Foz do Iguaçu, Brazil

"Poor Niagara! This makes Niagara look like a kitchen faucet."

Eleanor Roosevelt

I managed to sleep most of the eastward journey from Asuncion to Foz do Iguaçu. The only time I woke, was early on into the journey when an empty television cabinet began to rattle incessantly. Fortunately, Anne was a closet Macgyver fan and lodged her day-pack in the cabinet to stop it rattling. Her triumph in resourcefulness was witnessed by only a few to her disappointment. I was grateful for the five minutes of peace it took me to doze. We did arrive at the border of Paraguay and Brazil at around 4am. This time the border town we had entered was Ciudad del Este. This town, notorious for its duty free shopping is separated from its Brazilian border counterpart of Foz do Iguaçu, by the Rio Parana – Parana river. To leave Paraguay requires crossing the bridge over the Rio Parana to Foz do Iguaçu on the other side.

The traffic was bustling at this unearthly hour in the morning. As we learned many Brazilians work in Ciudad del Este and have duty-free businesses there. As too some Paraguayans work in Foz do Iguaçu, so there was a good stream of traffic on the Rio Parana bridge. We stopped at the Immigration Check point, where we had to leave the bus. First we visited the Paraguayan booth to receive our exit stamps and eventually we moved across the road, dodging traffic to a small cabana which denoted the Brazilian Immigration office. All in all, it took about 30 minutes to have all of our official paper work sorted out, and then we were free to carry on to our hotel in Foz do Iguaçu. The irony of this whole situation was that in a few short hours, we would be walking back through this very Immigration Check Point and back across the Rio Parana to Ciudad del Este, in order to take in some of this much publicised duty free shopping.

Our coach continued the short journey to Foz do Iguaçu coach station, where we were met on arrival by another pair of mini-vans, and yet another guide, Milton. We piled into the vans, and then shortly after began the ten minute drive through the very modern and prosperous looking Foz do Iguaçu. Our hotel, the Hotel Taroba was certainly a sight for sore eyes, when we arrived shortly after 6am. We anxiously all checked in, our eyes glancing fleetingly at our watches, doing the mental arithmetic quite quickly for a group that had travelled during the night. For those who wanted to go Duty Free shopping in Ciudad del Este, then Dany informed, we would need to be ready to depart the hotel for 8:30am sharp. So a mere two hours sleep – if we were lucky. For those that didn’t want to shop, then the vans would collect them at the hotel for about 11am, for the commencement of the day’s sight-seeing activities. If I’d have been travelling by myself, I may have easily given into an extra three hours sleep – but when in Foz do Iguaçu, Ciudad del Este has to be visited.

We were allocated our rooms, and within minutes, Margaret and I were in-bed, not before opening the windows to the stifling rooms, allowing the busy sounds of Foz do Iguaçu to float into the room. We slept nonetheless. Our alarm intruded at about 8:15am. I wasn’t a happy camper. Margaret was none too impressed with my attitude either. To shop or to sleep? Shopping would win on this occasion, despite my body putting up a brave battle. So it was, that we met the majority of the group in reception. Yes, in spite of my sleepiness, I was very quick to note the absent, Horst, Dan & Kim, and Joanne. My “how come they got to stay in bed” eyes, were ignored by Margaret, as we were ushered into our promptly awaiting vans for the short journey back to the border crossing.

The vans dropped us off in a small parking lot, a few hundred yards from the Rio Parana bridge which we had crossed earlier. What had been a steady flow of people at 5am, was now a torrent of workers and tourists both on wheels and foot – heading for the local Mecca of cut-price merchandise – Ciudad del Este. We very quickly played “Frogger” dodging motor scooters and people, and joined the stream of people traffic. I was envisioning that our time in Ciudad del Este would be cut by having to wait for Paraguayan re-entry stamps at the border, but this wasn’t necessary. We were free to go through the immigration turnstiles and then onto the bridge. Apparently a number of Paraguayans and Brazilians alike frequently cross the border to work, without having to bother with immigration. The Rio Parana bridge is quite an impressive arched span – and does so over a good distance of at least 500 metres. The Parana itself is quite an impressive body of water. Even from the lofty height of 100 metres or so, we could make out that the Parana had a reasonably strong current even at the 20km or so distance downstream we were from the mighty Iguassu Falls. According to some reading material we had, it was this murky river that received the waters of the colossal cataracts of Iguassu. But at this point, there were no signs of any waterfalls, so alas I had to contemplate more mundane matters – like dodging people, animals and what would be a reasonable price for a pair of Gucci sunglasses.

We crossed the bridge into the notably poorer – but still quite modern, bustling shopping hub that was Ciudad del Este. The name of this town, in Spanish, actually means “First City”– not sure exactly why. It was something we pondered when we were lead by our guide up a short rise and then veering sharply to the right, found ourselves winding our way past a hoard of small-shop frontages. Our first stop was according to our guide, the business when it came to finding bargain electrical goods. What appeared as the entrance to a small shop, actually turned out to be a mini-shopping mall with a myriad of stores selling electrical-wares. If there is perhaps one time I can actually appreciate shopping then it would be this. Let me loose in a shop, selling every kind of electrical gadgetry then I may not mind the chore so much. Most of the goods that seemed on-sale seemed of good quality, although the latest models, especially of digital cameras were few and far between.

I had one item on my shopping list, and that was a zoom-lens for my digital camera. I entered one shop and asked if he had one in stock suitable enough, and his immediate reply was “Yes – wait one moment”. Shortly thereafter, he asked me whether I would like to sell him my camera. I said No – I would like to buy a zoom lens please. “Yes – wait one moment.” At this point he hurled some kind of request at an assistant in some unidentifiable tongue (doubt it was Spanish, or Portuguese – perhaps Guarani – more likely Arabic as he looked and sounded Lebanese*). His assistant left the shop and was gone about ten minutes. At this point, I was becoming impatient and so too were the rest of the tour group, as they were keen to move onto another set of shops. Just before I was about to walk out, his assistant returned and informed him that he couldn’t find a zoom lens. Profanities and expletives uttered in the same foreign tongue. I was quite annoyed at this point. This bent Lebanese-Paraguayan did not have what I was after, and had sent his lackey around no doubt to all and sundry to go and buy one. After this, the shop owner got on the phone to another shop, and confirmed that there was in fact a zoom lens there. He then commanded his lackey to go and get it, in a “don’t disappoint me if you are partial to your testicles” tone. And so more waiting! I waited another while, with no sign of the shop assistant. He probably had done a runner as he valued his testes and I was contemplating doing a runner, because at this point I was extremely testy. Not to mention that I also was under intense pressure to get going. So, in fear of being left to wander around these shops amidst felonious Paraguayan shop-keepers I followed the rest of the group to another set of shops. I didn’t wait around to see if the shop-assistant delivered his much maligned cargo.

