The rolling hillsides of green give way to mountainsides of jungle which plummet down to the ocean's edge. The white beaches, clear blue water and dramatic mountains along Brazilian Route 101 just may be the most amazing road I've been down, tied with the Chile/Argentina Route 215/231 for sentimental reasons. We arrive to warm, humid, Florida-like weather and are soon escorted to a hostel by a prowling representative. Settled in, we set out to walk up and down the historic, cobblestone streets. Only years later, after it's historic heyday as a port for the gold rush followed by the coffee boom did tourism become it's main source of income. While it sat all those years the blocks and blocks of continuous, white colonial buildings were perfectly preserved and maintained, for us now to enjoy and meander through. Once passed the streets that flood during high tide, a long, wooden pier harbors hundreds of brightly painted wooden boats waiting for you to hop aboard and put through the blue, blue bay.
English well enough and I went from drinking beer to drinking a powerful, sour cocktail consisting of cachuaca, a distilled fermented sugarcane juice that got me too drunk for my own good. After the first place closed the locals took us bar hopping to numerous places that are inconspicuous within the historic center. The rest of the night, we can't agree or remember what exactly happened. All I know for sure is I turned around just in time to see Nate get hit by a car only to get right back up again drunkenly unphased.