One thing I noticed in Brazil, was the flexibility of prices depending on who the buyer is. Real estate listings are non-existent. Properties are priced based on what the owner, who sizes the potential buyer up, guesses he or she can get from buyer. So dress down, don't admit you're American and keep your budget to yourself.

Itaparica

For an island property a bit closer to Salvador and less expensive than Morro Sao Paulo, I spoke with a Salvadoran realtor about a house in the closest and largest island to Salvador - Itaparica. For  $35,000 he said he had a house for sale with three bedrooms, located on the beach with an outstanding view of Salvador's skyline. It was my last morning in Brazil, but I climbed aboard the next ferry to see it anyway.

We're on the ferry for the 45-minute ride to the island. "Want a beer?" Marcel asks. Like the other male passengers, he soon has a cool one in his hand, 11:30 am or no. (Brazilians drink beer like hikers drink bottled water.)  Marcel tells me all the reasons why I will love this house. How much he loves it as a matter of fact. As we near the island, he points it out - a colonial style dollhouse wedged between two low rise buildings.

Marcel yells. An older man with a bad case of tremors comes out, drags a snarling rottweiler to a locked shed, and then unlocks the gate letting us in. He's a fisherman Marcel says. We weave an obstacle course through piles of trash and upended furniture in the hard, bare yard. The layout of the rooms is uninspired to say the least, but there is a rounded cement verandah columns and a show-stopping view of Salvador.

The four year old house is empty save a shallow layer of water over the first floor which is fed by a garden hose. Pieces of dog shit (I am hoping) float on top of the water and out the door.  Apparently the owner didn't get a lot of notice before we arrived.

Brazilian architecture is like frontier construction - a barrier to the elements and the occasional irritable Indian. I've seen exceptions of course - Kathchi and JaJa's fairy-like castle for instance, and my favorite, the India-influenced Aquabarra guesthouse in Buzios.

The island of Itapacare feels sad to me, its streets the desolate mostly empty streets of a tourist town in off season. There is a Club Med on the opposite side of the island Marcel tells me. But that doesn't comfort me.

So why can’t I get my real estate jiggy on with this deal and see the investment potential? Because like I said, icky is icky, whether it costs, $500,000 or $5. Truth is I probably should buy it for the land, and the pousada next door also for sale for $100,000.

My California friends look at me like I’m nuts when I tell them about this house for $35,000 with a beautiful view that I didn’t buy.  "Are you crazy?" they ask, as if $35,000 is just so much spare change. Which I guess it is in the relative world of real estate - especially if you're not from Brazil and your currency is the dollar, the pound, or the Euro.

As for me, $35,000 for something I don't like, even if it is a house, is not a good deal any more than spending $5 for a coat I hate is.

Warning: Brazilian property owners and agents pray nightly that Americans and Europeans will arrive, because they know that buyers from these countries are most likely to jump on an “excellent deal!”  in fear that someone else will come along and snatch it up before they do. The real estate bubble hasn’t drifted all that far south from North America yet. But I didn’t and probably won’t. So it's still there as far as I know, in case you want it.

The House for Sale that Wasn't

Back from the island, I begin to stuff my belongings into my suitcase, most of it into a spare bag to give away. My plane for the first leg of my trip back to the States (after 3 months in Brazil) leaves in 2 hours.

But Doug Simon is waiting downstairs to show me another a house.

“Didn’t you get my message?” I ask. “No," he says, looking at his cell phone as if it has failed him . "I’ll take you to the airport,” he says. "I want to show you and the wife this house. It’s on the way.”  He adds, " You can just pay me cab fare or something."

A realtor is waiting when we arrive. Doug rolls down his car window and they begin to talk, more and more heatedly and faster and faster in Portuguese. I am in the backseat lightheaded with exhaustion and hunger as I've not yet eaten today and all this keystone cop lookie-looing is wearing me down. But I'm not so tired that I don't pick up on the fact that they are arguing over a case of bait and switch.

The house the realtor was going to show us? Not available. But hey, he has another one.

“Doug, let’s stop for something to eat. I’m dying here.” He keeps driving.

We follow the realtor in his car through an electric fence as it swings open into a gated community. When the realtor turns right, Doug whips his car to the left.  "I'm going to show you the house I brought you to see," he says.

Note to reader: Brazil is the Land of No Rules. Any method that works to sell property (except maybe at gunpoint) is considered fair play.

Doug brakes in front of a Moorish-style estate, a circular pool off to the side, its setting: the bend of a river with a row of palm trees reflected in slow moving water. About half a mile down the river or 5 minutes by kayak, I'm told, is the beach. Doug's wife exclaims clasping her chest,  "Oh Honey, I love it!"

"So what do you think? Doug asks me watching me closely.  Now this is more like it, I'm thinking. "I love it too!” I say. “How much?"

"Oh, this? It's not for sale," he says. "Not yet anyway. But the owner has money problems so it'll be on the market soon."

As we careen towards the airport to get me to a plane that leaves in an hour, I can't remember where I hid my passport and worse, I'm suddenly aware that I gave away every pair of shoes I had, save the ones on my feet. Looks like I’ll be flying to Sao Paulo and beyond in aqua blue rubber flip flops. Unless they have a shoe store in the airport which is unlikely. At least, I console myself, I won't have to take my shoes or socks off for airport security.

“Need a hand with your bags?” Doug asks at the airport. “No thanks,” I say.  “Thank you both so very much for everything.”.

“What about cab fare?” Doug says.

“Tchau, tchau,” I say, turning on the heels of my flip flops to wheel me and my new Brasileira self into the airport.

Afterword:

Two things I learned about real estate in Brazil:

There are good deals to be had, and there are foreigners to be had.

Which one you end up with depends on you. Take off your watch and take your time.

To paraphrase Hemingway: if some places seem good, it's because we're good when we're in them.