* Indeed, I learnt that there is in fact a large Arabic population in Ciudad del Este. In recent years, there have been several stories in the press of terrorist groups such as the notorious Lebanese movement ”Hezzbollah” establishing themselves here. Apparently, the corruption of the Paraguayan government, and the amount of money in Ciudad del Este are reasons cited for the establishing of such radical groups. So perhaps my lens bereft Lebanese friend was much better at gun-running.

Within moments of returning to the group, we found another electrical goods shop, and on enquiring on whether he had a zoom lens, he also replied, “Yes”. This time though he had an array to choose from. After bargaining as best I could, I had 5% knocked off, and the purchase was made. I was a little chuffed. Margaret though was quick to remind me, who in the group was the most reluctant to go on this shopping expedition this morning. She convinced me for a minute at least that shopping did have its benefits. Many of our group had also made purchases as well. Glenn procured a digital camera, Anne and Jane – Mini-disc players and Dany and Laura purchased a good quality SLR camera. So buoyed by some successful purchases, our group left this bustling arcade, and were lead by our guide back to the main road of Ciudad del Este. Shortly after, as we headed back down the slope towards the Rio Parana we came upon a much more modern shopping centre. Here were more familiar shopping surrounds, with all the trimmings and atmosphere you’d expect to find in a modern department store.

Very soon we came upon the sunglasses section. After more than the usual deliberation that goes into actually making a purchase, Margaret bought a funky pair of pink-shaded sunglasses. It had actually come down to a choice of two, and what better way to get a decision made, than having a gay tour guide on hand. Our sartorially sharp tour leader, Dany, gave the affirming nod. I promptly agreed and so the deal was done. That wasn’t to be the only successful purchase for Margaret though. The sun-glasses were followed by a rather nice (if you’re into that sort of thing) Louis Vuitton hand-bag. So it was that Margaret officially joined the ranks of the successful ring of Tucan shoppers. This pretty much concluded our Paraguayan shopping foray, and so shortly before 11am, our guide lead us back across the Rio Parana bridge, back to Foz do Iguaçu – and onto the days real objective – visiting Iguassu Falls.

We returned to the Hotel Taroba to collect the remainder of our group at about 11:15am. Very quickly we gathered our day-packs for the remainder of the days adventure. Dany suggested we all bring waterproofs and swimwear if possible, for our Iguassu boat excursion later in the day. So it was, that shortly after, the Rio Ring were all anxiously waiting in the Foyer, mindful of the time. We had a lot to get through. According to our Foz do Iguaçu itinerary there was a big agenda install. There was a trip to the Parque das Aves – a native Brazilian bird park, a helicopter ride over Iguassu Falls, that jet-boat ride on the Iguassu River, and then finally a walk along the Brazilian side of the falls. We had a lot to get through, and we were all chomping at the bit to get going. Eventually we did, but shortly after 11:30am.

The Parque das Aves is on the outskirts of Foz do Iguaçu. The short ten minute drive it took to get there, revealed the modern tourist hub that the town is. There were loads of modern looking restaurants and bars. It seemed we had left the poor of Latin-America well behind. We arrived at the park, and quickly negotiated our way through the turnstiles. Just before entering we were greeted with the sight of three macaws, happily grooming one another in the small garden adjacent to the entrance. Cool! For once we could actually get really close to a macaw for that much demanded photo. This proved to be but a morsel of an appetiser though. After purchasing our tickets for the park and being informed we had about three-quarters of an hour to take it all in, we were given our instructions on how to wander through the enclosures. The park for the most part is a collection of walk-through aviaries, and so entering each aviary requires particular care. The door from the exiting aviary must be closed completely before opening the door of another.

In the first aviary, we very quickly came across a much sought after South American animal. The mascot of our Tour Operator was perched on a drooping branch a foot above our heads, peering curiously at us all. This was way cool. I never had seen a tucan in such close proximity. Up until this point, it had only been a few fleeting moments in the Pantanal. The tucan is a beautiful bird: its large crescent shaped beak is a brilliant yellow, scored with golden stripes complementing its pure black and white head and body. We stood fascinated for a few minutes, and then Dany informed that there was plenty more to come so we should move on. Within minutes, we had entered another aviary with even more tucans. There were a couple of them happily hopping from one side of the walkway to the other.

A Tucan – the Parque das Aves

A Macaw- the Parque das Aves

So accommodating were these birds that we were able to manage photos with them. Tucans weren’t the only birds on display though. We came across many a native Brazilian bird, including the crested crane, the brilliantly coloured red ibis, rheas, flamingos, bush turkeys and a multitude of macaws exhibiting such a variety of colour that it would make any DIY buff swoon. The macaws were equally as fascinating to watch as the tucans. Just watching them all banter in their now familiar squawk was a sight to behold. The park did not just limit itself to birds though. There was also an engaging display of other local fauna, including turtles, iguanas, tarantulas and one enclosure in particular was dedicated to butterflies. Again there was a remarkable variety on display, flitting here and there amidst the enclosure’s gardens – it had an almost magical appeal. After a long futile struggle to have one sit on a leaf long enough to get a decent photo, the magic soon wore off.

Towards the end of our self guided tour, we came across even more tucans. But these were a little different to the ones we had seen earlier. I was surprised to learn that there were a number of varieties of tucan. The ones we had seen earlier were called Tucan Grande. But the ones in this latter section of the park were the Ariel Tucan and the Red-breasted Tucan. The ariel tucan is characterised by a stark black beak, whereas the red-breasted Tucan has a greyish beak, yellow collar, and of course a red breast.

