Angra dos Reis - A side trip to paradise

In a tremendous stroke of luck for me, Thiago apparently runs with a crowd of fellas who, with their assets combined, are worth several billion (for us plebs, that is in fact million with a b in front of it). As a wedding gift, one of his friends sent us to his villa for 2 days in the paradise known as "Angra dos Reis", which translates to Inlet of the Kings, definitely worthy of the name.

Not only did we get the villa all to ourselves, but a charming staff of 4, who waited on us hand and foot with such gracious kindness. One of the staff happened to be the captain of the private Magnum 39" yacht which we'd be cruising on for the next two days. So gleefully not kidding about any of this!

Here we are at regular cruise speed, not even "hitting the metal," as Thiago observed. My face is flapping in the wind like how you see sky divers on TV, or when you put your hands through those new Dyson AirBlade hand dryers that are popping up in food court bathrooms these days...Like any of you ladies, I am always appalled by how ripply and loose the skin on my hands appears and I get so tempted to stay and watch the next gal put her hands through to see if it's as bad as mine. I glance over at Thiago, which was an immediate mistake because the wind whipped through the side of my mouth and strings of saliva swung across my face at about 120km per hour. My eardrums are fluttering with the intensity of a hummingbird on crack. For such a sexy looking boat, it's hard to look hot while traveling at warp-speed.

Flapping cheeks and saliva alike, at first I revel with child-like delight...then comes pain. I clap my hands over my ears to mitigate the intense pressure generated by powerful thrust of the twin Mercury diesel engines. I am reminded of my dad, always stuffing wads of tissue in his ears as my mom led us on what he referred to as "recreational forced marches" along the beach in the winter -- an allusion  to WWII Russian Jewish history...a bit dramatic in retrospect.

We arrive in "Lagoa Verde" --Green Lagoon. It is unexpectedly sunny for the weather report we heard (a plus), but with a strong wind from the southeast. Lagoa Verde lives up to its name. The water appears impossibly green. We are the only boat there. Thiago and I swim like fish in the verdant sea. Palm trees sway. The day is beautiful. Beleza. 

"Are there whales here?"

"No," Thiago replies.


"How 'bout dolphins?" I inquire.

"Not really."

"Why not? There are so many fish. It would be really easy for dolphins to live here. Why aren't there dolphins?"

"I don't know. Ask them."

Pragmatic to the core, Thiago is unwilling to oblige my unsophisticated banter when he is in relaxation mode.

The anchor finally catches, prompting our captain to toss us a life-preserver tethered to the boat so we don't blow too far away from the boat due to all the wind. Despite enjoying the breathtaking serenity of this tropical heaven, the tops of the rippling waves blow off onto our faces, sending torrents of salt water into our mouths. Our captain keeps delivering ice cold beers for us to drink as we float in the green chop. I turn my heard to say something to Thiago. The wind once again blows strings of saliva out of my mouth like a rabid Komodo dragon on a Discovery Channel special. Thiago laughs, but the same thing happens to him. Without talking, we agree not to talk...just drink.

We move along to "Dentist Beach", a white sand beach of unparalleled description. No surprise, the land was originally owned by a dentist. By now, high clouds have rolled in, as the weather forecast had earlier suggested. It is still pure splendor.

Thiago, knowing the extent of my insane body image issues, tells me that we are really lucky to to be here on Monday with overcast skies (though still completely brilliant for this Vancouverite), because, "'Dentist Beach' is normally an .... ......"

"A what?" I couldn't hear him.

"An _____ _________" he says back.

I still couldn't make it out, then "Oh...hahah...an ASS PARADE!"

Apparently Angra dos Reis first attracts money, and thusly attracts girls. Confident, ass-wielding girls.

My ass happens to be sufficiently swathed in what would seem like trousers by Brazilian standards, but is unquestionably considered a bikini by Canadian sensibilities, a rather nice one at that...kudos to my life-saving friend Laura. More pictures to come (from the shoulders up...gotta save something for the imagination :-)

We return to the villa, tuck in a superb dinner at the dining table that was beautifully prepared for us in anticipation of our arrival, and retreat to the lounge to drink vodkas and mango juice on the giant white chaise sofas. Discussing politics and history, it is a day that can't be beat...until the 1 liter duty free bottle beats us, and we head to bed by 8:30, with a promise to show it who's boss the following night when we haven't had so much sun.

I wake up to use the bathroom around 10pm, and I realize that some unknown nocturnal creature has perched itself in the cushy foliage outside the bathroom window. How do I know it's there? Whatever it is, it's shrieking the most desperate, god-forsaken call for a mate. How on earth could anything be attracted to that awful sound?

Then, suddenly, I realized why there are no dolphins in Angra do Reis...the Ass Parade. Dolphins probably take one look at the Ass Parade and think, "What the hell? How are they trying to get mates going around like that? Okay...forget the fishes, moving on!"