The large group of people that inhabited the beach house for our first week included lots of Grahams, as well as their extended family and friends, gathered for a sublime tropical Semana Santa (Easter). We spent most of our time with Will (our age, on his gap year working in Spain and England and now traveling), his Italian friend Cosima (who is a pro skier who has been a much more impressive ski instructor than I, in italy. She also reads a lot and would get up at 8 with me to read at the beginning of the day), wills cousin Marco (half Brazilian half LA kid, loves glee and justin bieber), and Patrick (although younger than any of us, has much more impressive prospects, as he is training to be a professional tennis player and is already winning south American championships, as he now lives and trains in Brazil. Wow.). Though these are not all the characters, they are the ones we spent most of time with. Although the general day to day has already been described as simple luxury and relaxation, we also had several expeditions. One day brought a waterskiing trip, which was sublime, since I hadn't water-skied in ages, and the setting couldn't have been better. Gliding in sunshine on flat turquoise water 20 feet away from palm laden white beaches. It felt impossibly picturesque. My waterskiing was definitely improved by all that real Skiing in Austria. Casey had a blistering sun burn (as did I actually, inevitable after no exposure for a long european winter and Patagonian autumn) so he reclined in the gorgeous speedboat and watched Will, Marco, and I wipe out dramatically and often. Another day brought another boat trip, this time speeding across the glittering water up the estuary to a massive waterfall. The swimming, in the cold fresh water of the falls, was fantastic (despite warnings that anacondas are often swept down the falls), and Will, Patrick, Casey, and I climbed up the slippery slimey face of the roaring falls, plunging and leaping through the rushing water to reach a panoramic vista framed by dense, tropical (very tropical, this is the closest either of us have been to the equator) jungle, lush and dripping with vines. We look out over the meandering estuary and the distant bay, interspersed with desert islands and mangrove swamps. The speedboat, anchored at the foot of the falls and sprayed in a constant, delicate mist, seems tiny below us. After exploring the jungle above the falls, we descend and leap back into the boat and, as if on cue, a wild tropical rainstorm closes in. Now during our two weeks in Bahia rain storms were frequent and intense, but usually very short. But this was a different matter. Rain lashed down as the boat pounded over the growing swells and waves, driving into an ever darkening cloud. We were miles from the town, and the boat battled back towards the coast, spray and wind and rain lashing like shards of glass against our faces as we all sat, poised, wrapped in turban-like towels to protect our faces, bearing the brunt of the wild, almost unbelievable storm.

But not every day was filled with this genre of adventure. One day brought a trip into the local town of Barra Grande on the quadbike with Patrick (whose driving skills are, to say the least, still being developed) who sped confidently and haphazardly through muddy puddles and down sandy lanes into the little town. He brought us to a bar where a friend of his made passionfruit caipirinhas, and we lounged in the humid heat and sunshine, enjoying the simple life that many of the locals seem to live (from what I can tell, the hunched, wrinkled inhabitants of Barra Grande are in the same chairs, sipping the same caipirinhas, as they were when I visited three years ago). The town is tiny (villages seem to be the theme of this gap yah), but benefits from the exuberant lifestyle of such a gorgeous tropical beachfront. And Patrick, speaking fluent Portuguese, is a good guide (despite the fact that he drives worse than my brother. yes. worse. i know.).


Another day we all piled into the Land Rover Defender (definitely the gap year vehicle of choice) and speed over to another town to meet some friends off the boat. They never show up, so we spend the entire evening watching the tropical sunset across the bay, digging and playing in the sand, burying limbs and torsos in the deep sand, and enjoying a cozy little nook in the tangle of the coastline.


One night brings a party, but of exactly the kind that we prefer. No clubs or raves (we are, recall, in the middle of Nowhere, and that is coming from someone who has been to Thorpe and Ehrwald) but simply the five of us (Marco, Will, Cosima, Casey and I) out in the small cabana right on the beach, blasting music and dancing and running around on the sand and singing along at the top of our lungs, surrounded by people who somehow, suddenly, are great friends. It is fun, the most fun we have had with people our age since we left home. They are a great crew, and we all get along great, despite some small differences in musical taste (as I mentioned Marco is a fan of Bieber, among others...no comment. Hope emma doesnt read this).


The week is blissful in the kind of way that only well earned rest and relaxation, in the perfect spot, surrounded by wonderful people, can be.