There are people very close to me who feel like I feel right now; that rain on holiday can be a bit of a drag. Sunday once again promises much when we rise, eventually, sleeping later and later these days, and make our way out to find the path to the waterfalls. We have lost our map but figure it can’t be that difficult to find our way, knowing the path is marked in the town centre.
In years to come we will laugh at all the hostelries that were halfway up hills. This is one of the steeper ones.
An hour of wandering in the wrong direction and we can’t find the path. Sarah’s fut is sore and we half-give-up and wander through the nearest favela to the top of the town to see a church. It’s closed (on Sunday). The view across the valley is good though. We walk back down the hill to where we think we can see a path. It leads nowhere except to Sarah being chased by a small yapper-type dog. We give up and meander to the town centre for food. Find yet another not-quite-cheap restaurant, but it will do in the face of meaningful competition, given that everywhere has shut for the sabbath. It is funny to note that the all-you-can-eat buffet places only open during the week, and proper restaurants open for the weekends, and there is little crossover. I guess the buffets are for workers who need a quick lunch.
The view towards our Pousada. If you can see the little green football pitch in the centre, we are just behind it.
The view from the church.
A view from the rocks above the waterfalls, here we have some local kids throwing themselves into the water.
We have the Brazilian equivalent of the pasta-bake - the rice-bake - and it’s very tasty. Shredded chicken, heart of palm, melted cheese, all in a big dish for £5. Leaves us full up and fortunately lasts exactly as long as the downpour. The guys at the table beside us order a litre bottle of vodka and begin knocking away at it. It’s £30 a bottle, plus mixers.
Finally begin to discuss our future plans, but a few hours of it gives us a headache and we watch a movie. Feel like a little progress has been made, but we need a proper table with pen and paper, and the more we read the more we want to do. Fears about running about of time and money kick in. We need a sleep. I eat a punnet of strawberries that cost 70p.
Our single adventure occurs at 8pm, when Sarah screams and jumps upon a chair. A small lizard has somehow snuck into our room and is hiding behind my bed. It seems happy enough to make a run for the door and out into the night, but I feel sad that I didn’t get a photo of Sarah on the chair.
The next morning features ominous clouds drifting in, but they come to nought, and our bus to Sao Paulo is at 6pm. Our bags feel like they are getting heavier, even as we use things up and throw them out, not helped by the Brazilian landscape’s frequent and unforgiving inclines and declines. Make it to the bus station only to stand in line for a ticket we can’t purchase because their card machine doesn’t work, and we are R$20 short in cash. Scamper around the block a few times and locate an ATM. Glad we didn’t do this in a rush. Get tickets, get cheap lunch, sit, and Sarah loses herself in a little people-watching, of which there is plenty to do at a bus station. The seedier side of town is around here, the cheaper bars, and the people who like to walk around screaming. Fortunately, this is also where the police are, and they keep everyone on the straight and narrow.
Read and read, walk to and from the supermarket, 6pm arrives without a hitch. Thirteen hours of Brazilian countryside away. We snooze to Belo Horizonte, then sleep most of the way after that, awakening in Sao Paulo’s bus station, and the whole world strides by.
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