(George)

Filled with excitement by our first taste of Brazil, we embarked on a mammoth journey that would take us from the humble town of Bonito, through the mighty Sao Paolo, to the quaint, seaside village of Paraty (pronounced pah-rah-chee). The journey devoured three days of our time, consisting of 3 buses, a lot of snacks and a one night pit stop in Sao Paolo.

Our bus from Bonito to the state capital of Campo Grande passed with little noteworthy activity and we soon found ourself on our connecting bus to Sao Paolo. It was on this bus that we witnessed a minute portion of the crippling drug trade that runs rife through the third-world countries of South America. At 2:30am on our overnight haul, I was awoken by a tap on the shoulder and a torch in my face. My first thoughts were that it was a ticket inspector wishing to ensure no one had sneaked on the bus without payment. However, as I lifted my gaze towards my awakener, I noticed the authority imposing combination of a handgun, cuffs and CS gas attached to his heavy duty belt. Our passports were demanded and all bags we had with us were thoroughly searched as two officers methodically worked their way down the bus. Midway down the carriage a young woman, with unusually suggestive clothing for an overnight bus, was removed from the bus by the officers and taken to the side of the highway. Her luggage was removed from the stow and an excitable, young sniffer dog took to his job. After a few yaps and sniffs it didn't seem like much was going on until the police opened the woman's over-sized suitcase. The contents of the case drew a gasp from all of our lips, foot long bricks of brown paper wraps were stacked in a criss-cross formation throughout the depth of the suitcase. From what we could see it appeared the woman had attempted to smuggle somewhere in the region of 15-20kg of cocaine from Bolivia to the Sao Paolo metropolis. With the game up, the woman resigned herself to the police office, covered in a blanket and shaking with fear. For the rest of us on the bus a few nervous smiles were shared and the journey commenced with haste, leaving the young trafficker to fend for herself with the Brazilian Federal Police.

Arriving in Sao Paolo late the next morning, we had underestimated the shear size of the place. With only the name of our hotel at hand, we suddenly realised we may have a problem if the only piece of information we could provide to a taxi driver is the name of a low to mid range hotel. With Greater Sao Paolo containing over 20 million inhabitants, we were struggling but fortunately the ever helpful Brazilian culture pulled us from the dirt. A man sat in the seat behind us must have noticed our concerned tones and without hesitation called his wife and demanded that she look up the street and area of our hotel. Within minutes the call was returned and we were blessed with a full address, complete with a ZIP code. Our hotel in Sao Paolo was extremely comfortable, clean and had the best wifi we had encountered in all of our travels. As for the city itself we limited ourselves to the main tourist attractions; these included the bus stop, another bus stop and McDonalds. However within our brief walk down the road to our local Maccies, we couldn't help pick up the electric vibe of the city and instantly regretted having awarded ourselves only one nights stay. Definitely one for the return trip!

Departing from Sao Paolo at 9am the next morning, we felt grateful to be on the last leg of our monster road trip. With the bus taking 7 hours in total, I was surprised the driver deemed that two stops at successive 'all you can eat' buffets would be necessary for the length of the journey. With no complaints from Tamara at each of the pit stops, we quickly piled as much food as we could onto our disproportionately small plates and took to filling our bellies to the brim - you never know where the next meal might come from! We arrived in Paraty at around 4pm and with around 2 hours to kill before our scheduled meeting with the hostel's owners, we quickly sought out the nearest Subway. We spent the rest of our time perusing Paraty's old town which offered opposing, white-washed colonial buildings separated by a narrow spit of stone cobbles and mud. Had it not been for the overcast sky and revolting smell exuding from the seemingly colonial sewage system, the old town may have been an enchanting place as horse drawn carriages trundled and rumbled across the cobbles.

As our hostel was unreachable by land, we had previously arranged to meet up with the owner in order to utilise his personal speedboat. Arriving 5 minutes in advance, we settled in outside a questionable Chinese deli and kept an eye out for anyone who may resemble our stereotype of a 'hostel manager'. As the time ticked by more and more nervous glances were shot between Tamara and I. The growing sense of anticipation and mild anxiety began to grow as I turned to Tamara and stated, ' I hope this is the right Chinese Deli, opposite the bus station.' The doubt cut a rift into our sense of calm. Were we at the right place? Were there any other Chinese deli's opposite the bus station? Our answer came at 6:30pm, just as Tamara had ran to the nearest internet café to check her emails. A young Swiss man approached us, slightly out of breath, clutching a piece of paper. 'George and Tamara? Sorry I'm late.' No problem mate, not like we had much to do...