This almost concluded our tour, but as we made our way out, we came upon the courtyard and usual tourist facilities. i.e Shop, Bog and Restaurant. As we entered the courtyard, a young Brazilian lad was there sporting a blue and golden macaw on his shoulder, and he was requesting all the punters do the same – to get that great photo shot. Soon enough, I had a macaw on my shoulder – for a few seconds at least. Shortly after, he took delight in ripping the button from the top of my Aston Villa cap (alas the last vestiges of Aston Villa merchandise I had with me on tour), and then proceeded to make his way to the top of my head. Margaret took a volley of photos amidst hysterics, and then shortly after the Brazilian chap moved the bird to Margaret’s shoulder. This macaw seemed to detest standing on anyone’s shoulders, and soon enough it was making the intrepid climb up the slope of Margaret’s neck to that elusive summit – her head. It was great fun, and we both managed to take some truly memorable photos.

At this point we stopped briefly for lunch, during which Dany called us together to work out the “pecking order”, so-to-speak, for those of us electing to do the helicopter flight over the falls. Our tucan and macaw reverie quickly abated, given that to our surprise it was now 1:30pm and we had not even set eyes on the notorious Iguassu Falls yet. Thankfully, in the interest of time and our sanity, the helicopter tour company was a mere five minute stroll across the road from the bird park – we didn’t have far to go at all. The helicopter flight would take about twelve minutes, and could take only four passengers at a time, so we were to take the trip in shifts. Margaret and I were hooked up with Helen and Maurie for the second flight. So it was that the first couple of groups wandered over to the helicopter tourist office, while the remainder of the group waited in the bird park – finishing their lunch.

Iguassu Falls: By air

We paid the expensive 150 Real price tag, and we then began excitedly waiting on the helicopter to arrive to take the first group. We didn’t have to wait long for the chopper soon arrived, and group one were on their way. A quarter of an hour later, we were lead up to the helipad to wait for the arrival of the first group and our helicopter. It arrived, and all we could gather in passing our fellow Rio Ringers was a fit of superlatives, before finally boarding the whining aircraft. Margaret, Helen and Maurie were in the back, and I somehow managed to swing the front.

I have only had a ride in a helicopter twice in my life. The first time was over the Bungle Bungle ranges in the remote Kimberley region of far north Western Australia, and the second time was to be Iguassu Falls. As the chopper began to lift, the sense of freedom was incredible. For a few seconds, the pilot held the chopper hovering just centimetres over the ground, before eventually sending it in a forward motion, and then skywards. We waved below at the diminishing forms of those that had just exited the chopper, and before we knew it the terrain had changed from the open flat grass of the tour operator to the sprawling green canopy of dense rain-forest which seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. Where were the falls? Iguassu Falls was a good 15km from the helipad. After a minute or two admiring the forest landscape below, we noted the growing ball of mist in the distance. As if we needed to have it pointed out, the pilot gestured in the direction of the mist and confirmed “Iguassu”. After another minute the ball of mist grew increasingly clearer and then opened up into a distinct white rift in the middle of all this green forest. The white rift, a thin line at first, shortly after revealed itself as the Iguassu River, the river so formed from the foaming behemoth that is Iguassu Falls.

As we flew over the Iguassu River the full extent of the falls began to unfold. On either side of the river, dozens of falls spilled over the sides of sheer cliffs, as if in homage to the water God of Iguassu – El Garganta del Diablo – The Devil’s Throat. It is difficult to do justice to the heart of Iguassu Falls – but the Devil’s throat is just an amazing demonstration of nature’s power at its magnificent best. The Devil’s throat is the focal-point of Iguassu Falls, and it is where the bulk of the water from the upper Rio Iguassu descends into the huge cleft that is the Iguassu gorge. Passing over the Devil’s throat gave us an incredible view of the expansive Rio Iguassu, which almost seemed like a calmly flowing flood-plain – that suddenly descends into a chaotic cloud of white oblivion. Our eyes were glued, and what was also impressive about the Falls was that on the Argentinean side the water falls were tiered, appearing as a cascade. That was the other notable part of this trip. We were actually flying over the border of two countries. The Iguassu River forms part of the Brazilian and Argentinean border, and so for a fleeting moment the chopper encroached on Argentinean air-space, but I’d say we remained within Brazil all the time. We must have spent about forty-five minutes flying over the falls, before our pilot, to our disappointment steered for home. Well back to the helipad anyway.

The price was definitely worth it. Seeing the full-wrath of Iguassu Falls from the air was an experience that will remain unforgettable. Our chopper landed safely, and we were greeted by the anxious Group No.3, Dany, Laura and Tom who were raring to go at the verge of the helipad. Cheesy grinned we gave them the thumbs up as we passed them and then ventured back to the rest of the group who at this stage were all waiting in the Tourist Office. Only a couple within the group elected not to do the helicopter ride, preferring instead for the more up-close and personal encounter with the Falls. This was to be our next excursion, and little did we know at this stage, just how up-close and personal we were to get.

With the completion of our Iguassu helicopter experience, we were all engaged in enthralled chatter. Since setting out from La Paz it was difficult to recall if the group had ever been excited as this. After the last group returned from their helicopter flight, Dany quickly ushered us out to the waiting mini-vans. It was now pushing 3pm, and we still had a couple of major activities to do. Our next excursion was the Macuco Safari and jet boat tour. This was a reasonable distance from the Parque das Aves and Helicopter site. Given that this next jaunt involved boating on the Iguassu River, this meant we actually had to officially enter the Iguassu Falls National Park. We did so, quickly admiring the very modern tourist office, and the vans continued on their way on sealed road which wound its way through the dense rain forest of the park. After a good ten minutes drive into the park, we arrived at the Macuco Safari tourist office, and shortly after we were waiting outside for Dany to purchase our tickets. Just before setting out on this excursion, Dany reminded us to bring our water-proof gear, including protective plastic bag for our camera – as there was a very credible chance we would be getting wet. Further to this, the tour operator Macuco, also recommended that we douse ourselves in eucalypt oil to keep the insects away. This natural insect repellent was freely available from a couple of makeshift dispensers outside the tourist office. After smelling the pungent oil, I opted not to. Margaret however, lathered herself in the stuff. No flying feckers were going to get the better of her today.

