241 Beach Search Brazil (11)

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ClubVentos BEACH SEARCH
Pix by Julian Schlosser and Gary Crossley
Windsurfing beaches don’t come much better than Jericoacoara. But Brazil’s northeast coast is composed of
a seemingly endless series of gently shelving, golden-hued, palm-fringed flats and bays – all licked by Atlantic
waves and tousled by trades. And most untouched by human hand. Could there really be another hidden
treasure to unearth in this vast, magical land, and if so, would a mission to find it prove impossible? Infused by
the spirit of adventure and far too many films involving a vertically challenged IMF agent, Gary Crossley dons
black jumpsuit, slips on his Sama Sly shades, and joins the search for Brazil’s next big thing...
RIDERS
Robby Swift – K-89
Kauli Seadi – BRA-253
Kevin Pritchard – US-3
Marcilio Browne – BRA-105
Baptiste Gossein – F-61
Andre Paskowski – G-2
Normen Guenzlein – G-186
Emma Johansson – S-37
Ian Mouro – BRA-85
Anna Jönsson – S-78
Ivana Farias – BRA-770
Vicky Sanchez – E360
Levi Lenz – BRA 91
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ClubVentos BEACH SEARCH
he whisper-quiet black helicopter drew level just as I was about to
smash my last Laser Sonic ice screw into the frozen flank of K2’s
north face. I let out a sigh of resignation. No matter where in the world
you go, no matter how remote, they’ll find you. They always do. I knew what
was coming next... Yes – it was the theme music from Mission Impossible...
Okay, okay – so I made that bit up. I wasn’t on K2 and there was no blackops stealth-copter, but the email I intercepted in the BOARDS editorial suite
was inviting me on a top-secret mission, and it did play the Mission Impossible
theme. And, while I’m in fess-up mood, it was in fact addressed to our editor,
not me, but once I’d broken the 128-bit encryption the full implications hit me.
The message was from Fabio Nobre, founder of ClubVentos Jericoacoara,
T
and the mission, should Bill choose to accept it,
was to reconnoitre 350km of Brazilian coastline
with some of the world’s best sailors to discover a
new windsurfing paradise. But despite the
mandatory warning that the message would selfdestruct in five seconds, the computer didn’t
explode. It had to be a wind-up.
But it wasn’t...
national champions, and local pros with intimate
knowledge of the coastline from Fortaleza to
Jericoacoara, known for the constant trades that
blow from June to February. We’d travel in dune
buggies, using a support convoy comprising 4WD
trucks, jet-skis and helicopters to cover every
metre of coast, look at every bay, and be ready to
hit the water at every point break.
I needed no further prompting. After tidying
up a few ‘loose ends’, I was on my way...
The Mission
Make no mistake – this wasn’t going to be easy.
Finding something equal or even close to
Jericoacoara’s charms would be a tough call.
Fabio’s concept is to build another oasis for sailors
that offers services way beyond the normal
windsurfing centre fare. Massive investment
would be required, so making a wrong choice for
ClubVentos II was not an option. Location,
location, location... But how to find it?
A special mission started to take shape inside
Fabio’s hyperactive mind. The brief was simple:
“Put together the best resources and the best
people possible, and let’s find this beach!
Mission codename: ClubVentos Beach Search”.
The list of assigned agents was stellar: 13 PWA
riders, including three world champions, several
Kill Bill III*
As the TAP Airbus 330 left Lisbon behind and
banked, Brazil-bound, over the Atlantic, I settled
into my sumptuous business-class window seat
and gazed at the shimmering sea below. With
quiet satisfaction I watched a colossal container
ship diminish in size to a mere dot, and idly
wondered if it was the same one my editor was on.
Organising sufficient space in one of the containers
– no questions asked – had not been a problem,
although acquiring the horse tranquiliser had
proven a little more difficult... I quashed a small
pang of residual guilt, recalling the reassurances of
the recently released race-fixing vet that, by the
time Bill reached New Zealand the effects would
have largely subsided. And besides, his arrival
would coincide with the RS:X Worlds in Auckland – an event
I knew he was keen to report on.
