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23 were bundled out the 4x4, reams of bronzed bodies and excitable children were being drawn, almost magnetically, to an enormous sand dune on the edge of the village, known as Duna Pôr do Sol. It turned out that this nightly pilgrimage is to enjoy one of the country’s most spectacular sunsets, and one of the only times you’ll catch it setting over water anywhere in Brazil. Atop the dune a couple of caipirinha carts were doing a good trade and collective anticipation filled the air as we watched the last rays of sun disappear into the Atlantic. Outside Jeri, the landscape got more and more desert-like, leaving us with nothing but sand and sea ahead. After hurtling along in our 4x4, we pulled up in the tiny town of Barra Grande (which made Jeri look fast-paced) with a perfect beach, peppered with colourful kite surfers. We swapped vast expanses of sand for an enormous watery maze the next morning, as we toured the Delta do Parnaiba, one of the largest river deltas in the world (naturally). Home to a handful of traditional fishing communities, around 80 sandy islands (most of which are uninhabited) and an abundance of wildlife, the delta scores a line between Piauí and Maranhão states.
Civilisation seemed to be getting sparser, with the occasional fishing boat the only passing traffic in the sparkling water for hours. As our guide eagerly gestured at colourful crabs and passing birdlife, desperately keen to show off the incredible natural beauty of his home, I couldn’t understand why this little pocket of Brazil is so often overlooked by tourists. Back on dry land, a couple more hair-raising hours along more deserted beach took us to the miniature hamlet of Caburé where we finally had the chance to sit and take it all in. Unlike in Rio, where human determination amidst the unlikely cityscape continually surprises, here the human footprint barely registers among the powerful remoteness of the surroundings. The sun glazed everything in gold as it began its descent and we waited on the shore for a fisherman to take us to the little fishing village of Atins. I woke the next morning to a chorus of peacocks, cockerels and dogs ushering a new day of business as usual at the Rancho do Buna, the working farm-cumpousada where we had spent the night. Despite having been wowed every single day since
arriving in Brazil, we had reached the end of our journey and were about to experience the Route of the Emotions’ pièce de résistance, the Lençóis Maranheses. Known as the “bedsheets of Maranhão” (what 1,500 square kilometres of undulating sand dunes resembles), this national park has a particularly special moment between July and September each year, when rain fills the dips between the dunes with fresh water, creating hundreds of crystal lagoons that look like mirages in the Sahara. Despite the alien landscape – I imagine the closest I will ever get to stepping on another planet - we were soon charging headfirst down sandy slopes and splashing into the warm water below. From up high the sea just brushed the horizon to the north, but other than that my entire vista was obscured with seemingly never-ending mountains of smooth sand and glistening pools of greeny-blue. It takes three days to walk from one end to the other. Vast beyond belief. Brazil had done it again.
Watching the sunset Jericoacoara
Delta do Parnaiba
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