Paraty; Sounds like party, but isn't
Trip Start Nov 29, 2013
66Trip End Nov 29, 2014
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Paraty is an enchanting colonial town four hours West of Rio de Janeiro. It has everything; whitewashed buildings, streets lined with cobbles to rival Corrie's, stunning beaches, an Atlantic rainforest backdrop and a rich history.
We arrived at Paraty in the pouring rain. Our clothes and spirits dampened by the drenching we'd had on the journey from the idyllic Ilha Grande.
We were soon grinning when our bus pulled up outside Paraty Beach Hostel. Greeted by the Argentinian born Gus, helpful informative who adopted a real laid-back, chillled-out type of vibe. With little change in the till on our arrival he gave us discount beers instead, 12p a can, cheers Gus
We didn't get to know the area surrounding Paraty too well as the rain continued to fall and I became overly familiar with our en-suite toilet, again.
Now we all know what kind of hostel David took a dislike to, but this one, we both loved. Plenty of hammocks to watch the Simpsons from, they love the yellow, US cartoon family in Brazil.
Gus' right-hand man was Charlie, a Swedish guy, who liked nothing more than strumming a Maroon 5 tune out on the guitar, in between his daily work.
There was our roomy, a Dutch medical student, who was travelling alone after her mate 'had run out of money' back in Bolivia...
On our first night, we just wanted to go to bed, she was insistent that we sit up and chat.
After one very long yawn from David, she fled for her laptop to show us her volunteering videos
When we were finally allowed to leave the table, we got ready in the bathroom. On return to the bedroom, we found our Dutch friend clapping the air, "there is a mosquito in here, we MUST kill it"!
The three of us, with our backs to each other, stood there clapping the air, I glanced at David, we were holding back the giggles. Looking ridiculous, we continued in this manner, following her instructions, clapping the air enthusiastically. It must have sounded very odd from the next room.
Another interesting character was Mansa, a big mixed breed black dog, owned by nobody and everybody. When Gus came to Paraty, all of his possessions were stolen and had no choice but to sleep on the beach. Mansa slept by his side every night. Awwww.
Mansa took it upon himself to follow us around, like our own guard dog.
David had finally fallen for the charm of the loyal breed, "between here and Spain, I've really begun to like big dogs", he finally got it! 1-0.
That same evening, we were followed home by a different dog, a very young and excitable pup
I took pictures instead.
He isn't keen on getting a dog anymore. 1-1.
When the rain eased, we decided to go for a kayak around the islands. Of course, earlier this year, David went on a kayaking holiday with the lads, so I knew I was up for some pretty heavy criticism if I didn't put in the work. After a 30-second introduction to kayaking from some
Portuguese guy, I was upfront. For the first ten minutes I let David teach and boss me into the Atlantic waves. I thought it was brilliant... Getting swished about by the strong current. I heard screams, wails and cursing coming from David. Ha! Even when we were out of any danger, I turned round to congratulate ourselves only to find his gormless bearded face distracted by flying fish... Just how long had his oar been out of the water laying on his knees, I pondered...
Some team mate this was! Realising we had ten minutes to get our kayak back to shore, I took the lead "left, right, left, right", pretty sure I was shouting to myself. About 200 metres to go, my oar struck SOMETHING under the water and then again on the other side. I lost my cool, I screamed, as did David. He'd felt it too. There was something under our boat... Something big. My imagination ran wild, I thought it was a shark, he thought a huge fish. We were done for and I hadn't even skyped my Mum today! We screamed and shouted, until realising... it was the sea bed. Oop.
See you in Florianopolis guys!