[*Those unfamiliar with Kill Bill I & II should check out
the lunatic Crossley’s earlier Brazil features in our April
2003 and 2006 issues.]
Day 1
I’m picked up at the airport by a Brazilian version of Oddjob,
and after checking in at Fortaleza’s 5-star Marina Park Hotel
I go up to my room to find it already occupied by the almost
implausibly laid-back Kevin Pritchard, who mumbles
something unintelligible in American and goes back to sleep.
Going back downstairs I spot Marcilio ‘Brawzinho’ Browne,
Baptiste Gossein, ‘Stormin’ Normen Guenzlein, and a
limping Robby Swift (that damn foot again). It seems that
every other person I bump into is a pro windsurfer – and at
least four of them are stunningly pretty, too. Later, in the
mission briefing room I find myself in what could be the
opening ceremony of a World Tour event. Apart from 13
“
FABIO’S FIRST BEACH SEARCH
WAS CONDUCTED ON A
BICYCLE. THIS WAS OF A WHOLE
DIFFERENT MAGNITUDE...
PWA pros, next to me are magazine editors from five other
countries, photographers, videographers, local dignitaries
and around 20 members of the mission support team. The
sheer scale and logistics of the operation suddenly hits me...
Looking around the room, I idly wonder what’s
motivated these pros to travel thousands of miles to an
event with no prize money or ranking points. But as the
”
briefing goes into ever-finer detail about what lays ahead,
I realise it’s nothing more complicated than the thirst for
adventure and discovery that made them windsurfers in
the first place. After all, it was this indomitable spirit that
led to Fabio ‘discovering’ Jericoacoara just over 10 years
ago. But that first beach search was conducted on a
bicycle – this was of a whole different magnitude.
BEACHES VISITED
Fortaleza, Pacheco, Tabuba, Cumbuco, Paracambuca, Cauipe, Pecem, Taiba, Periquara,
Paracuru, Lagoinha, Guajiru, Frecheiras, Mundaú, Baleia, Caetanos, Icaraizinho, Patos,
Almofala, Timbauba, Aranau, Taboleiro, Castelhanos, Preá, Riacho Doce, Jericoacoara.
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ClubVentos BEACH SEARCH
him. “Follow me, follow me!” he roars, and, fat rears
roostering wet sand into his faithful followers’ faces, he
floors his buggy straight at the rocks. “We’re going to die”,
I think to myself, clearing Gaúcho’s wheel grit from my still
open mouth. But a millisecond before we’re smashed into
oblivion he turns slightly to the left, hits a hidden trail
parallel to the beach and steams up a 30m-high slope just
behind the rocks. The way down is almost vertical, but it
allows us to continue our journey. This wasn’t the first time
I found myself impressed by the superb skill of our pro
buggy drivers, and it wouldn’t be the last.
Before we get to the next town the beach boulevard has
another surprise for us. It’s a deep river – far too deep for
the buggies. Baratão, another top wheelman, drives inland
a bit and, like so many before him, finds salvation behind
a bush. It looks like a piece of wood to me, but I’m reliably
informed by Fabio that it is in fact a ferry. “It’s a ferry”, he
“
Sure, Ceará’s coastline may be one long
beach, but the topography is such that in places
we’d encounter deep rivers, soft sand, mud,
mangrove swamps, almost certainly killer
caimans, and – most definitely – killer
caipirinhas. But these bridges would be crossed
as we came to them... Except there were no
bridges. Our resources would be tested to the
full. This would be ‘no rules’ adventuring, I
mused, recalling the immortal line from Fight
Club. Well, perhaps one rule: we stick to the
beach, and if we see good conditions, we stop,
we rig, and we sail. (OK, that’s five rules.)
