“Have you been here before?” he asks as we get out.
“I have,” I say. “But it’s been a very long time.”
He leads me towards the path.
We walk along the path, and he asks, “Do you know anything about its history?”
I nod slowly, a somber thought crossing my mind. “It used to be a code phrase to hide the illegal slave trade, didn’t it?”
He nods. “Yes. But today, the town has redeemed that name into something joyful. You’ll see chicken statues everywhere—even chicken-shaped phone booths.”
I smile. Redemption. I like that.
He continues, “It’s probably also changed a lot since you were last here.”
“In what way?” I ask, curious about this once-fishing village.
“It’s more touristy now, so they’ve cleaned it up and really put their best foot forward.”
“I’m excited to see.”
We walk along the path, and I spot a market out of the corner of my eye and a few chicken statues that look like they’ve been placed there purely for charm. I only catch a glimpse before we veer off the main path, heading somewhere a little more off the beaten track.
“Now I’m really curious. Where are we headed?” I ask.
He points out into the distance, and I spot dune buggies lined up in a row—green, yellow, and light blue. They look almost too perfectly coordinated against the backdrop of palm trees swaying lazily in the wind.
“I figured we’d go on a dune buggy ride?” he asks sheepishly, like he’s not entirely sure whether I’ll be thrilled or horrified.
“Well, you took a gamble… and it paid off.” My face breaks into a wide smile. “I’d actually love to ride a dune buggy.”
“I had a feeling you might,” he says with a small shrug. “After hearing about all your adventures last night, it seemed like something you’d enjoy adding to the list.”
“Color me impressed,” I reply, my grin refusing to fade. “Where will we be riding to?”
“I take it it's been a long time since you were last here?”
I wave that off, talking with my hands like I always do. “Oh, a long time. Over a decade, I think.”
He nods. “Back when you came, it was probably a quaint little fishing village.”
“You’re right…” I pause, trying to pull the memories forward. “I think my dad had business around here, because at that time there really wasn’t much to do.”
“There’s a lot more to do and see now.” He glances over at me with a knowing grin, like he already has a mental list of things he thinks I’ll love.
We arrive at the dune buggy hut, and he opens the door, gesturing for me to go in first. I sigh internally. I really do love the gentleman tendencies.
I look around as we walk in, taking everything in. The place has clearly been decorated to match the charm of Porto de Galinhas. Coconut shells hang from the ceiling, seashell wind chimes clink softly both inside and out, and photos of dune buggies line the walls in frames made entirely of shells. It’s kitschy in the best possible way.
We walk up to the counter, where Nate begins speaking to the man behind it.
“I have a booking under Nate,” he explains.
The man pulls out his journal, scans the date and time until he finds Nate’s name, and crosses it off with a pen.
“Come this way,” he says, gesturing for us to follow.
We walk back outside toward the dune buggy he’s hired for the next two hours. We’ve been given one of the yellow ones, which feels especially cheerful and bright. It’s like a cross between an ATV and a Jeep, and I have a strong feeling we’re about to have a ridiculous amount of fun.