It must have been a good quarter of an hour before we set out. Our transport was kind of funky. Green, eco-friendly trailers, which resembled mini-trains were to be our means of transport through the rain forest and then eventually to the Iguassu River. While we waited anxiously for our trailer to be readied, I attempted to take some photos of some of the many coloured butterflies which were in great abundance. No success though, well not until our eco-trailer showed up. Shortly after boarding the trailer, a butterfly settled on Ian’s knee. Ian was sitting next to me, so finally I stole a great butterfly photo. One final group photo of the Rio Ring on Macuco Safari trailer, and then we set off down a narrow rain-forest trail.

I have to say that the tour through the rain-forest was quite dull. Our guide, a young Brazilian girl, while informative to a degree had a monotone voice which did nothing for our palpable anticipation in getting down to the Iguassu River. Our guide did reveal many facts about the rain-forest including all kinds of wild fruits and local wild-life, but our adrenalin glands finally kicked in when the trailers suddenly dipped in a steep descent, revealing a glimpse of the much awaited Iguassu River. Our trailer stopped a good 100 metres or so above the river edge, and so we quickly disembarked and made our way down a slippery, very narrow set of make-shift stairs to a small people-ladened pontoon, where a bright-orange jet-boat was pulling in to whisk them up river. As we made our way down the stairs, we passed a number of beaming punters who had just taken the trip. The majority of them were drenched from head to foot, despite the fact that they were wearing water proof ponchos. We all took note of this with interest, and began donning our water proof gear in readiness. We still had a good wait though before it would be our turn. The Brazilian sun was surprisingly potent, even at the late hour in the afternoon and so we became increasingly agitated as the wait continued. Still, there was some entertainment, well at least for Ian and I. We took pleasure in some of the people watching. In particular after a jet-boat returned with water-logged Latinos we saw one particular guy, a huge rolling mass of a man, remove his poncho, revealing a bulging countenance completely clad in a now clinging violet-velvet tracksuit. It was shocking. He then proceeded to remove it, revealing himself in all his pale-assed glory. We were in mild hysterics at this, and this gave way to more laughter, when a woman, in her late sixties passed us, with her haggard wrinkled prune of a face exacerbated further by her running mascara. This was a source of entertainment, and I attempted to capture the resurgence of smiles within our group, by taking a photo of us sitting on the Iguassu River bank from the edge of the pontoon. It was the quickest photo in history, because as if in conspiracy to keep exuberant punters away, Macuco had graciously planted a swarm of wasps under the canopy of the pontoon. So that was what the Eucalypt oil was for! Perhaps it was common knowledge that wasps were deterred by the smell of eucalypt. I should have known better really, having camped within many a Eucalypt forest in Australia, this had never deterred mosquitoes. In any case, I soon rejoined the impatient Tucan throng, as the afternoon drew on, and our boat had not yet arrived.

A boat did arrive eventually. This first boat only had room for a few of the Rio Ringers though. So, it was that the Incredible Horst, Dan & Kim, and Alpaca Alan were the first of the group to embark on the journey up river to greet the wrath of the falls. Thankfully, the rest of us didn’t have to wait too long for the next boat. Given that there we were a good sized group we had the jet-boat to ourselves. Carefully avoiding to upset the local wasps, we were fitted with bright orange life-vests on the pontoon and then made our way into the boat. It seemed I had poll position once again. Jane (“FHM!”), Ian (“Baby Alpaca”) and I (“Forrest Gump”) had the front seat. Immediately behind us sat Dany, Margaret (“Jeesuz Christ”), and Helen Shelton (“Hot Lips”). In the third row were Tom (“Show Me My Money”), Anne (“Bite My Ass”), and Laura (“Laundrette Fret”). Finally, in the back row were Helen Wright (“Cilla”) and Maurie (“Benny Hill”) together with Joanne (“Quick Draw Macaw”) and Glenn (“Bite My Legs”).

Dany was more than excitable as we left the dock. He knew what we were all in store for. He whooped and hollered like a maniac and egged our guide on. Even at the distance we were down river from the falls, the Iguassu River was a tumultuous set of rapids, flowing at a dangerous pace, leaving spiralling eddies in its wake. The boat literally bounced its way up river, as it struck curling wave crests. The adrenalin was pumping very swiftly by now, and we began encouraging our guide to spin the boat. In answer to Dany’s very vocal requests he did a couple of sudden turns, and then we were all greeted with a wall of water. From recollection, I think those in front missed this first barrage of water, but we weren’t dry for long. In another deftly manoeuvred turn, the nose of the boat dipped, bounced, and then a mass of water careered over the bough of the boat drenching those of us in the first two rows. Despite my hardcore water-proof it made no difference, even at this point, I was squelching. After these first couple of thrills the group’s excitement picked up a gear. Shouts of “Bring it On!” and “WOOOOOO!!!!!” rose in unison, particularly as the mighty vista of Iguassu Falls came into view.

A number of more water churning turns, and we were all in hysterics. “More!” “More!” was the cry particularly from Jane who had abandoned her usual catch-cry of “FHM!” Dany as well, seeing the water damage that was being inflicted on his crew, seemed to know when there was an exceptional tide of water about to hit, because as we veered into a turn, Dany would jubilantly cry “YEEESSSSSS!” The boat paused for a minute or two at the entrance to the first set of falls. At this point, the Iguassu gorge appeared almost to split into two. Straight ahead the foaming-curtained cliffs of the Iguassu gorge lead on through to the thick haze that was El Garganta del Diablo, and to our right, revealed a two-tiered deluging cascade, which represented the Argentinean side. We took a good number of photos here, although we were a little hampered by the mist wreaking havoc with the visibility on our lenses. Our Iguassu encounter was not over though. Our Macuco guide quickly implored us to all sit down, and in particular to put our cameras away. We set off again, in the direction of the Brazilian side of the Iguassu Gorge to the entrance of the falls themselves.