We began our journey forthwith and were accompanied by two lovely girls, Jess and... her friend. This was to be an important meeting as Jess would begin to pop up in several places along our journey up the Brazilian coast line, providing us with much entertainment due to her inability to follow the topic of conversation and constant state of confusion. Arriving at our hostel provided yet another jaw dropping moment. After having been ferried across from the bay into a hidden peninsula, we were greeted by a small fishing village. Rickety, wooden boats were anchored just off the shore as children ran along the beaches with their faithful companions barking and sprinting in tow. All of this was set against the backdrop of a dense rainforest with imposing palm trees jutting above the canopy, asserting their dominance over the inferior foliage. The building itself couldn't have looked more perfect, windows were forgotten here as wooden shutters took their place. Multiple balconies and viewing spots hid behind the 15m long pier, each lined with hammocks and inviting chairs, waiting to offer the weary traveller tonic for their tired eyes.

Due to the hostel being positioned so far from civilisation, electricity was only made available for 2 hours per day from the hours of 8pm to 10pm. This narrow window of time spurred on a surprisingly competitive race for any available plug sockets, the losers being left to tap their lifeless iPhones and tablets as the winners gleefully whooped and cheered. Another kooky element to the hostel remained in the fact that there was nowhere for the guests to purchase any food, either to eat out or cook in. This left the onus of ensuring the guests were fed on the 3 Swiss owners, these included Dario, Peter and Peter's Wife, all of whom took it in turns to cook full, hearty meals for each of the guests. As we were only staying for two nights before the prices increased to Carnaval prices, we were only able to sample one of Dario's BBQ's and Peter's Wife's excellent chorizo and mash, each meal filling us to the brim. The fact that the whole hostel only ever ate together made for a buzzing social atmosphere as we felt unified when the electricity was eventually turned off and we retreated back in time, making use of only the stars and candlelight.

Due to having booked only two nights, whilst arriving late on the Friday and leaving early on the Sunday, it meant that we only had one full day to make the most of our new shelter. I awoke sluggishly on the Saturday after an awful nights sleep, it seemed that due to the lack of windows and proximity to the sea the noise of the waves incessantly washed over my eardrums throughout the night. This coupled by a few irritating bites on my toes caused me to rise in an extremely irritable mood. It was just as well, Tamara had awoken hours before and had scuttled off to the beach with some of our newly made friends from the hostel. Whilst I swayed in the hammocks, Tamara was off discovering abandoned beaches, seeking solitude and warmth. After a few hours Tamara discovered that her 'abandoned' beaches weren't so abandoned as horns sounded on the horizon. It appeared Tamara had stumbled upon the day party island as boat after boat of shouting hooligans and blaring music laid siege to the once serene stretch of sand. With little encouragement needed, she soon ran back to the hostel desperate to escape the hordes of tranquility killers. Once reunited at the hostel, we made the most of our day by not doing very much. We spent the entire afternoon on the pier, overlooking the sea and occasionally jumping/diving/flipping into the water to cool off. We also made use the hostels stand up paddle board, which they kindly allowed us to use for free. Whilst Tamara fulfilled her dream of finally standing up and paddling on a board, I looked on and smiled - this was paradise.

As the sun set and we sat down for our second and final communal meal, we thought we had seen nearly everything the hostel could throw at us. That was until the owner prompted the group, 'Does anyone want to go swimming with the fluorescent plankton?' I'd heard about this stuff but almost didn't believe it was real. I was dubious and also very warm in my nice, dry clothes but after a moments reflection I asked myself, 'when will I ever get to do this again?' With this motto planted in my head for future reference, I pulled my swimming shorts on (togs as the weird Aussies say) and dived right into the water. With the clouds providing nearly perfect darkness above, I shoved my face through the water to see what may be lurking beneath the jet black sea. The results were astonishing, with each kick of my leg a trail of neon yellow followed as plankton flurried and whirled against the backdrop of eternal black. Each of us who made the leap into the watery abyss resurfaced invigorated, I had never seen anything so beautiful and neither had anyone else. We regathered ashore and collectively said goodnight, why can't we stay longer!?

