It took me a good two months to travel 2,000 kilometres along the coast of north-east Brazil. I make the return journey in just four days travelling over two weeks. After Jeri, I stop for another five days in Ilha do Guajirú. There are only a maximum of 40 kiters on the water and the wind is constantly chopping at 25 to 30 knots, day and night. Exactly my sweet spot.
In Cumbuco I meet the shy Viking Johan again and lots of good new people at the Rolling Stone Hostel. We leave early on Saturday. On the last evening, the whole hostel goes up to the dunes to watch the sunset. Everything is quiet and peaceful up here. Down in Cumbuco, two people were shot dead by the police again last week, but this time without their hands tied. (more…)
Jijoca de Jericoacoara
If anyone could remember the name, they would definitely fail because of the intonation. Jijoca de Jericoacoara is difficult to reach. Like a chastity belt, 23 kilometres of sand dunes surround one of Brazil’s ten top-selling tourist hotspots. A quarter of a century ago, Forbes Magazine named Jijoca de Jericoacoara one of the most beautiful beaches in the world.
Chastity belts already required sexual contortions in the Middle Ages. It’s no different today. Late in the evening, we cross the sand dunes on the back of a jeep under a blood-red moon rising behind the dunes. The few who make it here in a hire car bring Papparazzi’s good money. Every licence plate photo emailed to the rental company brings in three Brazilian dollars a month. (more…)
Migratory birds
When I was little, I had a big question: Where do migratory birds fly to? The answers were quickly found and included numerous countries. I devoured all the documentaries about these destinations. Sometimes you could even see birds. Even though I was getting closer to their destinations, I was still missing one thing: their route there. So I started dreaming of flying. Even before I left the earth once, I knew what it looked like from above. I took off with the birds.
Today I am one of them. I no longer dream of flying. I fly. Early in the morning, we take a beach buggy to the starting point a good kilometre west of Jericoacoara. With the wind blowing sideways at a mild 18 knots at the start, we set off with small kites on the longest downwinder I’ve ever flown. (more…)
In The Delta Of Parnaiba
The Parnaiba is one of the largest rivers in Brazil. In its estuary, it divides the mainland into countless green islands over an area of 50 square kilometres. We are in the realm of crocodiles, anacondas, herons and monkeys. We travel for just under an hour in a fast motorboat through the mangroves to the last sandbank in the Parnaiba Delta. Here, the river merges with the sea under the crashing waves.
The place is more than worthy of marking the turning point of my journey. Over the past two months, I have travelled almost 1,800 km along the Brazilian coast by donkey cart, car, bus, boat and on foot. My board has made tracks in the water at 30 spots. This is as close as I will get to the equator on this trip, and nowhere will the wind blow stronger and more consistently. (more…)
Barra Grande
It takes us five hours to drive from Ilha do Guajirú to Barra Gande – a whopping 350 kilometres and partly on gravel roads through the deepest pampas. Both Google and Open Street Map indicated this route, and locals showed us the same way. We only learnt a day later that we could easily have saved ourselves a third of the journey by taking the new road between Jijioca and Granja.
Barra Grande is almost completely booked out due to a bank holiday. Even modest private rooms without doors quickly cost an astronomical €40 a night by Brazilian standards. So we book ourselves into a really fine luxury resort for €10 more. The house is pure hippie art, each table a painting made from carefully crafted solid wood. After the journey, we are exhausted. (more…)
Ilha do Guajirú
Ilha do Guajirú is the first place in Brazil where we have to search for free accommodation. “Something” takes five minutes and finds us a pousada right on the beach for very little money. The rusty compressor rattles loudly and the meal takes ages. We immediately feel at home in the Pousada Portal da Barra. There are few places in the world where you can kite in strong winds on flat water just ten metres from your room.
The wind blows mightily in Ilha do Guajirú. During the three days of our stay, it only rarely and briefly blows at less than 20 knots. During the day it always blows at 20 to 30 knots. Ilha do Guajirú is a dream for flat water kiters. Situated behind a long sandbank, the low tide reduces a long river estuary to a barely mirror-smooth space. At high tide, up to 60 kiters ride the gentle wind waves of the 300 by 1000 metre slope. (more…)
On the way to the promised land
A house wall in the middle of nowhere in the Brazilian pampas proclaims: “God has abandoned us”. This irritates me in two ways. Firstly, Brazilians are the Salafists among Christians. Anyone who does not attend at least three of the five weekly masses offered in each village is officially considered a pagan. Secondly, we are on our way to the promised land, and that is not possible without a God.
