A Short Steep Walk

The idea is to leave the beach today and as we pack up under predictions of rain I shall leave the campground posting some photos of a walk I took Tuesday afternoon.

It wasn’t a long walk to the top of the hill behind the harbor but it sure was steep. 

This is an aerial view from Google Maps with my goal being the Mirante de Enseada (the bay viewpoint): 

Some neighbors from the campground had gone for a walk with beach chairs and umbrellas and I was under the impression there was a beach on the other side of the hill. I was wrong as it happens but we’ll come to that.

First a walk down the road to the harbor masters complex of offices around the head of the harbor.

At the bottom of the cement stairs leading up the hill is an emergency contact sign in case you stroke out climbing the stairs I guess.

Like Morro Bay in California this is the trail of the Moor in Enseada, the bay. 

It was hot and sunny and there was no point in wasting time as the afternoon wasn’t getting any younger and my camera wasn’t getting any lighter. 

So plod plod plod it was one cement step at a time while holding the rather warm iron hand rail.

The best part came when I turned the corner at the top of the visible staircase only to discover the last fifty yards to the top were slippery looking damp dirt. 

Fantastic. They couldn’t just finish the job and do it right. I’d left my cane in the camp so there was nothing to be done but scramble my old bones to the top. 

Only to discover I was not alone. 

There were a couple of fresh water pools, surprisingly not created by my sweat. 

The plateau at the top offered a view of the open ocean obviously so I stared at that for a bit.

But the trail down the other side devolved into a vertical mad scramble suitable only for highly motivated youthful anglers who sought prey in the open ocean. 

I was none of that so I enjoyed the breeze and the view. 

There was an antenna and I figured there had to be a maintenance road up making for an easier descent. However I could see no easy way to walk to the tower and I had no doubt any road up was probably fenced and locked. 

I knew I had to Clinton those bloody stairs again. That I got through the dirt section without slipping and falling seemed like an achievement to me as I stood at the top of Jacob’s Ladder. 

The stairs down presented a couple of interesting features not noted in the way up. A couple of sections lacked handrails which was nice. 

And my size eleven plates of beef were too large for the steps. That meant going down I felt as though I was about to tip forward…

So I had to split my feet outwards to get my whole shoe on the step. I felt like I was wearing clown shoes.

It went on and on but eventually I got there, to the bottom that is. Back to the warning signs and all that.

I saw a much better sign by the side of the road. I could have done with a barrel of Jack Daniel’s myself at that point. 

A short walk back to home where I could remove my socks and ease myself into a book.

Our neighbor came by to inquire of our journey, where we are from and how long have we been on the road and which direction are we traveling. Louis is from Mato Grosso (Big Forest) State in central Brazil. He and his wife live full time in their bus and live on the road. When they visit their daughter they park in front of her house but they have no other home than their bus. Just like us!

Then I got to do a little bird watching:

And dog watching of course:

Plus we had to say goodbye to Mafra and pay the bill for six nights at $17 each:

For that money we got only one shower and one toilet cubicle per gender. They were modern and spotless but you had to bring your own paper. 

Alongside there is a sink for clothes washing, two sinks for fish washing and one of two dump stations for general use. Each camping spot has its own dump station but suitable for very narrow Brazilian hoses. Also here is an outside cold shower to rinse off after a swim. We really enjoyed this place.

And then we got to watch our neighbors break camp. 

And sleep the sleep of the exhausted. 

Tuesday At The Beach

Monday night it looked like rain with heavy darks clouds building up across the bay and slowly smothering the blue sky and sunshine above us. Mafra the campground care taker shrugged saying it rains heavily in Joinville, the inland city but barely sprinkles here in São Francisco do Sul (Saint Francis of the South - named of course for the most famous Umbrian to come out of my region in Italy).

We had pasta in a mushroom sauce for dinner Monday, one of Layne’s best and our Argentine neighbors had donated a bottle of red when they left making fun of the name on the bottle, but it tasted good, as did the sunset over the waters of the bay. 

In the event it did not rain and the view across the bay was undimmed by rain. 

Monday morning after the weekend exodus we moved across the campground to get an ocean view and also to move away from the Beverly Hillbillies who moved in next door with squealing kids leading a yappy dog through our campsite. The joy of being a nomad is not only getting out of managing a garden but also escaping irritating neighbors. As Layne put it we moved to a $350 a night view. 

As you can tell Brazilian Rivers are no strangers to giant vehicles in their pursuit of time away from home. 

Our former spot was in front of the lower rock pictured below. The small children from the orange trailer took to climbing in and peering in to observe a napping Layne. It was better we move than she explain to them in no uncertain terms their lack of camping etiquette. 

Swimming has been very pleasant not in the rough waters of the ocean but in our private swimming pool in the harbor just around the corner. Seen here at low tide there’s still plenty of water to swim in out of your depth. 

And the dredge has been pumping sand out of the entrance to clear the channel. 

After a swim and lunch the heat was enough to drive the other members of Team Lost into a torpor but I got my camera out and went for a walk. Mafra the campground manager has directed my attention to a mosaic park down the street  and my curiosity took hold. 

It’s a decorative area next to the clubhouse of the Juventos sport club which has a soccer field here. We’ve watched them kicking a ball around between the goalposts. 

Bearing in mind I’m relying on Google Translate  the sign below says Owl’s Burrow (I’ve seen some owls in this area):

A Space for Art Sport and Leisure. You can donate money to the number below. 

You decide if it’s a worthy cause. It includes a plaque dedicated to Saint Francis of Assisi and Padre Pio two Italian saints whose presence here is as eccentric as anything else I suppose. 

Leisure Sport Culture and Art. 

You get to figure this one out on your own: 

I thought it was a bit of a cheek welcoming German tourists here when the only foreigners in sight were parish speaking Argentines and one RV of misplaced English speakers. 

Anyway enough of that. We had an afternoon swim to accomplish and a dog to feed so I went home and woke up the troops and them.

Rusty gets meat and kibbles but we don’t share those with him so we grilled meat and vegetables for dinner in the style of a South American asado. Only we use a Skotti grill which was introduced to use by some European travelers in Peru and Layne brought it back from the States on her last trip. It’s German made of first class stainless steel and disassembles and folds flat in use. We have adapters to use any kind of gas bottles we come across and it is our staple outdoor cooking tool.

I got an unnecessarily spectacular shot with orange glow as some fat dripped momentarily but it doesn’t normally look like that. I actually enjoy using the Skotti even though I have never been an outdoor grilling type of macho man.

I have for some reason started reading a book about the Battle of the Bulge, a snowy tale of men forced to endure much suffering but at least they knew why they were there and the purpose of the killing. One still feels grateful after all these years that they did that so we may do these decidedly mundane things under the sun.