Margaret and Stephen: Iguassu by water

We were amazed at how far the boat was taking us. Naturally, it could only go so far, given that to venture all the way down the gorge to El Garganta del Diablo would have been suicide. Nonetheless though, the jet-boat entered the roaring entrance to the Falls proper. It was truly magnificent. This was definitely the best perspective you could possibly hope to have of Iguassu. The boat was literally holding its own in the churning river at the foot of the first set of falls. This wasn’t good enough for our guide though. Amidst screams of approving delight from his passengers, he took the boat under one of the falls itself. If there was any remaining chance, regardless of how remote, of staying dry, it was gone now. The water literally crashed over us, like a perpetually emptying bath tub. It was a deluge like no other that I’ve ever experienced. After about thirty seconds, probably in fear of sinking his boat, our guide withdrew into the swirling river. Everyone was yelling in sheer exhilaration at what had just happened. Jane in particular was speechless, and instead resorted to expressing herself in an uncontrollable fit of laughter. “Breathe Jane! Breathe!” After another thirty seconds respite to allow us all to regain our breath, our guide gave us yet another shot of adrenalin and took us headlong under the drenching veil.

A little more prepared this time, I took it on. I looked up into the crashing water. It stung slightly, but heck I was probably unlikely to experience this ever again. Ian and Jane who sat either side of me were doing the same, screaming in elation as they gazed sky and water wards. You couldn’t really see anything other than water hitting your face, and all you could hear was this implacable roar. A moment later, our boat withdrew into the relative calm of the turbulent river. I recall turning round to see how Margaret was faring, and it was an amusing sight. Margaret, despite having her head down to protect herself from the water, had a stunned grin on her face. This trip had more than exceeded expectations. It was with some disappointment then, when our guide steered the boat down river, back in the direction of the pontoon, and away from the thrilling Iguassu. The return journey was still as entertaining as the initial one into the fray. Our guide weaned us off our adrenalin addiction by forcing engagements with several more swirling walls of water. Everyone was truly abuzz with excitement, and after we did finally arrive back at the pontoon, I don’t recall ever on tour seeing this group so elated. It was without doubt, that this ostensibly sedate Macuco safari had surpassed even the magnificent helicopter tour.

We arrived on the pontoon and exchanged stories with Alan, Dan & Kim and Horst who had been on the first boat. I removed my water proof, which confirmed what I had already guessed. I was drenched from head to toe. I could well have gone for a swim in the river itself. Soon after, Dany ushered us up the stairs towards the waiting Eco-trailers, which were to ferry us back to the tourist office and so the main road. It was now getting quite late in the afternoon, and we still had a walking tour of the Brazilian side of the falls to complete. So it was by about 5:30pm, we were boarding our mini-vans once again, for a short drive to a look-out, and the start of a tourist walkway which traversed the falls. By the time we left the mini-vans at the look-out, the sun had just begun dipping over the horizon. The view here was unsurprisingly stunning, particularly as the sun was disappearing in a sheen of red. We could have stayed for a good while, but we all wanted to get a closer look at the Devil’s Throat, before it got dark so we set out on our way down the tourist trail as dusk began to fall.

Such were the incredible views, that we stopped a number of times on the undulating trail to take some photos of the falls in the failing light. By the time we reached the Devil’s Throat, a full moon had risen above the falls, adding further to the day’s unique experience. Before we could get to the look-out of El Garganta del Diablo though, we had to run yet another water gauntlet. I had just begun to dry a little, but that was all about to be undone. A 200 metre long board-walk jutted out towards the Throat, beneath a massive churning wall of water. The spray from this water, together with the spray from the Throat itself was being hurled across the boardwalk in deluge quantities. Margaret and I braved it again, and ran along the board-walk to the Devil’s Throat vantage point, arriving at the far-end completely water-logged for the second time that day. We stayed long enough for a group photo. But such was the amount of water in the air that any chance of a good shot was dashed by the beads of water on the lens. Added to the photo challenge was the fading light. Those using a flash simply revealed glistening beads of water, amidst a wall of pitch black. Despite this, even in the drawing dark, we were still able to appreciate the mighty power in which the water descended into the Devil’s throat. After a couple of minutes, both wet and cold, but happy, we hurried back across the board-walk and returned to the trail to the promise of dry land.

We weren’t too disappointed that we only managed to see the Devil’s Throat in twilight, as Dany informed us that the best vantage point was actually on the Argentinean side, which we would be visiting the following day. But this was a distant thought, as we made our way back up the trail and to the roadside where the mini-vans were waiting. Once back in the vans, the immensity of the day’s activities began to sink in. We had done so much, and now having the opportunity to sit still, fatigue began to take hold and so too sleep. It was a good half hour drive from the falls back to Foz do Iguaçu and the Hotel Taroba. This was not the end of the day’s activities though. Dany informed us that we had about forty minutes to get cleaned up, because we had a table booked at a traditional Brazilian dinner dance. So proving there was no rest for the wicked, we arrived back at the hotel to the welcome of a shower and dry clothes. Twelve hours after we had set out for our shopping expedition in Ciuaded del Este, we all met in the foyer of the Hotel Taroba, to be ushered into the mini-vans yet again and for the short drive to the restaurant – Rafain.

We arrived at the restaurant for about 8:45pm. It turned out to be a huge hall, packed with people enjoying the spoils of a Brazilian buffet. All the tables were like the spokes of a wheel, the hub and focal point of the restaurant being the stage. As we were shown our table, the entertainment began. A smartly dressed but smarmy Brazilian man was the host for the evening, and while he spouted Portuguese, amidst feigned laughter, we all began helping ourselves to the extensive buffet. The food was fantastic – for a buffet (I’m not usually a fan), but the entertainment proved a little disappointing. We were expecting something traditionally Brazilian. What we got was a bit too much like fast-food tourism. There was music representative of many South American countries, and while some of the acts were impressive, some were decidedly tacky. When it came the turn for the Brazilian music, the band while initially being fairly humorous proved to be quite sleazy, all but groping a German gringo girl when they invited her on stage. Still there was one saving grace. When they brought on a couple of scantily clad Samba dancing-girls, they demanded another volunteer from the audience. I can think of no better way to salvage a night’s entertainment than by offering the services of the one true entertainer. The Incredible, HHHB Horst! Up he went on stage, and began shaking his groove thing in perfect rhythm with the lithe but tacky form of the Brazilian dancer. We all were cheering and roaring, and as usual Horst didn’t disappoint his fans. There was no stopping this man. With our bellies full we left Rafain and spent a few minutes browsing through the market stalls just outside. But after a few moments of this, some of the hardcore elected to carry onto a late bar with Dany, while a few other lightweights, including Margaret and I ventured back to the hotel for some much deserved sleep. Before going to sleep that night though, I managed to convince Margaret that she should accompany me on the optional excursion to Itaipu Dam the following day. Reluctantly Margaret agreed, given it meant we would be leaving the hotel at 8am.

