TIMELESS PARATI : a Brazilian town retains its colonial past

When Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers flew to Rio in that classic film of the ‘30s, they missed a magic moment when they missed peaceful Parati. --Jerry Hulse, Travel Editor

The coastline of Brazil curves westward below Rio de Janeiro in a voluptuous snuggle of round green hills laced with sandy coves and pretty harbors.

The road is a curlicue along the Tropic of Capricorn. It winds back and forth over the crests of hills, dips within splashing distance of the ocean, occasionally drops (literally) to a single lane--the other lane having slid down the hillside or been buried by a slide from above. Road crews usually are at work somewhere along the 150 miles between Rio and Parati.

But the stunning coastal scenery, the delightful towns along the way and Parati itself are well worth the inconvenience of renting a car in Rio and driving the 150 miles to this village.

Angra dos Reis (Cove of Kings) is the first small port on the route. Fishing and shipbuilding go on in this port town that looks out on a huge bay full of islands--Baia da Ilha Grande. The largest island is Ilha Grande, once an infamous pirates’ lair. A sense of timelessness pervades. Angra has existed since 1502.

The chief group of hotels in this region is run by the Hotels do Frade (friar’s hotels). They include the Hotel Portogalo and Hotel do Frade.

The Hotel Portogalo sits atop a hill overlooking Ilha Grande Bay. Most guests are in residence for a week’s stay, taking their meals in the huge Iberian-style dining hall with its arched tile ceilings and stone floors.

The 100 guest apartments are tidy and simple, the grounds are pleasant and the public areas are tranquil and pretty, garlanded with bougainvillea and opening onto beautiful views of the town and harbor. Chairlifts take guests down the steep hillside to a small private beach; there’s also a pool.

Guests at Portogalo pay with beads in the restaurant and bar, including tips, and the waiters walk around with necklaces which they collect. It threw everyone into confusion when a drop-in passer-by wanted a quick lunch on a cash basis ($5), although they did manage to oblige. (Double room, $60.)

Club Mediterranee plans a major resort nearby, and for some reason the hotel owners in the area are all enthusiastic about the competition.

Another hour’s drive will take you to the 110-apartment Hotel do Frade, on its own beach that faces the bay. This resort has a nine-hole golf course, pool, two restaurants, and each room has a veranda with hammock. (Double, $50.)

One also passes an atomic power project and industrial plants. They seem out of context among the myriad coves and bays, along a road that twists and dips, and that sometimes seems to curl back upon itself to get another look at where it’s been.

Parati is the star attraction on this coastline, and its inaccessibility for so many years is undoubtedly the reason that time stood still here, while the rest of the world ushered in the modern way of life.

Inhabited since 1650, Parati has changed little since its days as a way station for Brazilian gold heading from Minas Gerais to Portugal in the 18th Century. When the road between Rio and Sao Paulo was built over an inland route a century ago, time passed Parati by.

When the coast route was created, bringing Parati into renewed contact with the world, an admiring modern eye rediscovered an authentic colonial town worth preserving, with its cobblestone streets and baroque buildings. Today Parati is a national monument and is considered to be an important example of colonial architecture.

The movies have also discovered the town. The Brazilian classic “Gabriella” with Sonia Braga and “The Emerald Forest” of John Boorman were both shot here.

But for all the attention, life in Parati goes on pretty much as it has for 200 years, with a few concessions to modernity--telephone poles and overhead wires being the most obtrusive to a purist’s eye.

White plaster buildings, with brightly painted wood trim or wrought-iron balconies, are bedecked with primrose and coleus. On my visit, an occasional clip-clopping pony pulled a wooden cart over the cobblestones. Men with wide straw hats maneuvered wheelbarrows between the stones. People leaned out their windows, watching the action or talking with a neighbor. Besides its Old World charm, Parati does a lively business with its art galleries, boutiques and shops that appeal to tourists.

I was most struck by the sense of quietude that pervades the town. Clusters of children chatter softly. Groups of adults converse in quiet tones. Background music is the merest whisper behind these muted voices.

An evening stroll yielded musical notes in single file: the plunking of a piano behind a shuttered window, a small church choir in practice, the distant keening of a violin. People strolled about with the slow cadence of those who have no place they have to be.

Stone buildings that are 300 years old and subject to a coastal clime of foggy nights and misty days acquire a certain musty presence. Little colonial pousadas (inns) open wide their wooden shutters whenever the sun shines down, but no airing can quite disperse the dampness of the ages. Still, everything is clean and neat, and the moist air must do wonders for one’s skin.

The Pousada Pardieiro, on the edge of town near the water, is composed of a group of buildings opening onto a center courtyard. More a jungle than a courtyard, overhung with bougainvillea and thickly planted with an assortment of palms and flowers. Among the plants are dozens of bird cages containing their little prisoners that sing quietly. A big toucan was the prize of the collection. Birds are popular pets all around town. Their cages hang at most doorways and in shops and restaurants.

The 22-room pousada has stone floors and walls, ponderous wooden doors and shutters, hand-woven and braided rugs. A Beatles poster hung on the stone wall.

Parati has 15 pousadas , and the tourist office near the center of town lists 22 restaurants. I tried the Mezanino, which came highly recommended, and found it to be quite good. The country-kitchen specialties are pot roast, steak with mushrooms and bouillabaisse.

(No one spoke the least bit of English, and my Portuguese phrase book got a workout. I never did learn how to order meat “well done,” but I was told later by a disapproving Brazilian that the literal translation is “shoe leather.”)

Tourist shops abound, another concession to Parati’s popularity with visitors from the modern world, but prices are very reasonable and there are as many handicrafts for sale as T-shirts. Meanwhile, iron chains close off the cobblestone streets in the town’s center from all but pedestrian traffic.

A vantage point for the red-tile roofs of Parati is an old fort atop a nearby hill, beyond the town cemetery. The beach is at the bottom of the hill. Early morning walks may take one to a waterfront mercado where fishermen sell their day’s catch to restaurateurs and food stores. The pace is slow. The night is endless hours away. Nothing seems impossible, except rushing. A hammock is a necessity.

One morning during my visit, a contingent of children paraded through the streets, singing and waving flags and large paper flowers.

As I drove back along the coast, clusters of children lined the road. Occasionally, a car would slow, the occupants would toss them coins and candy and the children would scatter like birds before crumbs--a remarkable distraction for the oncoming traffic.

The occasion was Twin Saints’ Day, for Cosme and Damiao, the protectors of children. With this dangerous practice, the saints must have had their heavenly hands full.