Paraty Paradise 03.21.11

The reason why I haven’t written anything in days is because I’ve been having a blast and haven’t had time! I left Ilha Grange and travelled to Paraty (pronounces Pair-ah-chee), which I‘d heard was a lovely place. But I was a little suspicious because everyone had told me Ilha Grange was so great and I didn’t think so as much.

Fortunately, Paraty was just as wonderful as people had described. My hostel’s personality was really good (after one initial night of trying to sleep through a long round of drinking games in the common area). I’m realizing that what makes a place good vs. great are the people. Natural beauty is wonderful, but if the experience of the people isn’t a good one, it sullies the picture that I take away in my head.

Everyone who worked or who I met at the hostel was really fun and interesting:

• Dario from Argentina, who is a movie geek. We geeked out about directors and film genres and then he took me to the local hotspot where I met a bunch of very cool people from all over who are living in Paraty (at least for now);
• Fernando, a Brazilian, shaggy haired, bearded beach bum, always smiling who loved to laugh;
• Sabrina, the tiny and adorable Romanian girl with a crew cut and pierced nose who worked for a radio station and has interviewed bands like Underworld. She’s the quintessential life of the party girl and can stay up until 4am for days running and still show up for her shift at 6am with a smile. She’s currently trying to fight off numerous Brazilian tattoo artists who call her day and night.
• Marco (aka Marco Dragon Fyre) who just arrived from Santiago and who is part of an artist collective there. He spins fire and put on a show for us on Saturday night;
• My dorm roommates, Isabel and Emily, from Sweden but working in Norway. They had a running Yahtzee game that they’d been playing for two-and-a-half months and invited me to join in (Isabel tromped us both)
• And others, one woman who is dating an MTV VJ, a guy who is an aspiring music producer, an albino Frenchman who just arrived from an unhappy trip in India, and so on.

Besides the people, the hostel had a kitchen that was clean enough to cook in so I had the chance to eat some real vegetables like asparagus and broccoli and even make some whole wheat pasta! There was an open bar at night set up by an older hippie New Zealander, who knew how to make a mean caipirhina and loved drum & bass. And best of all, I got a wireless connection that enabled me to publish all of my blog posts, surf the internet, get my doses of www.cuteoverload.com, chat with friends back home, and even have a skype call home!

Add to this beautiful surroundings and an UNESCO world-heritage nominated colonial old town, filled with whitewashed buildings with colorful trim around the wood-shutter covered windows and the big heavy wooden doors.

On my first day after arriving in Paraty, I suppose I could say we were blessed with a torrential downpour. All the tours for the day were canceled so I and a few others sat in the comfortable, couchy common area and took care of business. I wrote, caught up on email, made some travel arrangements and generally just got a bit more on top of some things. It was good to just have a day that I was forced to stay indoors with “nothing” to do. For me, those days are rare when traveling.

The next day rained, but less so. There was a boat tour around the islands surrounding Paraty and I decided to buy a ticket. I boarded a well appointed and maintained schooner-like boat. At the front of the boat were lines of loungy beds and pillows that you could recline on and look out at the ocean and islands and in the back, a café where we could sit to have lunch and snacks. There was also a platform above that that had more tables and chairs as well as lounges to soak up the sun.

I settled onto a bed like some sultan and watched the dock grow smaller and the islands grow bigger. Soon a woman began to play her guitar, crooning soft, slow samba songs. It was a series of connected moments I’ll remember forever. Reclining so relaxed, being gently rocked by the waves lapping at the boat, the samba slowly sinking into my soul, the green forest the deep crystal water. Life can be so beautiful sometimes that my mind can’t believe it’s real, it’s happening, and to me.

I spent the day enjoying pristine beaches, swimming in the ocean, watching small stunning island after small stunning island pass by as I reclined and was lulled deep into paradise to the sounds of the sensual music.

I slept well that night, feeling the gentle rock of the ocean still part of me.

