Beach Trilogy: Episode One

With the festive season approaching, we need to reserve some accomodation before the Brazilians arrive at the beaches en masse from the cities. You would think that they owned the place.

We spend a few days scoping the southern Bahia coastline, in search of a magic number of beaches to share the next three weeks. The trilogy begins...

Episode 1: Caraiva
Caraiva is a small fishing village settled on a peninsula that separates an anorexic river on one side and an obese ocean on the other. At the point, copper coloured freshwater bleeds into the turquoise Atlantic - where deserted beaches stretch for miles in either direction.

In between, is a narrow warren of sanded streets that can only be crossed by horse and cart - while electricity has only recently arrived. It´s simple and sedated but the perfect place to chillax before Brazil gets its party started.

We happen upon a hostel hidden in a beautiful garden where hummingbirds drink from hibiscus flowers and hammocks swing from every tree. The oldest rocker in town greets us and we somehow manage to negotiate a cut price deal for our very own beach house - featuring a mezzanine bedroom with windows that open out into the sea breeze and let us star gaze by night.

We assume the owner is merely an eccentric old man. Later, we come to realise that he could actually be classed as clinically insane...

My friend Leonard
We mishear his name (actually Nemen) and call him Lenny for the duration of our stay. He never once corrects us.

At first, I am fascinated by his strange demeanour and misplaced youthful exuberance. He invites us for a drink and talks incessantly, telling us that he was once a fast living stockbroker in Rio who traded temptation for a slow paced life in Caraiva.

However, as the evening draws on, his lucid conversation slowly deteriorates until we are trapped listening to a manic monologue where he plays out a variety of scenes in his mind - even assuming different identities including a dog, an Italian grandfather and, most disturbingly, the demons in his head!

In the moonlight, his face contorts into so many different expressions it´s difficult to recognise him from one moment to the next. He has the sort of face you would expect to see on the front page of a newspaper, with a caption reading, ´...before he turned the gun on himself´.

We laugh nervously but when the evening starts to resemble the closing scenes of a horror film we make tired excuses and retire to bed. Locking the door firmly behind us and sleeping with the covers drawn to our ears.

The same ingredients for another recipe of weirdness are there again the next evening. But, either we have been too ´judge-a-mental´ or Lenny´s medication has started working, as he is far more relaxed. Eventually, Lenny will become a close friend and perfect (if slightly deranged) host who will always be remembered for making our stay special.

We later find out that this area is notorious for retired Italians in the ´family business´. And, in hindsight, all the signs were there:

* He dresses like a Goodfella on vacation - including a pair of loose fitting shorts, which he is always adjusting his crotch in.
* He speaks in a strange accent peppered with phrases including, ´You fucking guys!´. I shit you not.
* He never accepts payment for any hospitality.
* He seems better connected than the Stereo MCs, he's forever greeted by everyone that lives there and receives a series of clandestine late night visits. Bada bing!

Just chilling
Old school mafioso aside, this is the most relaxing time we´ve spent anywhere in South America. By day, we coast lines of untouched beaches stopping only to drink coconut water underneath the mango tree. Me honey and me. By night, we dine at tranquil riverside restaurants listening to musicians accompanied on an open stage by a galaxy of stars.

We´ve only scraped the coastal pith of Brazil´s bountiful country but Caraiva leaves the sweetest taste and wins my affections for favourite place.

Blinded by light
At the time of writing, I am lamenting the loss of my third pair of sunglasses:( I absent mindedly go swimming wearing them and a goodbye wave takes them - it´s the first time I´ve seen true daylight in days! This leaves me with a life saving second pair. Thanks Paula, I'm appreciating the mirrored lenses - eye wander why:) And, the so-called ´Turbos´, which are so cool I haven´t even worn for fear of losing them!

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