Iguazu Falls

The waterfalls today were absolutely incredible. Amazing. I couldn’t believe it. I got up early for the first bus, and made it.  Unbelievable  because I am in the terrible habit of procrastinating always. We got to Iguazu Falls just as it opened and I made my way immediately to the showcase display, the Throat of the Devil.

First, I should explain. Iguazu Falls is not a single waterfall, but a plethora of waterfalls with trails leading to upwards of thirty viewpoints. Imagine you are in a medium size river, heading upstream, when suddenly it splits into two gorges, each at least a mile wide. At the head of each gorge is a wall of gushing cataracts forming several different waterfalls. This is Iguazu Falls. Not one, but over 100 different waterfalls, each its own paradise right in the heart of the Amazonian outskirts.

I went for “The Devil’s Throat” first. My guide book had it right when it said that “to even the most hardened of waterfall yawners, this is more than your ‘gee, isn’t gravity neat’ experience.” True. SO true. Wow. If you’ve ever seen the Neverending Story (who knows which one), I remember a scene when he has to jump off the biggest waterfall I’ve ever seen in an image. That’s the closest I can come to describing it. Water poured into a bowl from three sides cut out by hundreds of years of wear. When I was within half a mile, the sound  reverberating  from the falls pounding into the pools below shook my bones. It was like 1,000 elephants storming across the Serengheti. As I wound my way through the catwalks that hopped from river island to river island, the anticipation grew. Finally I caught my first glimpse of the falls; at a distance they are like seeing a tiger in a zoo. When I arrived at the viewing platform, I kid you not, right on the edge of the falls, I couldn’t breathe for sheer amazement. This was like being in the jaws of the tiger, adrenaline, fear, and who knows what else pumping through my veins.

I darted back and forth around the viewing platform trying to catch the falls from every possible angle while getting soaked to the bone and barely being able to breathe. Then I headed back to see the much-less-breathtaking but equally spectacular waterfalls of the park. It was so incredible to spend the day in the quasi-jungle of waterfall paradise.

I caught an afternoon bus back to Iguazu so I could catch my early evening bus. I was headed for Uruguay, but in sort of a tricky way. I had intended to travel to a city on the border of Argentina and Uruguay, cross the border, travel to a Uruguayan city on the coast, and ultimately take a ferry across the miles and miles of water to Buenos Aires for my flight out. The problem was this: it cost 35 pesos more for a ticket to a town on the WAY to Buenos Aires than it did just to get a ticket straight to the big city. Luckily, I ran into the guy from the station when he was off duty, and he advised me just to buy the ticket to B.A. and then tell the bus driver that I wanted to get off early. I heeded his advice, which turned into yet another adventure!

First of all, I bought a regular ticket, like always. Usually first class is downstairs on busses and coach is upstairs. This was opposite, which bummed me out because I love the view from the top. Then, the color and volume on our single coach T.V. was out of whack, it was freezing (they had the A.C. on and couldn’t turn it off!), and the lights didn’t turn off. We stopped at a checkpoint and I snuck upstairs to first class where there were plenty of empty seats. It was striking to see the difference in passengers. Below, I was sitting with all the locals and was the only gringa in the bunch. Above, I was with all tourists and everyone was white. It was sad to see that one of my fellow passengers from would probably not be able to successfully enjoy first class for free, because none of them could ride on the shirt-tails of being white. It’s so shocking to notice how little I realize how many benefits automatically come with being white and how many disadvantages can affect you if you’re not.

After several good movies, free wine, and excellent dinner, and plentiful pillows and blankets, I decided it was time to alert the bus driver that I would be jumping off in Gualeguaychu. I broke the ice by asking how much farther it was to the town. When I told the driving team that I wanted to get off there, they looked at my like I had just grown a third eyeball. “Are you sure?” they asked me. “Umm… yeah.” So with the same “oh-my-god-she-has-a-third-eyeball” look, the agreed to let me off in the border town. A few hours later, shortly after sun-up, one of the stewards came and asked me if I still wanted to get off in Gualeguaychu, to which I enthusiastically responded in the affirmative. “Okay, well, then get your stuff together so you can get off.”

I headed back down to coach to snag my bag and waited by the door (located about 1/3 way back, not right next to the driver like buses in the U.S.). The bus rolled to a stop on the shoulder of the highway just outside a solitary trucker’s gas station. “Gualeguaychu??” I asked. My brain was being rapidly steeped in confusion as I began to rapid-fire problem solve. I had expected to be dropped at a bus terminal in a city, and now these guys are pushing me off at a truck stop in the middle of a bunch of farm fields. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea? Maybe I should just get back on and ride to Buenos Aires and give up my Uruguay exploration? No. No way. I wasn’t going to spend three days hanging out in Buenos Aires (where everything is way more expensive) just because I suddenly find myself at a truck stop near the border. I asked the bus steward just exactly what I was supposed to do if this was Gualeguaychu. He told me to go inside and ask the cashier to call me a taxi or to hitchhike. Here goes nothing!