Paraty: A Charming City with Beautiful Beaches and Misty Mountains
Road Trip & Paraty Day 1
Not yet 9 AM and the air was so thick I could feel myself swallowing it. I was in the open air plaza of the second largest bus station in the world, and the sweat was pooling beneath my backpack as I watched the boarding information screen. My bus wasn’t listed, so I checked the agency’s app and saw the time of departure crossed out and replaced with a time that had already passed. The sweat intensified, nervous I had somehow missed my bus despite showing up an hour early. Hustling over to the info counter, my brain went into problem solving mode, considering my other options. Thankfully no problems needed to be actually solved, the agent assuring me the bus was here as he punched my platform number into a grey calculator with its numbers faded from finger oils.
The bus bound for Paraty (prounounced Pah-huh-chee), scheduled to arrive six hours later, was sparsely populated. An older couple, two other solo passengers, and myself. We headed east out of São Paulo and I started my road trip movie moment with the album Passe by ORUÃ. It came out last year, a lo-fi psych rock album that reminded me of the haziness of early Tame Impala, the fuzzy guitar tones of Modest Mouse, and the tender rawness of Built to Spill. We first stopped at a giant gas station with buffets and a cafe before the urban sprawl of São Paulo gave way to the aquatic dreamscape of Reprosa de Paraibuna’s winding lakes and tendril-like channels. We ascended up mountains and I think I gasped upon seeing the beachside beauty of Caraguatatuba below. We passed through into farm lands, chestnut horses in endless fields munching on tall grass. Bleach white clouds hung carefully just above carpeted mountains while the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean beckoned to our right.
We stopped for lunch at a small traveler’s area in Ubatuba, and I joined my road-trip bus-family for a pay by the weight buffet lunch. A smile and an affirmative nod from the bus driver as I sat down at the table next to him gave me a concerning amount of validation. As someone who struggles with eye contact, it becomes easy to feel invisible. I thought about a quote I read recently that I have been considering as I have confronted my social anxiety more often these past few years.
“It is better to be looked over, than overlooked.”
There is an inherent fear in us as humans to be scrutinized. We are biologically social creatures and we want the approval of the tribe, so to speak. Putting yourself out there and becoming open to rejection is definitely scary, but I would rather be rejected than forgettable at this point in my life.
The buffet was quite good and my spirits felt lifted after the drain of partying solo in Rio. We arrived in Paraty shortly after and I “backpacked” half a mile from the bus station as I took in my surroundings. The sidewalks were dusty and cracked, the foliage dense and shadowing, and people biked by slowly in this much much smaller town of around 40,000. Paraty is known for its colonial architecture, beaches, and proximity to the Serra do Mar mountain range. The change of pace felt refreshing. The AirBnB I booked somewhat last minute (tough to find lodging during Carnival) ended up being quite beautiful, a wooden cabin surrounded by palms that nearly blotted out the sky and hosted a couple monkeys in the leaves my last day there. I admittedly was more excited about having A/C and a queen size bed after the hostel had neither.
I dropped the heft of my bag and laid in the hammock on the porch for a bit to stretch out after the long bus ride. Towels, flowers, and packaged sweets lay on the bed and I opened up the wrapper as a slight scent of fruit and flowers escaped. I chomped, but before biting all the way down, realized this was soap. I had misread the small print on the package, thinking that sabonete (soap) said saborete (savor). Whoops. I laughed at myself, and realized my brain was running on fumes. I napped for just long enough to catch the start of the sunset on my post-shower walk into the city’s historical center.
The pounding of drums enticed me towards a small church (built in 1722!), and I came across a parade by the water while peach-colored crepuscular rays poured in from behind the mountains. Another great sunset coming into a new city felt like a good omen.
I chose not to follow the parade, conserving my energy instead despite my FOMO telling me to join the party. I wandered the cobblestone streets, alive with people filtering in and out of shops and restaurants. I came across a library and picked up an Audre Lorde poetry book that was bilingual to practice reading Portuguese. There were countless people selling jewelry on the sides of the streets, some playing music, but a group of four young kids playing outside an ice cream shop really got me emotional for some reason I haven’t quite figured out yet. Maybe it was the simplicity of it, the lacking of pretense or flair. The guitar being strummed with no chords while the youngest one, a girl of no more than 5, really belted out the lyrics while fidgeting on one leg and staring down at her pink flip flops, seemingly uncomfortable with the attention. After more labyrinth-like exploring of the city, I decided to call it a night, going back to call a friend while swinging in the hammock.
Paraty Day 2
I walked along the river to head into the city once more, wanting a cold brew before my tour for the day, a schooner boat excursion of 5 hours. The vanilla infused drink at a cute cafe went down smoothly while Bad Bunny blasted into my skull from the speakers overhead. I joined the crowds on the pier, vendors on the way hocking dry bags, sun hats, and towels. I made my way onto the top deck of the boat, sitting in the corner and got to really appreciate the landscape beyond. Mountains hugged the bay, and a distant blue haze rose from the water to slightly shroud those ever present hills. Puffy clouds hung overhead, unwilling or perhaps incapable of making the final push over the emerald topography. We chugged along on the giant boat while Brazilian tunes played that sounded like a Portuguese Kenny Chesney.
We made our first stop, squeezing into a dinghy that would transport us to the beach. The water was a perfect temperature, somewhere between the bath water of the Caribbean/Gulf of Mexico and the bone chilling waves of Oregon’s Pacific. The sand was tan and the perfect texture, not too gritty and not too soft. I didn’t know I had such a sand preference until then. I swam around, taking pictures, but also solidifying my take that I am not a “hang out on the beach” person in the traditional sense. I would rather explore tide pools, hunt for seashells, or build a driftwood fort. The views were phenomenal though, waterfalls falling like tears in the jungles far beyond.
