aka Jeri

22-23 Sept. Tucked remotely along the Northern coast, is Jericoacoara National Park. Better known as “Jeri”, a hidden desert oasis by the sea. Getting there is half the adventure, a mix of wild dunes, wide beaches, and soft sandy tracks made for a different type of driving.

Because Bruce is so tall, we couldn’t access via the road, as low growing trees would block our path. So we first drove to another popular kiting town of Prea, then, at low tide we drove along the beach. The truck rumbled along the sand until the inevitable happened: the path disappeared into deep, soft ridges. Not wanting to get stuck in the mid-day heat and blasting sand and we quickly reversed out way back, carefully, for over half a km without stopping. Rerouting, we eventually clawed our way back onto firmer ground.

Vehicles aren’t allowed inside the town of Jeri, the town parking sits just outside the main entrance. We had to register the truck, pay for its stay, and then—surprise—pay a fee for each person to enter the town itself.

Daytime in Jeri the energy is pretty mellow. Half of the stores are closed, beach front restaurant patios are half busy with tourists. Wall-to-wall with bars, restaurants, ice cream stores, surf shops, clothing boutiques, and gift stalls, all spilling out in colourfully.

Around sunset the mobile cart bars open up, selling every cocktail and dreamy umbrella drink. We grabbed ourselves a couple of caipirinha’s, traditional Brazilian drink made with cachaca (rum made from distilled sugarcane alcohol), lime and sugar. While the kids enjoyed virgin Pina-coladas, kicked back and did a little ‘people watching’.

Speaker towers start to blast out tropical beats as people ordered cocktails and head to the dunes to watch the sunset. Somewhere around midnight is when the town gathers its groove. Rooftop terrace bars glow with neon, and nightclubs keep their doors open until dawn.

We wandered the sandy lanes, poking into shops. Dinner at a restaurant with a very small, shoulder width wide, vertical spiral staircase up to the terrace with a view over the street below. Before heading home we indulged in little ice cream shop we’d eyed up earlier.

Back home to Bruce, we spent the night in the carpark. Rolling out the next morning by 9am.

a meeting by chance

After leaving Jeri, we retraced our tracks along the beach and through the small town of Preá — another kiting hotspot we would have loved to spend time in. But this week’s forecast called for strong winds in an already windier-than-usual season — 35 to 40 knots — not exactly ideal conditions for us. Preá is famous for having the strongest wind along the entire coast, which makes it a magnet for serious kiters.

Like Jeri, Preá’s sandy streets are lined with charming little boutiques and cafés, with strings of colorful lights zigzagging overhead. The town hums with European visitors — French, German, Polish — all drawn here for the consistent wind and endless downwind runs. It’s only an eight-hour flight from Lisbon or Paris, while our Canadian friends face a 30-hour, multi-stop journey to get here. Still, that’s lightning-fast compared to our 11-month overland route, haha.

The local supermarket surprised us — large, modern, and packed with all kinds of great foods. I even stumbled upon salt and vinegar chips! The first, and probably only, place in all of South America to import them. They tasted pretty good, though oddly sweet — but then again, everything processed down here seems loaded with extra sugar and salt.

While shopping, Jaxon suddenly insists he recognizes someone. He’s sure of it — but too shy to go over. The guy’s sitting in the café chatting with friends, and it’s clearly eating away at Jaxon. Eventually, I walk over and ask. Sure enough, Jaxon’s right — it’s one of the instructors from Calima Lake in Colombia! He recognized Jaxon immediately, jumped up, and gave him a big hug. I can’t recall his name, but like many kite instructors, he migrates with the seasons, following the wind from one spot to the next.

llha do guajiru

23-25 Sept. Continuing along, we make our way to a place whispered about in every kiteboarder’s circle as one of the country’s best-kept secrets for flat water kiting. From above, it looks like a slender sandbar hugging the mainland, sheltering a vast, turquoise lagoon that fills and empties with the tide.

Every day with the raising tide, the steady trade winds sweep across the lagoon, transforming the sandy shallows into a playground for colourful kites. Dozens of riders beginners taking their first rides in waist-deep water, freestylers throwing tricks near the sandbank, and long-time nomads carving amongst them all.

We spent 2 easy nights here. It was a great place for Jaxon to practice and Charley who is working on her jumps. I continued to fight to stay upwind, getting my afternoon workout while Tim ripped all over the lagoon on his twin tip. Again we don’t have many photos, too busy out on the water!

Parked just steps from the lagoon, beneath the palms. We recognized another camper from a campground last week. A kiting village on the edge of the sandbar that runs on wind and tide. There’s no nightlife to speak of, just a few pousadas, kite schools, and small restaurants serving grilled fish and açaí bowls — but that’s exactly the charm.

The other camper is a lovely retired couple travelling the coast for the summer, meeting up here with friends. Insisting we join them for a drink we spent a nice evening chatting in Spanish-English-Portuguese, pantomiming and a little help from google translate when stuck. I love this last photo of Carlos wearing his business jacket & tie with shorts. This is how he is able to practice law while on the road.

Moitas

Our next stop was meant to be another popular kite spot just outside Moitas, but construction and new waterfront development had blocked access to the beach. With the wind howling stronger than ever, we decided to take a break and spend a couple of nights at a what turned out to be a very nice property of a very talkative Swiss expat who was eager to share his life story.

He had moved here over 30 years ago, buying and developing this large piece of land into a campground with rental cabins. These days, however, he no longer accepts local campers, claiming they tend to leave a mess and damage the property. At the gate, I managed to haggle the price down from 35 reals per person to 50 reals total for the night — a great deal.

We had the place entirely to ourselves and enjoyed the pool in peace. Tim spent the whole day washing the salt off the truck, the kids got back into their schoolwork, and I worked alongside them while cleaning the interior and getting many loads of laundry done. Tiny glass frogs had taken up residence in the bathroom and kitchen — delicate little creatures that seemed right at home there.

Unfortunately the day slipped by way too fast. With a squeaky clean & reorganized truck we set off to find our next kite spot.