CHAPTER 34
Before we left on this trip, Kacey and I sat down and brainstormed for a list of places and sights we wanted to see. At the top of the list was the obvious Machupicchu of Peru, the Temples of the Sun and Moon in Mexico, the granite spires of Torres del Paine in Southern Chile, and Iguaçu Falls on the northern border between Argentina and Brazil. This last sight was something of a Holy Grail for me, long sought after but never attained. I have been to Brazil three times before- once in college and twice for my job when I lived in Angra dos Reis, which is a bit south of Rio de Janeiro, for a total of 10 months or so. Each time I was there, I could feel Iguaçu quietly beckoning me, subtly inserting itself into overheard conversations, or screen saver photos of co-workers- leaving little tantalizing hints to its wonders scattered across my daily path. My desire to see the falls grew exponentially, but my demanding work schedule left little opportunity to make the trip down to Iguaçu. One time, I even went so far as to purchase the airline tickets, but fate was against me and I had to cancel them.
Then we planned our trip- 25,000 miles driving through Central and South America, which promised us more amazing sights and experiences than anyone should feel lucky enough to see in 10 lifetimes. Somehow though, after all our lists had been made, and our route drawn on the map, it bewilderingly avoided Iguaçu Falls! They were just too far out of the way, it wouldn’t make sense to drive all the way up to them considering the other places we wanted to see in Argentina. I reconciled my dismay with the idea that maybe we could fly to Iguaçu from Buenos Aires, or Santiago, for a little side trip and that we could figure it out later- but inside, I had a sick feeling that they would slip through my fingers once again.
Sometime after entering Chile, I started thinking about Iguaçu again. Looking at the calendar, and our tentative route south, we were quickly running out of possible times to make the side trip up to the falls. A flight was monetarily out of the question considering we had just purchased tickets for a visit home in February, but it looked like we might have an 8 day gap between Kacey’s birthday celebration in Mendoza and our flight home from Buenos Aires. It would be a lot of driving, maybe 6 solid days in total, but it just might be possible if we wanted to see the falls bad enough. Luckily for me, it didn’t take much to convince Kacey- she wanted to see them as much as I did.
The morning after our birthday bike tour in Mendoza, we resigned ourselves to the idea of four long days driving the straight, flat highways that stretch across the endless pampas of central Argentina. For days we saw only grass and cattle, but as we worked our way north the landscape gradually changed. We passed through a long tunnel under the Rio Paraguay, and emerged to dense groves of subtropical forest. The consistently flat asphalt gave way to a circuitous path over undulating hills, and on the last day the road side foliage became decidedly jungle-esc.
Iguaçu Falls are located on the Rio Iguaçu, which marks the northern boundary between Brazil and Argentina, therefore dividing the falls in half between the two countries. Each government has designated the falls and the jungle around them as national parks, though they are separate, with separate entrance fees, and inconveniently, you can’t cross from one to the other. Argentina calls their side the Cataratas Iguazu, and in Portuguese, Brazil has named them Foz do Iguaçu. We were told that to truly experience the falls, you needed to see them from both sides, which would take us a day for each side and leave us just enough time to drive back to Buenos Aires in time for our flight home.
We found a hotel that also catered to campers, and parked the truck under a large shady tree on their sprawling lawn. An afternoon in the pool with about 600 screaming kids made our evening cocktails especially needed, and we made a double batch of pasta for dinner so we could take the leftovers with us for lunch at the falls- unlike the rest of South America, Argentina (and Chile) have caught on to the unfortunate habit of extreme price gouging for food and drinks at tourist attractions, sporting events, or airports- just like the good ol’ US of A. We got up early the next morning, and caught the first bus to the entrance gates of the Parque Nacional Iguazu. Even though it was in the middle of the week, there was already a long line at the ticket window when we arrived, and when the gates finally opened, we were pushed through by hordes of vacationing Argentines.
Brazil and Argentina have taken different approaches to showing off their respective sides of the falls, with Argentina choosing to build raised walkways and platforms that cling to the sides of the cliffs and bring you within feet of the rushing waters as they tumble over the edge. You get an incredibly up close and, more often than not, extremely wet view of the hundreds of individual falls that make up Iguacu. This is an amazing way to feel the power of the falls, but you are so close that the constant spray of water makes using the camera a tricky business. I spent most of the time with the camera hidden under my shirt waiting for the wind to cause a break in the mist, when I would pull it out and fire off a few quick shots before hurriedly tucking it away. This only worked for a little while though, because after a few minutes, my shirt, along with the rest of me, was sopping wet- luckily, we also brought along a small waterproof point-and-shoot, which let me put the big camera back in the pack, though that was drenched as well. I carry with me a small nylon dry-bag for just such an occasion, but it doesn’t help much if the camera is already wet when you put it in. No matter, this might be just what I need to justify buying a new camera when we get home.
