Over the years, Brazil introduced me to many great Brazilian things I ended up adopting. The list is long—Havaianas sandals, the sandwicheira, aloe vera cream, eyebrow threading and Brazilian wax (… just look it up!), a love of white clothing and white nail polish, a lovely if tricky new language, tons of foods, dancing like you mean it, party like the world is gonna end, spending days and nights at the beach, appreciating sunsets, being kind to everybody, and probably more.

But Brazilians also love things I’m not exactly into and this list is equally long—chicken heart skewers, shrimps bought from beach vendors who have been carrying them around for hours under the sun, açaí, climbing slippery rocks wearing Havaianas, sitting around and drinking beer all day long, in treating God and Jesus as real people and including them randomly in conversations, going to the beach at 7 a.m…. among other details, love you guys, thanks but no thanks.

So basically, when I’m trying something all Brazilians are into, I either love it and wonder how I reached the ripe old age of almost 41 without it or I wonder what’s wrong with the 214.3 million of them.

The Morro de São Paulo is a Brazilian favourite.

It’s my next destination.

I have the feeling it’s going to be a love-it-or-hate-it kind of place.

The Morro de São Paulo is the biggest village on Tinharé Island, located 60 kilometres by boat from Salvador—and getting there is where the challenge starts.

There are basically two options to reach the Morro de São Paulo from Salvador.

The first one is a fairly complicated boat-bus-boat trip that involves taking the boat from Salvador to Itaparica Island (about 60 minutes), then taking the bus to Atracadouro Bom Jardim (2 hours) and then eventually catching another boat to the Morro de São Paulo. Doable but tiring, especially alone with my backpack.

The second one is a direct catamaran boat to the Morro de São Paulo from Salvador. It takes about 2.5 hours. However, it’s open sea and the ride is notoriously rough with many reports of passengers puking all the way to the Morro de São Paulo.

“I’d take the long way,” Feng recommended. “Remember the boat ride from Honduras to Belize?”

Oh, yes.

It took me a while to make a decision. Quick ride from hell or a long trip?

Eventually, I bought my boat ticket.

“It’s only 2.5 hours. I’ll survive,” I told Feng.

I picked the 9 a.m. boat because it was supposedly the “easiest” trip. I stopped by the pharmacy to buy the highly recommended motion sickness pills.

“Have you ever been to the Morro?” I asked the friendly pharmacist.

“Oh, God, no! The boat ride is awf—… I mean, here are your pills, good luck!”

Right.

Meanwhile, I was fully aware that the boat ride was only one of the many unknowns about the Morro. It’s not exactly a hidden gem in Bahia, many tourists come over from Salvador and elsewhere, but most of them just do a “bate e volta,” a quick day trip. I was going to stay for an entire week because this month, my mission is to explore Bahia and I take my missions very seriously.

The Morro, population barely 4,000, was unlikely to feature modern conveniences like supermarkets. The roads aren’t paved and there are no cars. My phone should work but apparently, coverage and Internet access are an issue. Oh, and it’s a “morro,” a hill, so the streets are steep and my Airbnb was on top of 53 stairs.

I bought some not-so-essential essentials, including my favourite crackers, Parmesan cheese (these little packs are stored at room temperature in Brazil), and mug cakes. I did two loads of laundry considering I wouldn’t have a washing machine for a week. I bought giant plastic bags for my backpack since I had heard passengers and luggage get wet on board.

Then I started packing wondering how big was the village, whether I’d feel trapped staying there for a week and whether I was crazy.

The next morning, I took an Uber to the boat terminal and I “checked in,” which involved being handed three receipts, a white wristband and a stamp-size QR code to enter the terminal.

The boat was smaller than I expected. Part of it was closed but passengers were free to move around and go stand outside at the front or the back, which I did to take pictures of Salvador from the sea. You do get wet if you stand outside.

The trip went by fast. It was rough—you do feel the whole open ocean experience—but nobody had to use the plastic bags hanging everywhere in the boat.

From the boat, the island was all green, covered with jungle. The lighthouse was the only sign of civilization.

What the hell did I sign up for?