Parati, Brazil
It has been said that for the true traveler the journey is more important than the destination. For the cultural historian, that dictum might be refined to say that it is the approaches to destinations that really matter. Parati today made an overwhelming case for the importance of arriving from the sea. This is a delightful small port on the Brazilian coast, a hundred and fifty miles or so south of Rio, the superb colonial architecture of which has secured it a well-deserved place on the list of Unesco World Heritage sites. Our approach was as if on the caravels of old: the mission church, founded in 1667, and tradesmen's dwellings greeted us, framed by swaying royal palms against a backdrop of rainforested mountains, all reflected in an azure sea. It was as though the Portuguese had left but yesterday. The hills behind had attracted the attention of the early colonists, not for their romantic scenic beauty, but for the mineral wealth they might contain. For, from this port and the many others like it along the coast of Brazil, a slave-based economy had been organized to export staple crops, gold and silver back to the mother country.
The growth of Rio to the north, uniquely for a New World city, the capital—albeit briefly—of a seaborne empire that included Old World Portugal in its dominions, caused Parati to decline only to be rediscovered by tourists in the last century. Today there are pleasure boats and boutiques, up-scale pousadas and cultural centres, a good example of the latter being in the converted town prison. The cobbled, concave streets are a unique feature of the town. They allowed the incoming tide to cleanse the streets. At the top of the tide each day, Parati has a hint of Venice about it. Visitors now enjoy the unique architectural ensemble, an island-studded coastline, and the waterfalls and trails of the surrounding Atlantic rainforest. After our morning walk, perfect weather conditions enabled us to swim and kayak before ending the day with a deck dinner looking out on a tropical paradise. Could this really be the twenty-first century?
It has been said that for the true traveler the journey is more important than the destination. For the cultural historian, that dictum might be refined to say that it is the approaches to destinations that really matter. Parati today made an overwhelming case for the importance of arriving from the sea. This is a delightful small port on the Brazilian coast, a hundred and fifty miles or so south of Rio, the superb colonial architecture of which has secured it a well-deserved place on the list of Unesco World Heritage sites. Our approach was as if on the caravels of old: the mission church, founded in 1667, and tradesmen's dwellings greeted us, framed by swaying royal palms against a backdrop of rainforested mountains, all reflected in an azure sea. It was as though the Portuguese had left but yesterday. The hills behind had attracted the attention of the early colonists, not for their romantic scenic beauty, but for the mineral wealth they might contain. For, from this port and the many others like it along the coast of Brazil, a slave-based economy had been organized to export staple crops, gold and silver back to the mother country.
The growth of Rio to the north, uniquely for a New World city, the capital—albeit briefly—of a seaborne empire that included Old World Portugal in its dominions, caused Parati to decline only to be rediscovered by tourists in the last century. Today there are pleasure boats and boutiques, up-scale pousadas and cultural centres, a good example of the latter being in the converted town prison. The cobbled, concave streets are a unique feature of the town. They allowed the incoming tide to cleanse the streets. At the top of the tide each day, Parati has a hint of Venice about it. Visitors now enjoy the unique architectural ensemble, an island-studded coastline, and the waterfalls and trails of the surrounding Atlantic rainforest. After our morning walk, perfect weather conditions enabled us to swim and kayak before ending the day with a deck dinner looking out on a tropical paradise. Could this really be the twenty-first century?
