Don’t Eat The Animals!

Somewhere along the way we picked up the information that the Iguacu Falls are a must see. To get us there we deployed our usual flare for independent South American travel; we got an English speaking Buenos Aires travel agent to book everything for us.

The river forms the border between Argentina and Brazil at the falls, with viewing opportunities available from both sides. Visitors can fly into and stay in either the Argentinean city of Puerto Iguazu or the Brazilian city of Foz Do Iguacu. Our reasons for choosing the former over the latter would be; a) we were flying from the Argentinean capital and would thus not have to bother with the formalities of an international flight, and b) as appallingly bad as our Spanish is, it is as our native tongue when compared with our grasp of the Portuguese spoken in Brazil.

So (obviously) late in the afternoon we are picked up by the tour company driver at Guarani airport, serving the city of Ciudad Del Este in Paraguay, and driven across the Brazilian border to our hotel in Foz Do Iguacu where we spend the next three nights really confusing the Brazilian staff with our attempts at Spanish. To be fair the flight into Paraguay was the only option available for the day we wanted and as the travel agent put it, the three border crossings necessary to get us back to Argentina would have been ‘..a bit heavy’.

Our tour kicks off the next day when the coach arrives to pick us up from the hotel. Immediately the flaw in our Argentinean travel agent plan is exposed when we learn that we are the only English people on a bus full of South American tourists. The tour guide makes a brave effort at explaining things in English but over the next two days we get used to five minute commentaries in Spanish coming out as “We are here, we’re going to walk there, and we have to back at the coach by such and such a time” when it came to the English version.

The first day’s tour takes us into Argentina, with only the briefest of stops at the border so that we can wipe our feet before entering. Most of the falls lie on the Argentinean side of the river and there are extensive tracks that offer impressive views of the falls from above and below. We follow our group on the upper circuit, marvelling mostly at the series of separate falls where water cascades into the river below, but also at the perseverance our guide displays at trying to make us feel part of the group, bless her. Another short coming in our reliance on arranged events becomes apparent as we are hussled around the circuit when we would have preferred to linger in some places.

Having taken in the mostly panoramic views from the top, we elect to take the safari option. This is a two part adventure, starting with a somewhat unadventurous but refreshingly multi-lingual journey through the rain forest in the back of a truck, followed by an entirely more adventurous ride in an inflatable boat. In an uncharacteristically thought through moment we come prepared with waterproofs, and I store my T-shirt in the heavy duty plastic sack provided when we boarded prior to donning lifejacket. The boat hares down the river into increasing choppy river waters and we take this opportunity to snap a few pictures of falls from the river whilst it’s still possible to have the camera out without subjecting it to a deluge. The last picture before it follows my T-shirt into the bag is of the waterfall we then proceed to nose into. At the back of the boat we are spared a full soaking and are required to contend only with some fairly heavy spray. Then it’s back down the river and into an inlet formed by a number of falls, one of which is so fierce that the bottom is perpetually shrouded in crashing water and thick spray. This is also the point at which the boat tour ends and it was perhaps this that lulled us into a false sense of security. Whatever, as C removed her waterproof coat the boat went tearing past the landing and headed straight for the bottom of the aforementioned cascade. She was still struggling to wrap the coat around her when we disappeared into the cloud of water. By the time we made our third foray into the cascade the waterproofs were pretty much academic.

Following a somewhat soggy lunch we boarded a little tourist train which took us to the piece de resistance of this side of the falls; the huge Garganta Del Diablo (Devil’s Throat). After a twenty minute boardwalk across the bloated river we get to stand on a platform a few 10’s of metres from the head of the main falls and be mesmerised by the up close sights and sounds of water plunging 74 metres, disappearing for the last half of this distance into the clouds of spray thrown up. We managed two pictures before the camera batteries gave out.

Batteries fully charged, it was the turn of the Brazilian side of the falls on our second day’s tour, and it was on the park’s coach ride from entrance to lookout that we heard another comedy mis-translation. Along with remaining seated whilst the bus is in motion, not putting our arms outside the open sided bus and not smoking on the bus we were asked “…not to eat the animals”. We disembarked at the first scenic lookout and were treated to panoramic views of the 2.4km of falls sweeping round to the head at Garganta Del Diablo. We were also treated to a handful of coati’s, members of the beaver family, sniffing around for food. We resisted all temptation to eat them, though one tourist did break the spirit, if not the letter of the law and handed them biscuits. He probably had his own personal coati escort for the rest of his stay there. The next couple of hours were spent wandering the Brazilian side of the river up to a platform set over the river which offered a slightly more distant and lower view of Garganta Del Diablo than the Argentinean version, as well as some impressively closer views of side falls. This is a popular yet limited site so the competition for the best spot was fierce and in some cases downright ugly. Our genetic imperative to queue for our turn did not serve us well here. Fortunately, unlike the waterfalls, there was a lull in the surge of tourists and we did manage briefly to snag a place at the prime spot and make up for the previous day’s photographic failure. Our final treat for the day was to witness more coatis defeating bin guards in their search for food.

With profuse thanks to our tour guide, the best Spanish that we could muster for her, we bade our fellow tourists good bye and left them to continue onto some duty free shopping whilst we were returned to the hotel. The following day our driver picked us up for the drive back to Paraguay for our flight back to Buenos Aires. As we crossed the Friendship Bridge we took our place in the stationary queue of traffic. The driver locked the doors and we watched trucks, cars, pedestrians and swarms of motorbikes crossing, keeping our camera firmly out of sight, sadly for the scene was fascinating. Apparently the Paraguayan side is very popular for cheap shopping and when we eventually motored up the road we were mobbed by leafleteers who seemed desperate for us to know about the shopping opportunities available. One chap gamely kept up with us for quite a distance, briefly falling back then catching up again in an impressive yet ultimately futile demonstration of athleticism and dedication to the cause of leaflet distribution.

Once we left the city itself, the scenery was of impoverished looking buildings, greenery and red earth that was in no way dramatic yet captivating to stare at. Fortunately the random security check we encountered did not reveal anything that required us to become ourselves captive and the fearsome looking Paraguayan officer with a rusty sidearm waved us happily on after a cursory check of our documents and belongings. We spent a quiet couple of hours at the even quieter Guarani International airport and returned to our hotel in Buenos Aires without incident, other than the ‘porter’ who gave us no choice when he commandeered the baggage trolley that we had found and loaded ourselves and who proceeded to push it the very short distance to the taxi, for which ‘service’ he did not get the tip he so brazenly asked for.

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