On one hand, I can’t even imagine living on the Morro de São Paulo.

On the other hand, it is very tempting.

It’s this kind of place where life is both awfully complicated and blissfully simple. You eat fish if the fisherman catches some. Grocery shopping takes about five minutes because choice overload isn’t exactly an issue. There’s nowhere to go except to the beach. There’s nothing to do except sit around in the street and chat. It’s consistently hot and often sunny. Life is very steady, probably predictable, and often enjoyable enough—people are friendly, and the setting is lovely.

This is exactly why people from all walks of life come to the Morro de São Paulo—the town is a tiny dot on the map but the repository of many life journeys, stories and decisions.

Everybody comes here for a reason.

There are the tourists, of course, who may or may not have taken the supposedly awful direct boat to the island. Many visitors are Brazilians but there are also tons of Argentinians, which is more surprising considering the Morro isn’t next door. And even more surprising, the Morro de São Paulo is a hotspot for Israeli backpackers on their post-service gap year trip. There are signs in Hebrew everywhere and even a “Rua Shalom.”

Some of these tourists never left the island. Plenty of Argentinians and Uruguayans settle here so you’ll see empanadas next to pães de queijo in popular eateries. I had a bunch of Argentinians as neighbours, seven or eight of them sharing an old house and baking medialunas, empanadas and cake to make money before going to Europe or maybe North America or maybe nowhere after all.

Many Brazilians living on the island are from somewhere else in Bahia and at one point settled in the Morro because it’s safe. Everybody praises how safe it is here, and it’s true. I think I saw the police twice and both times the two officers were eating ice cream, not looking particularly concerned about policing. As for me, I walked around without a care in the world and was welcome everywhere—the Morro is open-minded, anything goes, everybody is friendly.

Of course, the island lives off tourism so it’s probably best to show hospitality. However, there’s a clear divide between locals and visitors on some islands. I remember feeling uncomfortable in Utila, for instance. None of that at the Morro—locals gladly share tips and suggest maybe you could live here.

But I’m not tempted. As I said, life is simple but also complicated with limited options. The rest of the world is far away, too far away for me.

I disconnected a bit and appreciated the unique atmosphere.

But I still have some Bahia exploring to do.