It took two long driving days, but finally the truck came to a halt at our penultimate destination, Paraty by the Atlantic. A small town by the sea, with an old town centre with cobbled streets and horse carriages. And from its pier, a vast amount of boats was ready to take tourists out to the archipelago. Some small, some big, some of which offered free caiprinhas, so obviously we chose that one. Jumping from the boat's roof deck with pool noodles and waterproof cameras, it was nice to once again feel the saltiness of sea water.
Upon arrival back on land, to much delight, was the return of the yellow truck. There was a challenge of beer (and other beverages) pong, orange truck vs yellow, and Oz vs the world. We were defeated in both occurances, but who weeps for that; the purpose of beer pong is hardly to win. Soon the raindrops started falling, and what better idea then, than to get in the ocean waves?
The next morning was an important one; We had to be at a certain place in town at 9, and I needed to wake Zeb up at 8:30. Eventually we got in the taxi and headed off for the dive shop. Despite my three hour walking, phoning, checking and doublechecking the day before, our booking apperently had fell through. No matter, there were still places left, and off to the marina we went. All other diver's were Brazilians, and so Zeb and I got our own English-speaking dive guide. Betty from Argentina was enthused and very sweet, and soon the boat set sail, bearing west by southwest, towards Ilha dos Meros. Since it was my first dive in quite some time, I left my camera onboard, in order to have complete control, to much chagrin. Fairly poor visibility, but awesome rocks, fishes and starfish. And suddenly, a wreck appeared: a plane wreck (20-seater or similar) lay underwater, and I longed for my camera. Even moreso, as we turned past some rocks and lo and, indeed, behold: A Christ the Redeemer! A man-sized copy of the more famous ones in Cusco and Rio, it stood there on the bottom of the sea, arms out-streched, all covered in corals, algae and kelp. How he got there is anyone's guess; I suppose Jesus's magical walking-on-water powers suddenly stopped functioning. The second dive proved less awesome, but with some cool rock trenches and the fact that my camera was there to document my constant travel companion's first dive, it was all OK.
Back at the marina, Betty offered Zeb and me a ride into town in her hippiesque Fiesta. As we hadn't really seen town, the Argentinian, who had lived the last 14 months in Paraty, showed us around the cobbled streets. She told us the piratey history of the town (at one point it was comparable to the Caribbean in terms of pirate activity), how it now is the town with most homicides per capita in Brazil, showed us the awesomest model boat shop ever and joined us for drinks. I bought my first ever flip-flops (or thongs, if you will), and she drove us back to our campsite, in time for dinner.
A chat withe two of the yellow truckies, it turned out that they had a non-stop, 42 hour bus ride from Rio to BA later, and lamented the upcoming boredom. I promised to make a list of stuff to do to be entertained on a busride that long, and finished it on the truck to Rio, ready to be delivered on our upcoming mutual New Year's Eve festivities. But that's a different story.
To summarize: I dove.
Fun factoid: It is well-known, to those who know it well, that in the Tupi (the local indigenous people) language 'Paraty' means 'river of fish'. As the word is also identical to the old-timey Portuguese word 'paraty', meaning 'pirate', many a hardened pirate captain not fluent in Tupi thought that to mean that the town and it's bay was a free-for-all pirate stronghold, thus explaining its importance in pirate history.
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