In the midst of darkness, Instagram persists
“Are you going to get in the underground hole?”
The going continued to be good on our paradisiacal beach on Ilha Grande this week – too good perhaps, too relaxed, and so we threw another boat trip into the mix to rough up my nerves a little bit.
I wrote last week of our squid dealer, Gabriela (who scared off the toothless rival, it seems), who, when not hawking her husband’s catch to giddy tourists, sends him back out on his boat to drive them around the island on day trips. She drives a hard bargain, what can I say.
It wasn’t clear how much sleep Marcelo (the husband) had had, or whether he’d been to bed at all when he picked the three of us and a Brazilian couple up from the dock at 9am on Friday morning. We learned that 3am was the best time to dive for squid, and that he’d been surrounded by dolphins at around 1am and 5am that morning. But, traffic being non-existent on this side of the island, it was hardly a problem if he did much of the steering with his eyes closed.
All we three gringos knew to expect from the day was a ride to see other beaches, most of which are inaccessible from Provetá by land since there are no roads or cars, and that we would stop somewhere for lunch along the way. A tranquilo kind of day to follow two other very tranquilo days.
Marcel was a man of few words and all of them were in Portuguese, but as luck would have it the female half of the Brazilian couple with us on the boat (whose name I don’t think I ever learned… let’s call her Ana) worked in tourism, and spoke very good English. Unlucky for her that on her rare holiday away from work she got lumbered with the only three English-speaking tourists in Provetá to translate for all day.
“Are you going to get in the underground hole?” Ana asked me, three minutes into the boat ride. Marcel didn’t seem like a killer, but her face was giving pure angst so I couldn’t be sure. “A cave,” her husband interjected, “it’s a famous cave. You didn’t know about it?”
No, I did not know about the cave.
I hate caves. I hate being underground and I have recurring dreams about getting stuck in tight spaces. You’d think that I, a Londoner, could steadily avoid caves so long as I don’t come down with a temperature and find myself buying a ticket to the London dungeons or something. And yet it’s surprising how often they crop up on holidays, pushed upon me by tour guides and scuba diving instructors in the name of “fun”and “adventure”.
Ana wasn’t keen on the idea of the cave. I definitely wasn’t keen on the cave. Anthony, I know, has a fear of being buried alive so god knows why he agreed to the cave. I’m still not sure how it happened, but somehow after being acknowledged (I can’t say welcomed) on shore by an elderly man and his aloof young relative, we were climbing into a hole down a ladder and handing over £5 for the privilege.
The Achaia cave (4.7 stars on Google; “Unique experience, but not for everyone,” – Othon, local guide) is basically a gap in a rock five metres underground, where the light from the sun reflects off the water and creeps into the bottom of the cave. It’s very hard to describe but that’s the best I’ve come up with. I was promised luminescence. I experienced a dark and dirty hole in the ground that wasn’t big enough to sit up in, for a full on 20 minutes.
I didn’t rate it. But the thing about paying £5 to go into a cave is once you’re down there, shuffling sideways through a crack in the dark, you figure you might as well carry on until the end to see what the fuss is about.
Now that I’ve survived it, I can tell you what the fuss is about: Instagram. The lightshow at the end of the tunnel makes for a good silhouette portrait, and Brazilians are completely obsessed with taking photos of themselves. That’s why the cave has a 4.7 star rating on Google, and that’s why Ana led us down there despite being “seriously claustrophobic”. I stuck it out, hovering near the exit for most of the stay and practising yogic breathing while our ‘guide’ whistled to himself like a canary. What a joke.
Above ground again, the five of us sat recovering on a beach with beer and pasteis, while Marcel told us (via Ana) how he’d met his wife, Gabriela: she was visiting the island as a tourist and he invited her to eat fish with him. She never left.
Moving on to Rio de Janeiro, the final stage of Anthony’s trip and our last stop in Brazil, until Dave and I return later in the year. And what an incredible city! The heat is stifling, but it’s beautiful and very green, completely spoiled for views and beaches and bar scenes. The expectations for Rio were high, and it has not disappointed.
The final two days of Anthony’s holiday with us were a whirlwind of tourism: Christ the Redeemer, Sugarloaf mountain (Pão de Açúcar) and Copacabana beach. He was a trooper of a travel companion, demolishing bottles of insect repellant and beer with equal fury, and I can’t believe how quickly the time went. We said goodbye to Anthony after brunch by the botanical gardens on Saturday morning and fell into a lazy stupor for much of the rest of the weekend.