A 7am rising is always tough for me, and this day was no different. I was regretting having opted for taking the Itaipu Dam trip, but I was determined to take in as many sights as possible. Margaret was feeling the same as I about the whole thing, and so like zombies we stumbled downstairs for a rushed breakfast in time to meet our driver for the journey out to Itaipu. It turned out that most of the Rio Ring had elected to stay in bed; Itaipu Dam was not enough of a reason to sacrifice sleep. There were a couple of exceptions though. As well as Margaret and I, Horst, Dan and Kim also decided they wanted to come along. So it was, the five of us took the fifteen minute or so journey from Foz do Iguaçu to Itaipu Dam.

We dozed most of the way, and awoke when the van parked up in the lot outside the Itaipu Dam office. No sign of the dam at this point, which by all reports was a little surprising given that it was meant to be, arguably, the largest dam in the world. After a short wait we purchased our tickets, inside the office, and were then ushered into an auditorium, with about hundred or so other tourists. We learned that we were in for a three-quarter hour video presentation about the dam, after which we would then be ferried by bus to the dam itself. I’d like to say that Margaret and I got a lot out of the video – but we didn’t. Despite being asleep for at least half of it, the video was not a documentary about Itaipu Dam but more of an egotistical ecotourism video. Basically, every few minutes the narrator would say how great the place was, due to its eco-friendly mantra. Yes, the movie was dull. We were grateful when it finished and we were ushered out into the buses.

Within several minutes of driving the dam came into view. It was massive and very impressive, particularly if you’re into dams. Unfortunately, Margaret and I weren’t. Itaipu was actually a joint venture between Paraguay and Brazil and took a few years to build. According to the pre-recorded narration given on the bus, the construction of Itaipu Dam required the equivalent of 380 times the iron used in the construction of the Eiffel tower, and 200 times the concrete used in Brazil’s premier football arena – the Rio de Janeiro based Maracana stadium. The result was an 8km long dam wall, and when the water is allowed to overflow into the spillway, its maximum output is 20 times that of the volume of water descending into Iguassu Falls. Now that was the most impressive statistic. It would have been just the trick to wake us from our dozing stupors to see water being released into the Itaipu spillway. But, unfortunately, that was not to happen. After a couple of short stops at some strategic vantage points, to take in the breadth of the dam wall, and also the spillway, the bus carried our sleep-fighting bodies back to the car-park. All in all, the excursion was dull. Still, I guess it’s not everyday you get to visit the largest dam in the world. As it turned out, it appeared that this was in fact the case for us. There was much speculation in our group that the Yangtzee River dam in China was now in fact larger than Itaipu. Damn! We all agreed to return to the rest of the group in an upbeat mood, and inform them about the amazing experience they had missed out on.

So it was, our van took us back to the Hotel Taroba in Foz do Iguaçu, where we met the rest of the group, who were bright eyed in anticipation of the remainder of the days activities. We were less than convincing in regaling the exciting Itaipu audio-visual experience, and totally unbelievable when we said we got to go white water rafting in the Itaipu spillway. Okay, we admitted that it was dull and we were apologising profusely to our exhausted bodies for putting them through it. Still, we had some exciting stuff ahead for the rest of the day. First up would be a visit to the Three Frontiers – which would give us an opportunity to stand on the borders of Paraguay, Brazil and Argentina. Finally, we would then be taking a drive back into Argentina to taking a walking tour of the Argentinean side of Iguassu falls. This we were all looking forward to, as the walk would take us even closer to the Garganta del Diablo – the Devil’s Throat.

At about 11am our mini-vans left the hotel for the Three Frontiers. Within about twenty minutes we arrived, at what appeared to be no more than a lookout over a river. On closer inspection though, this place was quite significant. Firstly, and perhaps most significantly, this lookout revealed the intersection of the two mighty rivers the Rio Iguassu and the Rio Parana. In actual fact, it was the lower Rio Iguassu we had view of, as this was the very river we were jet boating on the previous day, although granted, 19km away further up stream at the curtain of the falls itself. So it was here, at the Three Frontiers that the Iguassu River met the Parana River, the later of course acting as a partial border between Brazil and Paraguay. And of course, based on our geography lesson from the previous day, we already knew that the Iguassu River acted as a border between Brazil and Argentina. So by way of quick deduction we were not only at the junction of two rivers, but also at the junction of three countries.

We were on the Brazilian side of the Iguassu and Parana Rivers, and this was denoted by a tall green and yellow marker. Across the Iguassu River to the South stood a blue and white marker denoting the Argentinean frontier, and on the other side of the Parana River stood a red, white and blue obelisk, marking the territory of Paraguay. This was very cool, being able to view the borders so clearly of three countries. After taking our obligatory photos, some of our group took some time out to put their heads through a pair of board cut-outs. The cut-outs were of a couple of indigenous people, frolicking in the foreground of Iguassu Falls. Naturally, it was another great opportunity to take a photo of Horst, complete with bronze chest, and washboard stomach. We all knew that this man, did not need the cut-out. But he spared the meek males in our group, by keeping his kit on.

After a hurried foray into the nearby souvenir shop, our driver and Dany ushered us into the vans for the journey into Argentina. It seemed we were on a very tight timeline once again, as Dany was quite vociferous in ushering everybody aboard the vans. After some anxious moments and averted stern looks at some stragglers, we were all on the road, leaving the Three Frontiers for the border crossing from Brazil into Argentina. Immigration proceedings went very smoothly. We had all filled out the required paperwork on route, so within a few minutes, our mini-vans were officially in Argentina and on the way to the Argentinean side of Iguassu Falls. Within about twenty minutes, we arrived at the entrance to the Argentinean Iguassu Falls national park. The facility was quite impressive and very modern. So modern was it, that the park entrance revealed an ice-cream shop. Wahoo! The day was clear and the sun was biting, with virtually not a cloud in the sky. So naturally, ice cream seemed like a good idea. Unfortunately for my gullet though, we didn’t have enough time. We had arrived at the park, within minutes of the next train departure to the Devil’s Throat walk. Sure, you could walk all the way, but given we were on a time budget, it made sense to catch the train. So, with my belly in pain, the group filed aboard the open-air train. Still, I managed to grab a few gob fulls of Margaret’s ice cream as the train set off in the direction of the falls.