Day 2
We’re roused from 5-star slumber by a snake of
bright yellow buggies being revved up outside the
hotel; the raucous roar of open VW lumps stirs
the blood, beckoning us towards adventure, an
uncertain fate, and in my case, a handful of
paracetamol. Soon we’ve cleared the chaos of
the city, crossed the Ceará river and morphed
from one dimension to another as we swap
asphalt for soft sand and feel the salt-spray on
our faces; reality to surreality. I pinch myself. I
must be dreaming. It only seems a few hours ago
that I was bundling a bound and gagged editor
into the black bowels of a container ship, and
now I’m bowling along this boundless beach. To
my left is a tropical desert landscape of dunes
and palms; to my right a crazy convoy of
motorised yellowness and an endless blue-green
ocean. And sitting beside me – Kauli Seadi... The
adventure had most definitely begun...
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It was still too early in the day for wind, so we
slide inland a bit to have some fun with our new
toys. Behind the beaches of Pacheco, Tabuba
and Cumbuco are some of the biggest,
baddest-arsed dunes in Ceará State – it’s a
desert rollercoaster and a true Disneyland for
dune buggies. And man, can these Brazilian
buggy drivers boogie, or what? Woo-hoo!
Adrenaline overdose.
We get back to the mission at hand just after
Cumbuco and bustle along the beaches of
Cauípe and Pecem. Thus far it’s been mainly
one long straight beach and an ocean of chop,
but after we pass Pecem pier Brawzinho pulls
up to check for waves at the tip of the bay. And
waves there are, albeit a bit soft and crumbly.
With the seasoned eye of a World Windsurfing
Champion he surveys the scene and delivers his
verdict: “It’s bollocks. Let’s go”.
At this point we’d already scanned 30km of
coastline, but nobody was wet yet, so we head
to Taiba, a small town set over a cliff, where Levi
claims he’s a bit of a local hotshot (his parents
have a beach house there). Taiba’s small bay lies
over a platform of rocks famed for forming
waves, but after a lazy lunch the wind’s still on
the light side, so we rig up some big guns for an
18km downwinder to Paracuru, accompanied
by the jetski-cam. We find a few waves on the
way, but the area also generates some serious
beachdump in places, and we fail spectacularly
to stifle our laughter when our host Fabio snaps
a mast while presenting a masterclass on the
dark art of successful shorebreak negotiation.
IT’S LIKE A LOST WORLD. NO TECHNOLOGY, NO
INTERNET, E-MAIL, MOBILE PHONES OR CREDIT
CARDS. JUST LIFE, PURE AND SIMPLE...
The downwinder takes a little longer than planned, and
the posse hits Paracuru just before sundown. With a big
river to be crossed just after the town and no other
civilisation for miles beyond, we saddle up for the day. No
one’s keen to be wandering in the wilderness after dark,
and besides, the small hotel we find has a poolside bar.
No contest. I grab a caipirinha and slip into the pool to
chill, followed swiftly by Swifty and the rest of the sailors,
journos and crew. Christ there’s a lot of them. More
caipirinhas are ordered, and as the pool begins to assume
pilchard can proportions there’s talk of a full-moon party
that’s kicking off later. It’s going to be another long night...
Later, at something stupid AM, I find another PWA
prodigy occupying my room. The memory of which one
(room and star) is a blur, but it was all in the interests of
meaningful media relations. It suited me – and I couldn’t
wait until it was the girls’ turn – but it seemed like a
lopsided deal. I got to share a room with a different pro
windsurfer each night, and they got to spend a
sleepless night with a pro snorer and grinder of teeth.
Day 3
Those who weren’t recovering from the local nightlife or in
close proximity to my room took advantage of some
pleasant early morning surf, after which I was stretchered,
still bleary-eyed, back into a bouncy buggy. Let no one tell
you this beach-searching lark is an easy blag.
