“Safe travels. I’ll call you tomorrow around… 11 p.m.”

“Sounds good. May the travel gods be with you. Or the weather gods, whatever.”

In Ottawa, at 11 p.m. on Monday, Feng was packing for a two-day trip with Mark to Montreal for no real reason—just a change of scenery. The weather forecast wasn’t great with blowing snow across most of Quebec and Ontario.

In Salvador, at 11 p.m. on Monday, my mum and I were packing for a week-long stay in Morro de São Paulo for one reason only—a fun, tropical, exotic adventure in Bahia. The weather forecast was definitely not an issue—30°C and sunshine, just like every other day—but I was anxious.

My mum and I are close, whatever that means. We’re different in many ways, but we get each other. She was a good mum—she still is. We share a lot, but I didn’t get the travel bug from her or anyone else in my family.

I’m the odd one. No one travels, mostly for the same valid reasons most people don’t—no time, no money, no real desire to leave home and see what life is like 6,000 or 10,000 kilometres away.

Meanwhile, my solo trip to China at 16 was an eye-opener. I plan my life around travel—I simply can’t live without it—and I’m lucky to have met Feng, another passionate backpacker. I never get tired of travelling. These trips aren’t holidays—they’re my life.

My mum did come to Canada once with my brother in 2011. She saw where I lived, but on Monday, while packing, it suddenly occurred to me that this trip to Brazil might be the first time she really sees how I—how we, Feng and Mark included—live.

Basically, I live out of a backpack.

I’ve spent my life packing, unpacking, and figuring out unfamiliar places.

It’s normal to me.

I spent the day coaching the hell out of her. Yes, we have this kind of relationship—she’s accommodating and willing to learn.

“Okay, we’re not messing around today because we’re travelling tomorrow. So back at the Airbnb at 8 p.m. at the latest, no sunset, not even a quick one—sorry,” I announced on Monday morning.

“What do we have to do? It feels like a short trip to me.”

“It’s a three-hour boat trip on open water to reach a remote island.”

“Right, if you put it this way…”

“First, we have to withdraw cash. Second, we’re gonna go grocery shopping. We should bring some food—we won’t starve on the island, but everything is super expensive and our basics are sometimes hard to find. And then I’ll do a final load of laundry and pack.”

“I’ll pack tomorrow morning.”

“No, you won’t, because the boat is at 9 a.m. from the terminal, which means we have to get there at…”

“8:45?”

“This is not a TGV! We have to check in! Okay, it means showing up and getting a pink or red wristband, but still. I have to get up at 7 a.m., get an Uber at 8, and we should be there by 8:15.”

I love being 42—almost 43. I can boss my mum around. Mind you, we were laughing about the whole trip planning.

I wasn’t sure where to take my mum in Brazil. It’s a huge country, and I really didn’t want to give her a quick, checklist-style tour—Rio de Janeiro one day, Foz do Iguaçu the next, then across the country to some other Brazilian gems.

We decided to focus on Bahia. Salvador is probably my favourite Brazilian city, and it’s an easy flight from Europe, so it was a no-brainer.

And then, where else? The Baía de Todos os Santos is huge, which means going in and out of Salvador takes hours. The closest city to the north is Aracaju, and to the south, Itacaré and Ilhéus.

That’s when I thought of Morro de São Paulo. I went there in 2024 and really liked it—it’s remote, exotic, safe, and gorgeous.

It’s also a challenge in its own way.

First, there’s the boat, a two-to-three-hour catamaran ride on open water—it’s notorious for seasickness.

Then there are no cars and plenty of stairs in Morro de São Paulo. Locals carry everything from luggage to fridge through kids in wheelbarrows, the local “Uber”, and the climb up to our Airbnb in the jungle was going to be a tough one.

Island life is also logistically a bit tricky if you don’t eat out every night. The “supermarkets” are more like convenience stores, stocked with plenty of local favourites and a limited selection of “outsider food”—but unfortunately, I’m better at cooking broccoli than macaxeira or chuchu.

I explained all of that to my mum.

She still signed up for it.

So we packed, slept way too late, and got ready for the adventure.

It started well. We made it to the boat terminal at the bottom of Elevador Lacerda at 8:15. We “checked in”—bright pink wristbands—and waited for the boat. Compared to most people, we didn’t have that much luggage—my backpack, my mum’s suitcase, two small daypacks, and a very heavy tote bag filled with frozen chicken breast, veggies, chocolate, and a frozen bottle of water to keep everything cold.

The boat left at around 9:15 a.m. We stored the suitcase and backpack at the front of the boat as instructed and found two seats together inside—yay, air conditioning!

It’s a boat, not a plane or a bus. No seatbelt, you can just wander around and go outside, onto the tiny deck, for the best views of Salvador from the sea.

Then it gets rough and wet, so we moved back inside.

No one got sick, I think. It’s not that bad, really.

And three hours later, there it was—Morro de São Paulo.

I had forgotten how steep the street is from the dock to the Arco de Chegada to pay the 70 reais entry tax, and then from there to the main square.

Gee, this is one thing Morro de São Paulo shares with São Paulo.

And then we had to find our Airbnb, a ten-minute walk from there… plus a final 96 steps to the house.

I did two trips.

Turns out a big bag of groceries is really heavy.

But here we are, sheltered from this crazy world for a little while.

I’m gonna go say hi to the baby lizard outside.