The train journey was about ten minutes all up, discounting the two short stops that we had in order to pick up other tourists on the several walking trails, which made up the park. The train stopped at the end of the road, and so we all poured out onto the walking trail, in the direction of the falls. The trail soon left dry ground and became a bridge, which seemed more like an interminable jetty, jutting outwards over the teeming waters of the Rio Iguassu plateau. Amidst the waters were small islets of trees and other flotsam and jetsam, clearly marking our proximity to the falls. Within moments, the roar of the falls could be heard, and every once and a while the plateau rim of the falls could be discerned. Our journey across the Rio Iguassu was made that much more entertaining by the myriad of dazzling butterflies which flitted about us in seemingly chaotic rhythm with the waters below us. On several occasions, the butterflies actually landed on people, which meant of course, photos had to be taken. One butterfly in particular was kind of partial to Margaret and repeatedly landed on her arm, shoulder and head, allowing me to get some quite good close up photos. It was about time my luck changed.

The Power of Iguassu. El Garganta del Diablo

The walk along the jetty seemed to take us tantalisingly close to the Iguassu Falls rim, but always when we appeared to get close, the jetty veered in another direction. But we weren’t to be disappointed, and eventually, the end of the walkway was revealed, from a distance of fifty or so metres. Here, the huge ball of mist that was clearly the Garganta del Diablo could be seen glistening in the sun, and beneath it our Iguassu roadway terminated in a circular pontoon. We quickened our step, and within moments were spellbound at the sight of Iguassu’s power. This was without a doubt, the best vantage point of the Devil’s Throat. The Brazilian lookout where we stood in the previous day’s twilight could be seen across the tumult of the throat, and seemed small and obscure. From here though it would have been possible to jump into the throat, we were that close. Amidst taking several photos, we all stood agape at the sheer volume of water flowing into what literally was foaming white oblivion below us. The ball of mist which floats in the air above the Devil’s Throat is a permanent fixture, and so many rainbows reveal themselves for minutes on end: a scything iridescence through a roaring maelstrom of sheer white.

Eleanor Roosevelt, hubby of former US President Theodore, had, according to literature, when visiting Iguassu Falls been quoted as saying. “Poor Niagara! This makes Niagara look like a kitchen faucet!” Having been to Niagara Falls myself, it was clear that it wasn’t even in the same league as Iguassu. For one, where Niagara has two major sets of falls, Iguassu is made up of 275 waterfalls, is 20 metres higher than Niagara, and the width of Iguassu is more than half that of Niagara. It’s funny, how growing up, you would always hear about Niagara Falls, and never Iguassu. Bloody Yanks! This is without doubt the most beautiful and spectacular water falls I have ever seen, and I doubt there is better in the world. This was clearly an absolute must see for any South American itinerary and Margaret and I were chuffed that we had opted to include it.

Our days venture on the Argentinean side of the falls was not over though. We spent about thirty minutes or so on the Devil’s Throat pontoon, taking it all in and sending our cameras into overdrive. One curious photo combination that Margaret and I (and indeed the rest of the Rio Ring) took in was that of Helen Shelton (“Hot Lips”) and Glenn Thompson (“Bite My Legs”). They were in many a photo together – as a couple. Could it be some Tucan scandal had surpassed us? As we reluctantly left and made our way back across the upper Rio Iguassu towards terra firma, Margaret and I caught up with the oracle of tour gossip, that was Jane Hill (“FHM!”). After very minimal coaxing, Jane revealed that Helen and Glenn had got it on as far back as Sucre, at the not so Grand Hotel. Margaret and I were stunned. Three couples had risen from the Rio Ring since our departure from La Paz. Helen Wright (“Cilla”) and Maurie Gartland (“Benny Hill”) were the first, soon followed of course by Dan Wagner (“The Man”) and Kim (“Stand By Your Man”), and now Helen (“Hot Lips”) and Glenn (“Bite My Legs”). As far as tours were concerned that Margaret and I had undertaken in our lives, this was unprecedented.

But this was not all! Jane, amidst giggles of “Oh no I shouldn’t say anything – but you can guess!” revealed there was yet even more scandal going on within Team Tucan. Margaret, speculated about Ann (“Bite My Ass”) and one of the few remaining single lads Ian (“Baby Alpaca”). Jane concurred with a mischievous nod. Wow, this was amazing. Our mild mannered Tucan adventure had turned into amorous debauchery. What next? Would The Incredible Horst or Alpaca Alan, make a play for Miss Quick Draw Macaw – Joanne, or Jane – or vice versa? Granted Horst and Alan are happily married men, but it seemed at this stage in the tour anything could happen. It was game on!

Shocked, Margaret and I made our way back across the river, and to the train platform. While waiting for the train, I took the opportunity to try and get some photos of some of the large brilliantly blue butterflies that were flitting amongst hoards of smaller coloured varieties. As was to be expected, I had no success though, and so I boarded the train for the journey to the walking trails. Another short journey saw the group alight and head for a nearby café. We were ravenous at this point, and gratefully ate stodgy burgers before setting out on the walking trails for more close encounters with Argentinean Iguassu.