We find the next point break at Lagoinha, and settle
down to a luscious lobster and liquid lunch at a local
eatery until the wind picks up. All apart from Kauli and
Brawzinho, who like the look of the waves and trade limelaced cachaça and seafood for surfboards and saltwater
sinus rinses. But as lunch segues into the stuff of legend
and our table starts creaking under its crustacean shell
mountain, it becomes clear that the wind’s sodded off for
a siesta. With the tide advancing faster than we can eat,
Fabio makes the call to move on before it’s too late.
”
says. There’s a piece of string attached to the opposite
bank, and with plenty of fit pro sailors to pull it back and
forth it works amazingly well. Within a couple of hours all
13 vehicles are across and we’re on our way, passing the
villages of Guajiru and Flexeiras, and arriving at Mundaú
around dusk. There’s another deep river to cross not far
away, so we stop for the night. Although we hadn’t yet
found any really special spots or conditions, everyone was
fired up from the day’s events and in great form.
So, another hotel, another roommate to torture, and
another pool. But at this hotel, the pool was a little different...
Night Of A Thousand Caipirinhas
They say that time and tide wait for no man, but Kauli and
Brawzinho, being Brazilian, have no concept of time. They
do, however, have a heightened sense of fun, and are still
out there having it. We eventually entice them out of the
water and get going, but 2km up the beach we find
ourselves trapped by the tide. Stuck between the rocks
and a soft wet place, it looks like there’s no option – we
have to turn back. Then a terrible noise rises above the
sound of the buggy engines... It’s the voice of João
Gaúcho, driver of buggy No. 1. With over 15 years’ offroad experience on this coastline he wasn’t going to let a
few igneous extrusions and an advancing Atlantic trouble
Recipe: take 13 pro windsurfers, a junket of journos and
one Fabio Nobre, all high from a day’s adventure, and
marinate in a pool with water-level bar. Add a Brazilian
14th Dan Caipirinha Master with an extra large shaker,
and let the water-wrestling mayhem begin.
Robby Swift: “Eight caipirinhas!
Kevin Pritchard: “And, err... Eight more!”
Fabio Nobre: “Make that 20!”
OK, so perhaps a thousand is exaggerating a little, but
in the space of 25 minutes I saw over 60 caipirinhas
consumed, and over the next couple of hours the pace, if
anything, increased, so the total is anyone’s guess – but BOARDS
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ClubVentos BEACH SEARCH
FREE DVD!
The ClubVentos Beach Search movie, produced in conjunction with Peter
Svensson of Committed fame, will be available to BOARDS readers as a
free download from 19 May onwards at: www.clubventosbeachsearch.com
It’s a DVD file, so you can simply burn it straight to disc, and, of course, it
will have all the bells and whistles – full menus, bonus material, disc label,
etc. If you can’t be arsed to type the URL in manually (and who can), no
sweat - we’ll be posting a direct link on the BOARDS website on the 19th.
Be sure to check it out…
the hotel ran out of limes. In a country that bases
its economy on limes, that takes some doing.
Needless to say, the after-dinner debriefing and
satellite image planning for the next day were
replaced with ribald raucousness and much fun,
made all the more entertaining by the multi-lingual,
glass-eating Robby Swift, who, as he cheerfully
chowed down on his caipirinha glass assured
everyone that he’d been taught the art by his Dad,
and it was perfectly safe. In generous mood,
Robby offered me a piece to try. I politely declined,
voicing concerns not so much about the glass
going in, but coming out the next morning...
Day 4
Hungover and hungry, we gather at the breakfast
bar at 8am as scheduled, but to our surprise we’re
bundled straight into the buggies. After a short
distance we discover why. Our path is blocked by
the Mundaú river, which would take “a while”* to
cross with the traditional piece of wood and some
string, so a tour boat has been hired to take us into
the Mundaú’s magnificent mangroves while our
vehicles are ferried across. What’s more, breakfast
has been set on board. It doesn’t get much better
than this. As we gorge on our floating feast, we
explore a different facet of the local nature, which
in the space of a few hundred intertidal metres
changes dramatically as dunes and palms give
way to a much greener, life-rich environment.
