(^58) In the process, we were ferried across a river by what appeared to be a 6-year-old
girl (still seemingly sucking on a dummy) - not the best thing for Amanda’s nerves.
All this was done without asking for money, and it only seemed like their Sunday
afternoon fun.
No road existed to Caraiva, but a beach buggy ferried people to and from Caraiva.
The sand was too soft to cycle, and we flew across the loose sand with our bikes
strapped onto the buggy. Halfway, Amanda threatened to get out and continue by
foot as she wasn’t comfortable with the buggy drifting across the sand so close to
the water’s edge.
At least she didn’t have to jump out of a moving vehicle as our buggy ran out of
fuel. We waited patiently in the shade of a palm tree as our barefooted driver ran
to a nearby house to find petrol. He, eventually, dropped us at Caraiva, where we
had to, yet again, cross a river to get to a road of sorts.
Caraiva was a tiny coastal hamlet on the Rio Caraiva. It had no TV, mobile phone
connection or banks. However, the slow pace of life attracted a few old-time hippies
who lived a quiet life in Caraiva. No bridges were nearby (and no cars), and all
goods had to be ferried across the river (even the horses seemed to know this and
swam across at leisure).
Once on our bikes, our path turned into one of the worst encountered routes as it
was a sandy, rutted, and muddy track, making cycling downright tricky. More
surprising was that right there, in the middle of nowhere, was an art studio making
lampshades out of candle wax. We lingered a while before setting off, passing vast
papaya fields (I guess it’s the only plant that could grow in such sandy soil).
Trancoso revealed a luxury hotel at a fraction of the price it would cost in high
season. Being out of season, guesthouses offered rooms at a hugely discounted
rate. Ours offered a hammock, air-con, mosquito nets and a lovely breakfast — a
just reward for a day’s hard work.
leana
(Leana)
#1