I’m committed to not making the same mistake twice—I didn’t spend a sleepless night trying to catch the madrugada bus to Natal, I flew. It was about the same price, and I torture myself often enough that I avoid it when Trip.com finds me a good flight.

I wasn’t the only one travelling pós-Carnaval—although I may have been the only one who had packed 12 pães de queijo, leftover in the freezer, baked by yours truly the night before. Most passengers seemed to be heading to Amazonas—Manaus or Belém. No rainforest for me, I was going down the coast to the state of Rio Grande do Norte.

An hour flight (and many hours navigating airport logistics) later, I promptly spent two days nursing my own not-booze-related Carnival hangover on Natal’s most famous beach, the one with the giant sand dune at the end. I walked back and forth on Praia de Ponta Negra, taking dips—or more exactly getting splashed by huge waves—here and there, mourning the fact that the big party was over, that it was already almost March, that work still sucked and I didn’t have a plan for the future and, inconveniently, the world didn’t seem to have a plan for the future either.

Strangely enough, Ponta Negra was in a happier mood than I was. People were still drinking on the beach even though what must have been the Carnival main stage was being dismantled.

I suspect some people haven’t left the beach in weeks.

I don’t blame them, it’s amazing and there’s nothing else to do in Natal. Fortaleza was a city with an amazing skyline by the beach—Natal is mostly sand and water, with a few tall buildings built as an afterthought to host people who enjoy sand and water. Fair enough—plenty of us do.

And this is why, on my first evening in Natal, barely off the plane and before giving myself the chance to hesitate on whether 7:30 a.m. was a reasonable time to hit the beach, I immediately signed up for a passeio, a beach tour.

I don’t have a car, so this is the best way to explore the region. And if you’re going to be at the beach from sunrise to sunset, I highly recommend doing so with a bunch of Brazilians who are there for the exact same reason you are and ready to enjoy it with you, even if you were a stranger minutes ago.

Once we established that I did speak Portuguese, or at least enough to understand the plan for the day, we went to fill up a cooler with ice and drinks. This is a very important stop in Brazilian beach culture, even though once on the sand, everybody forgets about the cooler in the trunk of the car and orders from any barraca with beer-sponsored plastic tables and chairs.

The first two stops of the tour were vaguely cultural and not beach-related, although we could see the beach from there. First, Barreira do Inferno, a former rocket launch base of the Brazilian Space Agency. Then Pirangi do Norte’s claim to fame, with the world’s largest cashew tree—yes, the green on the pictures below is one tree, spreading to a circumference of 500 m, spilling onto the road and everything around.

Then things got sandy and wet at the two lagoons we reached on dirt roads—Lagoa de Alcaçuz and Lagoa do Carcará, featuring the classic Instagram-ready hammocks in water and giant wooden swings, with inspiring wooden signs.

“Tem Instagram?”

“Não.”

My travel mates were shocked. Nope, I don’t have Instagram.

I almost wanted to add that in my country—or countries, plural—we do have Internet access—it’s just me, really, I stick to my blog because I can’t be bothered with Meta and another platform.

In no specific order, many, many Brazilians love water and taking pictures of themselves. My travel mates were prepared, with multiple moda-praia outfits—cangas, swimsuits, flowing shirts, and more.

And of course, there was a lot of hair combing between various informal photo shoots.

I felt very… au naturel. The last time I used a hair dryer it was to dry my clothes after yet another São Paulo downpour. I don’t do makeup either and I have yet to buy another swimsuit on this trip.

But hey, I took their pictures and they took mine anyway, coaching me on how to pose like a Brazilian.

The pictures from behind with my Brazilian-mandatory thong bikini are not included, sorry. Many of my clients do read this blog.

After freshwater, we went to a beach to salgar os pés. A giant crab was caught (and promptly released) with…

“Is there anything you guys don’t do with Havaianas?”

Yes, Havaianas were used as tongs.

By 4 p.m., I was dead, considering the day had started at 7:30 a.m., but it was time for the thrilling 4×4 adventure at full speed on the nearby sand dunes to catch the sunset.

And take more pictures.

And this is 80% of the reason why I wanted to stop in Natal, this giant sandy and watery playground—playing in it with random Brazilian strangers who felt like friends by the end of the day.