Floripa - Backpacker Hostel

Florianopolis Travel Blog

 › entry 40 of 77 › view all entries
Wet weather to start...

The bus journey took 24 hours - according to the ticket office. The driver’s opinion was 27 hours, the reality was 30.

It was a fairly standard no-sleeper coach; fitted with reclining chairs but stopping every three hours to put the lights on and let people on or off, provide toilet stops or access to roadside cafes.

At one such stop an elderly Brazilian man started pointing at my face and gabbling. Here we go - what is it this time, are my ears looking good? Will my chin get me into trouble in Brazil?

‘Are you Argentinean?’

“Nope - ‘m English’ (I was secretly pleased that operation lookabitsouthamerican was finally starting to pay dividends)

‘Do you no Huebe de Corben?’ (or something that sounded similar)

‘Nope - I’m English’

‘He is an Argentinean musician.

...sunny later on.
You have the same face! Incredible!’

Indeed. Most incredible, anyway… I finally reached Florianopolis at 8 pm and trudged through the rain to the first cheap hotel I could find near the bus station. ‘Near the bus station’ isn’t generally the most affluent part of town, which was proved here. Local dining choices were either pastie-selling cafes full of drunks or Bob’s Burgers.

I topped of my Quarter Pounder Bob Meal and retired, not sure if Floripa was all it was cracked up to be…

I got up early, checked out and bounced into a taxi to take me to Backpacker Hostel on Catalina Island - the beachy part of Floripa.

Once I’d crossed the bridge to the Island it was like being in a different town: Picturesque little towns, beautiful beaches, loads of bum-cheeks hanging out of disturbingly small bikinis… perhaps it wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Slumming it in the hostel

I settled into the hostel, which was more like a holiday resort with a pool and beautiful views over the lake, then headed into town to find an ATM.

After about 15 minutes of not finding an ATM I decided to ask directions, in a hideous mix of poor Spanish and almost non-existent Portugese. A little old man took pity and adopted me for the next twenty minutes, taking me on a tour of cash machines until we found one that worked - muy simpatico.

Then down to the beach to pose with a surfboard (but go nowhere near the water) and work on the old tan.

There was a rumour that one of the hostel workers was having a house party, and it was an open invite. Probably. At ten pm eight of us stood in the town centre, clutching bags of alcohol and waiting for a guy called Federico to turn up, which he did. On a moped.

As the taxi followed the moped down little alleyways and over a hill we didn’t know what to expect - would it be eight drunk gringos and two locals squeezed into someones front room?

No need to worry, we walked up some stairs and into an open courtyard with a pool and about hundred and fifty people in various stages of drunkenness and dancing. Floripa!

 

 

Join TravBuddy to leave comments, meet new friends and share travel tips!
Wet weather to start...
Wet weather to start...
...sunny later on.
...sunny later on.
Slumming it in the hostel
Slumming it in the hostel
Random Brazilian bum-cheeks
Random Brazilian bum-cheeks
Florianopolis
photo by: Vagabondatheart