s/v Milly: Baia Do Camaru

Campinho. From the boat at sunset with palm trees everything looks nice

Campinho main street and village ferry dock

We anchored outside two different villages in the Baia, Campinho and Sapinho, only 1.5 NM apart but had very different vibes. Campinho, our first stop for three nights, was seemingly less cared for with many houses that were only partially finished or finished but in a sad state of disrepair. It’s few streets were sand but wide enough for cars and pick ups.

Sapinho was a cluster of homes on both sides of a river crossed by a wooden foot bridge. The buildings were tiny but painted and tidy with tended minute gardens. Some were decorated with shells stuccoed into the outside walls. The “streets” again sand were footpaths - the village was inaccessible to motorized vehicles. Perhaps this made the difference between the two villages - accessibility to the outside world. We kayaked through it’s mangrove surround. It will be water accessible for sometime to come, I’m sure.

The foot bridge joining the two halves of the village. I guess this is Sapinho's main street.

Those are little shells covering the whole house. A lesson in diligence.

The mangroves surrounded Sapinho like a moat. The shadows and light make a swamp quite beautiful

In both villages the people who we met were very friendly, colourful and helpful. In Campinho we met “Friday”, our name for a guy who was desperate to offer us whatever he could provide. He was toothless, shirtless - very few men wear shirts and most, we note if they smile, are toothless - a scourge of poverty and sugarcane? He had talked to us in Portuguese for at least half an hour one day while we were waiting for a boat bus to Camamu. He persevered with gestures, words repeated with different tones and volumes with hopes that we would gradually catch on. Eventually we settled on agua for the boat to be arranged the next day.

Sally "in conversation with" Friday

Friday did not let us down. By midmorning he had made a visit to Milly in his long fishing dory. After much communication difficulty, we agreed to buy fish and coconuts to be delivered to the boat. Off he went and returned with two young men who we learned through sign language and our trusty Portuguese-English dictionary brought by Anne and Rob, had never seen a catamaran and wanted to look around. Peter did the honours. Friday was a hustler of the friendliest kind. We enjoyed him immensely.

Friday and the boys.

Our character in Sapinho, actually at the only building, a restaurant, on a little island off Sapinho, was the restaurant owner and chef. He was an older man of uncertain ethnic background, likely European from way back. He and his friends and small family were enjoying what looked like a potluck assado when we arrived. Miming to ask if we could eat something, he offered us grilled fish and vegetables. We got the distinct impression that the building was under continual construction.

The restaurant. Work continues on the second floor.

We sat on the sand at a jury-rigged table and bench surrounded by three dogs and a cat who liked Peter - each of the animals preferred to perch table-top. Atop the remaining tables around us were the detritus of life on the beach and ownership of an establishment where all was made and repaired and recycled from whatever was available - a partially inflated plastic bathtub backrest, a chainsaw, a generator, a tired kayak for river rapids, etc.

The location of the restaurant. Idyllic.

The chef became friendlier as the food came out. He served a shot of pinga, a potent white rum or alcool, according to our dictionary. And then two whole fish, delicious beans with bacon, rice, and salad with the, now we know ubiquitous, incredibly hot pepper sauce which he asked me to taste and laughed when I quickly followed my sample with a gulp of beer.

Lunch and dinner

He then gave us some local cut up fruit with sugar - it was kind of spongey and sour but again, yummy. And finally, he offered homemade pineapple ice cream. We noticed it was only for the females at his table and he only served one dish to me. I guess ice cream is not machismo? I slipped Peter a few bites. When we tipped him a small amount on a ludicrously inexpensive bill, he gave me another bowl of ice cream. No dinner necessary that night!

The view from our table. Not bad!

It was not until thinking about our meal at the end of the day that we realized our chef who had obviously enjoyed his own food and drink for many years and who was hot from working over his stove in the Brazilian heat and humidity was dressed only in shorts - no shirt, no shoes, no hairnet and no North American health department standards. I guess this is what going native is all about.

We took a bus boat to Camamu, an adventure in itself.

Our final adventure in Baia Do Camamu, was a trip to the bustling, cacaphony of the town of Camamu on market day. Wow, was it busy. There were people everywhere, some selling, some buying and many loitering. There was a riot of colour with tiny stores selling everything from mattresses and pick axes to fishing poles and bikinis. Street vendors with wares on blankets, sold cd’s. shoes, freshly dug peanuts, crafts etc.

Fish and meat were sold within walls while the fruit and vegetables were sold by farmers in an open air market. The “food court” was jammed with people eating kebobs or fish stew. People came to and from the market in large trucks with wooden bench seats on the back. Motorcycle taxis transported purchases and/or people through the narrow streets.

The motorcycle taxi stand.

We purchased farm fresh vegetables and fruit. One vendor gave us an orange to test before buying and when he didn’t have exact change for which I reassured him not to bother, he gave me a candy and a bulb of garlic.

Success. Buying in sign language is always a challenge but laughter and a smile goes a long way

We wanted to try twleve odd hairy fruit about the size of a yellow plum. The vendor gave us a kg for a deal - I think he wanted to pack up and go home. Luckily, we liked the fruit.

Turned out they were Brazilian lychee nuts.

After exploring and visiting a less frenetic supermarket, we waited for our boat bus back to Campinho. We had our first coconut and a deaf, mute and village character befriended us trying to communicate in very exaggerated gestures. All in all, another great adventure.