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With over 1,000km of coastline, Bahia is the place for lovers of sand and surf – but finding the ideal secret cove can be tricky, says Rhiannon Batten
The bikini was packed. I’d dug out my sunscreen and an old beach towel. I had a whole stack of books waiting to be read and a ticket that would take me away from endless grey skies and across to what I hoped would be a sun-drenched Salvador, in Brazil. The only thing left to do now was decide where to go when I arrived.
Finding the perfect beach in Bahia shouldn’t be difficult. Brazil’s most colourful state may be known for its handsome colonial architecture and inclination for partying but, with over 1,000km of coastline, its prime assets are its beaches, quintessential white-sand shores laced with palm trees and lapped by warm, clear water. But, with so many to choose from, deciding which stretch of sand to park your towel on isn’t easy.
Surfer-friendly Itacare and full-moon partying Trancoso? Too many crowds, which, in Itacare’s case, are set to increase even further when Anouska Hempel’s delayed Warapuru resort eventually opens at nearby Engenhoca next spring. For more off-the-beaten-track luxury there’s remote Corumbau, a fishing village-turned-upmarket resort that’s home to some of the most glamorous hotels in the country, as well as a carpet of soft, pale-gold sand. Here the problem isn’t so much the crowds as the fact that three is a crowd: this is prime honeymooning territory – gorgeous, yes, but not the kind of place a girl wants to hole up in when she’s travelling alone.
What I needed was something in-between, somewhere I could be lulled to sleep by the surf and surround-sound crickets rather than trance music, but where I could also wander into a local village for dinner rather than sit in solitary confinement in a hotel restaurant. Asking Brazilian friends for advice, the two destinations that kept cropping up were the island of Boipeba and Barra Grande, on the Marau peninsula.
Both places belong to Bahia’s Dende coast, a region that runs roughly from Itaparica in the north to the Marau peninsula in the south. The area is characterised by a scattergun geography that once made it a haven for pirates, and a staging area for the Dutch in their short-lived 17th-century conquest of Salvador. It has also kept it relatively unspoilt, at least until recently.
The Dende coast takes its name from the oil-palm plantations that still exist there, a legacy of its 16th-century colonisation by the Portuguese. But the region’s deep-blue bays, inky rivers, lush forests, laid-back islands, rich wildlife (Boipeba is thought to take its name from mboi pewa – an indigenous Tupi Indian name for sea turtle) and glorious beaches are now starting to attract a new type of coloniser: wealthy property developers who want to replace its small pousadas and traditional fishing villages with big hotels, air-conditioned supermarkets and cash machines.
When I mentioned to people in Salvador that I was leaving for Boipeba, they all sighed and told me, "Ah, that’s what Morro used to be like 20 years ago". Morro de Sao Paulo, which sits just north of Boipeba, on the neighbouring island of Tinhare, was once a small fishing village but is now so heavily developed that some have compared it to Thailand’s Koh Samui. That’s stretching things a bit far, but when I arrived there after a rough catamaran crossing from Salvador, nothing about its alleyways of neon-lit guesthouses and tacky shops tempted me to linger. After hauling my luggage along sandy streets that had turned to sludge in the rain, I was relieved to speed on to the other end of the island and cross the narrow strait between here and Boipeba’s main beach, Praia de Boca da Barra.
The reappearance of the sun as soon as I crossed the water may have affected my judgement, but Boipeba seemed immediately more appealing than Tinhare. At only 12km long by 7km wide, and car-free, this was much more low-key. As its pretty 17th-century church attests, Boipeba was one of the first sites in Bahia to be colonised by the Portuguese. Founded by Jesuits in 1563 to provide food and construction material for Salvador and the Dende coast plantations, Boipeba has altered at a far slower pace than much of the rest of Bahia. The streets of the main village are still cobbled, fishermen still sit on the porches of their houses in the evening mending nets by hand, and islanders get around either on foot, by donkey or via the one local bus (a tractor pulling a trailer stacked with benches).
"The trick is to keep Boipeba underdeveloped, because everyone sees dollar signs," said expatriate New Yorker, Charles Levitan, as I checked in at his pousada, the Santa Clara. "The community here is what makes Boipeba special and differentiates it from other beach destinations in Bahia. I find people love it here, as long as they get it. It’s a rustic place that’s great for independent travellers, but not for those who want to go on group tours with 15 other people and speak English."
