“Where are you going next?”

“Aracaju. I stopped there last year—this is where I ended up in an Airbnb from hell and then spent the entire weekend going ‘WTF…’ Aracaju is… kind of weird.”

“Are you sure you want to go to Aracaju?”

“I don’t really have a choice. It’s the only stop on the way to Salvador. Otherwise, Maceió to Salvador is a ten-hour bus ride and I’m not masochist enough for it. So Aracaju it is. It’s halfway. I’ll be fine. I think I kind of understood how the city worked last year towards the end of my stay.”

Aracaju it was. This time, I was lucky with the Airbnb, located in one of the few modern buildings in front of the beach. The host gave me the proper address and immediately followed up with another message. “Just say it’s on the right side of the lighthouse, in front of the Bar do Alves.” Indeed, this is how the taxi driver found it.

My first “WFT, Aracaju” moment took place seconds after opening the door of the apartment. Living room, bedroom… and a kitchen with a large window. Oh wait, no window, just an opening without glass. Normal around it. It doesn’t rain much and it’s always hot, anyway.

Aracaju is the capital and largest city of the state of Sergipe. It is a city but it feels rural. It specializes in “low-cost tourism,” which is basically the professional way of saying the entire state comes to Aracaju to get drunk on weekends. Few foreign tourists plan a stop in Aracaju.

But come to think of it, they probably should.

Okay, Aracaju isn’t an “easy” city. First, it’s very, very spread out. If you stay in the neighbourhood close to the beach—by far the best option—be aware that “supermarkets” are in fact overpriced convenience stores and that the closest real supermarket is located inside the shopping mall four kilometres away. Second, it looks kind of… half-finished. Imagine a few modern condos with many, many empty lots in between—stray dogs or horses optional. Third, remember Aracaju caters to Brazilian tourists so what they like and what you like as a foreigner are probably not the same thing. I’m still wondering why everybody eats peanuts at the beach and I do not crave macaxeira com charque (baked cheesy cassava with beef jerky) or pizza de camarão (shrimp pizza). I’m not sure I’m into sertanejo country songs either—much less able to dance to the music even if it’s catchy.

“Okay, I’m sending you a picture of the famous caranguejo, a giant crab sculpture in the middle of the main avenue.”

“This is not that weird. After all, many cities have funky public art or thematic displays on roundabouts.”

“Granted. But in Aracaju, people stop you in the street and ask you if you had a chance to see the crab.”

But I was prepared for Aracaju’s challenges and oddities so I embraced them—and yes, it included a daily walk four-kilometre walk to the fucking mall to get supplies as well as flexibility with local food because the bakery may or may not have bread or may or may not be open.

I focused on what mattered—the beach.

Aracaju’s beach, Praia de Atalaia, is pretty awesome. Unlike many Brazilian beaches, this one has a lot of sand. It’s going to take you ten minutes to reach the water, before that it’s all sand.

In a way, Aracaju reminds me of Noosa in Australia. A bit rough around the edges with an endless beach perfect for surfers. It could have been a backpacker’s paradise. Maybe on day it will?