Slip-sliding into Brazilian splendor

A thin torrent of water plumes over the rocky falls below me. Behind me a snaking line of Brazilian adolescents offer expressions of encouragement, or perhaps warning, in distinguished Portuguese slang. Their Speedo clad loins leaving nothing to the imagination. My foreign pale glow is made all the more radiant by the golden tan of the excited clique on all sides. A carpet of water-logged moss wriggles with the flowing trickle between my toes, urging my steps towards the top of the most ruthless water-slide I’ve ever seen.

Take a smooth crest of rock rolled out like a giant stone tongue, a never-ending cascade of water, and a deep green pool at its base. Add some adrenalin thirsty locals to the mix and ‘Olhe!’ - a private water-park hidden from all who aren’t in the know. My Brazilian friend Mariza swears that the place is whispered about, to keep out the holiday-makers who lie just minutes away on some of the world’s most dazzling beaches.

The sun-drenched tropics that characterize the tiny honeymooners’ island of Ilhabela, on Brazil’s southern coast, are lost within the shady chasm of jungle where I now stand. Monstrous palms entwine themselves over the sky, the light peeking through their foliage fighting to paint a glimmer on the water below. Instead of airy sea-breeze, a dense aroma of soil and hibiscus flowers keep unseen insects hovering lazily in and out of earshot, as hoards of mosquito’s make their presence known via the tingling around my ankles.

My main focus however is on how I am to replicate the acrobatics of the Ihlabellan daredevils as they fly down the fall. There are no boundaries. They flip; they twist; and they jump over poor souls who are made to lie gurgling in the shallows, before finally catapulting into the safety pool below. Every attempt concludes with triumphant ‘whoohoos!’ accompanied by applause from the gathered spectators. Laughter echoes within the cocoon of trees that protect the area, but right now my laughter is all nerves.

I slide gingerly towards the run up point, as cries of “Gringo vá, Gringo vá!! Go foreigner, Go foreigner!!” defy my conscious thoughts of backing out. Pasting a smile on my face I give the universal thumbs up sign at the gawking onlookers, close my eyes and dive headlong into the spotlight. Foam carries me over hidden rock edges that make me regret my choice of skimpy bikini, its course down the fall curling slickly through natural grooves in the rock. The speed of the water is deceiving and I make a quick decision not to fight my increasing velocity. Blurred peripheral vision is now blinkers for a view only on the route ahead. I race towards the drop-off rock and after a spectacular finale of flailing limbs I am submerged in the murky pool, exhaling a trail of bubbles as I go. Erupting from the water, I catch a glimpse of the next participant preparing to tackle Brazil’s ultimate hydro-slide.