Our God is the wind. It certainly brings a lot of wealth to Brazil. When a wind farm is built here, a factory, roads and sometimes a whole village are built at the same time. We drive through endless forests of wind turbines. Yes, the sunset would be more beautiful without them. But if I have the choice between forests of rotary blades and sushi glowing in the dark, my choice is clear. (more…)
Flexeiras, Guajirú & Mundau
The next stop is the almost completely empty town of Flexeiras. It’s just before peak season and there’s nothing going on anywhere. We check into a cheap pousada right on the beach and set off straight away for Guajiru, a few kilometres to the east. The wind is much stronger here than in the slightly shaded Flexeiras. On the water in front of one of the kite accommodations, which are hopelessly overpriced as always, a dozen riders with 7 to 9 square metres are raging.
As the beach is wide and the sea quite empty, we downgrade the risk and stick to 12 and 13m² – again. With gusts well over 22 knots, this is borderline, but the hangtime is tremendous. We hurl ourselves into the lee over numerous 1.5 metre high waves and mess up even more big airs towards the shore. The view from a height of 7 metres seems endless. (more…)
Lagoinha & Paracuru
After five weeks of long stays, the pace of travelling is now changing. We are travelling by car for three weeks from Fortaleza to the wild west of Brazil with Ian, a Dutchman from England. From now on, we’ll be riding different kite spots every day. Our first stop is Lagoinha, a good hour west of Cumbuco.
The sticker on the windscreen prohibits driving on unpaved roads. It says nothing about beaches. So the next morning we drive a few kilometres downwind to the lagoon with good people from home. It’s not much bigger than the Tabuba pond off Cumbuco, but is surrounded by palm trees and dunes like an oasis behind the beach. The wind is too good, nobody has time for photos or films. (more…)
Complaining About Meccas: Cumbuco
We kiters have many reasons to grumble about Mekkas. We are the number one economic engine in many windy, poor regions of the world. I have lived in many places where kiter friends knew very well how much life is worth – but at the same time complained loudly that the evil natives would charge more than the value of a life.
The sun is burning – and that brings sunburn. If you don’t like it, use SPF100, wrap yourself in a burka, go to Spitsbergen in winter! Or just shut the fuck up! It’s not our meccas who say: “Walk in a circle around a meteorite and yodel ‘Allah u akbar'” – it’s people like you and me who just do it. Some want to give too much and others gratefully accept it. (more…)
Canoa Quebrada
Just a day’s journey away from the paradise of Galinhos, Canoa Quebrada is in a completely different world. Fast Internet, large supermarkets, hotels and restaurants without end. The way to the bangers on the beach is marked by a long beach buggy traffic jam full of fat people. I immediately feel like Tarzan in New York and take refuge in the quiet cemetery in the sand dunes.
I stroll along empty Broadway in the midday heat. Bar after pub after disco after bar. The frequency whispers quietly of the calm before the weekend storm of thousands of locusts from the nearby metropolis of Fortalezza. Travelling means change. In Galinhos, the pharmacist carried my forgotten mobile phone after me. Here, without exception, everyone warns me about robbery, theft and forgotten earplugs. (more…)
Those were the days, my friends!
Our Germanic caipirinha thirst ensured that there wasn’t a single lime left to buy in the whole of Galinhos on the day I left. Fortunately, the limeicide is not the only trace I leave behind here. The Cacimbim lagoon lies a few kilometres above Galinhos and is bordered by a steep sand dune. I write my name in the sand a few times as I pass by.
My time in Galinhos was magical. My right elbow won a Grand Slam, my left knee ran a marathon and my bum was responsible for more bombs than Al Qaeda. The calluses on my hands tell of the power of the wind. Quietly, quietly, great things have happened. I have found my words again. It’s time to move on. (more…)
Brazilian Humour
The TV presenter jokes about three bus robber Bandidos who are currently being interviewed in Rio. They were successfully lynched by passengers. Two motionless bloody bodies are censored, one stammers with a rather blue face about failed heroic deeds. Brazilian humour is harsh. And Galinhos is safe, because there are only donkey carts and buggies here.
