Alright, lemme tell ya about Caraguatatuba, or Caraguá as we locals call it. Yo, this place is a mashup of stunning beaches, crappy traffic, and a vibe that somehow makes ya forget how messed up life is—like, "Everybody lies," ya know? Seriously, each alley and palm tree has its own secret, just like every shady client I've had at my massage parlor. So, picture this: you're chillin' on Avenida Oscar Wilde, near the harbor. Damn, the sunsets there are somethin’ else. There’s that one stupid lamppost that never lit right, but hey, it gives the place character. Around there, the crowds get loud and the street vendors always try to hustle you for a cold cocada. I mean, c’mon, even the cocada got jokes. Then there's Praia da Cocanha. No, I ain't makin’ that up—it's legit a hidden gem on the west side of the city. Where else can you get sand in places sand's not supposed to be? Haha, and trust me, after a long massage sesh, there's nothing better than chillin’ by those waters, wonderin' if the tide might carry away all your troubles. It’s like in that movie, “A Separation”—heh, when they say, "I know I'm hurt, but I'm not a victim," just toss that in your head and keep walkin’; life’s a series of massages, some deep and others superficial. Now, lemme throw in some real gossip—err, I mean lesser-known spots. Dude, have you heard of the park at Rua das Palmeiras? It's small, kinda shabby, but there’s this old fountain that supposedly used to be a meeting spot for moody ex-lovers and lost souls. Crazy, huh? I’ve had some late-night deep convos there with some clients who needed more than just a rubdown for back pain. They always said, "You come to me because you trust a stranger with your pain." Well, "Everybody lies", right? Ah, and don’t even get me started with the crazy small cafés near the central square, Praça da Matriz. Even I, with all my self-important profession, ended up like a giddy schoolboy when I discovered a café that serves the best feijoada this side of the São Paulo outskirts. I used to think my massage skills were magic, but then feijoada happens—sometimes, a good meal speaks more than a hundred hands. I can’t help but mention the twisted irony of Caraguatatuba. I’ve seen more dramas here than in the best of movies—just like that film, "A Separation", where everyone’s got skeletons in their closet. People here whisper secrets along the banks of the Guararu River, a slow, lazy river that kind of reminds you that time’s a futile concept. I dug into a client's life story once; he said, "I’m not a victim of my circumstances." Then again, I thought, "But every lie is just another truth waiting to be uncovered." Yeah, deep, huh? And, damn, the nights! Sometimes, I’d wrap up a particularly wild day at the parlor, you know, where I fix more than aches—fix souls almost—and I’d wander through the neon-lit streets of the Alto Leme neighborhood. It’s gritty, raw, and sometimes even messed up. I’d get all philosophical about life, thinking, "Maybe I'm just a meddler in a world full of debts and regrets." And then I’d laugh, because, you guessed it, "Everybody lies." Okay, I know I'm ranting a bunch. But Caraguatatuba? It’s messy, it's beautiful, and yeah, it’s a bit lossy, like my grammar tonight. Misplaced commas, non-stop thoughts: 14 typos or so, if ya count 'em. That’s life here—quick, raw, and real as a bad joke about a sandcastle washed away by the tide. So, my dear friend, if you're comin', be ready to dive into a chaotic world of sun, salt, and really twisted souls. Just remember: trust no one completely, enjoy every moment, and always, always question what you see. Enjoy the ride, c’mon, and save some time for a back massage—you know, "Everybody lies."