I have to be fair—there are things to do in Ilhéus. While it’s probably a bit too middle-of-nowhere, Bahia, to be a global travel destination, it’s famous enough (in Brazil at least) for several valid reasons. It’s historic, it’s the home of author Jorge Amado, and it was once one of the biggest exporters of cocoa beans.

I stopped in Ilhéus for a few days last year and I liked it. It wasn’t the big city I was expecting, but it wasn’t a seedy port either.

If I had planned better, I might have been able to book a tour to a cocoa farm or a waterfall, two popular options around here, according to Google. But I didn’t. And in São Paulo, two days before parting ways with the guys and mentally reconfiguring, it suddenly occurred to me that Ilhéus may be one of these Brazilian cities that shut down for the weekend.

I checked my calendar. Did I spend the weekend in Ilhéus last year?

Nope.

I checked Google Maps for opening hours.

Oh, shit.

Casa de Cultura Jorge Amado? Closed. Catedral de São Sebastião? Closed. Historic centre? Yeah, all the shops closed. American Park? Maybe, it said “verão” (summer) but the USA is already taking us on a sad rollercoaster ride so an American-themed amusement park wasn’t exactly what I was looking for.

Okay, so basically only the airport was open.

My mission in Ilhéus was now to find something to do and find out where locals go on weekends.

It was only when I arrived that I realized I had booked the same Airbnb as the year before. There aren’t that many affordable Airbnb in Ilhéus and they were oddly expensive. “It’s a weekend” isn’t even an excuse here because EVERYTHING IS CLOSED!

At least, my Airbnb was ideally located in Pontal, a lovely neighbourhood between the Atlantic Ocean and the river. There’s water everywhere in Ilhéus. It’s easy to get around with two picturesque bridges—and no traffic jam like in Recife—but it’s also a place where you end up going around in circles because it’s not that big.

On Saturday, I decided to walk to the historic centre anyway. It may be quite empty but Ilhéus isn’t particularly dangerous—it’s sleepy empty, not seedy empty. And indeed, the centre was mostly deserted… because everybody was at the Praia do Cristo, a tiny beach with a giant Jesus at the bottom of the bridge.

“Aren’t there better beaches in Ilhéus?” Feng asked.

“The Praia da Avenida along the city centre is picturesque but I’m not going there,” I explained. “It’s wild and deserted. Not a good idea. But maybe I’ll try the Praia dos Milionários tomorrow. I will have to take an Uber but it’s the most famous beach around. It’s about six kilometres south.”

“But if you take an Uber, are you sure you can find one on the way back?”

Killjoy.

And true.

I spent Saturday night doing research on what to do in Ilhéus on Sundays while finding out what people do on Saturday night—they have sex, lots of it, at least in my building. And they are loud.

On Sunday, I decided to walk south, past the airport, towards the Praia dos Milionários. I found Praia do Sul on the way, and it was packed. It’s endless and eventually becomes the famous “Millionnaire Beach” at one point but I stayed with the proletariat.

In the evening, I followed an obscure tip I found on a Brazilian travel blog—”go to Sapatinga for sunset.” It turned out that “Sapatinga” is the Baía da Sapetinga, the Rio cachoeira bay, and half of the city shows up to watch the stunning sunset. There was even a night market!