Dispatch from Lençóis Maranhenses, Brazil

The images had long intrigued me: a boundless expanse of white, creased like crumpled linen, dotted with thousands of cerulean lagoons. Some shimmer in the sun; others turn a deeper blue as clouds drift overhead. Standing here in this remote corner of South America, far from the well-traveled routes, I’m struck by the sheer scale of it, and the silence. No photograph can translate what it feels like to be here.

I was kitesurfing on the coast of Ceará, in northeast Brazil when the idea took hold. With my husband and our small children, I set off west along the coast, through the state of Piauí, toward Lençóis Maranhenses. The road trip turns into an expedition across sand, rivers and the vast Parnaíba Delta, the third largest oceanic delta in the world, where we spend two nights. No paved road connects these places directly, so we rely on rugged 4x4s and local speedboats, deep into one of Brazil’s last true frontiers.

Lençóis Maranhenses National Park, established in 1981, is a protected area about twice the size of New York City. The name means “the bedsheets of Maranhão,” after the state on Brazil’s tropical northeastern coast where these crescent-shaped dunes are found. It looks like a desert but receives far too much rain to be one. In fact, it is water that makes the sandscape possible. The nearby Parnaíba and Preguiças rivers carry sediment from the continent’s interior to the Atlantic, where ocean currents sweep it westward and deposit much of it along the park’s 44-mile coastline. In the dry season, especially late October and November, relentless northeasterly winds push the sand up to 30 miles inland, sculpting dunes that reach 130 feet.

Each year, the valleys between the dunes fill with new lagoons, thousands of them. Rain falls from January to June and collects above a layer of impermeable rock beneath the sand, which stops it from draining away. By early July, when the lagoons are at their fullest, some join up as rivers like the park’s own Rio Negro carve through the dunes. Once the rains end, the water starts to evaporate under the equatorial sun, dropping by as much as three feet a month. From June to early October, many lagoons stay deep enough for swimming. It is one of the few places on Earth where white dunes surround freshwater lakes.

Getting to Lençóis Maranhenses takes some effort. Most visitors fly for about three hours from São Paulo or Rio de Janeiro to São Luís, the colonial capital of Maranhão, then drive another four to five hours along a largely unremarkable road, some stretches of it paved only in recent years. Maranhão is the second-largest state in Brazil’s Northeast and its poorest, and Lençóis is a source of immense pride for the region. In 2024, the park was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

There are three gateways to the park. Barreirinhas, on the banks of the Preguiças River at the park’s eastern edge, is lively and somewhat chaotic, the hub for most visitors. Downriver, where the Preguiças meets the Atlantic at the park’s northeastern tip, Atins has a seaside charm, with mostly foreign-owned pousadas and palm-thatched restaurants lining streets of soft white sand. It is reached by boat or 4×4 from Barreirinhas and has recently become popular for its laid-back vibe, its kitesurfing and its easy access to the eastern side of the dunes.

On the opposite, western side of the park, Santo Amaro is quieter and more isolated, with access to some of the most compelling and least crowded lagoons, including the renowned Lagoa da Gaivota. The village retains much of its rural character; there isn’t much going on here. I come across wild donkeys shading themselves alongside quad bikes, the preferred transport on the sandy streets, while a cool Atlantic breeze rustles the coconut palms and cashew trees.

We complete the 350-mile journey and arrive at OIÁ Casa Lençóis, a small hotel on a gentle rise near the park entrance in Santo Amaro. Set on the historic Bora da Ilha farm, the property is framed by native vegetation and seasonal lakes that fill with rainwater. From here, the plains stretch toward the first gleaming ridges of the dunes.

French hotelier Thierry Teyssier first brought the property into the spotlight, choosing it as a location for his 700,000 Heures Impact project. In 2022, Brazilian designer Marina Linhares and her husband, Tomás Perez, CEO of the Brazilian luxury travel agency Teresa Perez, acquired and reimagined the six-room retreat, preserving its original character. Now a passion project for the couple, it still bears traces of Teyssier’s influence in the thoughtful details that shape a stay.

Linhares’s choice of furniture and lighting strikes the right balance between beauty and comfort, and OIÁ reflects the simplicity of the Lençóis landscape. Service is personal and assured, while the cuisine is unmistakably Brazilian and among the best I’ve ever tasted (and as a Brazilian, I can attest to this). Every outing is arranged privately by OIÁ, with knowledgeable hosts who steer us away from the crowds and help us find our own quiet corners of the park.

Each morning, beneath a cloudless sky, we head out in a 4×4 pickup truck, bouncing along the sandy trails that border the park and slowly beginning to grasp its scale. The OIÁ team sets up camp for us on a different dune each day, and we swim in the clear lagoons. The sky seems bluer here. The dunes curve in perfect crescents, and when the wind rises it feels as if the land itself is whispering. In moments of silence, we can hear the faint rustle of a bird’s wings long before it comes into view.

Occasionally, a dune cuts across a lagoon, dividing the water into sharp blue shapes as our children race down the slope. We take kayaks out along the Rio Negro, passing fishermen searching for crabs and herds of cows and horses. Then we return to the dunes to watch the sun go down. After dark, moonrise casts a soft pink glow across the rippled sand.

Beyond the lagoons, the park shelters beaches, mangroves, turtles and migratory birds. It lies in a transition zone where three Brazilian biomes meet: the Cerrado, the Caatinga and the Amazon. For all my travels, Lençóis is a place I find hard not to love. It feels like another world, sparsely inhabited, where shepherds lead their goats across the dunes. The landscape is always in motion: each season fills some lagoons and leaves others to disappear beneath the sand. That cycle of renewal is what stays with me. On my last swim, I notice the water has already begun to recede.