The Airtreks agent emailed that the tickets couldn't be changed, but I might try in person at the Tam office in Sao Paolo. I ruled that out when I saw the maze of convoluted streets, and learned that taxi fares were 80-100 reales to cross the city.
A young woman at the Backpackers Sunset Hostel had written Porto de Galinhas, on a scrap of paper. Voted the best beach in Brazil, I discovered later. But where to stay and how to get there? Internet research had not yielded any ideal lodging; even the Lonely Planet chapter listed only a few. I emailed the Beira Mar...no response. It was November 4th, and I was too interested in the election and in visiting with Kathy, my new friend in Sao Paolo, to spend more time on it. Searching for a room was a distraction when election results were coming in.
So once again, I was landing in a city with no idea of where I would stay, and it was late afternoon. Waiting for my bags, I heard tambourines and drumming. Flashes of sparkling red and turquoise shone through the glass window. A row of dancers in sequins and fringed headdresses were swaying and stamping in the outer arrival area. Was this a festival? Were important people on this plane? It was like the art of Nick Cage whose installation of exotic beaded sculptures I had seen in Pittsburgh, only these were real. Dancers in the airport? What a great sign! I hurried to take photos.
Trundling my suitcases into the tourist office, I learned that they had hotels only for Recife, nothing for Porto de Galinhas. I had to go to the tourist office in PG to get that info. Fortunately there was a direct bus which cost only 5.5 reais and I could get it outside the airport. Great idea! After a few bumblings, and buying a snack, yet another type of empanada, at a glossy SWEETS bar, I headed out for the bus. On the sidewalk, a short dark man started talking to me.
"Do you need a taxi?"
"No, I'm taking the bus to Porto de Galinhas."
"Not a good idea. Very crowded. Dangerous. Mafioso on the bus. Long ride. You might have to stand up all the way! Somebody might take your stuff."
The short man conveyed all this in Portuguese with swaying gestures as if he were hanging on a strap in a jampacked bus bumping over treacherous roads. He repeated the word Mafioso several times. He would take me all the way to Porto de Galinhas, 70 km for 70 reais, about $35.
Transportation costs vary widely and disproportionately here. A 12 hour bus ride to Iguacu Falls costs about $70. A cab ride across Sao Paolo is about $40.
Okay, Okay, I give up.
We headed into the parking garage for his car which turned out to be a slightly dented and rusted white station wagon. There was a huge orange propane tank in his boot, so he tossed my suitcases in the back, and I sat in the front seat. The engine died as we pulled up to exit. Hmmmm, I could get stuck in the middle of nowhere with this guy. Still I felt calm and perfectly safe. When some of my mango drink spilled on the torn floor mats, "No worry, no worry!" Jose assured me while I wiped it up. An small open Bible lay on the ledge below the windshield. Ah, I was with a righteous man.
After crowded streets with car dealerships, battered signs, men lounging on street corners, we passed into green hills covered with sugar cane, reminiscent of Hawaii. Smoke rolled over and into the car where the cane was burning. Hacked brown fields of stubble alternated with fresh green shoots. Despite seeing an occasional tractor, Jose told me that the cane was still harvested by hand, as I had seen in the documentary The Price of Sugar, www.thepriceofsugar.com/trailer.shtml
It was after 6 PM when we arrived in Porto de Galinhas, and already dark. Clusters of teenaged girls in shorts, slouchy boys in baggy pants, beachfried tourists wandered alongside the dirt roads. "Am I in Thailand?" I thought, scanning the glaring Pizza signs, and Bikinis for R15! in tiny shops. It looked frayed and tacky, unlike the glossy images on the internet. "I may have made a mistake this time! And we came so far from Recife..."
"Pousada Flores. Berry nice. Go see?" Jose asked. He probably gets a kickback, I thought, but I'll go look. Have no idea where the tourist office is anyway. We pulled up to a dim and sandy front yard not far from the noisy town center. Where were the palm trees? The owners were florid but friendly, and the room adequate and a bit seedy. The beach, not in sight. They gestured down the street somewhere. What did I expect for $30? Slightly disappointed, I decided to look elsewhere.
In the car, we called the Beira Mar which was on my list. No vacancies. We headed off into the darkness. By this time Jose and I were on friendly terms. We had communicated in broken Spanish, Portuguese and English. He had 3 children, had driven a taxi for 30 years, and his car was a '96, like my Chrysler van back home. He had already warned me not to let people see my computer or my camera. People talk. I would be the victim of thieves. It now seemed to be his mission to find me a place.
We drove behind the gated walls of unknown pousadas that apparently faced the beach. The next one, was it Pousada Verde? had a beautiful garden and a gorgeous room painted in turquoise and rose, with only one small window opening to a wall. They wanted R150 plus a tax of 15%. About $86. High for my artistic budget. For that, I wanted more light. We decided to look one more place.
Jose headed down the highway further out of town, passing the Hotel Armacao, a highclass resort, past the Beira Mar which we had called and pulled up behind the EcoPorto Pousada. Yes! An ecological theme. This had to be it. The owner, Sueli, a slender blond of about 50 who looked German instead of Brazilian, said they had a vacancy. Only for 2 nights...then they were booked. It was a literary festival in Porto de Galinhas. R180. I offered !50, $75 She accepted. We went upstairs to look.
AHhhhh, my hammock!
The room on the second floor faced the sea, and palm trees waved below. Sea sounds filled the air, and I knew I would write on one of the tables in the garden. It was my dreamscape, an inner film, come to life!
Depite bright sun, turquoise sea and waving palms, Porto de Galinhas has a dark history. Though Brazil outlawed the trading of slaves in 1853, it did not abolish slavery until 1888. So slave ships disguised their cargo with crates of chickens and slipped into what became known as the Port of Chickens. Now humorous chicken sculptures and puppets adorn many businesses, once again Disneyfying history, just like Triora in Italy with its quaint witches. For that story, see below.
LINK to the Literary Festival in Porto de Galinhas:
http://www.fliporto.net/
You can find Pousado Ecoporto at http://www.pousadaecoporto.com.br. I highly recommend this lovely inn. The breakfast buffet is excellent with fresh fruits, rolls, cakes, even eggs or tapiocas, if desired. The staff is uniformly friendly and helpful.