In addition to the falls, the national park was an incredible place to see wildlife- hiding in the trees were dozens of small agile monkeys, and in the underbrush lurked sinister lizards, some as long as a man is tall- but for me the most alarming sight was the 5 inch wide spiders which hung in the middle of their giant webs that spanned many of the walkways. Most people didn’t even notice them, because the webs were necessarily built at a height that allowed the normal Argentine to walk under without snagging their head on the bottom of the web. Being a good head or two taller than the average South American, it was a different story for me- Kacey only just saved me from a face full of spider web, and the inevitable death bite from the overgrown owner, by yelling out when I almost walked right into the first one we encountered. I spent the rest of the day uneasily gazing upwards for any sign of those most vile of creatures, as we walked along from waterfall to waterfall.
The highlight of the day, and all of Iguacu in my opinion, was the thundering Garganta del Diablo, or the Devil’s Throat. A long set of walk ways connected several of the small islands that dot the wide river at the top of the falls, conveying us over the seemingly placid, smooth flowing water. Even though it looked so tranquil, it was hard to not think about the consequences if you were to fall in the river at this point- it would only be a short 100 yards or so before you were helplessly carried over the edge and down into the abyss that is the Garganta del Diablo.
The Devil’s Throat is an immense water fall that flows over the edges of a long cul-de-sac shaped canyon. The water relentlessly crashes from every side 270 feet down into the deep void of the chasm, though it is impossible to see the bottom due to the enormous plumes of mist thrown up by the violent impact of the waterfall with the unseen obstacles below. I would venture to say that the light of day has never penetrated the depths of that canyon- what a hellish maelstrom it must be.
From our vantage point on the rickety platform precariously bolted to the edge of the cliff, the waterfall was at the same time surreal in its grandeur, and terrifying in its power. The scene left little doubt why the indigenous people had named it Iguaçu, which means “great water” in their language. They too were afraid of its power, and would try to appease it by ritually sacrificing prisoners they had captured during tribal warfare by taking them to the edge of the Devil’s Throat and, I am sure with little forbearance, dropping them in.
Our second day at Iguacu falls was spent seeing them from the Brazilian side. A quick and easy hop across the border left us a little bewildered. As we approached the immigration post, the bus driver asked us if we were just going to Brazil for the day to see the falls, and when we answered ‘yes’, he calmly drove right through the checkpoint without stopping! Apparently, they’ll let you enter the country without a visa or even a stamp in your passport if you only intend to stay for the day, which really made me regret the $180usd and week long circus I had endured in Santiago getting my Brazilian tourist visa just for this 8hr visit to Foz do Iguaçu. None of our guide books, nor the official at the Brazilian embassy in Santiago, had mentioned this little tidbit, and now I think I know why she was snickering to her coworker behind the counter as she accepted my cash and handed me back my passport.
The Brazilian national park seemed a little older, the trails and walkways a little more run down, but it made up for it by the spectacular panoramic views of the falls. Whereas Argentina had gone for the up close and personal approach, Brazil’s side was a photographer’s dream. The cascading water on the far side of the valley stretched endlessly up and down the river. Brazil’s own set of raised walkways led out to a platform at the base of the long canyon with the Garganta del Diablo at the far end, and offered amazing views from the bottom of the falls, as opposed to the top of them like in Argentina.
With one more “thing to see before I die” item checked off the list (my own list, not that poorly chosen list from the pompous book of the same name), we triumphantly returned to our campsite and grilled up a scrumptious asado of chicken and chorizo (our first attempt ever), along with a few liter-bottles of beer, to celebrate our accomplishment. The next day was the start of the long 1000 mile journey south to Buenos Aires, but even with our immanent flight home, we made time to stop at an incredible amethyst mine, where we bought huge chunks of the purple crystal for mere dollars (these would turn out to be quite the burden to get home safely), we unwittingly had our first experience with pickled cows tongue, and we spent a night camping at El Palmar National park- so called because of the hundreds of thousands of Yatay palm trees that exclusively grow and are protected there.
When we arrived to Buenos Aires, or BA as we came to call it, we found our old friends the RambleWriters, Nick and Rochelle at an apartment they were renting in the laidback neighborhood of Palermo. They graciously let us sleep on their futon, and helped us make arrangements for storing the Golden Gringo at a nearby garage for the duration of our trip home. With only a slight hiccup in our travel plans due to a terrible snowstorm ravaging the East Coast, we made it home to Colorado and surprised both of our grandmothers for their 80th and 84th birthdays. We spent a week catching up with family and friends, a day on the slopes relishing the cold and snow that seemed so foreign to our South American sun tans, and before we knew it we were back on the plane for the 10hr flight to Argentina.
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