Rain go away!

One forgets while traveling in Brazil that it actually rains here. And gets cold. I took off for the weekend to Ilha Grande, a quite popular and renown destination among Brazilians about a few hours south of Rio de Janeiro. Images of lying on the sand in between tropical forests and clear water beckoned. So what did I get when I woke up on the bus? Rain. Torrential downpour. Raining in paradise. I got off the bus, bleary eyed and annoyed, and quickly made friends with two Brazilian guys who were sharing the same sentiments about the weather. Turns out they are journalists and were visiting Ilha Grande for a few days to put together a monthly tourist supplement for their town paper. I tagged along with them and they were able to negotiate a private boat for us and a Brazilian couple. The rain sucked, but the smoke was good -- one of them was keeping a stash in his camera, which we also relied on for the next few days when things got a little boring and when the beer ran out. At 10:30 am it was probably the only thing that could relax me. And speaking of the pot here, it isnt as good as in the states, by any means. But everyone here smokes it.
To make a long story short, so I spent the weekend in paradise, except it was rained on my paradise. The sun came out for a few hours on the second day and I made a mad dash to the most famous of the beaches on the island (and supposedly one of the best beaches in all of Brazil), Praia Lopes Mendes. Yes, gorgeous. White powdery sand, clear water and the water temp was beautiful even for the weather.

I am now in Paraty (see photos), a neocolonial town on the coast two hours south of Ilha Grande. I knew it would have the same weather, but at least there is an old part of town I could walk around in even if it rains. The main sights all revolve around water though. I made it out to Trindade, a small village with two divine beaches, this morning and baked in the intermittent sun. It was actually a tranquil experience to watch the battle between the clouds and the sun. One minute the rays of the sun would pierce the hearts of the clouds, who were marching steadily across the sky, unabated by the heat coming from the simmering planet, and they´d die. But then would come a new front, full of pale soldiers with brave faces. In the end, by sheer number, the clouds won.

I found a copy of Granta here in a tourist bookstore, which I only so gladly exchanged with an autobiographical account by a Jew during the Holocaust. It wasnt happy reading and I needed something more inspirational.