Beach Trilogy: Episode Three

Episode Three: Trancoso
Trancoso is a magical village, which centres around a grassy common that could easily be mistaken for a typical English country green...straight outta Trumpton!

During the day, unbridled horses graze on the square leading to a whitewashed church settled on a cliff edge - which even a blind man could see is a bluff overlooking the ocean. Stand at the end and you can see a tricolor band of rainforest, sand and sea - bearing the green, gold and blue colours of the Brazilian flag.

By night, the trees sheltering the high-end restaurants and guest houses that surround the square are lit up with twinkling lights - making it look like a model village with a festive makeover.

Lifestyles of the Ritch and Faymous
We had decided to spend New Years here since it has a reputation for free raving hippies reclaiming the beaches with 24hr parties, prompting the nickname 'Trance-coso'. But, times, they are a changin'...

We expected tree hugging hedonists but found Brazilian rich kids transforming the place into a heavily tanned episode of Beverly Hills 90210. The image adheres to my preconcieved fantasies of golden beaches crowded with beautiful people. But, in reality, we soon become dog tired of the endless catwalk procession of self absorbed prima donnas - especially when we realise we can't afford to keep the same company.

During Revellion, the price of practically everything triples and tickets to the A-list party are selling for over a hundred English pounds. Since we're already paying an extortionate amount to stay in no star accomodation we decide to find a less expensive option.

It's a new day, it's a new dawn...it's a New Year
Luckily, there are others sailing in the same budget boat - we hang with a Frenchman named Franc (call him Euro!) and a German named Simon (says...too much). New Year's Eve begins with a celebratory moqueca (traditional fish stew) meal before watching a myriad of fireworks explode above the cliff top church. Then, it's time to party!

We decide on a reasonably priced electro event being held at one of the beach bars - following the techno beats down a darkened alley until we reach the dancing masses 'drawing boxes' on the beach below. Ammusingly, while Brazilians can get down with their samba selves with seductive ease - they can't club dance for shit! We look good on the dancefloor (dancing to electro from 1994) but eventually I recall my hatred of trance music and we chill with a cast of random characters, including a psycho-delic Belgian who entertains us with his drug addled ramblings and free drinks.

At some point we have to make a return trip to the guest house to retrieve more money - and come close to being bum rushed by a group of favella youts. They attempt the classic 'distract and circle technique' but we're wise enough to their moonlight robbery to break free and seek refuge in the nearest bar.

When we return, the first dawn of the new year is rising and the barriers between the paying guests and those outside is broken down to great cheers from the crowd. Young Brazilians beckon us to the dancefloor but we find a space on the shoreline and watch an incredible sunrise welcome 2009 before seeking shaded solitude and sunglasses back home.

Th end of an era?
We had hoped that, with the main event expired, Trancoso would return to a relaxed paradise for our final few days in Bahia - but that's not the Brazilian way. The affluent adolescents keep rocking until the break of dawn for the next three days!

In between exchanging unknown insults with returning revellers through the thin walls of our guest house and trying to fall asleep to distant techno beats I realise that, like Mel Gibson's mate, I may be 'Too old for this shit!' even if I do get mistaken for being younger. Don't judge a book by its cover - or Lethal Weapon by Danny Glover:)

Since we can only party for one night, and one night only, and with a growing presence of mosquitos* it doesn't seem so bad to leave the next generation to it - although a return to Rio isn't exactly getting out of the kitchen!


* You haven't experienced uncomfort until you have been bitten by a mosquito on the perinium! And, trying to scratch that itch in public only leaves you looking like a sex offender...or an Italian:)

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