Outlandish birds abound and vividly coloured killer
crabs climb branches overhanging the boat, while
(I convince myself) colossal caimans cruise the
depths below. Fishermen smile at us as they go
about their daily business, and in a clearing
between the dense mangals David Attenborough
is doing a piece to camera. It’s like a lost world. No
technology, no internet, e-mail, mobile phones or
credit cards. Just life, pure and simple...
But beaches don’t find themselves. We’re
eventually reunited with our buggies, and head
on towards undiscovered country. Fabio
explains that the second half of the trip will be
virtually uninhabited, and the small pockets of
people we’d encounter would be among the
poorest in the region.
Ceará is not a wealthy state, and our off-road
journey took us into areas where life is lived at a
very basic level. But where we equate such
existence with poverty and abject deprivation,
here, people living a simple life on fertile land in
year-round warmth all seem happy and healthy.
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You’ll rarely come across a Brazilian that isn’t
smiling – in the rural areas at least. The cities...
well, they are a different story.
A few hours later we chance upon the small village
of Caetanos, where there’s a traditional fishing
boat race and mandatory party in full swing. The
wind’s now blowing steadily and everyone’s
slavering for a sail, but Brawzinho reckons there’s
better to be had further on. A short distance later
we have to negotiate an awkward landmark. It’s a
beachfront cemetery, just above the high tide
mark. There are no walls, so the buggies have to
dodge and weave between wooden crosses
marking the position of bodies buried in the sand.
Everyone falls quiet...
Paradise Found?
Thoughts of mortality melt away as the coastline
makes a 90° turn to the left, marking the start of
a long, curved bay that causes our now finely
honed beach-search hackles to stand up as if
plugged into the mains. The backdrop suddenly
switches from desert to a dense, lush-green wall
of palms; in the bay some rocks break the swell,
providing safe harbour to the jangada fishing
boats anchored close to shore. We spot a few
pastel-painted houses peering through the
palms, and a bull-powered cart crammed with
coconuts lopes languidly towards us. We ask
the driver where we are. “Brazil”, he quips,
deadpan. His wizened co-driver is more
forthcoming. “Icaraizinho”, he says, flashing us a
crenellated smile of tobacco tar and gold. I play
the word over my tongue. “Ee-ka-ra-zenio”...
Like Jericoacoara and so many Brazilian place
names, it feels satisfying to say and even more
so to hear. Almost musical... But it looks even
better than it sounds, and with a swiftness that
only true wind addicts can muster we unload
the trucks, rig up and hit the water. Some stay
in the flats behind the reef to bust out freestyle
moves, some play in the chop and small waves
beyond, while others check out the conditions
further upwind. They find other reefs in the
deeper water, where more defined waves are
being generated. The water is low, but the
afternoon should definitely see conditions
change as the incoming tide surges over some
of the still exposed reef platforms.
Apart from the frontage of Icaraizinho village
further down the bay, the beach seems deserted,
but while we fool around Fabio and the team find
* I’m again reminded that the Brazilian idea of time is more flexible than a
government manifesto. ‘A while’ can mean anything from a few hours to a few days.
a small guesthouse nestling behind the palms. There aren’t
many rooms, so some will have to sleep under the stars in
hammocks while the rest buddy up and make the best of
it, but what the hell. At least my snoring and grinding skills
will find a wider audience, and the gaff is bang in front of the
launch site. There’s even a small swimming pool and a
kitchen to prepare some scran (and, of course, caipirinhas),
so apart from my roommates no one’s complaining.
As we lunge into lunch we swap first impressions.
