Not So Happy Jam, er, Jan

Setting off for Buenos Aires, I decided to treat myself to the most expensive overnight bus ticket – complete with all meals, wine and champagne – but unfortunately my cosy voyage south in the “Cama Executivo” got off to a rather bumpy start. Having arrived half an hour before the bus was due to leave, I was told twice by the ticket guy to wait for the next one, and that I was too early. In the meantime, my actual bus had been and gone, and I had to spend the next half an hour fighting to get onto another one without paying again. Grrr.

Once on, we travelled along quickly, only being stopped by the Gendarmerie (police) who check all our passports and sniff around in some of our bags. Luckily the bus was almost empty, with only six passengers, so the process is relatively painless – a little exchange of names, and a quick twist and turn to make sure our documents aren‘t forged, and back on our way. But it’s a jumpy ride, despite our fully reclined bed-seats, and the alcohol service isn’t too forthcoming. Apparently I have drunk the full stock of two white wines, and with no water either, I am left getting thirstier by the minute with Sprite.

Having expected more of an airline experience, I started getting hungry pretty soon too, and prayed that dinner wouldn’t be at the usual time of 9 or 10pm. It does arrive at a semi-reasonable time – fresh from a truck-stop on the way – in the form of some roast beef, salad and rice. No surprises there Argentina.

The next day, I wake up early, with the light streaming hotly through the mustard concertina blinds and I am greeted by a view that looks a lot like home: almost complete flatness, covered in wheat crops and cows. Of course there is a lot more green here, and more intermittent trees, so I think it is probably safer to say half-Australian, half-South African.

Breakfast soon arrives, with the most anorexic-looking croissants I have ever seen. Having already read the tales about Argentina priding themselves on their European mix, I had to wonder if someone was having a joke. The jam container was almost the same size, and I was completely perplexed by the appearance of a knife. I am sure the French, with their obsessive protectionism over their food, would have a fit if they ever saw them.

Brazilian Bits & Pieces

So I thought it might be fitting here, to include some of the random things I experienced in Brazil, that didn’t make it into any of my posts there.

1. In Rio, banks don’t allow you to draw out more than R100 (~AUD$65??) after 10pm. Finally some protection for over-drinking? No, this rule has come about after the many ATM attacks that are carried out, Not such a great thing when, like almost all the backpackers I met, you arrive at night with no local currency and are desperate for a beer or a bite.
2. There are no laws in Brazil, well none at least that people respect, against selling whatever you want on the streets. So be prepared to carry lots of small cash to purchase anything from phone batteries, to boiled corn, to, you guessed it, beer.
3. In one of Rio’s most infamous nightspots – Lapa - police cars sit with their flashing lights on, in between caipirinha stalls and drummers, with ladies-of-the-night on their bonnets. Needless to say, I do have my own portrait taken on the front, but you will have to wait until I find a country with the same phone technology as Australia, to upload it.
4. The constant shicka/shacka of ice being mixed with sugar for capirinhas is pretty unique to Brazil, and I dare say, will probably stay with me for life.
5. Unfortunately the corn sold on the streets comes out exactly the same way it goes in. I am still not sure if that is a good or a bad thing.
6. Coming from a dry climate like Australia, your skin will become soft from all the humidity, but in its place, from the rest of the tropical lifestyle, heartburn will appear.
7. Brazilians don’t seem to get the concept of speakers on mobile phones - they hold the mouthpiece up to their mouths when they are talking, then quickly putting it back to their ear to listen. One-way conversation anyone?
8. It seems even the birds in Brazil like to just relax and take it easy – you will most often see them just “hanging out” high in the sky.
9. Again, coming from Australia, you will be amazed at all the lush greenery that follows you everywhere in Brazil, but probably equally disgusted when that same wetness that plumps the leaves and your skin, also plunges you deep into fetid dungeons at alarming frequency.
10. Don’t follow the Lonely Planet when they tell you the location of Petropolis and Teresopolis – they are NOT in the south-east, as their own map clearly shows you.
11. Probably the most quoted saying in while in Brail was the phrase stamped on the Brazilian flag - “Progress and Order”. It is patriotically and proudly displayed on all sorts of paraphernalia at almost every corner, but when every other encounter in the city clearly tells a different story – it’s ambitious, if not an outright lie.
12. You are not allowed to put toilet paper down the toilet, as the many signs will tell you. (Repeat point 9) This is because their sewerage system isn’t the best, which can cause some really expensive problems if you encounter point 5 or a bout of gastro. If said situation does occur and you do try to cover it with the prohibited paper, get ready for an embarrassing admission when it overflows, and a fine to get it fixed.
13. Electricity, despite their Mother-of-all hydro-electric dam, only runs at 110volts. Which means that most male and female electric hair-removal devices won’t work. Be prepared.
14. The quirkiest thing about Brazilian supermarkets, if you can get over their lack of anything-other-than-rotting-vegetables selection is the rice and beans aisle. One guess what they eat most here?

Argentina All the Way!

