[Written late at night on Thursday 21st October]
Everywhere we go, people want to know, who we are............
Going to Morro de Sao Paulo was so easy i said to myself, ´this isn´t much of an adventure!´ Although we refused the R$70 direct luxury boat from Salvador and chose to take the local bus to Sao Jochicm, then the Ferry Boat to Bom Dispatcho, then the coach for two hours to Valenca and then a little motor boat to the Island, all the connections added up and we got there entertained and happy early afternoon, after only four hours of effort. The way back was different. The way back too seven hours and we don´t even know where we are now.
It started off simply, but we had to wait an hour at the port for the next boat. After enjoying a plesant ride past several beautiful isolated beaches we stopped and everyone got off, great all the more room for us. Well no, it turns out that this boat doesnt go to Valenca but somewhere else entirely. Stepping ashore at a place we´ve never been to with everyone asuring us it´s Valenca was a feeling i will never forget. One moment we are in the middle of the tourist brigade, the next we are severing all ties with it by stepping off this boat and down a pier into a tiny village which looks like it hasnt been discovered yet. (i´ve named it Geekville). We recovered well as we followed other locals onto a bus and found ourselves dumped off shomewhere in Valenca an hour later. It´s really quite a challenge to find your way around a town you dont know, in a langage you dont know without a map.
We made it to the bus station just as a bus was pulling out and we misrebly passed an hour and a half wait staring blankly forwards, occasionally punctuated by an ongoing discussion about whether to buy some popcorn from the local vender. Xss wanted it but chose to not get some in the end. Boring as it sounds the locals were riverted to this conversation.
After the nice bus ride we got a ferry, immediately, no problems. Then the real fun began, getting a bus to an address given to us by a friend (so we could stay with their friend at a Charity base). After asking the bus driver and the conductor at the back of the bus (where you get on) we managed to establish that the bus was going where we wanted to, but there was always something said afterwards that we didnt understand. So we got this amazingly cheerful bus with kids cheering and fighting to sit next to us, office workers laughing and the jolliest conductor you will ever see not on childrens TV. As we sat down a tidal wave of kids rushed towards us and tried to speak with us. It was fun and even the office workers joined in and started shouting comments which had the whole bus laughing. Unfortunately nobody else wanted to travel for an hour and a half on a local bus service around the houese. I swear we went to ´Pituba´three times. So slowely our friends got off, the laughing stopped and the confusion around us increased exponentially. I had a map of where we wanted to go and this was passed around liberally and the driver consulted several times, either he didnt know where the bus was going or he was being pertitioned to take a detor for us. Since no-one on the bus knew where we were going despite my nice handdrawn map (and believe me EVERYONE was asked) someone decided to call the person we were going to (i claimed he was our friend, because i didnt know friend of friend). So a nice guy called and told Dijalmi that he had his two Americans there and what stop did they need to get off at. After a long conversation this man knew and them promptly got off the bus. Luckily somehow he had informed someone else (why not us??) and this man accompanied off the bus. HE then phoned Dijalmi to say that the tourists were at the bus stop. This was accompanied by a hished voice warning we didnt understand. So we asked him to say it again, nope, nothing, but it appeared from gestures that it was very dangerous here nad we must not talk to ANYONE, or cross the road or leave the bus stop and must not move until a man with a sign saying Dijalmi arrived for us. And he left. By all accounts the area looked fairly nice so we werent scared and soon enough the hassled Dijalmi appeared. We pilled into his car, and it wasnt until we were a little way down the road that he polietly asked, ´Who are you?´Oh the shame.
Well, he was nice to us anyways (and we had emailed him to tell him we were coming on this date). We waited in the lounge whist he made us up a bed in the room next to the pool ( i call it a pool house), and then called us down. It is sparse but thats not unsusual. But there were no pillows on the bed so we asked if he had any, i mean this is a base that we presumed had lots of houses on, all owned by the charity and empty most of the time, surely they have pillows. So back Dijalmi comes with two pillows straight off his bed (or the bed of his 7 year old!) one complete with crusted on bogie, both with old hairs. Now we find ourselves in this little room, with no glass in the windows, a very dirty bathroom, and a very strong smell of Poo. So strong we have considered leaving right now, or maybe tomorrow morning saying we got our flight wrong, and going back to the tourist areas. Its good to be adventurous, but when you don´t speak the language and they dont speak English how can you communicate about a poo smell? We are running out of toilet paper as well... tense times.
Questions we are still asking ourselves as we settle down to sleep:
Are we in the right place?
Are we at Djalimi´s house and not the Charity base house
and most importantly, where is the poo?
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