Everyone seems excited about the place and conditions,
both inside the sheltered bay and in the waves close to
and above the reefs. There are certainly no arguments
when it’s suggested we stay another day. But for now the
tide is rising, so we forgo digestion in favour of fun and
check out the waves at the reef formations in front of the
launch site and further east outside the bay. We all sail
until sunset, revelling in the joy of exploring a new
wonderland, each of us finding no shortage of stories to
bring to the after-sailing round table (a function served
admirably by the swimming pool).
Day 5
Everyone’s now more tuned into the spot, so there’s a lot
more freestyle and wave action happening. Just out front I
spot Brawzinho, Andre, Ian, Normen, Emma, Anna, Vicki
and Levi throwing moves in the flats like things possessed,
and wade out chest-deep to grab some shots. It’s not until
Brawzinho lands an undescribable just 3mm from my head
that I remember I haven’t got a water housing, but having
all this incredible talent dancing around me in such idyllic
surroundings isn’t going to happen again any time soon –
if ever – so I keep snapping, thanking the gods of modern
technology for the existence of 8Gb memory cards.
As the tide rises it all starts kicking off at the easternmost wave spot, and at one point the bay is a boiling
cauldron of world-class action as conditions peak. I didn’t
know where to point my lens next. Simultaneously,
Paskowski nails a crucifix and Pritchard pulls a one-handed
backie as Brawzinho doubles at a totally sick angle across
him, while in the background Swifty, Gossein and Mouro
are going ballistic. A fraction of a second later the next wave
of talent comes pulsing through. Then the next... Insane...
Not surprisingly, none of this has gone unnoticed by the
locals, and some have gathered to watch and sate their
curiosity. In a remote coastal village such as Icaraizinho, the
arrival of such a big group together with 13 vehicles and a
helicopter is a major event, so as we’re already the main topic
of local gossip we mosey into town to check it out and
introduce ourselves. There’s a relaxed, fishing village vibe to the
place, due in no small part to it being a relaxed fishing village.
The pace of life is so slow as to be almost undetectable, and
the locals are super friendly. There’s a group of kids up ahead,
and as soon as they see our cameras they’re all around us,
smiling and laughing and wanting their pictures taken.
Asking around, I find out that Icaraizinho was established by
coconut farmers “many decades ago”, who lived by trading
coconut and fish with countryside towns and transporting it
vast distances by caravans of donkeys. This explains the
area’s high density of tall palm trees, whose vivid green canopy
provides abundant, welcome shade and an almost musical
background whisper as countless thousands of fine, featherlike fronds are caressed by the ceaseless trades.
I’m beginning to fall in love with this place...
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ClubVentos BEACH SEARCH
Later, back at the guesthouse the crew dig a big
hole in the sand and prepare a rustic barbecue
of fish and steak on the beach, spiced by lots of
cold beer and, naturalmente, a copious quantity
of caipirinhas. A tough decision has to be made
as we’re due to leave the next morning, but
most want to stay an extra day. Thankfully the
majority prevails, and with no more worries
about packing up we party on into the small
hours underneath a breathtakingly clear starlit
sky, keeping the fire as stoked as the never
ending stories; some very funny, others
impressive. But the most impressive thing for
me is that, on this beautiful Brazilian beach on
this beautiful night, we are the only ones here.
How can it be that this place has gone
undiscovered for so long?
Day 6
Last day at Icaraizinho, and as everyone has got
the spot pretty much dialled the team gets
serious on photo and video production.
Commander
Veras
gets
the
three
photographers and two cameramen up in the
chopper while sailors blast beneath them at full
power, pulling trick after trick. The day finishes
with a huge slide show and a briefing about the
route for the next day, as the satellite images
show that we face some major mud and
mangroves soon after our departure.
Day 7
FACTSHEET
Getting there
Nightlife
TAP Air Portugal has regular flights from
Gatwick to Fortaleza via Lisbon. Total flight
time is around nine hours (two to Lisbon and
seven to Fortaleza).
Apart from a few local bars and restaurants, not
much yet. Icaraizinho is still very much a quiet
fishing village. Will it become as lively as Jeri?
