Kombination Camp 2026
The campout was hosted in a campsite that had been taken over exclusively for the weekend, and it was already jam-packed when we arrived. We went to ask about tickets and checked to see if by chance, we were on the guest list. Unfortunately, we weren’t. There was also zero signal, so while we could message Jean, he probably wouldn’t receive it. The tickets to get in were over £70, which was far more expensive than I’d expected. We were reluctant to pay, enter, and then find out we didn’t need to. You might think we were assuming too much, but we’ve blagged our way into a few events like this before even in the US , so it was always worth a shot!
Eventually, we spotted Jean, who said he’d ask the organiser. Time passed. I suspect he might have forgotten about us and gone off for a barbecue, but when he finally returned, we were starting to feel a bit silly. In the end, we just paid to get in anyway. It was a decent chunk of money, so we resolved to make sure we had a great time (and surrounded by our Brazilian VW family, I was sure we would).
Having paid our money and committed, we hopped into Ruby to move her around, only to find she wouldn’t start. She cranked and cranked, but refused to start. After some time spent fiddling and poking around, I wiggled the cam sensor wiring while Lee cranked the engine, and she finally fired up. I wasn’t entirely convinced that was the actual solution to the problem, but we’d wasted enough time already and just wanted to get inside and put our new fridge to work!
Because we were on the late side, we ended up parked right on the outer edge of the group near the toilet block. While we were a little miffed at first to be stuck on the periphery, it actually worked out brilliantly. We could head into the thick of it to be sociable when we wanted, but we didn't have to endure a late night if we weren't in the mood. The cats had space to wander around without climbing into a million other Kombis, and we had a patch of clear sky so we could still use our satellite internet.
After setting up the van, plugging in the new fridge, and stocking it with cold beer, we headed in to socialise. We tracked down Jean and his truck camper, hung out with his wife and daughter for a bit, and then wandered around until we discovered a free caipirinha bar. Now I’d definitely be getting my money’s worth! The bar is always the best place to strike up a conversation, and soon we were surrounded by people asking questions, swapping stickers, and inviting us to join their barbecues the following day.
The tradition for the first night was a candlelit walk to the beach, similar to Buses by the Bridge six years ago in Arizona where they held a torchlit parade. The key difference with the Latin American version was that someone was wheeling a massive Bluetooth speaker along on a makeshift trolley.
The majority of the campsite marched a few kilometres down the road carrying an array of candles and lanterns. Jean gave me one he and his daughter had made earlier – a simple but effective design made from a tin can with a hole punched in the side and a candle shoved through. The rough, barbed edges held the candle in place while the can acted as a windshield. I carried it along on a piece of wire as we streamed toward the ocean.
On the beach itself, everyone sat in a circle on the soft, fine sand while a cool breeze blew off the water and the candles flickered. In the middle of the circle, seemingly out of nowhere, a guitar amp appeared and connected to the rolling Bluetooth speaker. Jean whipped out his guitar and, before we knew it, we were treated to an impromptu beach gig, with his daughter even joining in to sing The Beatles. As the night wore on, people filtered away in dribs and drabs, but overall the whole thing wrapped up fairly early. It was very much a wholesome family event rather than a wild party.
Saturday was the main event. By mid-morning, we wandered down the central track splitting the camp in two, figuring we’d just keep walking until someone recognised us and waved us over. We got about halfway down before that happened.
While some people attended as families or solo travellers, a huge number belonged to organised clubs. There were clearly local VW clubs from all over the country, and they took it very seriously. Each club had its own designated zone surrounded by members' campers, complete with custom flags, banners, and matching t-shirts. We ended up spending the day with the VW club from the town of Caxias do Sul.
We were instantly waved over and handed chairs. Lee was plonked down with the blokes and handed a beer, while I was directed toward the ladies sitting at the back and given a glass of champers. It felt distinctly Victorian – us ladies retiring to the drawing room while the men discussed business!
They were pleasant enough. While the women offered me drinks, the blokes would routinely bring over platters of grilled meat, which the ladies picked at with manicured nails. They asked about our trip and made the usual small talk. Conversation was a little stilted (I spoke slow Spanish while they replied in slow Portuguese), but for the most part, we understood each other.
After a few hours, however, we’d rather exhausted the casual topics, and it became clear we came from very different worlds. The conversation turned to cosmetic surgery, as it seemed most of them had undergone some form of procedure, largely related to weight loss. They compared scars, surgeons, and hospital experiences while I sat there utterly lost – and not just because of the language barrier! I found myself wishing I was over with the guys telling fart jokes instead. Lee looked like he was having a grand time; he was getting on famously with a guy named Daniel and had already scored a free t-shirt.