My Portuguese is making decent progress. I successfully inform the housekeeper that I have just eaten a cat. Impressed by my good taste, she immediately asked me if she should wash my grandad. After just a few minutes of sign language, I realise that she means my washing. I rarely understand the answers to my questions, but I am very impressed by the effect of my words. (more…)
High Noon Flat Water @ Galinhos
Around midday, we head one kilometre west on the Galinho side of the lagoon at low tide. The beach is now endlessly wide thanks to the low tide, and the lagoon and estuary offer several square kilometres of ironing board for the three of us kiters. The spot is heavenly. I don’t understand why there aren’t at least as many people here as in Cumbuco. Okay, it’s not “umpfumpf” here – unless you do it yourself. But life in a small village has other charms.
The wind is a bit lousy at first. The kite instructors run up on the shore a few times with 9m², I ride 13m² and am happy. Around one o’clock the wind picks up to a pleasant 18 knots, now we have hot water. Huge spray, high speed and bombastic crashes. The mangroves are the gangs, a few passing fishing boats are the balls and we are the cues. (more…)
You Should Surf, Not Surf!
The last 30 kilometres to Galinhos lead through endless wind farm forests over brilliant white sand dunes. Galinhos lies at the end of a long peninsula. The sandbank offers a unique variety of conditions for kitesurfing: on the land side is a large estuary, the perfect flat water spot. On the seaward side, the waves break evenly on the gently sloping beach.
The very first jump in the flat water after the waves inland knocks me out a good five metres. Landing in the waves, turn and out again. The waves are not big, but quite steep for a long time. Perfect ramps for endless gliding downwind. In 15 years of kitesurfing, I’ve never had a wave spot that offered such good conditions in both directions. (more…)
Around The Corner With The Beach Buggy
Bob booms cleanly out of the box. The sound system drowns out the loud roar of the VW engine in the back of our beach buggy. Water splashes through the floor in the footwell when we cross rivers. Handel’s water music plays. I’m on my way to the promised land with two long-distance travellers from Australia. The strong trade winds start pretty much at the north-eastern corner of Brazil. We drive around it for two days and 170 kilometres in the Captain Maol beach buggy.
Maol is 65 and has been riding beach buggies for 30 years. As an enduro biker, I’m sceptical at first. I still remember well how my grandma used to ride. But my worries are completely unfounded. Before the first sand dunes north of Natal, he reduces the tyre pressure. Then he really steps on the gas. (more…)
Goodbye Pipa!
On the last day in Pipa, the wind finally picks up. As has been the case all week: different from the forecast. In Pipa, hope is written differently. I go to Cacimbinhas Beach in the morning with an Argentinian radio presenter. A rough breeze sweeps over the edge of the steep cliffs. A small hut on a lonely beach, the sea and me. Everything is fine.
The waves are a little milder at Cacimbinhas than at Praia de Amor. But still 1.5 metres high and breaking hard. Wash, out and in, then after an hour some rain and calm. A little further south towards Praia de Madeiro, and the wind picks up again. Outside, the swell is high and steep, crashing into the next wave crest. At the end of the day, I limp home happy. (more…)
Kite Hike To The Barro De Cunhau
In the minivan to Cibauma, a gay German-Uruguayan couple on their honeymoon are having a great time mocking the baffling ways of liberal bureaucracy. According to their marriage licence, one of them is now a “senora” and therefore has to undergo a sex change, which they both find discriminatory and a complete turn-off.
At the end of a country lane, the bus driver kicks me off. I’m on my way to a legendary kite spot, the Barro de Cunhau. From Pipa, you would have to take a taxi for the 7 kilometres as the crow flies. After a short hike, I realise why. At high tide, you can only cross this river on a raft. Now, at low tide, I’m sinking waist-deep in water. (more…)
Kitesurfing Pipa: Praia do Amor
On the second day in Pipa, the wind finally doesn’t blow at night, as is so often the case here, but also during the day at a cosy 17 knots. The east-facing Praio de Amor is only 15 minutes away from the Sugar Cane Hostel. Standing on top of its cliffs, I finally spot the first other kiter. I hadn’t met anyone yet.
