Morro de Sao Paulo

Morro de Sao Paulo

The girls left for Morro de Sao Paulo that day, a tropical island north of Salvador. There was talk of a full moon party on the beach on the following night (Saturday). This sounded good to Arthur and I, and we arranged to email them for details of where they were staying. Arthur and I would join them the following day.

The next day we took the lift down to the port and catamaraned for an hour across to the island at a steep price of 50 Reals each. First impressions were pretty low and the place just looked like a massive tacky tourist resort. We walked along the coast looking for the pousada which the Americans were staying at. It turns out they gave us the wrong name. I thought I spotted them on the beach but when we went for a closer look. It wasn't them but as soon as we turned to walk away we saw them. They were sitting with some Canadian dude who I took an instant dislike to, perhaps because he was blatantly interested in Megan. I sensed something had already occurred between them. After some chit-chat, they showed us the pousada. It was cheap but cheerful.

Like Ilya Grande, the island forbays cars, so amusingly, their is a massive population of wheelbarrows! Or 'Taxis' as they are referred to. Boys from the age of about 11 ferry these single wheeled carts to and from the port to peoples pousadas, filled with luggage, undetered by the steep hills all along the coast. It is a great system: it provides jobs to the youth in between school (or instead of) but also keeps them extremely fit. It's not uncommon to see youts as young as 12 built like brick shit-houses! There is no begging on this island.

The first night was fairly messy. The beach was full of fruit vendors selling there natural and hand-made fruit cocktails. Despite the volume of these stalls, they all seemed to be busy. There stalls were beautiful full of fresh tropical fruits, all sliced and displayed most elaborately. Although Meg and I kissed at various points in the evening, I sensed a change in her. It was blatantly something to do with the Canadian. The cocktails were delicious and fresh. We drank plenty and went home to chat shit to each other all night.

The next day, Arthur and I went to find a decent beach; we were not disappointed. Most of the tourists just stop by about beach 2 of 4, but if you keep going on to beach 4, you end up turning a small island corner and arrive at a paradise of white sands, crystal clear waters and no tourists. We sat and chilled for hours and befriended a couple of Brazilians who interestingly were auditors for the state treasury.

That afternoon while we chilled back at the pousada, four more Brazilian guests arrived. Two couples: one married, and the other just split up. The girl who was now single was named Sheila. She was black, slender and had a gorgeous face; a fine specimen of Brazilian beauty. They were very friendly and I practiced my Portuguese on them while Arthur and the yanks slept. Sheila was loquacious and her friend, the married girl, kept pointing at her and then me, followed by a beaming smile. I understood and reciprocated the smile. I played her some Brazilian drum 'n' bass and she loved it. She was dancing extremely provocatively and smiling at me. I wasn't about to complain. We drank sangria and shots of Cachaça while laughing and dancing- one earphone each. Her ex, Junior, did not seem to be bothered by her actions and watched also smiling at her then me. Perhaps this was a facade, I wasn't paying too much attention to him to be honest. He left to go to the shop and we danced together already drunk after a few shots. I couldn't help staring at her big soft lips and, picking up on this she planted them on me!

We all had a smoke and then everyone left us and arranged to meet us later. After a passionate hour, we left to meet them down the beach, for more debauchery. We found them and sat in a cirlce drinking. Eventually, Arthur and I broke off from the crowd and went back to the pousada. The two couples were already there and junior came into our dorm for a drink and a pick-me-up. After a few minutes we heard moans. Junior went back to his dorm to find the married couple and Sheila indulging in a Ménage à trois! He was shocked and Arthur and I made a swift exit. Too messy. I'm glad I took the necessary precautions.

The following day we said goodbye to the crazy Bahianos and decided we had had enough insanity, so went to find ourselves a chillout beach. We did, it was unbelievable. Once you get beyond the tacky tourist strip, the island reveals miles of white sands and shallow clear waters. The waves break about half a mile off the coast. We took a special lunch of lobster in one of the restaurants on the beach. A vole-like man served us with great enthusiasm bouncing back and forth with our orders. Four fresh lobsters off the grill cost us about a tenner English in total. Arthur and I joked about how much the likes of Due South on Brighton beach, would charge! The Americans left that day and we arranged to meet back in Salvador.

The following day, Arthur and I woke early, as it was our last day. We got some coffee and pastries then set off to find another beach. This time not one of the numbered ones from the map. We walked along the coast for a couple of miles in and out of coves, before passing three tourists each covered head to toe in a pink substance. A bit further along we came to a massive cliff of pink rock. There were gently trickles of water leaking from various holes and where the water fell, pools of pink gooey mud. A man was bathing in one of the pools, Arthur and I couldn't resist and got stuck in, caking ourselves in this exfoliating pink mud. After collaring some Israelis into taking some snaps, we launched ourselves into the sea to cleanse. It was a highly invigorating experience. The locals say the effects are salubrious for the skin, and sure enough I felt softer than usual. After this, we chilled at a nearby bar, listening to Alpha Blondie before making our way back just before the tide came in.

The catamaran journey home was rough. I felt quite bilious. The only way to deal with the ailing was to stand up outside at the port of the ship, while the warm wind and sea sprayed in one's face.