We pulled in to the campground entrance and a dude came out with a clipboard. He stared at our front number plate then he came to the driver’s window, they do that thinking I know what I’m talking about. “You aren’t Brazilian,” Mafra said after he introduced himself. “Are you from Argentina?” No I said we’re from the United States. He looked puzzled. “Where’s that?” he said. That was a first; I’d finally found someone who’d never heard of the US. This campground promised well I told myself as I signed the form and promised to pay $17 for spot number 30 in the São (San) Francisco do Sul campground right on the beach.
We had a slow start yesterday, getting up after eight, walking Rusty a little as he likes to take his morning dump far from here he sleeps. Then we exercised and washed the dishes and littered about half excited to get on the road and half sorry to be leaving the lovely campground at Pomerode. Mario came to say goodbye. He’s lived in this town all his life and he runs the tidiest campground we’ve seen in South America. I was genuinely sorry to say goodbye.
We stopped by the bakery to share a lunch sandwich and met a woman and her family from Tallahassee who was astonished to see a Florida license plate. Her husband is Brazilian and they were back to visit his family and take a tour of southern Brazil that they had never before seen. On a more important note this was my opportunity to have a strudel so I took it.
It was a nonconformist production with a mild crumbly cheese where the apple should be but I am very fond of pistachio so the flavors worked for me and the pastry was properly buttery and flaky. Be jealous.
The drive to the coast was supposed to take about three hours and it was pleasant meander at first.
Then we turned off the main highway and took a smaller back road through a series of banana plantations with the characteristic plastic bags covering the fruit to encourage ripening.
And just for fun there were endless numbers of speed bumps.
And that was when the journey got bogged down and we were stuck in stop and go traffic for an hour.
There was a little red on the blue Google line and we expected it to have dissipated by the time we got there. 
Three ambulances passed us do whatever it was that created the back up must have been a mess.
It uncoiled itself eventually and we drove out onto the peninsula at the end of which Layne the campground we had located in iOverlander. 
Our biggest concern was that it might be full so we figured we might have to free camp in the streets for a night if it came to that.
We stopped at a supermarket alongside the highway to load up with perishables and while Layne was Shipping I was beset by people curious about our trip and our weird van. 
We chatted about Brazil and traveling and our strange gasoline powered van. She has a cousin living in Boston and he has an aunt living in Doral and the older guy in Orange wanted to know what our Promaster is.
Lovely people Brazilians and don’t believe anyone who tells you it’s dangerous here. Common sense is required wherever you travel or indeed choose to live. 
And do we drove through the beach town to the very end of the land.
Our biggest concern was that it might be full so we figured we might have to free camp in the streets for a night if it came to that. 
We forgot on the foreigners section so our neighbors are from Argentina, a lovely Spanish speaking couple. Everyone else is Brazilian.