The next day, I decided to go on a tour via 4WD jeep. I was joined by an older couple from Germany (he was German, she was from Sao Paulo), a quiet geeky guy from Northeastern Brazil named Luan (who I would later befriend and have a really great talk with), and a younger couple from Australia. Our guide was aptly named Bueno. We trundled though town and not so far out of the town center, we hit a muddy road that ascended into the jungle. First stop… a short hike that took us to a waterfall and a large natural pool. The scenery was stunning. The primary waterfall cascading down the large river rocks into the deep black pool. Small cliffs of black rock surrounding the scene, the sounds of the jungle around us, the sultry air. The sun came out and warmed the moisture in the jungle, creating steam that rose from the ground. And even better, there was a rope swing! The Australian guy, Bueno our guide, and I all stripped to our swimsuits and b-lined it to the rope swing. I loved the thrill of swinging out over the black pool, hanging on for dear life and hesitating just long enough in letting go so I could hit the deepest spot of the pool. And then the cold water rushing up my nose!! Hack hack! Exhilarating and crazy fun. We stayed there for about a half hour, us three going off the rope swing again and again. Sadly, the Australian girl was too hung over from the night before to play with us. Poor thing, she looked pretty peeked.

On coming away from the rope swing waterfall, our guide stopped in the middle of the “road” abruptly. I knew he had to have seen something. He climbed out and made his way to an object moving off the road and toward the jungle cover. It was a tarantula. It looked not quite mature, but was terrifying regardless. Even as I write this I get a shudder picturing Bueno trapping the brown hairy thing with a stick and then picking it up with his bare hand behind the tarantula’s head. Of course, we all took loads of pictures of this incredible thing. But most frightening of all were its jaws. Two sharp fangs protruding from its head, black and pointed and fierce. The ironic part is that tarantulas aren’t actually poisonous. Still, I wouldn’t want to find that having a nap in my hostel bunk. Eeearrgh.

Back into the jeep and onto our next destination.

A small farm with geese, ducks, chickens, and carp in the pond, a small “museum” of farm antiquities that included several jars of snakes preserved in formaldehyde, old adding machines, pewter plates, and some ramshackle furniture. This was attached to a small distillery and tasting room. Back toward the back of this area was a dank basement built with stone, moldy and wet. Apparently, this is where the slaves for this farm were kept. It made me sad to think of people being forced to live and work against their will and far away from their homeland.

In the tasting room, we had the chance to taste a plethora of different cachacas. Cachaca is the national alcoholic drink of Brazil. It’s synthesized from sugar cane, which is in abundance in Brazil. I tried the plain cachaca, which was like swallowing fire, and then moved on to the chocolate cachaca, the cinnamon and clove cachaca, and the pumpkin cachaca. By the time I rolled out of the tasting room, I felt light headed and my insides were all warm and fuzzy. We stumbled back to the jeep and onwards.

Our next destination was an expensive lunch in a restaurant in the middle of the jungle. We had to cross over a 2.5 foot wide, wood-slatted swinging bridge built over a long and dangerous-looking stretch of rapids (I’d say class 3?). With all of us on the bridge, it was like walking on a trampoline when five other people are bouncing on it. Fun in that it felt kind of daring and dangerous.

Over my exorbitantly-priced pasta, I sat listening to the German man talk smack about any subject matter that came up… he had a bit of a bad attitude but was entertaining to listen to. People are so interesting when they’re not pissing you off.

After lunch, onward again.

I had heard about this natural waterslide in my guidebook and when we disembarked from the jeep, hiked into the jungle, and came upon the destination, it blew me away. I had in mind a small little thing with a nice large pool at the bottom. Instead, I saw this monument. The smooth rock waterfall was about 25 yards wide at the top and increased in width as it went downward. Because of the recent 12-day stint of torrential rains, the falls were fat with big water moving very fast to the small, narrow pool at the bottom. Massive water was dumping from steep upper falls and rushing onto the waterslide section of the waterfall. You had to wade across this fast-moving water to get to the area where you could sit and slide down, which was a little scary. Several times, I almost had my feet torn out from under me because of the force of the current.

The waterslide was simply gigantic rocks worn smooth from eons of erosion. The grade of the waterslide was maybe 6%, which is pretty damn steep, and the length was about 50 yards. Now when you put all of that together: the big, fast water, the powerful current, the grade, the length and only small pool at the bottom, you can see why I hesitated, or at least stopped for a good while to pay my deep respects to the situation.

