I arrived in Caldas Novas, a town in the South Eastern part of Goais in the Brazilian interior, looking forward to chilling out. My excellent Lonely Planet guidebook had highlighted Caldas Novas as a haven for hot springs relaxation and I imagined spending a couple of days luxuriating in white dressing gowns as I passed from spa treatment to massage to sauna.
Nursing this fantasy, my four Brazilian friends and I payed a total of R$874 (which worked out at about 70 Euro each) for two nights accommodation (breakfast and lunch included) in an apartment at Sol Das Caldas Novas. However, the fluffy dressing gowns were not to be - the Sol is a family holiday resort.
There are few things to chill the heart of the contentedly childless as enforced proximity to large amounts of children. Though very comfortable, well run and having good facilities, our resort became a compound from which there was no escape from little people running amock - no pool or quiet space free for the enjoyment of their curmudgeonly elders like me. Was my brief break a warped Dickensian Christmas Carol - forewarning me of a potential future where the arrival of children heralds holidays of terrifying blandness?
However, as it happened, I had a whole pile of fun in Caldas Novas. Escaping our compound, we had great excursions to both a fun fair in Caldas Novas itself (which as a city is a bit dirty and un-inspiring) and to what claims to be Brazil´s biggest aquatic park - Hot Park - about 30k from the town centre. Having such fun on pirate ships, halfpipes and abseiling may hint the real reason that I give kids such a bum rap. Like Napoleon on the waterslides in the film Bill and Ted´s Excellent Adventure, I want shorter queues for my fun park rides. Why should childish fun be the preserve of children?
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