(Tamara)

As we departed from one paradise we set sail for another, but before we could reach Ilha Grande we had to conquer our first ride on a local Brazilian bus. Boarding the bus isn't simple; it involves excellent balance and mobility and unfortunately I have neither. The cashier sits behind the driver on an elevated platform behind a barrier. Once you have paid a very cheap fare (the only thing that is cheap in Brazil) you are then permitted to enter the seating area of the bus through an additional revolving barrier. Unfortunately the bus isn't stationary at this point, and with the lack of suspension, extremely windy roads and the entire bus facing you to judge your performance, the procedure can be somewhat embarrassing. With George and I lacking any bodily curvatures to wedge into the barrier for support, we were flung across the bus and nearly face down into the poor laps of the couple in front of us. Composing ourselves we were then interrupted by a rather large gentleman who hovering beside us, seemed to be hinting for us to move out of our seats. Confused, we stared nonplussed until we noticed the sign on the window with images to symbolise "Priority seats given: pregnant woman, woman and children, the elderly and the obese." After later discovering that obesity is considered a disability in Brazil we had to question if this was justifiable in a country that gorges themselves almost entirely on fat and carbohydrates.

Despite our rocky journey, our ferry boat calmly sailed us into the docks of Vila Abrão, the largest settlement on the island of Ilha Grande. With this beautiful haven being a must see on every traveller's visit to Brazil, despite all concerns of expecting celebrity prices, we had managed to secure a cheap and exotic hostel submerged deep in the jungle. Ilha Grande boasts an interesting history concerning it's previous inhabitants: from fishermen in a sleepy village, to Brazil's high profile criminals, eventually finishing as a leper colony. As a village without vehicles, the tranquil, hippy atmosphere sweeps through the air as 'chill out bars' and Rastafarians flogging their wares fill the sandy passageways. Back in our hostel, in accordance with the Brazilian ritual for sunset, we lay ourselves down in the nearest available hammock and opened a cold beer. After making a pact with one another that our time here was a chance to rest before Rio, we were soon put in an awful predicament when voices behind us asked if we wanted to party that evening. With traveller's being vultures to anyone with a drink in their hand, being typically British and unable to give an honest explanation for our refusal, we blamed our dodgy stomachs, abandoned our drinks and headed to bed.

Rising early the following morning, we were pleasantly surprised to be greeted with sun after reports the island had been a victim to torrential downpour for the previous week. Arriving at breakfast our mouths watered as we saw the feast before us. Running in opposite directions, George grabbed a huge slab of the homemade chocolate cake (the root of Brazilian obesity) as I piled my plate high with exotic fruits - they say opposites do attract! With George discovering that a variety of cakes were baked from 8am to 10am, I would often find him tasting his way through the two hour breakfast service when I returned from my morning runs. Susan I have found the solution to getting George out of bed early!

Packing our day bags we glanced at the map of the island and selected the beach we wanted to visit. After learning the two ways of reaching this particular beach was to hike or catch a boat, we happily fastened our walking boots and set off on our journey. Having pictured a gentle stroll along the coastline I had assumed 'trek' was simply a figure of speech, yet after a two hour incline hike through brambles and slippery mud we had only arrived at the half way point. Luckily the landmark for this point was a secluded beach and with this making the idea of part 2 an incomprehensible nightmare we flopped onto our beach towels and soaked in the rays. When the dreaded moment came for us to head back to camp we soon realised in the absence of any other foot passengers, that tomorrow the boat would be the only option.

The following day, (by boat), we stress-freely reached the second half of the trek to the beach of Lopez Mendez. With the pristine white sand stretching as far and wide as the eye could see, instantly in unity we agreed this was the most beautiful beach we had ever laid our feet upon. As the boat had dropped us off in a nearby bay the sea was crystal clear except for the specks of bodies surfing through the waves. Selecting our private segment of the beach we wasted no time in throwing down our belongings and running into the sea. From the shore the waves were extremely misguiding and feeling adventurous we let the current take us. Yet as the force became too strong to resist and with only two lifeguards vacantly scanning a small portion of the impossibly long beach, we realised the great ocean is a dangerous place for two little Wozzles and eventually broke free of it's hold.

After a few blissful hours we lethargically returned to our boat. Enjoying the rocking motion that accompanied the slow boat option I suddenly felt the familiar tingle of sunburn. With the deceiving strength of the sun I had been fooled again and after radiating an unnatural amount of heat for the following two days I hibernated inside for the remainder of our trip. Having saved the final day to embark on an island hopping adventure, we were soon disappointed when the heavens opened and all hope of spotting the Dolphins were extinguished. Instead we indulged in an extra breakfast serving and enjoyed our last day of tranquility before we made our way to the party of our lives... Get your dancing shoes on, it's carnival time!