Perched on top of the Alto da Telebahia, my Itacaré Airbnb was clean and comfortable, but I did learn to live with a handful of bugs—it comes with the territory and the amazing balcony overlooking the tropical jungle.

At night, bats were flying around my laundry drying outside, and I spotted a few monkeys. Meanwhile, inside, the bathroom was home to a bunch of tiny insects. They left me alone, I left them alone. I tried to figure out what they were but each insect seemed different. A cross between an ant and a fly here, maybe? Midges? Mutant mosquitoes? I don’t even know where they were coming from, since I was keeping the windows closed. Another Bahia mystery, I suppose.

The rest of Itacaré was easier to decipher than the animal kingdom.

Itacaré, 27,000 locals and countless foreigners, is both confusing and very straightforward, remote and international, fascinating and at times frustrating.

Backpackers and surfers love Itacaré. It’s like a mandatory stop in Brazil for many travellers exploring South America for the first time—Rio de Janeiro, Ilha Grande, Parati, Itacaré, Salvador, then Argentina, Bolivia or Peru.

The signs in Hebrew and the many Israeli flags are not a political statement in this part of the world but a way to sell “the best schnitzel in town” to the large groups of Israeli backpackers who typically take a gap year after their mandatory national service.

The French also seem to love Itacaré—they’re not coming for the food, that’s for sure because many restaurants focus on “cheap and fast” rather than gourmet cuisine.

The Argentinians typically came for a week two years ago. They live in their sticker-covered vans and survive selling homemade empanadas on the beach and braiding tourist hair at night while working on adding tattoos to every inch of their body.

Most Brazilians from inland Bahia or Belo Horizonte drive to Itacaré for a few days, then spend their stay dreading the 18+-hour drive back home. Cariocas from Rio de Janeiro or Paulistas from São Paulo fly to Ilhéus and then bus to Itacaré.

The result is a tiny town full of tourists who tend to hang out with their group. It’s… weird. People don’t mix. Your entry ticket to a conversation is speaking the language fluently. I chatted with French people and Argentinians but I got stuck at “shalom” and never got to meet the Israeli properly. I wasn’t hippie enough for the local Argentinians but I did chat easily with Brazilians. Go figure.

That said, Itacaré is a good place to socialize when you find your people because there isn’t much to do except go to the beach, which is the entire point, I suppose. There’s Praia da Coroa along the main avenue, then Praia da Concha (calm waters), then four wilder beaches a fifteen-minute walk away. To relax, pick the one without first-time surfers and large groups playing football (their favourite spot changes every day).

In the evening, people tend to move to the Mirante do Xaréu to watch the sunset (and buy pot), then the main avenue fills up—up and down the Calçadão da Pituba you go to look for a drink, a new swimsuit, the friends you met at the beach, something to eat or yet another Itacaré t-shirt. Mind you, there’s no point in buying clothes for Itacaré. The official uniform for women is a two-piece bikini, pareo vaguely optional. Yes, it’s fine to walk into stores and eat dinner in your swimsuit.

I’ve just arrived in Salvador tonight after a crazy combination of bus and boat. I did enjoy my week in Itacaré… but I’m not starting a new life down there and it feels great to be back in a much bigger place!