Football, ferries and forro

Our last day in Rio was also Jamie's friend Nicole's birthday; we spent it on the beach. Jamie and I started playing football with some locals, and before long there were enough of us to move to the five-a-side pitches. Running on sand is tough, especially under that sun, so I went in goal and Jamie took up the role of the traditional (goal-hanging) English centre forward. Despite the brilliance of our opponents (and they really were good - dancing across the sand, comfortable on both feet, accurate, fast, fit...) Jamie scored four goals, and I mostly kept them out at the other end. They seemed a bit perturbed at my long-ball-to-the-big-man tactics, but they were certainly effective. There's a big Nike campaign on at the moment starring the Brazilian national team called 'Joga Bonito' - but who says you have to play beautiful to win?

Anyway, we said our goodbyes and cabbed it to the bus station for the 19 hour ride to Porto Seguro, a fishing village in Baiha state that became an accidental hippie tourist mecca in the seventies. A ferry over the river and a bus ride up the hill brought us to Arrial D'Ajuda, a tiny town on a bluff that overlooks some of the most astonishing beaches in Brazil. We found a beautiful little pousada, run by Anghina, a genial, bustling woman who took all our washing and made us some wonderful fresh smoothies in welcome. Balcony, hot shower, ceiling fan - bliss.

The first night was wracked with rainstorms that made muddy rivers of the streets - we loaded up on rum and hit town at 3am, when the locals were just getting started. The second day was mostly a write off - the continued rain, the hangovers, and an obsessive compulsion to play cards meant that we didn't really get moving until after dark.



Then, Anghina introduced us to Gisele, a journalist from Belo Horizonte who was on her own and wanting to go out. This meant washing, shaving, and finding some clean clothes - but we made it out eventually, whereupon she showed us the posh part of town that we had somehow completely missed in our early reconnaisance. The old town at the top of the hill with the 16th century church and the market and the locals' bars spits out an unassuming street that evolves into a gaggle of luxury pousadas, bars, international restaurants and a couple of nightclubs - and we had a cracking night, listening to live music, drinking mohitos, and having a good natter about South American politics.

Well, I'm not so sure Jamie enjoyed it... :)

Yesterday was spent reading and hanging over on a stunning beach 2km south of the town, followed by more rum and cards, then a fine steak dinner. We were just about to call it a night when Jamie noticed a stream of people heading towards what we thought was the end of town - we followed, and found probably the most amazing thing we've seen on the trip - a full blown forro party. Forro is a dance, related to the samba, but younger, sexier, and sexier again. The party was in a small ampitheatre by a bar - an interchanging band of guitarist, bassist, bass drummer, percussionist and triangle-player (I bet he gets all the girls) set a furious pace, and dozens of young (all under 21) couples set about the floor, writhing, grinding, turning, smiling, flirting, and keeping a constant eye on their next target. Everybody knew the steps, yet every couple had a different style, some leading with a complex series of hand spins, others by gently touching foreheads, others with a groinal contact that looked decidedly firmer... It was quite alien to us, but a stunning experience. And no, we most certainly did not join in...

Last day in Arrial today - we're off for the bus to Salvador this afternoon. Take care, and see you soon - I'm home in a week!