Ponta Pora, Brazil – Asuncion, Paraguay

“I don’t think Gandalf meant for us to come this way Mr Frodo…”

THE LORD OF THE RINGS – Samwise Gamgee

The morning arrived and we found ourselves waiting in the foyer of the hotel for Dany our guide. During the wait, I availed of the opportunity to grab a photo in front of the jabiru phone booth which stood at the entrance to the hotel. Margaret had had her photo taken in front of a Tucan version back in Bonito, and naturally I had to compete with that. Dany did arrive eventually, and began giving the low down for the day. Today we would be officially crossing into Paraguay. First up though, we would have to obtain our exit stamps from Brazilian immigration. As it turned out, this was a short five minute walk from the hotel, along the busy main street of Ponta Pora to an agency of the Brazilian immigration.

This was painfully slow, the only amusement proved to be that of the immigration officials, who after receiving our passports in bulk, were obviously chuckling at some of the photos. A knotted ball formed in my stomach at the thought of them laughing at my mid-nineties, sixties retro, Richie Cunningham hair do. “Please don’t point the finger at me. Please don’t point the finger at me I thought.” Fortunately, for me and everyone else in our group who had an aesthetically challenged passport photo, the laughter subsided as quickly as it had started, and we were eventually issued with our validated passports. During the stroll back to the hotel a curious murmur did surface briefly within the group, as to whose passport may have been the source of mirth. I kept a low profile though, and stuck my passport firmly in my pocket. “Forrest Gump” was an acceptable nickname I had picked up on this tour. Any others pertaining to a certain ginger quiff may not have been so welcome.

We arrived back at the hotel, and waited only a short while before a cavalcade of taxis arrived to ferry us across the border. This wasn’t just any assembly of taxis though, as the majority of them were Mercedes Benz, and of the same vintage as my passport haircut. If I ever have the privilege of being picked up by Mafia, then this is what I imagine it would be like. The taxi drivers looked rough and ready, ours in particular was swarthy looking and clad in a rough leather jacket. Everyone was quickly allocated a taxi, and we were all heading off in the direction of the border – not together though. For some reason, we all left the Hotel Barcelona in different directions. Perhaps they were Mafia after all, and were practising their clandestine driving skills. Perhaps a more likely explanation is that quietly they were aspiring rally drivers – all seeking to be the first car to our destination.

Asuncion Taxi

The Paraguayan border actually runs through the town of Ponta Pora, so the whole border crossing scenario proved to be an anti-climax. One minute you’re driving through downtown Ponta Pora, then the next, and on the very same road, you’re driving in downtown Juan de Caballero, which is in Paraguay. Thankfully all of the taxis arrived at the same destination, the Immigration Office of Paraguay. Our driver had in fact wanted to beat every other driver to the post, so we found ourselves going cross country for the last 100 yards of the journey. Dany had warned us that it could take at least an hour for the passports to be processed, so we prepared ourselves for the wait, by twiddling our thumbs in the foyer. It didn’t prove to be too long though – less than half an hour to stamp the entire groups passports in fact. Quite an achievement in Paraguay, Dany informed, and most definitely a minor miracle by Bolivian standards.

The Paraguayan God Father taxi company was waiting patiently outside for us, which was just as well, because our luggage was stowed in the car boots. Good news for us, that there was no urgent call for a “bumping” that day, otherwise we may have found our packs dumped unceremoniously on the grass outside, in order to make room for a “stiff”. Our next stop for the day though was the Juan de Caballero bus station. Again the Mob bosses drove off in stealth mode, scattering in seemingly every direction possible, yet somehow managing to arrive at the bus station in unison within minutes. After saying goodbye to our Mafia friends, Dany purchased the tickets for the next bus service to Asuncion, the capital of Paraguay.

The bus station was bustling. It was quite clear, from having only just stepped over the border that we were now in a much poorer country. Indeed the people looked more indigenous and similar in appearance to the Andean folk of Bolivia and Peru. This was unlike much of the Brazilian folk, who either had a distinctly European or athletic African appearance. Margaret and I whiled away a few minutes by coaxing a mother to let her child take the last remaining souvenir koala we had. After some deliberation and mistrust she eventually passed it to her daughter with a smile. Eventually our bus arrived. To our most pleasant surprise this was no ordinary bus it was a full on, super deluxe coach. “WAHOO, FHM, Luxury!” The seating was spacious and the seats reclined to about 30 degrees. We had been expecting the worst, given our poultry Partridge Family experience in Bolivia and the misleading opulence of the Juca magic bus. Perhaps, Paraguay wouldn’t be so bad?

