Day 226 - The rain in Brasil falls mainly on me (in Trindade)

My clothes are wet and refuse to dry. A faint smell of wet squats in our room, refusing to move out. The ' ' key no longer works on my com uter (I think it's the humidity), meaning I am facing writing an entire novel without it. uck it.

It has been raining for four days solid. Trindade ( rounced "Trin-da-jay) - this small Brazilian beach town four hours south of Rio - is in danger of being washed down the hill, over the beautiful sandy beaches and off into the angry surf beyond. The roads have turned into rivers of mud, and the heavens above form a gloomy barrier against the sun we are all willing to emerge.

Short-term holiday makers grumble, knowing every second lost to the deluge is a second closer to returning back to normal life. Long-termers like us scheme as to what to do. Should we head further north? Or stay here and wait it out? In the meantime, we make do with watching films, reading or considering the nature our navels.

It's not Trindades' fault. Our itinerary was good. It was true and righteous. In the uber-ranking of itineraries it shone brightly with a golden light and sweet, jangly music that indicated its' godliness and wonderful nature.

After the considerable hustle and bustle of Sao Paolo, we needed some beach time. Brazil's largest and most ethnically diverse city is a dizzying metro olis. The culinary collision of a hundred different cultures may have ensured a diversity of cuisine to make a steak-and-red-wine-weary mouth melt, but it has also created the worlds' largest 24-7 traffic jam. It's really a city to go to meet friends, or else best to move onward. Or, in our case northward. The town Of Paraty is only a single vowel from being the word Party; surely worth a visit on this fact alone?

One beach out of town - Jabaquala Beach - we found ourselves a small flatlet with a rickety old balcony overlooking the beach. One beach out of town and a world away from Paratys' colonial tourism. It's a cute little town, just twenty minutes walkover the hill, but we wanted a world away from restaurant hawkers, costly cai rinhas and men selling useless trinkets and other shiny things.

Our beach was somewhat more sedate. A one-mercado town, where horses wander around town and on the beach, and small kiosks selling fresh fish and cold beer do business seemingly whenever they feel like it. The kind of beachside town you know your Grandma would love.

In between cooking fabulous home meals in the tiny kitchenette, Rachel made secret lans. A boaty jaunt out to the many islands just off the coast. Eighty foot yacht, fresh fruit, secret beaches, BBQ lunch. A Friday to remember.

Then, that morning it started raining. We moved the boat 'til Saturday.The next day, it showed few signs of abating. We made a call. Nobody wants to cruise the islands on a rainy day. We would head 40 mins south to the tiny, wee hamlet of Trindade.

Trindade is the town where Brazilian travelers come to lie on the beach, eat acai and moqueca (coconut fish stew), drink fresh young coconuts and surf the monster waves. It feels like the end of the world, somewhere between the Caribbean and the Brazil of your dreams. Few locals are fluent in English, exce t for George, owner of Kaissara hostel.

All that was missing was the sun.

Day 1 wasn't all bad. Sure, it was cloudy, but it was warm. We had a frolic on the beach, marveling (well, I marveled) at the material differences between Aussie and Brazilian bikinis. In the evening, we had a BBQ, drank cacacha (sugar cane rum) and had a crack at the most dangerous drinking card game known to man. It lead to more cacacha, tri to a local bar, more cacacha, dancing and, finally, bedtime at 3am.

Next day, it rained. No matter! We ate moqueca, trawled for new swimwear (wife in Brazilian bikini; tick!) and watched the town go nuts as Flamengo clinched the Brazilian title on the last day of the football season.

Monday, still it rained. We began to run out of things to do, not to mention dry clothes. Holidaymakers began to drain out of town; some because the weekend was over, others because of the rain. Maybe it will clear tomorrow? Yeh! It'll clear tomorrow.

Tuesday was massage day. And read-your-book day. And write-a-novel-on-your-com uter with no ' ' day. News came that Sao P aolo was flooded. A river had burst it's banks. Still, the rain came drifting down.

It's now Wednesday. We've decided to stay here for the moment. One beach is the same as any other in a rainstorm. At least we've got the hostel to hang out in. And we have Anchorman to watch. And Rachel's halfway through her book.

I wonder when the rain will sto ?


Those images things (that start with that letter I don't have on my keyboard) are here: from Sao Paolo and from Parati and Trindade