I lounge in bed with my book this morning as I don’t have anything booked and the overcast weather is making me feel lazy. I could take a tour to see some waterfalls but I’m not super jazzed about it, although I do feel guilty for not having a plan. I have a big day of travel tomorrow to head home so I decide to take it easy and enjoy my last day amidst the pousada’s garden, laying in the hammock later this morning.
I still haven’t worked out how I will get to the airport tomorrow which I should probably be concerned about since it’s four hours away, but I’m not motivated. Clearly, going home isn’t a priority. I talk with Ricardo about my options and as Uber doesn’t pick up in Paraty and the transfers are booked, I’m going to have to take two buses which will take me nine hours. Ugh. I should’ve planned to spend a couple nights in São Paulo before heading home to break up the journey. Seeing the pained look on my face, Ricardo says he’ll talk to his friend that has a vehicle to see if he would drive me as a private transfer.
I wander into town and meander my up and down the lanes, stopping into shops and sampling some baked treats. I find a unique clothing store, Flavia Aranha, where the floor is comprised of fine white sand and the clothes are sewn with natural raw materials in the colours of Brazilian plants. There is limited selection but what I do see, I love. I find a cream-coloured long, tunic blouse and it just happens to be half price and in my size. Obviously its meant to be and I make the purchase. The salesclerk, Sarah, wraps it in small linen bag and places it in a bigger linen bag with long handles. I take a quick video of the store and tell Sarah that the store is something that I’ve never experienced before and is very original in it’s design.
I check out the Havaianas store, a well-known shop in Brazil that sells flip-flops. The young man minding the store is wearing thick black eyeliner with long, fake eyelashes and has his hair cut in a fashionable bob. The tight crop top accentuates his narrow physique while the colourful spandex shorts leave nothing to the imagination. He bounces over to me and exclaims he “just loves my tattoos” and that we must find the perfect pair of flip flops for me. I actually didn’t intend to buy anything, but he’s so exuberant that I end up purchasing a pair, minus the “bling” which attach to the straps to add some sparkle.
Heading back to the Pousada, the humidity is oppressive without a breeze to cool me off, and my shirt is soaked. It’s sucking the life out of me and even though I’ve done basically nothing this morning, I’m feeling drowsy. Does one ever get used to being damp all the time? Ricardo greets me with good news. He has found me a driver who will take me to the airport in Ricardo’s vehicle. One less thing for me to worry about and I cut five hours from my commute. Ricardo insists on cleaning his car before we leave tomorrow even though I tell him it’s not necessary, as I’m just thrilled to have found a ride.
I spend the afternoon reading in my hammock, sitting in the garden with a pot of chamomile tea while writing in my journal, and listening to jazz. The monkeys scamper on the roof tiles overhead and come running when Ivan calls them with a piece of papaya in his hand. The poolside chairs are dotted with sleeping cats and hummingbirds flit from flower to flower. Ivan scurries around picking up dead foliage, sweeping the patio and pruning the palm trees, while Ricardo deals with the front desk and check-ins. They seem to compliment each other well.
Ricardo and Ivan suggest a nearby restaurant, Captain Folk, for my last dinner in Brazil and promise I won’t be disappointed. It’s the best restaurant in Paraty. Upon arriving, I’m met by the owner Rafael who says in broken English,
“I use DuoLingo to learn English, but not so good.”
I tell him my Portuguese is worse and we’ll figure it out. The restaurant has only six tables and is in his backyard but he’s constructed a beautiful little patio area with creative accents. He explains that his brother built the lampshades out of driftwood and popsicle sticks and his father handcrafted the colourful wooden boats that are mounted on the walls and in a display case. Rafael built the table bases out of repurposed pallets but the flooring and table tops appear to be a type of teak. It’s an idyllic spot, with soft music playing in the background and the ambient lighting. I’m early and I have the place to myself, so Rafael and I chat away while my moqueca is cooking.
He’s originally from Rio but spent most of his time in Salvador, a city in the north of Brazil. He’s lived in Paraty for the last twelve years and built the restaurant with the help of his family. His wife and sister-in-law do the cooking and he deals with the customers.
My dinner arrives and if it tastes half as good as it smells I’m in for a real treat. Moqueca is like a seafood stew and mine is made with prawns, palm oil, coconut milk, mangos and pineapple. The dish is served with cassava flour that you sprinkle on top, rice and a glue-like substance comprised of blended tomatoes, green peppers and other ingredients I can’t recall. I dig in and I moan in delight at the tropical flavours. This is good. What a treat to end off my trip.
