Sobral, Brazil: A Sweaty, Stunning Mess

i've been dreaming about the coast since i left, but sobral’s not the coast. it’s inland, a humid pocket where the air feels like a wet blanket over your face. i arrived on a bus from fortaleza, camera bag heavy with lenses i barely used that day because the light was too flat, too white, like the sky was a sheet of photocopier paper. the bus dropped me off in the main square, where a man tuned a guitar that had seen better days, and a kid sold pastéis that were either filled with cheese or pure regret. i took a room in a pousada with a balcony that overlooked a sea of zinc roofs and satellite dishes. from up there, the town looked like a circuit board that had melted in the sun.

i checked the weather app because i’m a nerd for numbers: 24.65°C right now, but it feels like 25.44°C, pressure 1011 hPa, humidity 87% - basically, my camera’s sensors are sweating more than i am. the air’s so thick you could cut it with a knife, and i’m pretty sure my lenses are fogging from the inside. i’ve resorted to keeping the gear in a plastic bag with silica gel packets that i stole from shoe boxes. call me a pro.

rain comes suddenly here, not a drizzle but a deluge that turns the cobbles into mirrors. i ducked under a cafe awning and watched a white car splash through a lake of water, the streetlights already on though it’s barely six pm. that scene was pure gold, if i could have caught the reflection cleanly. i’ll post that shot on my instagram but it's not here. anyway, that’s when i pulled out my 35mm and fired off a couple frames before the downpour let up.

the moto-taxis are the real daredevils here. i saw one guy with a passenger, a woman clinging to his back, as he squeezed between a truck and a wall that probably had only inches to spare. the smell of gasoline mixed with fried dough from the corner stall. i snapped a quick shot (the second image) before he was gone, a blur of chrome and boldness.

the central market is a symphony of chaos. fish slung on ice, stacks of fruit i’ve never seen, a guy sharpening knives on a wheel that spins like a demon’s dream. i tried to be inconspicuous with my 50mm, but a vendor caught me and grinned, giving a thumbs up. the crowd moved like a river around the stalls, and i got that third shot of the sea of people.

i’ve eaten at a few places already. someone told me that 'bodega do peixe' is the spot for moqueca, but i heard from a local that the owner gets his fish from the same guy who supplies the hospitals (that’s a joke, i hope). still, the tripadvisor reviews are glowing, though one reviewer said the 'ambiance is like eating in a fish market that flooded.' i’ll link it: Bodega do Peixe on TripAdvisor.

there’s also a little boteco called 'bar do zé' that serves the strongest caipirinha north of salvador. i overheard two tourists arguing about whether it’s actually cachaça or just cheap rum diluted with love. you can check yelp: Bar do Zé.

i read on the local board that they have a photography walk every sunday morning. they meet at the praça da igreja at 6am. i’ll try to make it, if i can shake off the previous night’s caipirinha. Sobral Turismo Events.

i’m crashing at pousada farol da cidade, a dusty gem with a hammock that sways in the wind and a wifi that only works when the moon is full. it’s got a 4.5 on tripadvisor, but the real draw is the owner’s stories about the town’s history. check it: Pousada Farol da Cidade.

if the humidity starts to feel like it's seeping into your bones, just hop on a bus and head east to canoa quebrada; the wind there is a different beast, all salt and freedom. or go west to the serra da Ibiapaba where the air thins and you can actually see stars at night. both are under two hours by road and will reset your soul.

i’ve been editing my shots at night in the hostel, the fan making a clatter that could be a rat but i pretend it’s the ceiling dance. the colors come out more saturated than i remember; the humidity adds its own滤镜. i’m thinking of putting together a zine called 'sobral sweat' if i ever find a printer who won’t laugh at my request.

i’ve also heard that the fort on the hill, forte de nossa senhora de luba, has the best sunrise views, but beware of the dogs that patrol the perimeter like they’re the ancient guardians. one local warned me: 'don’t run, they’ll think you’re stealing the sunrise.' i plan to try my luck anyway.

as for gear, i’ve been using a nikon d750 with a 24-70 f/2.8 and a 50mm f/1.8. the humidity makes the lens hood sticky, so i carry a microfiber cloth that’s always damp. i also learned the hard way that spare batteries don’t like sweat; they die faster than my patience in a crowd. i might invest in a weather-sealed body next time. i also found this guide on dealing with moisture that saved my lenses: Protect Your Gear in Humid Climates.

anyway, sobral isn’t the postcard you see in brochures. it’s a place where the past is peeling, the present is sticky, and the future looks like a mirage on the asphalt. i’m glad i’m here with a camera, even if i’m sweating through my shirt. i’ll be back, maybe, when it’s cooler. or maybe i’ll just chase the next humid mess somewhere else.

that’s all for now. if you’re passing through, say hi at the mercado-i’ll be the one trying to capture the steam rising off a pot of feijoada at noon.