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).