Cabo Frio / Dado Frio

Here, the afternoons are made for napping and the sunrise is witnessed by more than fisherman and insomniacs. The surf is rarely quiet and the shrimp is sold within two hours of the catch. True to its name, the water is cold and forgetting a swimsuit is not an option with the famous Rua Dos Biquinis (Bikini Street) two blocks over. The end of south-of-the-equator Summer is nearing, beach days are numbered. Cabo Frio is the city of chance encounters, a haunt for Cariocas (Rio locals) and the clever travelers desirous of escaping the Rio bustle.

While in the Rockies we are blowing our noses from the pendulum of spring blizzards and allergies, the wave riders and visitors to Cabo Frio are snorkeling and exploring the crumbling Portuguese forts along the coast, wandering between rusted cannons and turquoise water, cat-napping in the sun and savoring cold beers after dusk. Cabo Frio is all of this and a sleepy walk home through the old streets just as the fishermen are heading out to launch their Jangadas seeking next morning’s catch..

No one writes stories about this side of adventure- the nights in Cabo that don’t hit the highlight or blooper reels. The quiet moments where you look around the table, forget about your soggy backpack, lost sandals, the bus you all watched drive away that would’ve taken you to this one hike that had a killer view of where the jungle melts into the Atlantic. BUT this IS the moment where you pop open your Dado, announce a group toast, and say, SAÚDE to all the paths (or missed busses) you stumbled across that led everyone right here.