I skipped the second beach stop in favor of people watching from the deck, and soon after we had lunch on board. I had moqueqa, a Brazilian stew, with palm hearts and peppers along with passion fruit juice. A very orange meal despite not having any oranges in it. Our last stop was my favorite, a cove with boulders replacing the sand. I dived off the boat into the green-blue water below and focused my attention to the natural world, feeling less alone than I did while seeing all the couples and groups of friends aboard. Solo traveling has its pros and cons for sure.
I spent the returning trip napping on the bottom deck, satisfied after my first substantial swim since visiting Devil’s Lake in Wisconsin last summer. We returned to a much quieter version of Paraty, the afternoon sun creating wonderful shadows on the buildings while horses trotted with echoing hooves on the stone below. I was at peace, sun-drunk and lightly burnt.
Later that night while going into town, I recognized some of the same dogs (stray and pets) and went out for my favorite meal of the trip so far, based on a recommendation from my old coworker. The restaurant was sleek and modern, an anachronism almost with the house music lightly thumping inside. I got the best ceviche I’ve ever had; tender sashimi marinated in spicy soy sauce, decorated with edible flowers and citrus foam. My main dish was a grilled fish, perfectly cooked and supplemented by fried leaves. It was on the pricy side ($40 USD), but skipping out on alcohol and not eating three meals a day here due to the heat helps my food budget go further. I ended the night buying some basic jewelry from Canoa, a shop that has been selling wares made by Indigenous Brazilians for 20+ years.
Paraty Day 3
My last walk south along the river was a relaxed morning stroll, my dad David Byrne playing in my headphones to gt my day started right. I made it to Praia Do Pontal (the beach) for my other activity in Paraty, a sea kayaking tour. I got into kayaking when I moved to Milwaukee, renting them from the Urban Ecology Center and gaining new perspectives on a new city. I then spent summers up north exploring the channels of Lakewood, WI and getting lost beneath the overhang of trees.
The morning views from the beach were astounding, like a painting that had come to life in front of my tired eyes. I met the host Mateu, originally from Barcelona as well as the other guests who all had Midwest connections in one way or another. Minnesota, Indiana, Michigan, and Ohio representation. Pretty cool to encounter that in a group of 6 total. We walked towards the water to grab our kayaks, but I stopped to pet some stray dogs searching for coolness by digging into the warming sand.
We got into our kayaks, misty mountains like protectors as we took off into the Atlantic Ocean on our voyage to mangroves. I paddled with a newfound strength from my recent foray into rock climbing, water from the oar sprinkling on my ghostly thighs and shins as we moved on to a beach on the protected Pigeon Island. The group chatted more and we learned one pair was on a honeymoon. I informed them that Bella and Edward from Twilight also honeymooned in Paraty and they asked why I knew that. I’m not sure.
Leaving here, I created my next movie moment by listening to Panda Bear’s new album Sinister Grift for the first time. It was a nautical jaunty delight and I don’t think I could have had a better first listening experience to a new album by one of the singers from one of my favorite bands of all time, Animal Collective. It soundtracked while we portaged through shallow, goopy, muddy waters and into the mangroves. Semipalmated Plovers (birds) darted around like commuters late for work, Bright red Mangrove Crabs rushed into their mudhole homes, and I even spotted a low-flying Roseate Spoonbill soar over my head just as we were to turn around.
I got into “birding” in 2020, around the same time I got into photography. It helped me become even more present while hiking, appreciate the act of learning their names like they were Pokemon, and even helping me figure out my camera settings to capture the variance in light and speed.
We paddled a long distance back towards Paraty, the sun unrelenting while the album finished out. We stopped at another beach for a Coca-Cola/water break before heading into an urban waterway in the hopes of spotting a capybara. I only managed to spot a white heron doing its thing, and also got a pic of Mateu after he had been snapping pictures of us all day. What a character he was. Singing in 3 different languages and whistling almost constantly, chugging water from a glass gin bottle, and smoking cigarettes on each water break. When I looked over his pictures later, I saw lots of the “older” mom who was in our group. I think he had a crush <3
After 6 miles traveled over 4 hours, we were done! This was the highlight of my trip so far, intensifying the appreciation I have for the places my body and determination can take me. Whether it’s kayaking, hiking, running, bicycling, etc. etc. etc. movement is so important to me for the new perspectives and the wonder it does for my mental health. Despite having to pass up an invitation for lunch from part of the group (I forgot my debit card), I walked back with a sense of serenity I had yet to feel on this trip. The near-constant buzz of my anxiety had been replaced by the welcoming low hum of presence and gratitude.
I edited pictures, I napped, and I felt the radiating sunburn on my shin beneath the blankets. I ate for the first time all day at a chill empanada spot and felt another sense of comfort when I got to use Spanish with the owner, a native Argentinian. Customers outside eating beside me were also using Spanish and comparing the language’s nuance to Portuguese. I demolished 6 empanadas and the lull of the conversation reminded me of the lunch room at a job I had back in Milwaukee. A sweet end to my time in Paraty, a truly unforgettable place.
P.S. I’m writing this from Rio de Janeiro and I’m afraid the used camera I got for this trip has gone kaput. It isn’t reading the SD card or the replacement one I bought here, so it’s just phone pictures from here on out I think :(