But once I saw someone go down, I knew I could do it. I sat in the current at the top of the slide and my bikini just about got torn off by the fast water!. I started sliding trying to hold onto my bottoms so I didn’t end up mooning the entire group of people who were there taking pictures of the scene.

The slide was fast! And then I hit the pool to be sucked under and turned upside down or sideways or both by the tumble of water. As I was in this disorienting spot, wondering how I would surface, I realized that my bikini top had been ripped off by my impact in the pool. Upside down, inside, out and underwater, I groped for it, trusting the water would expel me soon enough before I ran out of air. And it did, whew. But I had to try and stay under so I could get my various triangles in order before flashing the crowd. From here until forever, I’ll call the waterfalls and slide “The Bikini Ripper.”

It was a blast hiking at full speed up to steep and slippery trail to the top of the falls, breathless, and then into the cold, rushing water, audaciously making my way across the fast water against the current, plopping down on the smooth, slick rock, having my body rushed down the falls and bam! Into the pool upside down, groping for my bikini, then surfacing and hacking and coughing all the water out of my nose. Uber-riotous fun!!

I kept thinking of a little kid, when you do the airplane with them -- grabbing onto one of their feet and one of their hands and swinging them around in circles – and that cry of “Again! Again!! Again!!!” when you’re done.

Besides the waterslide part of the falls, I mentioned there was a wide and powerful falls just above that. My guide beckoned me toward that, which was terrifying because really, the strength of this thing was immense. If I lost my footing as I neared these falls, I’d be out of control, pushed, wheeling to the top of the waterslide and then down it in potentially a bad place and in a bad position. But my guide took me toward the side of the big water and grabbed my arm and DUCK! The falls hit me hard. The force was so powerful and I didn’t know what was going on, though I felt my guide’s hand gripping my arm. And then, we were in. A slight rock ledge in the waterfall had created a minute cave about 3 feet by 3 feet under the falls. I sat down with my guide and looked around. Water was everywhere around me, rushing over me. The roar of the water was deafening and awesome. This apparently, was a site where slaves would hide when trying to escape. I couldn’t imagine sitting here for hours upon hours, waiting for dark to come so you could steal through the jungle in the hopes of gaining your freedom. But for the immediate moment, I was overwhelmed with the massive water, the crashing sounds. After three or four minutes here, the guide set us up for our exit. I was pretty scared, to be honest. I had no idea how we’d get out, be thrust into the upper pool and that current without hitting the waterslide out of control to go careening down it ass-backwards. Quick thoughts of hitting my head and never surfacing, the headlines in the paper reading, “American Tourist Killed in Waterfall Accident.”

But I had to trust my guide and so we both pushed hard with our legs, broke through the crushing water and popped out to be grabbed immediately by the current and pushed forward toward the slide. My guide grabbed my arm again and pulled me toward the river’s edge, safe.

I don’t know sometimes if I’m too trusting, or stupid, or just brave. But how is it that I end up doing all these things that scare the bejesus out of me or that most others wouldn’t dream of doing? I guess I must love it. And I guess I have this mortal fear of letting fear control my life. Ironic that. I dunno. We only have this one life and I just really want to live it at 100% all the time.

Down the falls and slide I went, again and again and again, until my legs were aching and my sinuses were waterlogged and I was exhausted and elated.

Something else to note here is that the locals have their own way of going down the slide… standing up! This seems like complete madness to me. And, every year, there’s a waterslide competition where about 60 locals come to compete on the form and finesse of their waterslide rides. I now have a DVD of hat that I’m looking forward to seeing when I get home.

Before leaving, the guide took me further up the pathway and further up the falls. An even thinner swinging bridge crossed the crashing water and I shimmied across to find a tiny bar tucked into a hidden clearing in the jungle and then onto another pool under large boulder that overhung the water. Another launch point, 10 feet above the water for a fun drop into the falls. But the water was too big and too fast, so the guide recommended forgoing it this time. But I’ll do it next time I come.

Then another cachaca distillery with their big, shiny brass still that was dripping out the cachaca nectar. And then the final stop at a tropical plant nursery where I took pictures of plants that looked so exotic, they seemed to come from a planet far, far away from this one.

With legs shaky from fatigue and a huge unstoppable smile on my face, I ended my day with a good meal, some reading and writing, and then to bed in order to get up nice and early to get my bus to Sao Paulo.