Hmm, difficult to say, but I doubt it. As the number
of people visiting gradually grows, more places will
open to cater to them, but as Icaraizinho is likely to
appeal to slightly older or more family-orientated
windsurfers the vibe should be more chilled.
Booking
To have all your flight, transfer, accommodation
and kit needs catered for Jeri, Icaraizinho, and
Jeri+buggy+mud+Icaraizinho combo vacations,
call Sportif on 01273 844919 (www.sportifuk.com / [email protected]).
Conditions
The most consistent conditions are from July
until the end of December, when, as in Jeri,
you’ll get wind pretty much every day.
Icaraizinho has similar starboard tack
conditions to Jeri, but not quite as strong
(20-30 knots, occasionally more). But with
everything from friendly flat water for general
fun or freestyle frolics and a selection of
sections kicking up varying degrees of
freeride and wave-based action, it really
does offer something for everyone. You
could definitely learn here, especially in the
lighter morning airs and/or at low tide. It’s
safe, too. The bay is curvier than Jeri’s, so if
something breaks the worst scenario is a
long walk back to base.
On the Web
www.clubventos.com / www.sportif-uk.com
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Currency
Brazilian Reals. Easiest way to get them is via
an ATM or bureau de change at Fortaleza
airport or in the city, but most shops /
restaurants now accept credit cards.
Weather
Equatorial. Air temperature: 28-35°C. Water
temperature: 27°C.
After three days windsurfing and taking life easy in idyllic
Icaraizinho we get back on the trail. There’s still 100kms
of coast to scan before Jericoacoara, but the locals tell
us to forget it and get onto asphalt roads as soon as
possible. “Relax – we’re hardened adventurers”, we
reply, and make a beeline along the beach to Aracatiaçú
river and the manifold mangroves beyond.
The river was bigger than we’d expected. MUCH
bigger. And the only way across was via the traditional
planks of wood – only this time there was no string to pull
and the current was strong. Our plank pilots pluckily try to
punt us across with poles, but there’s too much weight
and we end up way downstream from the landing point.
Nothing for it but to jump into the muddy river (about chest
deep) and push. I view the murky depths with suspicion.
Caimans are not my concern for a change; this looks like
piranha territory. To be on the safe side we push Swifty in,
but thankfully my fears are (as usual) unfounded; the only
creatures trying to take chunks out of us are small (but still
deadly) crabs, and 90 minutes later we’re all across. The
GPS shows we’ve covered just 10km over the last two
hours. Fabio quickly does the math: “That’s 5km an hour”,
he announces. Impressive pace around these parts.
It’s not over yet though, as only 100m into the slimy sludgy
swamp our lead vehicle hits an apparently shallow puddle.
And sinks. Half submerged and now more yellow submarine
than buggy, the distributor gets swamped and that’s that.
But Brazilian buggy drivers are a resourceful, never say die
breed. Before you can blink they’ve hauled it out, dried the
distributor, drained the exhaust, and only got the bloody thing
going again. A tribute to their skills and the genius of the VW
motor – a triumph of simplicity over high-tech.
After a lot more slippin’ and a slidin’ we clear the
mangrove, hit a sand trail set between cashew and
coconut farms, and at Torrões we cross one more
(smaller) river before bursting back onto the beach. It’s
taken the whole morning to cover 18 kilometres...
Just past Almofala the search for blow your brains beaches
begins in earnest again. But the sandbar suddenly ends and
we’re faced with more mangroves and another river. This time
there’s no Heath Robinson barge – and no trail on the other
side. Shamefaced, the fearless adventurers have to turn back.
From Almofala we find a dirt road to Acaraú, and we’re soon
back on the beach and on the final stretch to Jericoacoara,
about 35kms away. No more rivers, mangroves, planks,
string, or killer crabs – just sea and smooth sand.