Or those who like soft sheets and plump pillows, I thought, as Charles showed me into one of the seven rooms. But if the bed-linen was a little shabby, nothing else about the Santa Clara was. A cluster of simple but characterful rooms with whitewashed walls, brightly painted woodwork, Frida Kahlo-esque furnishings and an atmospheric bar and restaurant, the guesthouse is set just back from the beach, around flower-filled, jungly gardens.
Resisting the urge to sink into one of the hammocks, I set off along the sand to explore Vila de Boipeba, the main village. As the sun began to sink, Praia de Boca da Barra was buzzing with sun-scorched couples tucking into plates of shrimp and swigging beer. An arc of floury white sand strung with palm trees, with a flotilla of bobbing boats at one end and a few simple beach bars at the other: could this be the perfect Bahian beach? It had to come close.
On a tip-off from Charles, I headed into the village in search of a Candomble ceremony he’d heard would be taking place that night. An Afro-Brazilian religion that combines African and Catholic beliefs, Candomble is thought to have originated in Salvador among slaves who realised they could avoid converting from their ancestral beliefs by, among other things, restyling their deities as Catholic saints. The word itself means "dance in honour of the gods".
Following the sound of drumming, I found myself at the school, peering over the heads of onlookers to glimpse a group of white-clad women dancing and singing as if in a trance. Led by an older woman, who mewed mournfully before throwing herself into a bout of hugging, the ceremony was mesmerising.
The next morning, I shook off my shoes and followed the shore to Morere, a village on the other side of the island. I passed long, lonely Praia de Cueira, some remote pousadas, a group of cappuccino-coloured horses tied up among unkempt palm groves, and crabs scurrying across the sand beside the tide. I didn’t meet another person.
Later, I took a short speedboat ride along a mangrove-lined river to the small town of Graciosa, a drive down to Camamu Bay and another boat ride to the village of Barra Grande.
Sandwiched between the bay and the ocean, Barra Grande isn’t yet as overrun as Morro, but it has much more infrastructure than Boipeba. Aside from neglected-looking Kiaroa, most of Barra Grande’s development so far has been small scale: a pousada here, a local woman opening up her kitchen to paying diners there. There is whispered talk of hotel chains, airports, marinas and Tarmac – and I was told that, in the high season (December until February), Barra Grande is the new Goa. But the only burst of energy I witnessed during my visit was a man in flip-flops running down the main street holding an intricately iced cake.
With one day left, there was time for one more walk – and one more beach. Leaving Barra Grande behind after breakfast, I strolled out to the head of the peninsula, Ponta do Muta, and stood watching a woman in a bikini fishing while balancing on a rock, surrounded by glinting surf. On the ocean side of the peninsula, the waves were bigger and noisier and, as I carried on across the hot sand I could hear the ominous tap, tap, tap of construction work.
Two hours after leaving Barra Grande, I arrived at the region’s best-known beach: Praia Taipus de Fora, a vast scoop of pinkish gold. Suddenly here were joggers, men in tight shorts playing bat-and-ball, couples hiring snorkel gear, and women posing semi-pornographically in the surf for the benefit of their boyfriends’ cameras. And then the strangest thing happened. Like something from a disaster movie, the beach suddenly cleared as daytrippers raced back to their hotels in Itacare.
By 3pm, I was lying on a sunlounger sipping one final caipirinha as the waiter cleared around me. I watched the waves start to climb up the shore and mused that if I set sail from here, the next substantial bit of land I would touch would be on the other side of the Atlantic. I thought, too, of the Dutch hiding out along this idyllic coast and plotting their attack on Salvador. Frankly, I’m surprised they made it. If it was me, I would have jumped ship and stayed here instead.
Getting there
Rhiannon Batten travelled with Audley Travel (01993 838600; audleytravel.com ). Similar trips to Bahia, taking in Salvador, Boipeba and Barra Grande start at £1,395 per person. This includes transport within Brazil and eight nights’ B&B accommodation; international flights are not included. She flew from Heathrow to Salvador via Lisbon with TAP (0845 601 0932; flytap.com ). Prices on this route, which operates six days a week start at £707 return.
To reduce the impact on the environment, you can buy an "offset" through Abta’s Reduce My Footprint initiative (020-7637 2444; www.reducemyfootprint.travel ).
Staying there
Pousada Santa Clara, Boipeba (00 55 75 3653 6085; santaclaraboipeba.com )
More information
Brazil Tourist Office, 32 Green Street, London W1 (020-7396 5551; braziltour.com )