Picking up the tale in Porto Alegre, the guacho Brazilian barbecue that I had been so looking forward to came across a slight but significant hiccough that began, quite literally, just as I'd finished with that day's blog. First came the sensation of aching bones and neck... soon followed by a rising temperature... and gradually a stomach turning to jelly. 4 months of my travels have seen no form of illness strike me down worse than an evening of sniffles back in Fox Glacier in New Zealand, so I was in no mind to let some stupid germs get in the way of what was going to be a delicious dinner with Paulo's family. Sadly, the germs fought a tough fight and, even with Fernando (Paulo's nephew) dashing off mid-dinner to buy me some paracetamol, my consumption of some insanely delicious steak (a particularly fine example of which I took the liberty of photographing, below) was disappointingly low - and punctuated by regular strolls to the bathroom and back for now other reason than to cool my head with water and walk off the bloating sensation that was welling up inside me.
Nevertheless, dinner was very enjoyable with the Caldeira family and I was bowled over by their present to me once we were home - a limited edition centenary shirt of Internaçional, Fernando (and all the family's) football team. An amazing souvenir to take onwards in my travels, reminding me of a stay in Porto Alegre that - despite its brevity and hijacking by unknown illnesses (the night's sleep involved multiple bathroom visits), was a wonderful introduction to Brazil and, in particular, the warm-hearted generosity of Brazilians.
6 hours on the bus from Porto Alegre to Florianópolis passed, thankfully, without great incident - I was still feeling rather delicate after the previous night's digestive fireworks. Meeting me at the Rodoviaria (bus station), however, were Luis and Bruno - and an opportunity to recount my amazing good fortune across 4 days in Australia. First, Fraser Island, and fate's decision to have me in a van whose 7-person group included Eduardo and Rita - brother and sister from Rio de Janeiro, the latter on holiday visiting the former, who now lives in Sydney. At this stage of January - a month ago today - the plan to meet Anna in Rio for Carnaval was in disarray due to the combination of a total lack of accomodation, and insanely prohibitive prices on what little was available. The mention of this state of affairs set things in motion, and in one fowl swoop, however, we went from having nothing and no plans to having no just accomodation in Rio, but for free! Things got better still just 2 days later on the Whitsunday scuba cruise, when I befriended fellow divers Guillherme (Gilly) and Luis - brothers from Curitiba, Brazil; both on holiday, but the former from his work/studies in Bonn, Germany, and the latter from his studies in Brazil. Again, one thing led to another and my non-existent plans suddenly had amazing shape - I was now going to meet up with Luis (whose university semester only begins after Carnaval) in Florianópolis, and then head up to Curitiba with him to stay at the family home in Curitiba. Fate was dealing me some particularly good cards at that stage...
Fast forward one month, and Luis had driven down to Floripa (as the cool kids call it) with his friend Bruno for a long weekend of sun, sand and partying with yours truly - though my internal state meant the first night was a bit of a knockout. Florianópolis is actually just the gateway city that links Ilha de Santa Catarina with the mainland, but for whatever reason people just take Floripa to mean the whole island, a.k.a. "The Magic Island" (apparently). Day 2 saw us shift from one hostel (a temporary fix) to the one we actually wanted - Tucano House comes massively recommended on Hostelworld and has apparently been ranked "best hostel in Brazil" and "second best hostel in South America" over the last few months. It goes without saying that it is, to use a piece of Kiwi English that I took straight to heart, "sweet as".
It was not even 2 minutes after we'd set foot in Tocano House that who should show up but Mitch and Scott - the Sydney boys I'd met back in Montevideo. Introductions to Luis and Bruno were made, and before we knew what was going on we had ourselves a little crew and were finding out that I was not alone in my ailments - both the Aussies had been struck down with identical symptoms, suggesting that the culprit could well have been a certain Montevidean roadside burger...
Anyway, catching up aside the crew were trekked off towards Joaquinha Beach for some sandboarding down some pretty massive sand dunes. It sounds cool, and it is when you go down. However, the negatives stacked up - after a walk that took AGES in boiling heat (40° wouldn't be far off), climbing back up a massive sand dune, with the sandboard you've just ridden down, is cardio-vascular exercise like nothing you can imagine. Throw into the mix three suspect stomachs, and you have 15 minute recouperation intervals between each 30 second ride!
Knackered, hot and sweaty, we sauntered over to the actual beach and spent an excellent couple of hours enjoying the sunshine and incredibly cold water, as well as some pretty impressive surf (mastered by the dude to the right). Sugarcane juice was downed for energy, before trekking back up and over the dune hills for a very late fried seafood lunch that us three infirms really could not do justice to (a fact that annoyed me just as much as in Porto Alegre), and in true Latin style we all crashed out for siestas in some shade on the shore of Lagoa du Conceiçao. The lake is the biggest on the Ilha de Santa Catarina, and has the most ridiculously warm water I have ever known - I certainly have been nowhere else where emerging from the water into 35+° heat leaves you feeling a bit nippy. Back at the hostel, the swimming pool was commandeered, although it took some work as we initially found it armed with a veritable possy of upper class England's finest - apparently all residents of either South Kensington or Sloane Square (London's equivalent of Manhatten's Upper East Side) and the like, here sat a group of 15 or so Brits whose quintessentially Public School accents (the girls in particular) were not even half as annoying as their fantastically condescending demeanour. Some of my closest friends from Oxford are products of the likes of Eton and Harrow, so I have nothing against the Public School crowd per se - but these guys were disliked by all 5 of us from the word go. Thankfully, our paths diverge tonight as we head to a local place that supposedly specialises in hip-hop style music - while seemingly everyone else has splashed out on a R$50 round tour to some electro-techno affair 45 minutes away by bus. Shan't be missed.
The DAILY ROD's Top Travel Tips:
#14 - However many beers you've had, roadside food in Montevideo should be avoided.
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