Incongruous motor boats loaded onto fragile wooden trailers meander through Jacare 'High Street" negotiating trucks, children, dogs and pot holes oblivious of the sweating cheese and melting sausages purchased to see us through the next few weeks as we sit behind the smartly polished veneer of the affectionately named 'stink boat'. Provisions finally stowed and 800 miles till the next stop - it shouldn't take too long. We hadn't banked on the effect of the barnacle crust that had collected in 6 short weeks. Below the waterline miniature volcanoes of calcareous life happily created their own ecosystem in the dark muddy brown waters of the Paraiba River.

We have had the odd experience of towing, but this was unreal. We barely made any wake through the water. The 2 knot current, fortunately with us, was the saving grace keeping boat speeds up to the dizzy heights of 5 knots, at times. The drag and combined weight of the not so tiny shells were unbelievable. Plans were hatched to remove our mobile marine park.

Ilha dos Lencois was the venue. The group of islands off the north east coast of Brazil rise up as snowy white sand dune mounds dissected by meandering rivers and mangroves. The silty sandy water wasn't inviting but the smooth, shallow slopes of the fishing village beach were ideal for a day of scraping after a reconnoitre at low water. Lining up the TV ariel with the electricity cable post for a transit, we had an ideal location (probably).

Drying out is always a little nerve racking. Will the tide pull us sideways, is there anything sharp, hard, dangerous lurking under the sand, are the tide tables correct or will we be left high and dry, have we long enough to do the job...and so on. As the tide slowly leaked from beneath Juffa it was reassuring to know we were ok, and we had visitors. The village children waded out in little gangs, checking out the situation. Insistent to the extreme the children picked at barnacles, poked at slime and pulled at shelly outcrops on the hulls. They weren't going to be put off. Appropriate tools were shared around to limit the use of stones scraping the hulls as more children converged. Many did a good days labour and seemed satisfied by their contribution, but more so by the snack of oranges, although the pancakes weren't so well received.

Sand dunes dominate the tiny village. Fishing boats edge along deep water channels, finally drying out along the shore. Rain supplies the precious fresh water from roofs or sluggishly percolated through the dune and collected by women from shallow pits at the base of the dune.

Life is not without its modern conveniences however. The thee wind turbines provide power for the village - certainly enough to power 2 huge banks of speakers 3m x 2m at full volume for most of the night. Half a mile away at anchor the hulls hummed with the base, fortunately not every night.