Maraú peninsula

Locals brag that Brazil's last stretch of undeveloped coastline is on the Maraú Peninsula, a dry, flat finger of land bordered on one side by Camamu Bay and on the other by the Atlantic. To get there, I took a bus from the town of Graciosa to the town of Camamu, and a boat ride to the fishing village of Taipú de Dentro, where I was met by a mutant vehicle--half Toyota pickup, half golf cart--sent by my hotel, Pousada Taipú de Fora.

Taipú de Fora is the section of the peninsula reputed to have the most beautiful beaches. It's a lonely, romantic place: deserted stretches of powdery sand; reckless surf; sharp, salty breezes. In the distance, a red-and-white lighthouse winked through the night.

I spent most of my time doing nothing in various places. I lay in a chaise lounge under a palapa listening to the ocean. I lay in the hammock on my veranda listening to the ocean. I lay on a massage table under a white tent listening to the ocean. I sat on a wooden bench sipping caipirinhas at a place called Bar das Meninas--the Girls' Bar. It's run by two friendly young Brazilians, Tatiana and Claudia, who are quite happy to let every visitor in Taipú de Fora hang out there all day reading, playing cards, listening to Brazilian trip-hop, and ordering the occasional drink or snack.

At Tatiana's bidding, I considered breaking my vow of lassitude to take a custom-designed boat tour of some of the bay's smaller islands--places, she said, that time has all but forgotten. There is a former slave colony where the women make dendê oil. There is an island where men hammer out wooden schooners reminiscent of colonial expeditions. There is a fairy-tale house where someone named Grandma Dolores makes fresh mango ice cream.

As it turned out, Tatiana's tour-guide friend was not available, so I opted instead for the standard boat tour of Camamu Bay with a fisherman named Neuso. I tried to suggest that we follow Tatiana's itinerary, but he had his own plan. First we stopped at Ilha da Pedra Furada, a tiny geological anomaly in the middle of the bay where the wind had carved out two natural stone arches. Its only occupants were a retired fisherman and his wife, who charge tourists 75¢ for a three-minute tour--under the stone arch, and back through again. Next stop: Campinhos, where we ate fried fish with two of Neuso's friends, a chicken farmer and his 23-year-old wife, Flavia, who could pass for a supermodel. She pulled out a scrapbook filled with sultry snapshots of her flitting around Salvador. Two years ago, her husband had convinced her to leave the city so he could raise chickens in Campinhos. I asked her if she liked living on the island.

"Adore," she said, putting her hand to her heart. "You don't get bored? You don't miss your friends?"

She laughed and made a sweeping gesture with her arm, taking in the pink hibiscus, the palms, the mango trees. "Bored? In paradise?"

Call me a philistine, but by my last night I was bored in paradise. I checked into a sunny yellow pousada called Ponta do Muta, in Barra Grande, the fishing village at the tip of the peninsula. After a dinner of ginger shrimp and jasmine rice at a disarmingly sophisticated place called Bistro, I wandered around the village square. Families were gathered at plastic tables playing cards and eating acarajé (fried bean cakes), while teenage boys loped around the open-air video arcade, jingling the centavos in their pockets.

I was drawn to the beach by the screech of a microphone coming from a maladjusted amp. At a thatched-roof bar called Capitão Gancho, a guitarist and a conga player were warming up to an audience of one, the bar's owner. For the first 20 minutes, it was just the two of us listening to the sensuous strains of bossa nova. Gradually, people began to emerge from the shadows: two women in angelic white sundresses, a septuagenarian couple, a lanky guy with a shaved head.

By 10 p.m., the bar was full, but no one was dancing. Then the music stopped. The guitarist said something into the mike, there was an explosion of applause, and the bar owner turned to me. "Forró, forró!" she shouted over the drumbeat, which was suddenly lively and robust. Forró music is roughly the equivalent of country music: mournful lyrics about heartbreak and agrarian struggle set to a jaunty rhythm. Immediately, eight couples were on the sandy dance floor, doing a syncopated dance that reminded me vaguely of the polka, but much less chaste. With forró, your pelvis is pressed tightly against your partner's, and every few beats you throw in a sassy little shake of the hips. I watched their footwork intently, hoping to impress all the Brazilians when my turn came to dance. I was still mid-study when the guy with the shaved head pulled me out of my chair and onto the dance floor.

"Wait, wait, wait!" I protested. "I don't know how."
"You will learn," he said.

I tried to mimic what I'd seen the other couples do. I put my left hand on his shoulder and closed my right hand over his left. I waited for the downbeat to start: right-left-right, left-right-left. I even threw in a loose little shake of the hips.

My partner was struggling to suppress an amused smile. He stopped dancing. He unfurled my right hand, clenched tightly around his. He rested his cheek against mine. "Remember," he said. "You are in Brazil." He put his hand on the small of my back and pulled my pelvis toward his. My muscles tensed and I stopped breathing. "Relax," my dancing partner said into my ear. And as our feet moved silently in the cool, dark sand, two complete strangers dancing the sexiest folk dance on earth, I finally did.

Marau Peninsula

Lodging

Food

Activities

How to get there

First fly to Salvador, where you can take a boat to Morro de São Paulo ($20). In high season, December through mid-March, it's worth buying your ticket a day in advance. They don't take phone reservations, unfortunately: You just go down to the dock and fork over the money. To get to Boipeba from Morro, you take a Jeep and a fishing boat ($10). The tourist office on the main drag in Morro sells tickets. The trip to Maraú Peninsula involves a bus ($3) and a boat (the fast boat is $20, the slow one $2); buy tickets at the dock.

If this sounds vague, that's life in Brazil. To find out the boats' schedules, inquire at your hotel or the docks. There are generally two types of boats: Slow ones (catamarans) are cheaper but take an hour or two more than fast ones (speedboats). The price difference can be as much as $20.

Prices vary greatly from low season (late March/early April through November) to high season. Lodging prices include an abundant breakfast of eggs, fruit, cheese, pastries, cereal, coffee, and fresh juice.

In this part of Brazil, it's unusual to encounter Brazilians who speak English. A good Brazilian Portuguese phrase book/dictionary is imperative.

Finally, in addition to your passport you need a visa ($100). Contact your local Brazilian consulate for more info; travel.state.gov lists the consulate offices.