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).

Come Back Mr Cometa and Save Me From Curitiba

After the hectic few days and many hours of pounding Sao Paulo’s streets, I was pretty glad to be back on the bus to Curitiba. And this one definitely took the cake for its soft blanket, pillow, snack pack of four types of sweet and savoury biscuits and catchy tagline (rough translation: “Cometa – conquering the stars”). But I guess for the R75,00 I paid, I should expect a little something, seeing as it has blown my eating budget for the day.

It is slow-going, getting out of Sao Paulo, where cars are restricted from being driven one day a week according to their license plate number, which gives me time to catch up on some of this writing. Still not sure of how long the journey will take, anywhere between four and eight hours depending on who you believe, I settle in for as long of a movie as my battery on my laptop will allow. It ends up being closer to the latter, and I decide it best to taxi it through the night to the hostel, despite being only a few blocks away.

Wrong move it appears though, as I get in tiredly and forget to ask how far and how much the journey will be. And it seems a blonde female tourist is just too much temptation for my greedy driver who proceeds to show me the sights twice over in a magical mystery tour of the town. I am clearly not impressed and keep asking how much further, until his bland excuses about the traffic get on my nerves. (Dude, I have just been in Sao Paulo, don’t talk to me about traffic). At this point, on the completely wrong street, I demand he stop and get out to ask someone where the hell I am. He is equally unimpressed that his little plan has been foiled and says he will cut the fare in half (already four times what I should have paid) and take me to the right street. I politely decline, snatch back my map and grab my bags from the boot. He of course follows me as I am driven by my sympathetic saviours, but we manage to lose him in the end, and I sulk through the door tired and hungry.

Needless to say, there is no photo today. I was in no mood to capture my charming introduction to Brazil’s reputed most liveable city.