We were quite beside ourselves, and boarded the bus – oops sorry that should be coach – with glee. To our added mirth, the coach left on time. Nothing could go wrong today. The first half hour or so of the journey saw a few of us partake in Celebrity Head but then the novelty of the coach began to wear off and we returned to our seats to make the most of the reclining luxury. Before sleeping though, the coach slowed to a crawl, and at that almost to a halt. We were stopped for some minutes on what appeared from my view as a less than busy highway. After a while though, we saw the reason for the delay. A few men passed the bus on either side, and this then became a huge gathering of men, women and children, who were clearly staging some kind of protest. This proved to be somewhat scary, because all of the men, women and children had their faces covered in makeshift balaclavas or handkerchiefs. What was worse, they were wielding large chunks of wood like a bunch of terrorist baseball players. To this day, I don’t know what the full reason for this march was, but it was fair to say, I had my closest experience of what a lynch mob was like. Great, we had gone from The Mob to a Lynch Mob all in one day. Margaret and I, like the rest of the passengers on the bus, eyed the passing protestors cautiously anticipating some kind of trouble, but the marchers eventually passed on by and the coach was allowed to continue. There were rumours within the group that these men and women had in fact had links to a local terrorist movement, but it may not have been that sinister.

The remainder of the journey went without incident. We passed through fairly non-descript terrain for most of the journey. A swathe of sparsely vegetated flat pretty much described it. According to other literature this pretty much was the Chaco in a nutshell. The Chaco is a huge region of Paraguay which makes up the majority of the North West of the country, and is primarily flat up until the point it encroaches on the Brazil and Bolivian borders where it meets the wetlands of the Pantanal. The Chaco region was disputed territory for a long time between Paraguay and neighbouring Bolivia in particular. There was arguably a good deal of oil to be had. Paraguay having the local knowledge of the terrain though defeated Bolivia in the Chaco war and claimed the territory for their own. It turned out that the Bolivians couldn’t cope with the low altitude. Lightweights! Despite the conflict and the speculation of oil, no oil has ever been found in the Chaco. Still, at least for Paraguayan pride they managed to maintain the South American status quo, and kicked some Bolivian butt.

The stretch of highway that our coach took pretty much dissected its way through the country, for the six hour journey to the South, where the country’s capital is situated – Asuncion. This main arterial road from the Brazilian border skirts the Chaco for much of the way, but as you may have guessed by now, it did not lend itself to exhilarating viewing. This coupled with new found luxury, meant that Margaret and I slept the majority of this journey. So it was then, that the Rio Ring arrived in the largest Paraguayan city, Asuncion at about 7pm in the evening. Asuncion was certainly bustling at this hour, and this was evident at the Asuncion bus station where we arrived.

Within a short time, we had our packs, and we were loading them into the waiting mini-vans. Dany was dead organised. This was one of the great advantages of travelling with Tucan. When things were going your way, they certainly ran like clockwork. Before we set off though, Dany recommended that we visit the Cambio in the bus station to exchange some money. A couple of things suddenly dawned on us. For one, we were now in Spanish speaking territory again, so it would be relatively easy to ask for things, and two we would have to familiarise ourselves with another currency. The local currency of Paraguay is pretty obscure. It is called the Guarani* and is pretty much worthless. In fact so worthless is the Guarani, that both the Brazilian Real and US Dollar are pretty much legal tender in Paraguay. The following table demonstrates the woeful stature of the Guarani.

• 1 Brazilian Real – 2000 Guarani
• 1 Aussie Dollar – 4000 Guarani
• 1 US Dollar – 6000 Guarani
• 1 British Pound – 10000 Guarani

* Guarani is pronounced as Wha-ra-nee. For those with a speech impediment and substitute their “R”s for “W”s, then Guarani becomes an appallingly bad 80’s Australian pop-band – Wa-wa-nee. So take caution when pronouncing it for the first time. Why the name Guarani? Well, for one, the indigenous population of Paraguay are the Guarani people, and in fact the language that many of the locals speak is also referred to as – Guarani. Dany had made it pretty clear, quite quickly that everything uniquely Paraguayan was pretty much to be dubbed Guarani.

