In the morning, we set off from Joinville to the coast. One of our tires is causing us concern because, after just a week, it’s already visibly losing air. Whether it’s the valve or a crack in the tube, I can’t yet tell.

It’s time to head back, but we’d like to spend one more day at the seaside with Shima. We decide against going to Florianópolis. This city and island are very beautiful and popular, but we wouldn’t have the time to really explore them. We choose the Bombinhas Peninsula near Porto Belo.

The journey was supposed to only take two hours, but then my navigation system seemed to go crazy.

The time isn’t getting any shorter. Only 20 kilometers left, and still 1:45 hours?

But then the reason becomes clear: a slow avalanche of cars is slowly drifting in the same direction, and there’s no way to avoid it. And today is Monday. But Argentina and Uruguay seem to be on vacation, occupying the nearby Brazilian beaches.

Instead of making it to lunch, we didn’t reach our intended campsite until late afternoon. Sara and Shima even managed to do some shopping while Leon and I bravely waited in traffic.

The spot is literally at the very end of the street and right by the sea. The view was worth it, but the beach is packed with umbrellas, chairs, and people. Leon seems to be making full use of his powers as the Prince of Darkness. A few gusts of wind pick up, umbrellas fly, and people flee, so we suddenly have plenty of space.

We can still play in the high waves before heading to the car. I can also hang up my hammock for the first time on the trip. At night, a heavy thunderstorm and rain begin. Huge flashes of lightning shoot into the Atlantic waters on the horizon.

It’s still raining the next morning. We set off early, but still get stuck in traffic. This small town is choking on tourists. Like rainwater, rivers of cars pour into the main stream. The traffic is on the verge of a standstill.

A few side roads get me around the worst of it and I reach the river just beyond its bottleneck, finally escaping tourist hell. We leave the coast and head west, passing through the very German town of Blumenau.