8 Weeks, 7 Cities, and Not a Single Decent Cup of Tea ☕️
But the filet mignon was out of this world....
8 weeks in Brazil. 7 cities. Thousands of kilometres by bus, plane, boat, van, four-by-four, VW combi, and one very rickety jeep.
And in all of that time, across all of those places, I could not find a single decent cup of black tea.
And if you’d told me two months ago that would be my biggest concern I wouldn’t have believed you!
Moving Out of My Comfort Zone
I arrived in Brazil to start my nomadic journey with a fair amount of apprehension.
After 14 years living in Thailand, one of the safest countries on the planet, my comfort zones were very, very comfortable. And everything I’d read about South America was designed to keep me that way.
Armed robberies. Stabbings. Being driven to ATMs. Phone snatching. Every post, message or text from family/friends was ‘be careful, they’re a bit crazy over there’.
But of course I came anyway. And as I write this from Manaus, 8 weeks later, about to fly to Colombia in the morning, I’m wondering how a country I was so scared of ended up surprising me at every single turn.
The Carnaval, the Inspirational Tea, and the Beatles
Rio Carnaval had been on my bucket list for years. My sister & I had discussed it way back when, and were excited to experience it together.
Due to our collective apprehension we’d booked a tour, (which I highly recommend if you’re ever nervous about going somewhere), and it didn’t disappoint.
Within 48 hours of arriving we were fully immersed!
From city tours to the Favelas to the iconic Christ & Sugarloaf mountain, it included everything we wanted to experience.
We were even staying in Lapa, one of the grittier parts of Rio, so we felt the full weight of the Carnaval. But still it was surprisingly welcoming.
We went to the Sambadrome which was insane. We found ourselves at a Beatles bloco party at 10am one morning, and as the only two Brits in the group, the fact we knew all the words to every song was thrilling! I also got sloshed on a strawberry squiffy drink that tasted like heaven but hit like a bus.
But here was our first instance with the surprisingly rare Brazilian ‘Cha Preto’ (Black tea).
One morning at breakfast I’d miraculously found a black teabag, but my sister could not. So we pointed at the label on my tea bag and asked the waiter for another one with the same label (presuming it said black tea of course).
We watched him carefully sorting through every single teabag, reading each one and bringing us one that was similar but not the same. We thanked him for his efforts and on further investigation discovered that the labels don’t describe the tea.
They have inspirational messages on them, such as, “Believe in Yourself,” “It Only Depends on You,” and “Believe, it will work out”. The poor guy was earnestly looking for one that said “Believe in Yourself.” We just wanted breakfast tea. ☕🙄😂
But Rio was my first big surprise. Expecting danger on every corner, what I discovered was warmth, openness and an amazing city. Not without its problems of course, the gap between the haves and have nots is stark (and heartbreaking) here, hence the dangerous undercurrent.
But as with all cities in this beautiful country as long as you stay aware, keep your belongings safe and walk with confidence, trouble is less likely to find you.
Beautiful, Brutal, and Built on History
After my sister went home and my husband arrived, our next stop was Salvador which was supposed to be even more dangerous.
ChatGPT said so. Our guide in Rio said so. Everyone had an opinion, and by the time my husband & I arrived, I had a familiar knot in my stomach.
Our first activity was a walking tour of the historic centre and what a surprise that was! I’d never heard of Pelourinho before, despite it being the site of the music video for Michael Jackson’s “They Don’t Really Care About Us’.
Add to that it’s a UNESCO world heritage site and considered the birthplace of Brazil, it was gorgeous!
Colourful colonial buildings, cobbled streets, live music pouring out of every doorway, and a woman’s band marching through the streets. I was mesmerised.
Sadly it’s built on top of a really brutal history. The Mercado Modelo is a lovely market near the harbour, but underneath is where they once held enslaved people in terrible conditions. It’s now a gallery, and it was sobering and beautifully done.
We stayed near Farol da Barra by the lighthouse, where there’s a lovely coastal promenade. We sat in the shallows eating cheese sticks, watching the sun set, and I remember thinking, this is what I traded “safe” for.
Knees, Panic Attacks, and Being the Oldest Person on the Mountain
Our next adventure was my husbands idea. 🙄
A three day hike in Chapada Diamantina, because apparently I’ve forgotten I’ve got dodgy knees.
34 kilometres through Pati Valley. Lots of mountains, lots of ups and downs, lots of twenty-somethings breezing past me like it was a gentle stroll. Where are all the oldies? I kept thinking. Am I the only person over 50 who does this stuff?
Day 1 was 10 kilometres and hard. I had a panic attack at the top of a very steep mountain, which is a bit bizarre as you’d think the panic would come on the way up, but no. My brain waited until the summit.
Coming back down with my knees took approximately forever while the young ones bounced ahead like mountain goats.
Day 3 was 20 kilometres and I loved every second. And the Cachoeirão waterfall we hiked to was an enormous, breathtaking valley of all different shades of green and yellow, that made me forget my knees, the heat, and the fact I’d been walking for three days.