(Ok, I lied, and split it in two…)

The next day we set off over the border again, this time legally and very glad to finally wave Brazil and its hefty transportation costs goodbye. And I have to admit, that as soon as I stepped out the door, I could feel a difference. It is perhaps a little hard to explain, but I certainly wasn’t the only one experiencing it, with Martin echoing my thoughts almost immediately. Perhaps it just seems a little more like home, a little more well-set up, a little less hazy, or should that be lazy?

Again we take the bus straight out to the Falls, after dropping our bags in at the hostel, and spying the pool out the back. Unlike the Brazilian side, included in our Argentinian pass is a train to the main walking point, another around to the “Devil’s Throat”, and a ferry across to the island in the middle. Not bad, I think.

We get off at the Lower Trail and are greeted by some of the most beautiful butterflies I have ever seen, and a group of native rodents (the name of which I am still searching for, but consider then something between a possum and a quokka) that try to steal whatever edible things they can from us. We push past and move up and down over the steep maze of paths to several different vantage points. Unlike the Brazilian trail, an almost straight journey to the end, Argentina has been blessed with various hidden vantage points from which to experience the Falls (on this side, and in this language, called the Iguazu Falls). It is so much better than Brazil!

Of course I take way too many pictures, suddenly captivated by the idea of landscape painting, and how it must have been many years ago when terrain such as this was not uncommon. It makes me feel a little sad too, when I realise that this is such a privileged experience, to be so close to an original environment, one which we have all lost in our daily lives, as ‘progress’ and technology has claimed so much.

Only constricted by time, and the fact that the last train is leaving for the “Devil’s Throat”, we climb aboard the train and walk our way over to the waterfall’s edge. And climbing out onto the “Devil’s Throat”, having traversed the relatively peaceful river, we are showered by the spray of the waterfall edge, our voices lost over the crashing water below. Now, I am not one to typically be awe-struck by nature, but the impact of it all was, in a word, magnificent.

Wonderful, Water-full, Waterfalls...

(I think this deserves a two-photo comparison)

I decide it best to leave Curitiba on the overnight bus, and so spent some of the following day at the Rodoferroviária across the road – which houses both a big shopping centre, and a unique train museum – and the rest trying not to annoy the hostel receptionist who repeatedly frowned on my semi-reclined position on the only couch available.

In keeping with the previous trend of taxi drivers, I of course get another dodgy one to the bus port, and as I sit in my seat, he instantly enquires if I am married, like he has even half a chance. To this I of course answer “yes”, to which he further questions why my husband has left me to travel alone. And it’s times like this that being a writer comes in handy, and you can just smile and say that you are away for work.

The bus ride is ok, although I am a little miffed about not getting a snack-pack this time, and also by the rocks that smash a window at around 3am. Apparently they are just bored kids, in the middle of nowhere, but I am not completely convinced that it is as insignificant as our driver makes out, when the guy sitting next to me reappears from a toilet break with a bullet-proof vest on, and a visible revolver.

Thankfully I arrive in one piece early the next day at my new home and decide to spend it beside the pool, catching up on some more reading and writing. It is a welcomed break, after many days of continual movement, and I figure the beauty of the Falls can wait 24 more hours. The next day I awake to find the familiar face of a friend from Ilha Grande arriving. Swedish Martin has spent the last day and a half en route from Florianpolis, and is quickly swept along with my plans.

We set off after a piece of cake (yes, it is served everywhere here for breakfast) and a strong coffee to conquer the Brazilian side of the Iguaçu Falls. Famed for its amazing number (275) of waterfalls that make their way 80m down to the Rio Iguaçu, they are nestled between Brazil and Argentina, and have been filmed on many well-known movies, including the latest Indiana Jones adventure. Unfortunately though, our quick passage is foiled at the bus stop when we make an error in trusting an American, and end up at the border of Argentina.

Without our passports in hand, we turn back and make it to the Brazilian side of the Falls just before lunch. It is busy with tourists of all ages, but foreigners are definitely outnumbered by Latin Americans. A double-decker bus shuttles us along to the main part of the action, where we take in the spray and the view. I can’t help but be jealous though, when I see a collection of historical photos at the end, and see how visitors were able to climb out onto precarious edges, and swim in the water, before large-scale tourism took over, and introduced safe paths, bridges and even an elevator.

Heading back into town, and stopping for my hundredth chicken burger, we take another bus out to the biggest dam (well, that’s what they told us, and Wikipedia is still not sure if it is this one, or the Three Gorges in China) producing hydro-electric power in the world – Itaipu. Named after the “Singing Rock” that sat in the river between Brazil and Uruguay, which was sadly one of the first things to disappear in the excavation process, the dam was begun in 1971, but only became fully-operational in 2007. It now produces about 20% of the power needs of Brazil, the only limit being the plant’s inability to store excess energy it produces.

Putting on our bright orange hard-hats, and our nasty black school shoes (flip-flops just won’t do), we get onto the bus, and are taken across the 196m height of the dam, and into the control centre below. It is here that we can firmly place one foot in each country – my third country for the day – and watch as a completely 50/50 team from each side keeps the operation on track. It is a bit of a Simpsons’ moment: think Homer at his desk in the power plant – but just replace the coffee doughnuts with some alfajores (sweet Argentinian biscuits) and mate (herb tea).