Beach Day

It was not a swimming beach really, full of surf which was a pity as the water wasn’t cold, but it felt good to at least walk in sand and feel slightly damp and sticky from the sea air. It has been a long time since we saw a beach, never mind one on the Atlantic Ocean. 

Rusty came with us but he doesn’t like beaches with crowds.

I’m not sure this rates as crowded, but he wasn’t too keen. 

He went so far. 

And no further. 

Layne tested the water and found it warm meaning we will move on from here and head south looking for a swimming beach. It’s heading towards autumn here in the southern hemisphere so warm sea water is a prize.

I looked around enjoying the Saturday evening beach scene. 

And so we went back to the campground across the street.

The campground entrance:

Layne paid our bill for two nights, 180 reals (US$34).  

We had a reminder of Mexico here on Saturday afternoon when a food seller stopped by with some mysterious packages.

He had hearts of palm things or chicken and cheese things at a dollar each. When we unwrapped the package it looked like this: 

I was staring to wish we had got more than one. Then we tasted it.

And the shame of  it is the pie seller never reappeared. We walked but did not see him and his delicious packages. 

The campground was just fine when all was said and done. 

If you think Brazilians don’t enjoy big RVs this country might surprise you. 

Our neighbor has been a pleasure to meet. He’s name is Jean and he came to Brazil 40 years ago from his home in French speaking Switzerland, a country that made him feel cramped. His grandfather died and a couple of old friends from Brazil came to his funeral. They invited Jean to come visit them but he did better than that. He brought their furniture with him. 

He tangled with a tiny suitcase and a container full of furniture and after a couple of months with them he looked for a job and got hired by a Swiss company and settled down.

He told Layne about a German village near Curitiba and as a storm is predicted bringing rain we’ve decided to go back to the city, do the Niemeyer museum properly and then visit Colonia Witmarsum where we can check out some German culture including Jean says some excellent cheeses. It’s been a nice couple of days and we want more beach time so we will come back south toward Brazil’s most famous southern beach town Florianopolis. 

Our home once again drew some curiosity. Brazilians are really nice people. 

We are ocean people.

Meeting Foreigners; Finding a Beach

While we were in Curitiba for two days more than we intended we did find ourselves sort of back on the tourist route, if only the route known to Brazilians not foreigners. 

This part of Brazil, Paraná State, isn’t know to foreigners but it is an industrial hub and a crossroads of sorts for Brazilian travelers. Our tour guide at Iguazu Falls is from here and Jessica said there was nothing to see in her hometown, which is a slight exaggeration. We did meet one Brazilian van lifer of note called Rafa who got a lot of attention in his country after visiting 17 states in his VW van. He has a lot of posts on his Instagram called Mapa Nomade but stopped posting in 2024 which is a shame. 

It was an all too brief encounter but the Kombi van is a popular van life vehicle  as it is widely available and it is hip. They built them in Brazil until 2014 and parts are everywhere. I struggled mightily with a 6 volt van from the 60s in my youth which did get me to Mexico and back, and later  a Vanagon in middle age which blew up repeatedly. But I do admire Brazilians and their Kombi love, wherever we see them:

In our campground at So Trailers in Curitiba we met a fascinating couple

He is Taiwanese (“not communist” he said with a laugh) who came to Brazil 40 years ago and married a Brazilian of Japanese descent. I first met her at the bathroom in the Curitiba campground while I was looking at all the stickers posted by South American travelers, no one we knew.

She had a Chihuahua next to her unleashed and her eyes boggled when she saw Rusty, leashed per campground rules. I hate when people ask me if he bites because when I say no they ignore me. That was her protocol so I never got to talk to her even in mangled Portuguese. I chatted with him a bit but communication was difficult as he couldn’t seem to read Google translate and I don’t know what language to translate into. But they were very sweet and helpful. Language barriers are such a pain.

I have no idea how they communicated, most likely I suppose in Portuguese. Love overcomes all obstacles they say.

Our plan was to leave the capital city of Paraná Stare and drive two hours to the coast. 

The weather has been much cooler and drier inland in the hills but we figured it might be time to get some sea air.

First we had to drive across this city of 1.8 million people. With railroad crossings included. 

Thereupon in the fullness of time appeared a classic Niemeyer structure: 

Layne thought it looked like a mushroom. 

Rusty thought nothing of it.

We left him in the van with the rooftop a/c cooling him nicely and walked up the ramp to go inside.

The signage is useless and when we go to the top of the ramp a security guard told us it was exit only. 

We turned around and found the ticket office where we got free tickets as we are over 60. Then we got a couple of magnets to decorate our home from the souvenir store. 

When I asked where to pay for monkeying I was directed to a blank wall with a self pay booth. Only later did I see a small sign saying credit cards accepted. The usual way is bank transfers. So I asked to pay in person and  they directed me to a booth across the rear lot.

When I got there I discovered it wasn’t a fixed price but I would have to come back to pay after we left. Then we were told no bags are allowed in the museum. So after we finished we’d have to wander around locating the parking payment booth and the bag lockers and in and in…

In a fit of ill tempered pique we paid the five bucks for the parking and scuttled back to Rusty and left. 

We regretted our hasty decision at our leisure as we started down the freeway to the beach. 

Like everything in South America when you know you know but the learning curve is steep as signage is feeble and no one knows how to explain procedures clearly. 

The road to the beach wound through the mountains with our fair share of road works in our direction and broken down vehicles in the opposite direction but somehow traffic kept moving.

Above you see a typical Brazilian mannequin waving its electronic arm to warn traffic of what’s ahead which is below: 

There were no gas stations or truck stops on our side of the highway to encourage us to stop early for the night. Boo hiss. 

The beach town looked like any typical community on the water, this one a bit rundown but with beach buns and odd characters hanging around well worn by the sea sun and sand lifestyle. It reminded me of Fort Myers Beach in the 80s.

There’s a vet if you need one! Good to know. 

We found our spot in a surprisingly crowded beach campground, with ocean glimpse. 

Rusty found his place observing the traffic flowing by and the joggers and his tail went up in a string sign of approval as we explored the facilities. 

There is one vehicle apparently from Argentina otherwise we are the only foreigners. Our neighbor turned out to be a Swiss emigre who has lived in Brazil for forty years, recently sold his company and at age 75 doesn’t know what to do with himself in retirement. 

Our neighbor had a problem with his Starlink account which to my surprise I helped him fix. He offered me his water hose to fill our tank. It’s $16 a night with all facilities but swimming is dangerous apparently owing to the undertow so we are thinking about driving back to Curitiba to the museum and from there turning back south to more well known tourist beaches. Maybe they are well known for a reason.