Stranded on Ilha Grande, Brazil

We had managed to get there easily enough.  By ‘easily’ I mean squished in-between tinned vegetables and toilet roll, in the very cramped but only dry part of a supply boat from the main land.  This was a minor justified inconvenience however for Ilhe Grande, although only a few hours journey from Rio de Janeiro, was like another world.  A world where cars do not exist, vibrant green jungle tumbles onto deserted white bays and samba and relaxation are the order's of the day.  We were shown to our ‘Captain’s Room’, at the far end of the idyllic beach with a balcony that opened onto the peaceful water below and thought, "You can't ask for more for 10 dollars a night!" 

The welcoming locals made it their mission to teach us what Island life was about.  For starters they introduced us to Brahma Beer.  Then they introduced us to the sea-life; at night, on a rickety canoe, by torchlight.  The local boatman pointed out eels hiding in the reef with the bright aim of his torch, then taught us about star constellations with the confusing aim of his arm.  He moored the canoe (precariously) on a deserted mound of sand in the middle of the bay, reached under his seat and produced several cans of the favoured beer.  We cracked them open (they were brilliantly chilled from the cool ocean that had been leaking into the boat), lay back, and listened to the wonderful sound of nothing.

The local boatman spoke to his friend, the local tour guide, and the next day we were taken off on a sweaty trek through the mountainous jungle.  I wasn't even sure mountainous jungles existed but we climbed up through tangled tropical growths and then I fell down through tangled tropical growths so that was what it seemed.  The 15 minute trek to a beach party we had been promised turned out to be a 1 hour 50 minutes journey - lost in translation perhaps.  When we eventually made it out of the thicket (minus one flip flop for me - had I known the real extent of the journey my footwear may have been more appropriate) the beach party bit of the promise was at least true.  The island inhabitants were having their own party, far away from the intrusion of day trippers and tourists, and fortunately they weren't too bothered by the intrusion of these tourists.  Samba music blasted out from the trees and into the dancers on the sand.  Behind a makeshift wooden bar young men in football shirts distributed ..... Brahma Beer.  The local women sat in groups laughing, the men in packs drinking, and we gringos twirled around in the middle, privileged to be there.  As the sun set, fires and lanterns were lit and the party intensified.  It seemed everyone was lost in the samba beat, except me, who despite being coached by several patient tutors could not master the moves in the slightest.  Time passed deliciously until suddenly we realised it was too dark and we had consumed too much Brahma to make the treacherous journey back to the shelter of the 'Captains Room'.  A tent was generously provided by a masterful dancer,so we pitched up on the sand with the Island revellers,and made the beach our home for the night.

We had originally planned to spend 3 nights on Isla Grande.  After 5 we dragged ourselves miserably to the travel office to book our onward boat and buses.  The travel agent laughed and shook his head.  It is a bank holiday in Brazil, he explained, all the boats are booked going to and from the island as families get together both on and off the island.  "What a shame", we said, as we skipped merrily back to the hostel to extend our stay indefinitely.

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