Buenos dias,
Well when we left you last time we were on Ilha Grande and I was about to spoon a large South African man to sleep. After I escaped due to the tried and tested method of the ‘hug and roll’ we were off to Iguassu falls on the border of Argentina and Brazil.
Our first lesson of Iguassu; don’t book accommodation when drunk. In the middle of a drinking night at Ilha Grande, the owner where we were staying was talking breathlessly about a beautiful hotel on the Brazilian side right near the Iguassu falls. It is the only hotel inside the park, so you can explore the falls when everyone else has gone. So after a couple of bottles of wine we decided to have a look online. While the rate for 3 nights seemed too expensive for us, the wine convinced us that ‘its only money’. It was only in the morning in the cold light of a hangover that we realised that what we thought was expensive for 3 nights was actually the per night rate. And while we won’t remember money, I will remember having to offer my genitals to the US to refine their interrogation techniques to help pay the bill.
Anyway we arrived and the hotel was opulent, confirmed by guests consisting almost entirely of arrogant Russians, gay English men and US retirees from Florida. I’m surprised they didn’t make me shave and go shopping at Armani Exchange before checking us in. I’m sure the other guests demanded the sun lounge be fumigated and disinfected after I had laid there.
We dropped our bags and did what Krys demands of every new, forest fringed town; we went hunting for monkeys (seriously, what was the point in me stopping throwing excrement at people I don’t like?). Anyway we walked deeper and deeper into the park until we found ourselves monkey free but standing in front of a waterfall so huge even the Solo Man would wet his pants. We’d stumbled onto the main part of the falls and because the park was closed there was no one around but us. God love those monkeys.
That night we decided to take the night tour that takes you back to the falls to see a rainbow bend upwards due to the spray and the moonlight. While the sight was amazing there was something far more enjoyable to watch; Krys playing ‘torches’ with some children. These kids were the typical petulant kids of wealthy parents, always shining the torches into people’s eyes and pretending it was an accident. After a long day of travel Krys was having none of it, and proceeded to ‘accidentally’ flash them back. I thought the game was over until I heard little cries of ‘my eyes hurt, my eyes hurt’ accompanied by a giggle from Krys and a muffled ‘doesn’t feel nice, does it biatches’. She had got tired of the cat and mouse game and when the parents had turned their backs had given the kids full power nice and long in their arrogant little eyes. The game was over and Krys had added the scalps of a couple of disruptive Russian kids to that of the New York dancing man.
One thing to see while on the Brazilian side of the falls (apart from mayhem due to little or no organisation) is the huge bird park. This was pretty interesting as you were able to observe some unusual behaviours in a natural habitat. The most unusual of all came from a family that thought that chasing and cornering birds with massive beaks was a great idea – I’ve never wished so hard that Hitchcock’s movie ‘The Birds’ was actually a documentary, and we could watch some Tucans rip some limbs from people that didn’t deserve them. Then another ‘friend’ who would appear behind us at regular intervals and start whistling through a gum leaf as if he had some innate ability to talk to the birds. The fact that this guy was around 30 and traipsing around a bird park with his parents showed that perhaps he had tried this technique with little success in attracting himself a mate, and would be leaf whistling with his parents for many years to come.
At the tail end of the Brazilian day we decided to take a boat trip under the falls. A couple of crazy locals take you up close to the falls and even run the boat under a few smaller ones. We thought this was pretty hard core until we heard of the boat trips that used to run on top of the falls. These involved row boats that would go as close as possible to the edge of the falls; tourists would try and take pictures over the edge while the rowing guide would paddle his little heart out against the current and a potential 200m fall. This trip wasn’t an option for us; they were banned after 6 snap happy Germans and one weak armed Brazilian paddler didn’t win the battle of the current. The Brazilian approach to health and safety could best be described as ‘loose’.
The next day we explored the Argentine side which required a little more strategy. The key piece of the falls to see is Devils Throat, which is right at the top of the park and where the main action happens. You need to get to the top by a little train, then make your way to a small viewing platform almost overhanging the falls. This platform is fed by a 1km foot bridge only about 2m wide, so you had to be early before the masses arrive. We were off to flying start; up early to get a car through the Argentine border to be at the park on opening, and then on the first train to the top. As our little Thomas The Tank Engine putted its way up the hill we were congratulating ourselves at how good we were; little did we know there was danger ahead.
We were about mid pack off the train and well placed, but over a sea of bobbing heads we could see the leading groups charging ahead while we were going as fast as a sloth crawling though glue. Then we spotted the problem; a group of 3 very large middle aged ladies who together formed one barley moving gelatinous mass limping its way forward. With the chance of a quiet Devils Throat visit leaking away, Krys took charge, weaving her way through the elderly, tour groups and parents walking children on leashes until we were right behind the road block. After one false overtaking move that almost had Krys squashed against the latticed metal fence and turned into human grated cheese, she found a hole just under the taller Mummas armpit, pulled me through and we were back on track.
The view from the top was incredible; such a huge volume of water plunging over the edge of a massive cliff face. But despite the win at Devils Throat our battle with the Big Mummas wasn’t over. For the rest of the day it was like a game of the hare and 3 very large tortoises. Wherever we went they would somehow magically appear, always 50m in front and holding up a frustrated mass of walkers doing their best weaving and jostling to get an open run.
One thing we’ve noticed down here is that mixing ‘mature’ people and a hiking environment leads to one thing; identical dressing. You see them everywhere; couples traipsing along in their boots and pants, colour co-ordinated in tan, khaki and browns, and looking like they’ve just been held down and attacked by a 2 for 1 safari sale. 3/4 pants have also re emerged in these parts but the great conundrum still seems to exist; to wear them with sandals or shoes. If you go with shoes it looks like mum has jammed you in hand me downs despite your brother being 1ft taller. Go sandals and you look like a hippy who has smoked one too many joints and is trying to copy the style of Jesus. Either way there are no winners.
Next up is Bolivia. It has taken in abusive air hostesses, kidney fears and a bike fall. But more on that later.
Trent, Krystal and some kids still seeing stars from torchlight.
smallthoughts 