We went from Rio – packed with things to see and do, to Floripa – full of great beaches and small excursions, to Iguazu Falls – the area’s singular attraction. The two days we spent there had purpose: to explore the waterfalls from Brazil and Argentina, from down below and up above, and from every angle in between.

Before visiting the natural wonder, however, we stopped by a man-made one. The Itaipu Dam is the largest hydroelectric dam on the planet, making it a treasure of the modern world…depending who you ask. For as much power it’s created for Brazil and Paraguay, it’s produced an equal amount of controversy. Whether there are more cons than pros is up to the individual, I suppose, though the brief video they showed us was eerily reminiscent of propaganda.

During the bus ride over, startling stats were listed one after another, relating the tons of steel to Eiffel Towers and the amount of concrete to a highway connecting Moscow and Lisbon, but the big numbers meant to shock and impress went in one ear and out the other. I preferred Danielle’s basic observation that “it would have taken a lot of beavers.”

Andrew, Danielle, Ricardo and I all agreed that nature’s creation was more impressive than man’s (…and 18 billion dollars less expensive). Iguazu Falls creates part of the border between Brazil and Argentina, just as Victoria Falls separates Zambia and Zimbabwe. The transition from one side to the other was effortless as well. Besides a speedy stamp in our passports, the only indication that we were in a different country was the bridge that changed from green and yellow (Brazil) to blue and white (Argentina).

We spent our entire first day on Argentina’s side, beginning with a boat ride to the base of one of many sections. When we neared the falls, we vanished into white mist. The roar of the water surrounded us. We came out moments later, compared how drenched we all were, and then went back in. I’ve never felt more wet.

After the boat, we hiked our way up, stopping at numerous lookout points. Metal walkways extend across the tops, often times so close that we could peer directly over the edge. Since the falls are so spread out, there’s a train to connect various spots. We hopped on and ended the day at the Garganta do Diablo, the most spectacular viewpoint with a fitting name: “The Devil’s Mouth.” Multiple waterfalls converge to create what looks like the end of the world. A giant circle of misty white mystery. We stood on the cliff in awe.

From Brazil, we got the other half of the picture. Argentina has the get-so-close-you-feel-the-splash lookouts while Brazil has the more distant panoramic views. We were happy we had taken more than enough photos the sunny day before, for yesterday the sky was thundering along with the falls. There was no point in trying to avoid the rain, so we instead welcomed the downpour and pranced around absolutely soaked.


After touring Brazil’s portion, the plan was to fly to Buenos Aires. When we got to the airport in Argentina, we discovered that wouldn’t be happening any time soon. The pilots and mechanics of Aerolineas Argentinas decided to be very selfish and go on strike just hours before our flight. After much frustration and quick deliberation, we decided to take an 18-hour bus. It was no doubt a bummer, but Danielle’s face upon hearing the news made up for it. We got the last 4 seats on the evening bus and, though the others could’ve cared less, it was a million times nicer than the 17-hour one I endured in Laos. There were bathrooms, for starters, and 30 seats actually translated to 30 people. Not 86. And there were no chickens flapping in the overhead compartments, no bags of rice filling the aisles, no music blasting to keep the driver awake.

Furthermore, our seats were in the way back. During an intense pillow fight with Andrew, Danielle chimed in with bitterness: “You guys are all excited now, but give it…oh…half a day, and we’ll see how you’re doing. We’ll see…” And, to a certain extent, she was right. When we noticed that a clock was keeping the time of the ride – minute by minute, hour by hour – we couldn’t look away. Then there was the dripping. After 10 minutes, we realized something above us was leaking. Something with a remarkable talent to land on our faces, no matter how much we shifted to avoid it. Cold, nasty liquid. If the wine hadn’t been terribly watered down (and recycled among passengers), we would’ve drank ourselves to sleep.

At 10 o’clock this morning, our suffering ceased. We were out of the bus, we were in Buenos Aires. I had made arrangements to stay with Brandon, one of my cousin’s best friends, and I had an address. He wasn’t there when we arrived, but the doorman expected us and showed four weary travelers to his room. I can’t tell you how relieved we were to enter the spacious apartment and see a note reading: “Senor Charlie – Mi casa es tu casa.”

This entry was posted on Friday, March 10th, 2006 at 4:22 pm in XVII. Brazil, XVIII. Argentina. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.