“Remember these big Carnival parade buses? So it’s 10 reais to ride on top and 7 reais for the lower level. The bus follows the main avenue along the beach for half an hour, Brazilians sing songs we’ve never heard of and it’s legal—not as in ’legal’ but as in ‘cool’—everybody is super happy. Well, that’s the name actually, the Happy Bus.”

“But… but COVID?”

“Hey, I took pictures of the bus, I wasn’t on the bus.”

After my night in the shitty Airbnb, I got up early, packed and walked to the new apartment just to check it out and make sure it was okay—yes, I was a bit paranoid. But it was perfectly fine, so I grabbed my stuff and hailed the first taxi I saw. I wasn’t going that far, just over a kilometre further south, but a $3 ride was better than a twenty-minute walk with my backpack.  

Turned out it was a good decision because I like my new neighbourhood better than the last one.

The shitty Airbnb was in the very not shitty neighbourhood of Manaíra which manages to pack in a giant upscale shopping mall, a small upscale shopping mall and a beachfront shopping mall, as well as dozens of hair salons, “eyebrow spas” and eyelash extensions services. Nothing wrong with that but I typically look for grilled fish, bread or a can of Coke, not improved eyelashes, and I was starting to feel very self-conscious about the state of my eyebrows.

And here I was, now in the neighbourhood of Tambaú, just a block from the UFO hotel, i.e. Tambaú Hotel, a beautifully weird 1970s architectural oddity—go ahead, Google it.

No eyelashes extensions in Tambaú but food parks, quiosques, beachwear shops, supermarkets and a busy Avenida Almirante Tamandaré where everybody hangs out after dark. It’s lively, just chaotic enough to be entertaining yet safe. I love seeing people in the street, a rare treat these days.

I’m not riding the Happy Bus but I’m starting to like João Pessoa.