Rio das Ostras: A Humid Mess of Sand, Sun, and Malfunctioning Gear

i didn't plan to end up in rio das ostras. in fact, i was supposed to catch a cheap flight to salvador after a gig in sao paulo, but a missed connection, a bus that smelled like diesel and regret, and a driver who kept yelling 'vamos!' like a mantra deposited me here with a backpack that's slowly developing its own ecosystem. i'm a freelance photographer, which means i'm constantly hunting for that perfect light, and also constantly broke, so i tend to end up in places where the wifi is spotty and the showers are cold. this town fits the bill.

the weather here is... something else. i just checked my app: it's 25.95°c, but it feels like 25.95 too, which sounds redundant until you realize the humidity's at 92%. that's not just muggy; that's like breathing in a damp towel. the pressure's 1011 mb, which i guess means the sky's not about to collapse, and the ground level's 1008, but i have no idea what that signifies. it's the kind of weather that makes you want to dive into the ocean and never come out. i'll let you decide if that's a good thing.

anyway, for the uninitiated, here's a tiny window into where i'm typing this (yes, my laptop survived the salt air, i'm shocked too):

the main beach, praia do centro, is a long strip of sand that's mostly gold but gets these weird gray patches where the tide pulls back. there's a pier that stretches out like it's posing for a postcard. i found a rock that's been smoothed by a million waves and decided it was my throne for the afternoon. i set up my camera, a battered nikon d750 that's been taped together with gaffer tape at three stress points, and tried to capture the evening light. the humidity, though, turned my lens into a foggy mirror every time i took it out of the bag. i'm starting to think the air here is 10% water and 90% salt crystals.

the sunset over the water actually looked like this:

someone told me that the pier is slated for demolition because it's structurally unsound, but the old-timers who fish off it say a drowned diver haunts it at night, still looking for a light for his cigar. i don't know if i believe in ghosts, but i did feel a weird chill when the sun went down. also, a local surfer warned me about the riptide that can suck you under near the rocks at the far end; he said it's 'nasty, man, like a vacuum cleaner from hell.' i kept my distance.

if you're curious about other people's experiences, the TripAdvisor thread for rio das ostras is full of complaints about the potholes on rua das conchas, but also some rave reviews about a little kiosk that serves pastéis de camarão that'll make you forget your diet. check it out: TripAdvisor. yelp's got a decent list of spots; i found my favorite lunch place there - marisqueira do zé - which serves moqueca that's so rich it'll put you into a food coma. here's the yelp page. but beware: the owner gets cranky if you ask for extra limes after 9 pm; i learned that the hard way. there's also a hyperlocal board called riodasostras.com.br that posts updates about secret parties on the dunes, yoga sessions at dawn, and when the surf's up. it's kind of a treasure map for the alternative crowd: riodasostras.com.br. and if you're into photography like me, the 'Brazil Through the Lens' group occasionally runs photowalks here - they know all the hidden viewpoints.

if you get bored of the slow pace, which i doubt you will, cabos frio's about 30 minutes up the coast and has a more upscale beach scene; buzios is another hour away and is packed with boutiques and nightlife. both are worth a day trip if only to see how the other half vacations. i tried renting a scooter to get to cabos frio but the rental shop owner warned me about the 'crazy traffic on the br-101' - he wasn't kidding.

the waves crashing near the pier had this raw energy:

i spent the night in a cheap pousada that smelled like mothballs and cheap detergent. the bed was hard, the fan oscillated with a worrisome squeak, and i swear i heard the ghost of that drowned diver humming a faint forro tune. i'm not sure if it was the humidity playing tricks on my ears or an actual spectral resident. either way, i didn't sleep much.

breakfast was pão com manteiga and a coffee so strong it made my hands shake. the lady at the café spoke rapid portuguese that i mostly nodded at, pretending i understood. i think she called me 'gringo' but in an endearing way. i left a generous tip hoping she'd teach me some words.

the people here are a mix of permanent residents who've lived here all their lives and seasonal workers from the north-east who come for the tourist season. they're all used to the humidity, wearing flip-flops and tank tops like armor. i saw one guy in a full suit at noon, and i have no idea how he wasn't melting. maybe he's a vampire.

i did manage to get a few shots before the fog took over. the light at golden hour was pure magic, all gold and pink and orange, and the water turned into liquid metal. i wish i could show you, but my upload speeds are abysmal. the only thing that travels fast here is gossip.

there's also this rocky outcrop that looks like a dragon's back:

i'm leaving tomorrow, i think. the bus schedule is a mystery, and i might just hop on whatever looks headed toward rio de janeiro. i'm not sure if i'll miss this place or just the feeling of being utterly out of my element. either way, i've got a memory card half-full of blurred, foggy, but somehow beautiful shots, and a head full of humidity. maybe that's enough.