Paraty

Our flight back to Rio is delayed and doesn’t land until 10pm, which means that we don’t arrive in Paraty until 2am. This wouldn’t be so bad except that we can’t drive up to our hotel as it’s located in the historical centre, full of cobbled streets and closed to cars. So at 2am, the manager of the hotel is roused from his bed and meets us in the street with a wheelbarrow to collect our bags, which won’t wheel over the cobblestones.

Our home for the next few days is the delightful ArteColonial Pousada www.paratyparavoce.com, a 17th Century building oozing with charm and there’s even a lovely German lady (three words not normally used together in the same sentence!) running the show who insists we make ourselves at home and use her kitchen. Will likes her even more when we ask her for a recommendation for a place for dinner and she suggests the local cachaca bar. Now as far as I knew, there was one type of cachaca (spirit made from cane sugar and the main ingredient in Caipirinha’s, Brazil’s national drink) and that’s the foul type, which is why I prefer to drink Caiporoska’s (the same drink but made with vodka). But we’re chastised, no, damn well refused a Caiporoska in this place and they insist we try their cachaca, certain that they’ll find one we like. Little did we know that there’s as many different types of cachaca as there are whisky: oaked, blue, flavoured and young. I’m still not entirely convinced but at least I find one or two that are palatable.

The picturesque old churches and brightly hued stone buildings that line these cobbled streets form the perfect setting for a film crew who have created a set nearby and are making a film called Dream Maker about Napolean. It’s all a bit surreal as we wander past the extras, clad in ripped clothes and with “blood” pouring down their faces. I try my best to make a sneaky appearance, but there doesn’t seem to be a call for one of Napolean’s wenches in this particular scene.

We’re right on the coast here and there’s dozens of boats that leave every day from the marina for a cruise around the many islands here. Ours is a particularly lovely wooden affair and we’re both surprised and delighted when we notice that the staff are those that were enticing us with Caipirinha’s just last night and so naturally they offer us another the minute we board. It’s only 10am and I have some self-restraint, which is more than can be said for some people (cough, cough). A lovely day in which we see fish literally jumping out of the water, stop at a real Robinson Crusoe island with crystal white sand and lots of shells, snorkel amongst hundreds of fish and relax with a lovely lunch.

There's another beautiful beach nearby that we're keen to explore so hop onto the local bus, a decision we started to regret as the driver took the twists and turns in the road at 100kph. We're all hanging on for dear life and even the loacals are emitting little screams as we hurtle around corners with shears drops on one side. Thankfully, the ride back was a little more sedate.

Back at the pousada, the kids are enjoying having a garden to play in and loving having the two resident dogs to play with even more; a little sausage dog and a big, bouncy Labrador puppy. True to form, it’s not long before we hear a cry from the garden and rush out to find Harley backed into a corner having been bitten on the arm by the sausage dog! Turns out Harley had fed him a banana skin and then tried to stroke him as he was eating it. Poor Harley, doesn’t have much luck with dogs.

Guarojube

Half an hour down the road, we stop and our coach load of people are all herded into a restaurant for lunch, which immediately reminds us why we hate package tours. I refuse to be one of the crowd (as has always been my problem, or at least one of them) and we head down to beach in search of something a little more authentic. 10 minutes later, we’re sitting in front of enough freshly grilled fish, salad and rice for four people (with a side dish of manioc flour, this being Brazil) for £11 and caiporoskas at £2 each to boot. As the tour group fight it out over who’s having the vegetable soup, we’ve got sand between our toes and a beautiful view of the sea with the mountains behind. It’s hard not to feel smug. The kids strip off and enjoy a post lunch dip and, just as I do the same, the storm clouds roll in and we’re left huddled under the umbrella, trying to avoid the rain. It’s still better than sitting in that restaurant.

It’s been a long day and we finally arrive back in Salvador to find some kind of carnival kicking off (there’s always some kind of carnival going on here. Any excuse for a party. Remind you of someone?!). Just as we’re all walking home, it seems everyone else is walking in the opposite direction TO the carnival. The kids are tucked up in bed, fast asleep by 9pm and there’s music coming from every direction outside. Ever feel like you’re missing out on something?

Praiha do Forte

Located 80km north of Salvador, this former fishing village is now a resort town with roads of sand. It’s been bought up by a German who decided it would be a good idea to turn the fisherman’s houses into shops full of resort wear. I wish we’d realised that before we set out early this morning.

We’re here for the Tamar Project (oddly sponsored by Petrobras, one of the largest South American oil companies. Guilty conscience??) which overseas the protection of turtles in this area. Five of the remaining seven sea turtle species are found here in Bahia and workers or volunteers at the Tamar patrol the beaches at night to keep it that way. Unfortunately, ever since mankind started to encroach on the habitat of the local wildlife by building hotels closer to the sea, the turtles have been mightily confused and, since they head for the nearest light, have more often than not hatched and headed for the lights of the local hotel, thus ending us in the swimming pool or worse, rather than heading out to sea. The workers at the Tamar try to locate the nests and, if necessary, move the eggs to a safe place at the Tamar hatchery where they will blossom into beautiful little turtles before being released back into the sea. The remaining local fishermen, who previously used to hunt the turtles for their meat and shells, are now paid the same amount, if not more, to protect the turtles and their hatchlings.

The kids are loving seeing the turtles in these shallow tanks, as well as stoking the rays and sea snakes and Harley’s not really paying attention to where he’s walking, so it’s not too much of a surprise to us when he takes a tumble and lands face first onto the concrete and ends up with a Tom and Jerry style tennis ball bump on his head. Boys, eh?