Dany had informed us that while many Paraguayans speak Spanish, many use the Guarani dialect to put gringos off – so we were to be on our guard when shopping and visiting the likes of a Cambio. We found the Cambio amidst the bustling throng of people and stalls in the bowels of the bus station, all the time keenly watching for signs of Paraguayan pick-pockets. Paraguayan Pick-pocket – that is a bit of a mouthful. In keeping with the Paraguayan way, I silently declared that the term Pick-pocket would now be called Guarani. The Paraguayans were certainly onto something. When in doubt just call it Guarani! We eventually exchanged some Brazilian Real for a wad of Guarani and returned to the vans, which took us on a 20 minute ride through downtown Asuncion, before finally arriving at our hotel – The Asuncion Palace.

Talk about luxury. We had been upgraded to a fancy coach, and now we would be staying at a palatial hotel. Bring it on! The hotel was nice, but fell a bit short of its royal moniker. While the outside of the building impressed, it’s location on Avenida Colon was a little dubious. (Actually Colon is Spanish for Colombus, after the explorer – but I found it humorous all the same. The Rio Ring was staying on Colon Street in the arse end of nowhere.) As for the interior of the hotel, the elevator was pretty antiquated and using it was probably a tad risky. As for the rooms they were pretty basic, but perhaps the saving grace of the hotel was its location. If Asuncion can lay claim to have a night life, then the hotel was at the heart of it. Well, at least we thought it to be. Later that evening we went to a good Italian restaurant called Bolsi’s, on Avenida Estrella. The journey to the restaurant was eye opening. Prostitution was clearly rife in the city, with ladies of the night standing on street corners eyeing up potential gringo punters. The poverty in the city was beginning to hit home. Many of the buildings we passed were run down, but to our welcome surprise Bolsi’s restaurant proved to be well appointed and the food was excellent. All in all our evening proved relatively quiet. After dinner, Margaret and I had a quick drink with the rest of the group in a local bar, a couple of blocks from the hotel. The beverage we had, was the local Paraguayan brew – Pilsen. But the days journey had taken its toll, and we knew we were in for a couple of long nights ahead, given that the following day we would be embarking on the first of one of our overnight buses, in order to recoup the lost time in Santa Cruz. So, after our quick Paraguayan ale, we headed back to the hotel.

Dany had updated us earlier on the plans for the following day. Basically he would take us on a walking tour of the city, and then let us run free on the many duty free shops that line the main avenue – Avenida Palma – and finally we would be meeting back in the foyer of the hotel at 7pm, in order to be ready to go back to the bus station for our 9pm overnight coach journey to the Brazilian border, and the frontier town of Foz do Iguaçu with its mighty Iguassu Falls. There was much to look forward to and sleep took us quickly.

We had the luxury of a sleep in as Dany’s walking tour would only take two hours. So I awoke with a fraction more vigour than normal. Basically, this means I only groaned once when stumbling out of the bed in my usual sleepy stupor. Skipping breakfast Margaret and I then met the rest of the group in the foyer for 11am. Everyone was buzzing, not so much in anticipation of the Asuncion tour, but more so, in the knowledge that the same time the following day, we would be visiting Iguassu Falls. This was, for many, a major highlight in the itinerary and judging by literature was meant to be one of the most stunning natural marvels on the planet.

But it was Asuncion for the moment. Our walking tour started with us visiting many of the duty free electronic shops on Avenida Palma. We were all a little dubious about the quality and integrity of the goods. Our lack of faith had come from other people we had met on tour, who claimed that the quality stuff was to be found only in Ciudad del Este (the Paraguayan side of Foz de Iguaçu), and the stuff in Asuncion was generally rubbish. My doubts in Paraguayan merchandise was tempered though when I noticed that a 128MB Sony Memory Stick, was being sold for a mere $60 USD. I had bought an equivalent memory card for my digital camera, earlier in the year for three times that amount. The shop had me at that point, but I wasn’t exactly cash-fluid so Margaret and I moved with the rest of the group further up the avenue. I took mental note of where the shop was. There were the usual suspect tourist shops, but the ones that were typically Paraguayan were the purveyors of leather. Apparently Paraguay is famous for its leather products, and also for its love affair of Mate. Mate is a kind of herbal tea, which the Paraguayans drink through a filtered pipe. So there were several shops selling Mate kits as well. Watching someone sip their Mate, with their little pipe and pot was an amusing experience. The uneducated could easily be forgiven for thinking they had some sort of bong.