Something else I’ve done this week – twice – is wake up at 5am for work calls. Not ideal, but very doable and necessary to get a piece of work I’m writing out of the way. I’d hoped to get it done before Anthony’s visit, but it just didn’t work out that way, so I’ve been squeezing in case study interviews before dawn/mid-morning UK time.
It reminded me that a friend recently asked me about my approach to work while travelling – ie, how do I balance work and travel, if at all? It can be tricky, especially with the time difference, but in truth it’s not so different to the way I work at home. For me, the stresses are the same, namely, how to make sure I have enough work on while also making time for the fun things I want to do. The difference I suppose, is that my workload tolerance (ie, how many commissions I’m working on at any one time) is lower, because it’s harder to make the time to sit still and write. Ditto research a topic and conduct interviews.
The other week I admitted I was naïve before this trip to think I’d have plenty of time to spend in each place; it’s a similar story with my freelancing endeavours. Most of the time, I’m just too busy to take on work or pitch a story – because we’re on the move or climbing a volcano or whatever the thing to do in that particular place involves. Sometimes I don’t have internet for a while, and sometimes I’m just too tired. Mostly I’m busy having fun.
This all makes it sound like we’re rushing about like lunatics – we’re not (at least not all the time). And I’m writing this newsletter from Laranjeiras in Rio de Janeiro with a view of the surrounding mountains – it’s very chill. But I’m happy to admit that ultimately, I’ve always been someone who prioritises fun and experiences over graft. If that sounds like a humble brag, I don’t mean it to be – just that I’m really quite lazy when it comes to working life. I’m sure my parents will agree.
Since we left the UK in October, I have pitched and written precisely two articles. One was a report from Argentina about the presidential election (we were in Córdoba the night of the vote, and the city went wild). The other was a feature about what it’s like to work at the world’s highest observatory, from our trip to ALMA in the Chilean Atacama Desert (published in the i paper over the Easter weekend).
Then there have been other bits and pieces commissioned before the trip began which needed finishing off, for example a couple of interviews for Nature magazine, which always has a rigorous fact-checking process and a long lead time for articles getting published. I’ve also said yes to a couple of commissions for the Daily Mail’s Good Health pages, because they’re interesting and pay well, and I feel like it’s good to keep active on their books. But the rest I’ve turned down, and I’m absolutely fine with that. Life is too short to be worrying about a poorly paid news feature while I’m sitting on a paradise island, after all.
When I first spoke about my plans to go travelling, another friend blurted out that she thought it would be difficult for me to pick up my career when I got back – that editors and recruiters wouldn’t like the gaps in my CV. I understand that her comments were most likely coming from a place of insecurity about her own work – journalism is a cruel industry and it feels like talented people are being made redundant from newspapers every week at the moment. But I disagree that with the idea that working remotely, or even taking time out for a full sabbatical, is something a decent workplace would bristle against. It feels a little bit like how our parents’ generation would never have taken a gap year after school or college – it just wasn’t the done thing – but now students are actively encouraged to go and see some of the world to add to their employability.
I’ve certainly had periods of higher productivity (I wrote two books during the pandemic, for goodness sakes) and I’m sure there will be times when I’ll crank into a higher gear again one day in the future. But for the last year or so I’ve been focusing more on the important things in life. Sure, with this attitude I’ll probably never become editor-in-chief for the Times, but freelancing is suiting me well for the foreseeable – and I do believe there will always be work out there of some kind, even if it is poorly paid and precarious (that’s journalism!).
I actually think the more-fun-less-work attitude has made me a better freelancer, too (no, really!) because I’m more streamlined in my approach. Back home, I said yes to almost everything that was offered to me and had frequent meltdowns before resolutely pulling an all-nighter. Now, I do the work I need or want to do, the rest I ignore. Because why be freelance if you don’t prioritise the freedom that comes with it?
Travel bits and tips from this week
We stayed in this delightful Airbnb on Provetá beach, Ilha Grande, for four nights.
Cristiano’s was the only restaurant open, despite what Google says, and it was fab.
It’s a decent two-hour hike over the hill from Provetá to Praia Aventureiro.
Stay away from the cave of wonders (Achaia) if you’re claustrophobic.
Central Botafogo is a fun and safe area of Rio de Janeiro to stay in.
Our Airbnb was very comfortable and well located for bars and cafés.
It’s worth a visit to the restaurant/bar on top of Pão de Açúcar.
And to see the botanical garden monkeys…
Which you can tie in with an excellent brunch at La Bicyclette restaurant.
I really enjoyed reading this. Great insight into life/work balance. I would also hate the cave