Out and about again

Not put off by our last adventures,we tried a coach cum boat trip this time. The destination was Pipa, a smaller resorty-type place south of Natal. The idea was to transfer to a boat when we got there so we could annoy some of the local dolphins. What they didn´t tell us was the method of transfer. First we had to climb down a vertical and rickety flight of wooden steps along the cliff face at which point we were met by an army of uniformed T-shirts who ordered us to put on life jackets. A bit much for a stroll along the beach, we thought. It soon transpired that our boat was only 100-or-so metres away.The catch was that we were separated by the Atlantic surf and a very narrow break in the rocky breakwater surrounding Pipa bay. Their answer to this minor obstacle was a shuttle that was essentially a raft with half a dozen benches nailed to the deck and an outboard motor in the back. The game was to pile on to the benches and hold on tight (to what I´m not sure) while the T-shirts pushed us through the breakers to our waiting vessel a dozen at a time.We did reasonably well.We only lost one tourist; a rather heavy lady on the front of the bus (yes,I was wise enough to sit right at the stern) got flung off when we hit an unfortunately large wave. Despite the T-shirts best efforts to get her back on the bus she spent the rest of the ride clinging on to the side of the raft, mostly underwater as each successive wave hit. Still, she survived the trip and her husband managed to retrieve her glasses while she was clinging on (¨Well, they cost ₤300¨, he explained later - a man after my own heart). Still, he too fell later, as did 50% of the rest of the passengers, as they succumbed to a nasty epidemic of sea sickness. The Atlantic swell didn´t stop with our embarkation onto the main vessel but stayed with us for th entire voyage. I suspect complaints were made to Thompsons afterwards but, Oh, how the dolphins laughed. (Yes,there were plenty of dolphins, so the day was technically a success!)

We were supposed to explore Pipa after being re-acquainted with dry land/wet beach (especially since Thompsons have a hotel there) but we squandered most of our 3 hours free time in the bar. Still, what we did see looked very nice, so much so that I would consider a stay there if we ever came back this way again. Our guide suggested that Pipa was quite a lively place; those party-loving Brazilians tend to flock to places like this at the drop of a hat. Certainly,there are plenty of places to eat and drink and the beaches go on for miles. In addition to the dolphins, there is an active eco-force hereabouts that supports the turtles that nest here and a protected forest where monkeys and such live (I´m not going to mention all the eagle-like creatures we´ve seen lest I upset Andy again). Still, that´s enough excitment for one day. Its back to the poolbar and the latest Dan Simmonds space opera for me.

Out and about

Just to prove there is life in Brazil outside the little pocket universe that is Ponta Negra we took a ¨Brazilian Buggy Tour¨to the region`s outback. Just me and The Caipirinha Queen in the back of a four wheeled dune buggy driven by a local lunatic who was in all probability stoned on something. The idea was to stop at places of interest in a sort of convoy of said buggys. However, our guide was obviously bored with the pedestrian approach and overtook his comrades at every opportunity (it didn`t matter what side of the road we were on). The only thing slowing him down was the speedbumps the Brazilian Government insisted on putting on their motorways every kilometer. (A fact that would have confused me had it not been for the buggy tour itself.)

Having grown bored with that our guide decided to leave the road altogether. I must admit, the race across miles and miles of empty sandy beach alongside the Atlantic surf was quite exilarating. The sight of our companion buggys in wide formation behind us prompted an attempt to get a picture but all I took, bouncing madly on the back seat, was sky. Our driver, ever bored with routine, tried to take off using a sand dune as a ramp but his poor little engine couldn´t take it. As one of our companion tourists said afterwards, ¨You disappeared in a cloud of blue smoke; I was sure the head gasket had gone!¨ I nodded sagely as I normally do when talking about cars and football to other males of the species.

The regional area outside Natal seems to consist of miles and miles of sand dunes and fresh water lakes. We stopped at one of the latter for an hour where we ordered the obligatory beers and strolled out ankle deep in the water to drink them and survey the peace and quiet. This was followed by a short visit to a local distillery at which point I was going to boor the pants off you about alcohol and caipirinhas but Mr Tompkins has done his homework and beaten me to it. ´Nuff to say that the Caipirinha Queen is happy with the chief product of the sugar cane industry over here. It would appear that some 40% of the alcohol produced ends up in cars (some 20% of cars run on alcohol rather than petrol) and 60% ends up in humans as described by Steve (some 100% of tourists run on caipirinhas). The big advantage is that it is cheap. The average price is around 4R$ (around£1.30); a bottle of local Bohemian or Skol beer is around 3R$/£1 (although it does get cheaper off the strip). In terms of vfm, you get more ¨bang for your bucks¨with a caipirinha than a beer, the downside being that the Caipirinha Queen has to go and have a lie down after four drinks.

Lunch was a frightening affair in a posh restaurant in an old railway siding. Our hosts presented some starters followed by what we thought was the main course (a sort of shepards pie of flavoured mince meet and mashed manioc). Then the food just kept coming, and coming. Great chunks of meat; spaghetti; vegetables; fried potatoes; beans; rice; chips - you name it. Then, for a laff, our lunatic driver took us over the sand dunes in an effort to dislodge the bloody lot. Racing across the sand wasn´t so much of a problem, it was the disappearing over the clefts between the dune tops only to find sheer drops the other side! It reminded me of some of my dodgier skiing holidays where, alone, I would get lost and find myself at the top of a black run I really didn´t want to do! Linda screamed a lot (I sorta growled in the back of my throat) and told the driver off for scaring her. He grinned and did it again.

Our last stop was at the world´s biggest cashew nut tree (well, someone´s got to have it!). Not much to say about that other than it was weird, as in ¨landed from outer space¨ weird. The branches (or roots, I´m not sure) just keep growing like the alien from The Little Shop Of Horrors.

And with that, we´d had enough. Too tired even for a beer (okay, just a couple) we had an early night. Tomorrow its back to the pool.