I felt very proud of myself afterwards. It was a long way. It was very hard. And I’d do it again tomorrow. 💪 (Well, maybe not tomorrow 😂)
Filet Mignon, a Dog Attack, and the Malaria Situation
After two lots of 8 hour bus rides to get to and from the Chapada National Park, we headed to Fortaleza to bed down and do some work, because the work-life balance on this trip has been, shall we say, flexible.
I keep meaning to be disciplined, but I keep choosing sunset filet mignon instead. (Which Brazilians do SO well, by the way. It’s become a bit of an obsession.)
Like every city so far Fortaleza surprised me. I was expecting a concrete jungle but instead found 30 odd kilometres of coastline and a lively, vibrant promenade with markets, restaurants, live music and all sorts going on!
But we did have a bit of drama! My husband went for a run, got stuck in a lightening storm and got attacked by a dog.
He called me clearly a bit shaken up and convinced he’d need a rabies shot. But when he got back the wound turned out to be a scratch that looked like a paper cut. I took a picture and my daughter laughed. (She shares my sympathetic gene). He was fine. 🐕
Meanwhile, my stomach had been at war with me for a couple of weeks. I thought it was the food, but it turned out it was the malaria tablets.
Which was totally ironic, because I was taking them specifically so I wouldn’t get sick in the Amazon, but I then got so sick from the tablets in the Amazon that I could barely eat, barely hike, and spent most of the jungle looking for a bathroom that didn’t exist.
I’ve stopped taking them. I’ll take my chances with the mosquitoes. 💊
The Place I’ll Never Stop Talking About
Another ridiculously long bus ride, plus a four-by-four over sand dunes took us to my version of Brigadoon.
Jericoacoara.
I fell completely in love.
If you’ve seen the film Brigadoon, you’ll know what I mean. If you haven’t, imagine stumbling through a forest and finding a hidden town that shouldn’t really exist.
The entire place is sand. The streets, the shop floors, everything. And there are donkeys just wandering around. Gorgeous, smelly little donkeys. 🫏
We had sunset filet mignon (obviously), did a buggy tour over the dunes, and spent three days working from sandy-floored cafes feeling like we’d found somewhere truly special.
If I ever disappear, look for me here.
The Moments That Made Me Go Quiet
Next was Lençóis Maranhenses.
Getting there was grim, four van changes, three drivers, ten hours, and another malaria tablet reaction en route. (Just get the bus. Trust me.)
But the national park…..
150,000 acres of sand dunes, freshwater lagoons, and vegetation. Roughly the size of São Paulo.
I’m not a religious person. I’m not even particularly whimsical. But standing on those dunes, looking out at something so vast and so beautiful, I fell completely silent.
I felt it again in the Amazon a few weeks later, floating down the river at dusk watching pink dolphins surface while howler monkeys called from the trees.
The world right now is in turmoil. Wars nobody asked for, economies wobbling, people frightened and angry. And then you stand somewhere like this and you realise how magnificently indifferent nature is to all of it.
The dunes don’t care about gas prices. The dolphins don’t watch the news. And for a few minutes you remember that the world is still staggeringly, overwhelmingly beautiful, and that maybe we should stop screwing it up.
(Excuse my brief rant! 😉)
The Amazon, the Broken Toilet, and a City With No Roads
Another van took us from Barreirinhas to Sao Luis, then came our real ‘race across the world moment’.
A 16 hour overnight bus from São Luís to Belém.
Comfy seats, spacious, great bus. One small problem: the toilet was broken. Sixteen hours, no working loo, and a smell I will not describe further. At least the malaria tablets had calmed down by then. Small mercies.
Belém gave us one night and one of our best meals in Brazil. Buffalo steak. Didn’t see that coming.
Then on to Manaus, a city of two million people with no proper road links to the rest of Brazil. You fly in or you boat in.
Plus it has a fascinating, dark history.
During the rubber boom of the late 1800s, the rubber barons built a grand opera house with European marble and crystal, turned Manaus into the “Paris of the Tropics,” and did it all on the backs of enslaved Indigenous people.
The wealth was obscene. The cruelty behind it was worse. Another beautiful place built on brutal foundations. 😢
And from Manaus, four days in the Amazon jungle. I caught a piranha, nearly stepped on a pit viper, watched alligators being gently caught and released by a guide called Kenny G (no, not that one), and discovered that my spirit animal is a sloth. 🦥
What 8 Weeks in Brazil Taught a Nervous Brit From Thailand
Every single city surprised me. Every place was different from the last. And in almost every town, there was an area that felt safe, family-friendly, and alive with music.
Live bands, cafes, bars, popcorn sellers, grilled cheese stalls, families just enjoying the evening.
The Brazilians celebrate life. It’s always two or three streets back where things get grittier, and you do have to stay vigilant, but I felt safer than I ever expected to.
The people are warm and laid back. The food is incredible (filet mignon, I will miss you 🥩). The live music is everywhere. The history is heavy and important. And this country, which I was so unsure of, turned out to be one of the most surprising, diverse, and beautiful places I’ve ever been. (And we didn’t really scratch the surface).
Eight weeks. Seven cities. A panic attack, a dog scratch, a broken bus toilet, a collection of malaria tablet horror stories, and knees that are still speaking to me (just).
I could have stayed longer.
I just never did find a decent cup of black tea. ☕❤️
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