"We've been.", said he, undoubtedly thinking of the very inadequate beaches of Santos.
"PROPER beach!!!", I quipped: "I'm off to Paraty. You're coming with."
"I can't.", protested Husband.
"Suit yourself. I'm going."
Buying the tickets to Paraty online proved to be a challenge to say the least so I trekked across the city to buy them in person.
"1 ticket to Paraty", I demanded.
"Single?", asked the ticket dude.
I pondered for a bit. It would be nice to stay in paradise forever. Then again, my cats would miss me.
"No, return.", I answered and handed over R$58. That's 10 quid to you and me.
The process of buying the ticket and choosing the seat took around 25 minutes.
If that was England, a queue that formed behind me would be orderly, but silently and inwardly raging.
The bus ticket said "CONV". I took that to mean conventional...ie. no air con which in turn means it will be boiling hot inside. I dressed accordingly which meant not many clothes and certainly no layers.
Alas, somehow, in Brazilian wisdom, "CONV" meant executive class and air con was set on Antarctica so Brazilians can enjoy the sensation of wearing thermal sweaters in the bus.
Boarding the bus was a formal affair. Like checking in and boarding the plane, but MORE formal. Intercity Brazilian travel was clearly serious business.
Just before the bus arrives, several uniformed functionaries show up at the gate, set up an official looking speaker podium, painstakingly check all the tickets and documents, ask for a signature (here, here and here), check all the bags and other important business.
The bus itself was lovely. Better than anything we have in Europe. Big and comfortable seats that recline almost completely horizontal and plenty of room. Which is just as well as the journey turned out to be a journey from hell...
Yes, I'm aware I have been absent from the blog for quite a while and that I'm just picking up where I left off. However, Brazil photos and stories are too good not to share. Once I finish that I will explain myself. :)