had hoped. Lots of barbeques, cervejas, and one instance of skinny dipping (as in one person went skinny dipping, not one instance when we all went skinny dipping together. That really would be too weird).The hostel beds were a new level of comfort, although our room-mates less enjoyable (including one very amorous Austrian couple, who only spoke if it was to whisper endearments to the other, or to loudly have sex in the communal shower...)
One high point was Jake chatting to an American guy (Colin) in our dorm while he (Colin) was rummaging in his wash bag for something.
´Oh my God mate,´ commented Jake, ´how many condoms did you bring?´, he asked, reaching across the bed and into Colin´s bag, pulling out several (packets? strips? lines?) of durex. As he did so a passport photo fluttered to the floor. Jake reached down to get it, and, with incredulity, said in the loudest voice, ´mate, why are you keeping a photo of your Dad in with these?!´
Sure enough, the picture was of Colin´s father. Equally sure enough, he had no answer, looked incredibly embarrassed, and didn´t speak to any of us for the rest of our stay. He also (when quizzed by me) had no knowledge of his namesake M&S caterpillar treats, even though he lived in the UK for 8 months. Make of that what you will!
The tan is finally taking shape (the shape being random patches, thanks to my brother´s reluctance to assist with spraying my back ´Err, I don´t want people to think I´m a bender´ - although the sight of he, Alex and Piers taking great delight in applying aftersun to each other speaks to the contrary...), so I´m hoping it will last until at least Sunday!I think that´s probably it for now. Oh, I´ll leave you with a new entry into the top five worst ways to start a conversation:
´So the modern application of the metric system really is a fascinating construct of mathematics...´. (for the record, it totally isn´t!)
