Caraguatatuba and Sao Paulo, Brazil

We left Paraty feeling we could have spent a little more time there – I suppose that’s not a bad thing.  This wasn’t true of Caraguatabua, our next stop. 

We chose Caraguatatuba because it is fun to hear Mary pronounce it, a not unreasonable distance between Paraty and Sao Paulo, but more importantly, there was good availability on Busbud (the app we’ve been using to book busses in Brazil).    However, like Google, Busbud is also not be trusted.  All of our bus trips – other than the first from Rio – have taken longer than the advertised time and have also departed much later than scheduled (and this is without being further delayed by being suspected of child trafficking and finding our confirmed seats were not in fact so).  I think we’ve accepted that busses will leave when they leave, arrive when they arrive, and hopefully, with us onboard.  Given we don’t have a schedule to keep, it’s not really a problem. 

We use the little people to stop people stealing our bags at bus stations.

We were met by our host, Monika, at the apartment we rented in Caraguatatuba.  Monika was a very strong looking woman with short cropped hair and a posture that would put the Queen’s Guard to shame.  I jogged to keep pace with her very purposeful walk as she escorted me around the condominium complex, barking instructions at me in Portuguese.  I understood little of the information she spat in my direction, and frankly, I was too intimidated to ask her any questions. After I finished with Monika, Mel asked for a debrief.  And just like Google, I made some stuff up.

We cooked meals both evenings, taking it in turns to sit and eat, as 2 of the 4 stools would weaponise – spearing whoever was sat on them shortly after sitting down.  Having met Monika, it’s possible this isn’t a (fairly fundamental) design flaw.  The highlight of our visit to Caraguatatuba, was taking a hike in a nearby national park – the walk was challenging enough to keep the little people interested, and their highlight was almost certainly scrambling across the river crossings. 

After another delayed bus ride, we arrived in Sao Paulo.  I was very proud that I’d managed to find a hotel for the 3 nights in Sao Paulo that would allow us to keep to our daily budget.  During the Uber trip from the bus station, I was excitedly extolling the virtues of our location to Mel and the little people.  That was until we turned into our street.  It looked more like a scene from down-town Mogadishu in Black Hawk Down, than the lively tourist centre I had been promising.  There were people everywhere – homeless people sleeping on the sidewalk, others just sitting and watching as we drove past.  Our Uber driver demonstrated super-human reactions as people would, without warning, sprint across the street into the path of our vehicle.  While this was alarming behaviour to me, both the driver and the would-be road accident victim, simply blinked at one another expressionlessly.

We arrived outside the ironically-named Victory hotel.  I immediately understood why the Booking.com listing only included photos of the room and not the outside.  The Uber driver sensed our concern and tried to reassure us by saying “this location is more or less safe”.  Compared to what, I wondered.  The reassurance from the hotel’s concierge required an equal amount of interpretation.  He told us that while it looked bad (emphasising the word “look” by using his index finger to fully expose his eye socket to us), it was “not as bad as it looked.  Still, I recommend for you to keep your phone in your pocket and walk like you know where you are going”. 

Our view from the hotel. The view is as bad as it looks.

As it turned out, our eye-poking concierge was right and our stay was incident-free.  We spent our first full day wandering around, exploring markets and happening upon “one thing” streets.  I’m sure there’s a proper name for this type of anti-department store shopping, but each street seemed to be dedicated to the sale of only one thing – pots in one, glasses in another, and so on.  Though for me, the real highlight was encountering perhaps the oldest person that has ever lived.  He was sitting outside a coffee shop wearing a hat so big that made him look like a chin in headwear.  I had to bend down to confirm there was the rest of a head underneath.  The lowlight was not getting a photograph with my death-defying hero.

  • This shop has some tasty fruit. Also, the most expensive fruit on earth.
  • Pricey condos sit alongside dilapidated buildings

On our final full-day in Sao Paulo we spent the afternoon handing out food packages to homeless people – an idea that Mel and the little people had come up with.  And to be honest, it wasn’t one that I was super excited about. 

I’ve always been a bit scared of homeless people.  I don’t know why and I recognise it’s as irrational as being afraid of heights, or clowns or any number of things. One of my 7th grade teachers once said to me “Nick, I will not be surprised to find you walking the streets of Sydney with holes in your shoes”.  Inspirational stuff.  Perhaps that affected me more than I wish to acknowledge.  Our little people, on the other hand, were completely unencumbered and I was really proud of their genuine desire to help others.  When we went to deliver the food packages, I tried to encourage the girls to deliver only to those who were sleeping or looked (to me) the least threatening.  Of course, the little people ignored my request, instead targeting the scariest and most threating-looking people they came across.  As it turned out, my fears were unfounded and their donations were accepted with genuine appreciation from all.  Even the man sporting huge unwashed cattails, screaming at the top of his lungs, gave the little people a very grateful, toothless smile.  Or at least, that’s how it appeared as I watched, from a safe distance behind Mel.

Not for the first time on this trip, I feel like I’m being educated by the little people, rather than the other way around.

Nick, 20th January 2020

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