The men eventually brought over grilled vegetables, which were rapidly devoured by the ladies at the back. That was something I could happily get behind, so I sat a while longer smiling politely at everything. Eventually, I used a trip to the bathroom as an excuse to escape, and when I returned, I glued myself to Lee’s side. A sudden downpour forced everyone to huddle under various awnings, mercifully sparing me from any further surgical debate.
Toward the end of the evening, people disappeared and returned adorned with tropical leis for the Hawaiian-themed night. We threw on our loudest clothes and joined the group as they marched down to the far end of the camp. Despite the brief rain, it was sweltering. The DJ booth was pumping out great tunes, and we grabbed a free caipirinha (my baseline requirement for hit-the-dancefloor bravery) before jumping in.
At one point, I ran back to the van to grab the folding fan I’d picked up during Carnival. Whenever you flick it open, it produces a sharp, loud snapping sound that is brilliant for keeping time to the music. While it sounds like it might be annoying, it proved hugely popular, and half the crowd wanted a turn playing with it! We danced until the music finally cut off and the crowd dispersed to bed.
Before turning in ourselves, we headed back to our friends' camp. Lee retrieved his prized bottle of Christmas Laphroaig, having promised Daniel a dram of "proper Scottish whisky." We felt duty-bound to fulfill the promise, despite the fact that Daniel was now thoroughly drunk. Lee handed over the bottle with an encouraging nod, at which point Daniel uncapped it and began enthusiastically glugging it straight into a plastic cup. A mortified Lee rushed forward to signal that he’d poured more than enough!
Now holding roughly five shots' worth of single malt in a cup, Daniel sniffed and tasted it while we all watched in anticipation. He wrinkled his nose, looking thoroughly unimpressed. Laphroaig isn’t for everyone; it’s a heavy, peat-smoky punch rather than a subtle dram. All the more reason to sip a small measure, though we were well past that point! The cup was passed around the rest of the camp for everyone to collectively agree that they hated it, before ending up back in Lee’s hands. Naturally, he drank it himself, silently wishing it had never left the bottle in the first place. Still, they had been wonderfully hospitable, so he couldn't complain too much.
After an alcohol-fuelled night, Sunday morning was a quiet affair. We had been told we had until 5:00 PM to clear the campsite, so we were in no hurry to rush off. People packed up slowly, and Jean’s family planned to break up their return drive with a stop at a local beach, meaning they weren't in a rush either.
By late lunchtime, we were packed and ready to go, intending to drive a couple of hours south that afternoon. We walked over to say our goodbyes, only to be promptly invited to join them for lunch.
We ended up staying an extra couple of hours, sharing a feast with Jean’s family and two other camping crews. The sheer quantity of food was astounding. The Brazilians were incredibly keen to share their regional dishes with us (along with pretty much everything else they owned). The sheer generosity of people on the road never fails to be humbling.
After a delicious meal, they brought out dessert: a fruit salad where any claim to healthiness was completely smothered under a thick layer of cream and condensed milk. It was ridiculously sweet, but delicious. We were also offered "nipple cakes." It took us a full minute of boob-miming charades to understand what they were talking about, but as soon as they opened the box, it all made sense!
To me, they looked like a Walnut Whip without the walnut: a big dome of whipped marshmallow coated in chocolate. The difference here is that the chocolate top finishes in a raised tip, making the whole thing look suspiciously like a breast. They are locally known by the wildly non-PC name teta de nega (literally translated as "black woman's tit"), which explained all the giggling during the charades!
With lunch finished and the afternoon wearing on, it was finally time to hit the road. We said our goodbyes and went to bring Ruby over for a final photo under the event banner with Jean. Lee walked over to start the van and, right on cue, she refused to start.
This put me under immediate pressure, as we had about 40 minutes left before our time ran out at the campsite. We asked how much an extra night would cost just in case we were stuck, and were quoted 150 BRL (about £25). Unwilling to pay extra, I set straight to work on the cam sensor wiring. I snipped out a dodgy-looking section and re-soldered it, and with barely five minutes to spare, she finally fired up!
We drove over to the entrance, snapped our farewell photo under the banner, and bade a proper thank you to everyone. Then we put her into gear and drove off—leaving the engine running, just in case!
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