Dispatch from Itacaré

For years, I’d dreamt of visiting Trancoso, the bohemian-cool beach town in Brazil’s northeastern state of Bahia. The hippie-chic hotels, the trendy organic restaurants, the colorful fishing boats bobbing in the harbor—I wanted to see it all. For months, I tried to convince my husband, a thrill-chasing Argentine, to spend our honeymoon there. (Understandably, he was angling for a more action-packed getaway farther away from home.) Then, a Swedish-Spanish friend—someone who had traveled the world and journeyed along Brazil’s 4,500-mile coastline—let me in on his favorite secret spot: the surf town of Itacaré, located just north of Salvador on Bahia’s Cacao Coast. 

Despite its popularity among European royalty and world-class Brazilian surfers, Itacaré, he assured me, had managed to stay under-the-radar and refreshingly low-key. “Trancoso has become bling-bling,” he explained, “but Itacaré is pristine nature, pure Bahian culture, and the kind of wild, jungle-backed beaches you’d associate with remote Indonesian islands.” Before we parted ways, he added a tip about the town’s unofficial uniform: “Havaianas and board shorts only,” he advised.

I rushed back home and pitched my husband, playing up the bit about the Indonesian-esque beaches and showing him photos of Barracuda Hotel & Villas, a design-forward property embowered by lush jungle greenery and run by São Paulo-born designer Juliana Ghiotto and her husband, Daniel Lima, an ex-pro surfer from Itacaré. To my surprise, it didn’t take much convincing at all. “Maybe we can take surf lessons and trek through the jungle,” he said, already sold.

On a muggy day last October, we arrived in Salvador, Brazil’s first capital and the gateway to the Bahian coast. Driving through the city’s topsy-turvy highways, we passed centuries-old baroque churches, steep hillsides blanketed with favelas, and leafy gated communities before arriving at Hotel Fasano Salvador. Set inside a grand 1930s Art Deco building that once served as the headquarters for the weekly newspaper A Tarde, the hotel is a study in Brazilian modernism — dark woods, green marble, jacaranda wood furnishings — punctuated by striking local details like Candomblé prayer beads and black-and-white shots by photographer-anthropologist Pierre Verger. It’s also home to a stunning rooftop pool, with views out over the Bay of Saints. 

After settling in with a breakfast of spongy cassava cakes and pillowy pão de queijo, we met our local guide and began weaving through the cobbled streets of the Old Town, glimpsing colonial-era landmarks including the famed Nosso Senhor do Bonfim Church, the historical monuments of Pelourinho, and the stately Rio Branco Palace, soon to reopen as a Rosewood hotel. We also discovered the city’s contemporary charms—from new art galleries like Galatea and Nonada to trendy record stores, indie bookshops, and open-air restaurants in Santo Antônio Além do Carmo. That night, we caught a mesmerizing performance at the renowned Balé Folclórico da Bahia—Brazil’s only professional folk dance company—watching as dancers performed samba de roda, maculelê (mock-fight), capoeira, and other African-derived dances to the pounding rhythms of live percussion and ecstatic chanting.

A few days later, after taking a short flight from Salvador, we arrived in the port city of Ilhéus and began the drive 90 minutes north to Itacaré. As we zipped along endless stretches of white sand and verdant, mist-covered rainforest, our driver, the son of a cacao farmer, explained how the region’s abundant cacao plantations had brought wealth to the area in the 20th century, inspiring the writings of Brazil’s most acclaimed literary son, Jorge Amado (whose quirky house-museum is open for tours in Salvador’s Rio Vermelho neighborhood). But these days, he told us, the region was better known as a surfer’s paradise and a burgeoning eco-destination: some of the richest pockets of the biodiverse Atlantic Forest — a critically endangered biome home to about 23,000 plant species, almost 40% of which exist nowhere else — can be found in this corner of Bahia.

Pulling up to the gates of Barracuda Hotel & Villas, we dropped off our luggage at the arrival area and jumped into an open-air buggy that motored us up a steep hillside covered with tapirira, kapok, and fig trees. Spread across 64 acres of Atlantic Forest with sweeping views of the ocean and Praia do Resende, the eco-retreat comprises a 17-suite hotel and a smattering of freestanding, vault-ceiling wooden villas with private pools and fully-staffed kitchens. (They’ll soon debut a collection of 19 bungalows, suspended above the treetops, some featuring terraces and private pools.) Only 10% of the total property will be developed, with the remainder designated as a protected conservation area. 

Guests, regardless of where they’re staying, tend to congregate in the stunning open-air main house, which features an all-day restaurant (hosting regular live music and culinary pop-ups) and opens onto a panoramic pool terrace. Polished stone and concrete surfaces, low-slung furnishings crafted by local carpenters, and beachy accents like surfboards and hanging rattan lanterns blend the best of Bahian design and Scandinavian minimalism (the property is part-owned by a group of globe-trotting Swedes).

Our guest room, perched above the treetops with a spacious terrace and an airy bathroom that slid open to the jungle, felt like a high-design treehouse. While it was tempting to hole up there and birdwatch from our balcony, Juliana encouraged us to take advantage of the activities roster: hikes along virgin beaches, sunrise yoga in an open-air pavilion (maybe the most beautiful gym I’ve ever seen), surfing and fishing trips, and excursions on the hotel’s private boat, to name a few. The couple and their Swedish friends also run the petite Barracuda Boutique hotel in Itacaré’s colorful, bohemian town center and are happy to offer guests their recommendations — from local restaurants like Tia Deth serving moqueca seafood stew to independent shops selling locally-made chocolate and coffee.

During our three-night stay, we trekked through the Atlantic Forest and walked for miles along deserted beaches (exactly as my friend described: powdery, jungle-backed, and evocative of remote Indonesian islands), and enjoyed candlelit dinners with live Brazilian music on Barracuda’s lively pool terrace. A highlight was watching a race at a local canoeing school for underprivileged youth that Barracuda supports through its social-environmental initiative Yandê Itacaré Institute. Several alumni from the school have gone on to compete nationally and internationally, including in the recent Paris Olympics.

On one of our final days, we joined a handful of other guests—well-heeled Brazilians from Rio and São Paulo—on a sail along the coast in Juliana and Daniel’s private boat. We were the only foreigners, which piqued their curiosity. “How did you hear about this place?” they asked, clearly surprised we’d uncovered such a hidden gem. That afternoon, guided by Daniel and a few of his local friends, we paddled through mangrove forests, hiked to hidden waterfalls, savored a beachside barbecue of fresh fish and plantain wrapped in banana leaves, and swam in the warm waters as the sun set.

By the time the beach bonfire was crackling under a full moon, I’d had enough wine to hold conversations in a disjointed mix of Spanish, English, and very rudimentary Portuguese. Daniel cranked up the music on his speakers, and soon we were dancing and laughing around the fire like old friends. “Trancoso could never,” my husband whispered in my ear between songs, and I nodded, the smile on my face saying it all.