At high tide, Praio de Amor is just 7 metres wide in the less densely populated southern section. Even at low tide, it’s unlikely to be more than 12 metres wide. Directly behind it are steeply rising cliffs, some of which are overgrown with scrub. Thanks to the windward eddies caused by these cliffs, I make two really bad starts, which also happens to a few other kiters later on. (more…)
Pipe? Paradise!
After a long bus journey, the sun sets behind me and my Israeli fellow travellers over the Amazon. Ahead of us, red-hot clouds lie over Pipa. The small village is listed in every travel guide as one of Brazil’s highlights because of its legendary beaches. Travelling highlights have almost always been my biggest failures. This time everything is different.
The route winds its way through small villages and sugar cane fields past children playing football into a small village. There are no big hotels, just a few pousadas, apartments and hostels. The main street is a cobbled road full of life. The Sugar Cane Hostel has never before seen 96.4% positive reviews on Hostelbookers. (more…)
Travel Anxiety In Brazil
The white skyscrapers shine brightly in the late afternoon sky high above Recife. Between them lies the dark dirt on the ground: barbed-wire-secured semi-favelas on the edge of hope. I walk a few kilometres to the largest shopping centre. Robocops on Segways patrol inside. I am surprised to realise that you only laugh when you feel safe.
Brazil is the only country in the world where you have to put your credit card in the ATM twice to withdraw money once. This region-specific feature gives the Darth Vaders positioned in front more time to empty their pump guns completely into potential card thieves after the third incorrect entry. A welcome side effect is likely to be a significant improvement in the Brazilian genome in the direction of memory worldweisters. (more…)
Toreros? Faggots!
It wears pink stockings in ballerinas, has pearly white teeth under toupee-like hairstyles and dances chuggingly in circles? Clearly: gay as the night is black. The Spanish, however, consider their toreros to be male heroes. The three of us have our first corrida. We were expecting blood – and got a slaughter.
In front of the arena there is a car with “Carnices” written on it. Surely just a coincidence, because the old Spaniard next to me later says that the bulls are not eaten. We enter the arena on the sunny side. The sun soon sets, and that’s a good thing. We unpack our wine in the shade. It will soon be needed. (more…)
Mekka!
The first day in Mecca brings us what we expected: Enlightenment. As regligion is never easy, the winds here are also quite challenging. At Valdevaqueros Beach, the main kite beach a few kilometres north-west of Tarifa, we are almost the first. The Levante has been active there for a long time.
Long before the midday crowd arrives at 10am, my 9m² are easily enough for the first ride through Mecca. Not only does the Levante fluctuate a lot in the 15-minute average, it’s also quite bucky and slightly offshore. After just under 2 hours, I’m pretty much exhausted and go ashore. Heaven is different, but being allowed to kite in Mecca is still an honour. (more…)
The Hotel In The Centre Of Vienna
We’re spending a few days in Vienna again. Meeting friends and enjoying culture in all its forms. We are staying in the centre of Vienna, Hotel Capri, right between the Prater and the Danube Canal. The hotel offers parking spaces for guests in the inner courtyard and the Nestroyplatz underground station is right on the doorstep. The staff are excellent, very courteous but not intrusive.
Champagne and sweets are waiting in the large room, the balcony faces the quiet inner courtyard. The room in the hotel in the centre of Vienna is very well equipped: Flat screen TV, free Wi-Fi, desk, fridge, large wardrobe with safe, cosy sitting area, king-size bed and bright bathroom with walk in shower. We set off straight away. (more…)
Dragon Slayer / Banderole Carrier
A lot has changed since my last visit to Egypt. My favourite hotel now has handcuffs. At reception, our hands are decorated with a red plastic band. At just under 30°, this ribbon is unconcealable. White skin alone is not enough. Is this revenge for our grandfathers’ yellow stars?
“So what?” thinks one person. For me, it’s a disaster. I am now branded as a travelling goat – not organic. And from the Grand Resort. Where you once had a good chance of bargaining without a Depperlband, every taxi driver now has the ultimate knock-out argument: 5-star roosters are there to be plucked. No matter how cheap the hotel is. (more…)
The Author
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.