We took a long circuitous route towards the falls taking simple sights in along the way. A palm tree shaking above an azure sky, waterfalls weeping from their perches above. With each step we could hear the far rumble of the attraction that laid ahead. There were huge tropical leaves vying for sunshine. Tourists following a flag absent mindedly, the whistle of a train, and puddles filled with a deep orange color. They were full of iron, full of life, yet dead, like the blood spilled from the Guarani people exterminated from this pristine land. The metal creaked as we walked above the huge river basin flowing in seemingly every direction. We would cross lazy rivers 100 yards wide and gaze at the clouds floating above. After building our anticiaption we arrived at the mouth (or
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