We pass plenty of fantastic flat-water spots, but many
are crammed with currals – huge log mazes that act as
primitive but effective fish traps. Great for catching supper,
not so great for windsurfing. It’s windy and getting windier,
and as the fishing villages of Taboleiro, Castelhanos and
Preá flash by we’re sorely tempted, but they ‘only’ offer
open-ocean sailing. Besides, everyone’s looking forward
to reaching Jeri, as many of the pro sailors haven’t been
there before, so we floor it on the flat sand. I start to
recognise the scenery from my previous trips, and I’m
unable to contain my excitement. We hit the entrance to
Jericoacoara National Park, and 10kms later our buggy
caravan cruises through the charming village and onto that
oh-so distinctive and beautiful beach. I may live thousands
of miles away, but it feels like coming home...
Language
Portuguese.
Things you’ll need
A harness. Waterproof high SPF sunscreen –
think factor 40. A camera and plenty of memory.
Fingerless gloves or some gaffa tape. (Brazilian
bathwater quickly softens calluses, and you’ll
appreciate the extra protection until your hands
acclimatise.) A phrase book (not much English is
spoken here). Mosquito repellent (as a precaution
– the wind seems to keep them away). Shorts
and a Lycra rash vest (leave the wetsuit at home).
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ClubVentos BEACH SEARCH
POSTSCRIPT
Just over two months later (10 February 2008), Fabio e-mails to say
that he’s acquired the guesthouse we stayed at, right in front of the
perfect launch site, as well as the property next door, and work has
already begun designing ClubVentos II. Fabio’s service philosophy
pivots around perfect sailing spot, top quality kit, and an environment
dedicated to well-being and relaxation, and it’s clear that ClubVentos
Icaraizinho will go light years beyond simply shoving a shack full of
gear on the beach. With three times more space than at ClubVentos
Jericoacoara, the planned amenities include a wide lounge area and a
pool, so non-windsurfing companions will be happy, too. Rather than
being sandblasted by the wind that makes you smile, they’ll be
watching you rip from a lounger, listening to good music and getting
their favourite cocktails at the click of a finger. The new centre will be
ready by July 2009, but Fabio says he’ll be sending some boards and
sails down there now for those who can’t wait to check it out. For now
though, Jericoacoara is still the king of this coast, which I guess
makes Icaraizinho the queen. Long may they both reign...
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And so our 350km quest comes to an end. Almost.
The last days of our adventure are dedicated to pure
pleasure in Jericoacoara, where the now ingrained
routine of windsurfing, chilling out and partying
continues. And as always, Jeri delivers big style on all
fronts. We’re all put up in the magnificent Mosquito
Blue 4-star hotel on the beachfront; a welcome
touch of luxury after roughing it on the ‘road’.
It’s been an incredible trip and an awesome
adventure. So much has happened – far too
much to write about here – that it’s almost a blur,
and for a moment I forget about the main reason
we’re here. Ah, yes – the mission...
So, did we find the next perfect beach for
ClubVentos II? All involved are unanimous that,
Jeri aside, the spot that really stood out was
unquestionably Icaraizinho. Not only did it have
great wind, but all the natural elements, too. The
safe, curvy cut of the bay, the sheltered flat water
for freestyle/freeride, and the well-defined, reefgenerated waves. The other big plus point is that
Icaraizinho is closer to Fortaleza than Jeri by
around 100km, so it’s a bit easier and quicker to
reach. Moreover, Icaraizinho isn’t just a good spot
in the middle of nowhere, but an already wellestablished fishing village full of friendly people
with some basic infrastructure and facilities.
As far as I was concerned, having now
explored all possible alternatives along that
stretch of coast, it was a done deal. A nobrainer. But as far as establishing ClubVentos II,
well, that’s Fabio’s call – and he’s keeping us in
suspense until the very end.
On our last night in Brazil, we badger him in a
bar after the farewell dinner. He simply smiles,
drains his shaken-not-stirred drink, looks at
each of us in turn for dramatic effect, and says...
“Mission accomplished.”