From a report in The Telegraph:
I based myself nearby on Ilha do Mel, or the Isle of Honey, a low-key surf destination where the beat of maranhão reggae and forró played out in the island’s bars. There are no cars. No roads. Luggage is carried in barrows along a lattice of forested sandy trails. There is a church for surfers, incongruously named Bola de Neve, which translates as “snowball”; the pastor wears board shorts and the altar is made from a surfboard.