There were two main walking circuits in the Argentinean park. There was what was dubbed an Inferior circuit and a Superior Circuit. It seemed, by judging from the map, that the Inferior circuit took you closer to the falls. In fact it would seem the word Inferior denoted that the walk was the lower section of the falls, rather than it being an inferior, or second-rate, viewing experience. Similarly, Superior denoted the upper circuit. In any case, it seemed to make sense to take-in the lower Inferior circuit first, and then take in the upper Superior circuit on returning to the park entrance. So we set out. The Inferior circuit was certainly the more enjoyable of the two. It was a huge boardwalk, which took us over the verge of several of the waterfalls, and in particular gave us a magnificent view of the lower Rio Iguaçu, where the previous days jet boating excursion had taken. At one look out, we looked on as another set of adrenalin addicted punters ventured towards the mouth of the Iguassu falls proper. We also noted with interest, that on one occasion, the jet boat actually ventured underneath the falls on the Argentinean side, which was a different set that we had been deluged by the previous day. In fact the set of falls, we had been acquainted with were further around to the left of Isla San Martin, which is a densely vegetated outcropping that eventually joins up with the middle tier of the Argentinean side of the falls. This was an excellent vantage point, and gave us a great perspective of the previous day’s adventure.

HHHB: The Incredible Horst

The Inferior circuit culminated in another drenching. The boardwalk literally took you into the spray of one of the many Argentinean falls. The deluge, while nowhere near as powerful as The Devil’s Throat was still powerful enough to blanket the platform and boardwalk in a shroud of mist and spray within a radius of about 20 metres. It was a mandatory photograph. First up was Horst, who having demonstrated his modesty at the Three Frontiers photo shoot earlier in the day, this time pulled out all stops. Off came the kit, and all that remained was a strategically placed pair of Speedos. What a show it was. He flexed, and strutted like a man who knows only too well, the rewards of having such a finely tuned physique in the limelight of a catwalk. It was most humorous. Such was the amount of water on the platform that photos had to be taken a good way away, and even then the lens had to be mopped of the mist. Timing was critical in the taking of the photo. Margaret and I asked one chap to take a photo for us, and so we ran into the fray. It was freezing, but invigorating all the same. As my luck would have it though, there seemed to be a problem with him taking the photo. So Margaret and I both ran out to investigate the problem, and discovered that no photo had been taken. Of course, this meant our photo slot had been taken. Not happy. We had to wait for another ten minutes, before the platform beneath this water curtain was clear of other tourists. Having grabbed a more capable photographer, we eventually had the snap taken. Drenched to the core, we were nonetheless pleased with ourselves.

Noting that we were running out of time, Margaret and I quickened the pace to complete the Inferior circuit and make our way back towards the Superior Circuit. As we were making our way, a group of tourists were stopped on the path listening to their Spanish guide, no doubt waxing lyrically about the vital stats of Iguassu Falls. Listening intently to their guide, they all failed to spot the rather large hairy arachnid, crawling at their feet, which seemed intent on crossing the path. “Umm, excuse me Tarantula” I proclaimed. “Umm Aran-ya!” I said. The latter got the attention of one of them, and they stood back, in time for me to get a close up photo of it. Cool, I had spotted my own tarantula. Margaret, having a healthy fear of spiders seemed unusually interested in watching it, and I literally had to coax her away, so that we could take in the Superior Circuit. Eventually, she followed, and as we made our way past the junction leading to the Superior circuit, Margaret elected to carry on, so that she could have some quality time in the souvenir shops. Me however, elected to embark on taking the many photo opportunities awaiting, so I made haste down the Superior Circuit.

I walked the Superior circuit in probably record time. I literally had a short half hour to walk it and then be on my way back the park entrance for 5:15pm, in order to meet our mini-vans for the journey back to our hotel. The Superior Circuit, although not as impressive as the Inferior Circuit, still revealed excellent perspectives of the Argentinean falls. I was particularly chuffed to see a Tucan flying through the tree tops, when taking in a view of the falls from one of the many lookouts. It really completed the scene. All good things do come to an end though, and so I made my way to the end of the circuit, and then ventured back up to the park entrance, this time, not opting to take the train, but to walk all the way. 5:15pm came quickly enough, and we found ourselves filing aboard the mini-vans again, for the return journey to the hotel. A short delay at the Immigration checkpoint before crossing back into Brazil was the only notable part of this trip.

After arriving back at the Hotel Taroba, Dany ran through the plan of action for the evening. Basically, we had about two hours to get showered, fed and packed, as the evening would see us make up for the final amount short fall in the time we had lost in Santa Cruz. Yes, we were all booked on another night bus, from Foz do Iguaçu to Curitiba. We all agreed to go to a local Churriscura (Brazilian Barbeque restaurant) for dinner. The food as was always our experience in Brazil was second to none. For a fixed fee, the waiters would come out with a huge variety of freshly roasted and barbequed meats. Coupled with a salad and dessert bar – we were all content when we filed back into the lobby of the Hotel Taroba. It was with some reluctance when we eventually were collected by our Iguassu mini-van transport once again, this time to be ferried back to the Foz do Iguaçu bus terminus.

Our night bus to Curitiba was on time, and very comfortable. The seats were spacious and reclined generously. Margaret and I managed to grab poll position in the top deck of the bus, and so we had a good view of the busy motorway as we made our way out of Foz do Iguaçu. In some ways, our leaving Iguassu marked the end of our Tucan trip, as we literally had two, one night stops in Curitiba and Saõ Paulo, before finally making our way to our ultimate destination – Rio de Janeiro.

Still, the night bus trip did no go without incident. And no, there was no scandal to speak of – well none that I saw or heard anyway. But, about an hour into the journey, our bus was stopped by police. Well, not just any police. These police were fully equipped in some pretty serious body armour and firearms. Well in fact they were not just any armed police. These were armed Brazilian police, and according to the female Tucan contingent – oh and Dany too – they were extremely fit. There was much swooning and flirtatious smiles and batting of eyelids as a couple of allegedly hunky Brazilian coppers boarded the bus to inspect its occupants and cargo. Apparently, several buses on this route are used to smuggle contraband, and it was also speculated that many bandits operate on the motorway, and have been known to hijack buses. We weren’t really sure of the reason, and in fact the salivating Tucan girls didn’t really care. There was much disappointment, when the police finally left the bus, and after a ten minute delay we were quickly back on course – Curitiba bound. As the night descended, I suspect the Rio Ring fell asleep as one, some no doubt dreaming of foaming Iguassu waters. One man though, had a restless sleep. Young Horst, dreamt that he was a Brazilian copper, storming a tourist bus laden with young ladies. Sporting only a pair of Speedos he graced the aisle of the bus, as he would have a catwalk, while brandishing an AK-47.