As we approached the heart of Asuncion central business district, the number of people on the streets increased ten fold. With this notable number of locals, it was only a matter of time before we became subjected to every in your face, sales technique in the book. I made the mistake of showing some interest in a collection of watches that a local man was sporting in a shoulder tray. I eventually declined, despite him making some guttural suggestions that his product was genuine, and high quality. I declined again, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer. He must have followed me for a good ten minutes up the avenue, before eventually he spied some other gringo sucker potential.

We eventually came to the main centre of the capital, and visited the Hero’s Plaza, where a guarded memorial stood commemorating all the lives lost in the Chaco war. Adjacent to the immaculate grounds of Hero’s Plaza was another set of gardens named Uruguay Square. We wandered around the square for a short while, before I spied a Photo shop, and handed in our Rio do Prata underwater camera. The Rio Ring eventually moved out of the centre, and down towards the train station. In the station stood, allegedly, the oldest steam train in South America. I’m not really a train person, and it had about as much appeal as those rusty derelict models we had seen in the train cemetery in Uyuni. All the same, a number in our group were compelled to have a group photo and so it was.

Leaving the train station, Dany headed towards the River (Rio) Paraguay which the capital rides the banks of. As we moved closer to the river, we were to witness many historical and government buildings. Before we could move further on into our walking tour though, we would have to sidle through the outskirts of a shanty town. Such is the poverty in Asuncion, that in open protest the poor have built their ramshackle dwellings on the very threshold of the government buildings. As we made our way through the town, the poverty was very humbling. The living conditions were obviously a shambles, and I was particularly horrified to spy a mangy, flea-bitten dog with both male and female parts. Eeek! Shortly after leaving the shanty town we came upon the Congreso Nacional – the National Congress, which was situated on the riverside of the Plaza Independencia. This building had clearly seen better times looking as though it had come under heavy bombardment from artillery. On its upper pink façade a huge chunk of masonry had been blown away. It was in this very plaza that I managed to swing a photo for Margaret complete with Paraguayan policeman. I thought he would certainly deny me – maybe even arrest me for the suggestion – but he was good natured enough.

Chaco War Memorial – Asuncion

Shortly after walking past the Congreso Nacional, we came across the Palacio de Gobierno. This was certainly the most impressive building that we saw in Asuncion. It was immaculate from the expansive, well manicured grounds to the pure white exterior of this clearly palatial building. So grand was this building that it reminded me of the Capitol building in Washington DC. It wasn’t too surprising then to finds this building heavily guarded. Fortunately though, we were still able to follow a circuit around the building to appreciate its full size and grandeur.

The palace is virtually on the banks of the Rio Paraguay, so by the time we had wandered around to the rear of the building, we had an excellent view of the meandering river. It was kind of ironic, watching a young boy, washing himself in the river, at the feet of this opulent government building. It was very Ying and Yang. That pretty much concluded our walking tour, and it was just as well as by this stage our feet were aching. With this, we all were in agreement and wandered back into the city centre, to gorge ourselves at a Paraguayan buffet. The food, once again, was actually very good and the variety of choice was also exceptional.

After lunch, Margaret and I picked up our photographs, and were pleasantly surprised by the quality of the prints. We weren’t surprised by the quality of the underwater camera, but more so by the fact that the Paraguayans knew what they were doing. We then returned to the hotel, but only briefly to pick up some travellers cheques and cash. We needed to exchange our cheques for more Brazilian Real, as that evening’s overnight bus journey would see us crossing into Brazil once again. As for the cash, well I had decided to buy that bargain Sony Memory Stick. After doing so, and repeatedly ensuring that it worked in my camera, Margaret and I made it to the Cambio. The security in the Cambio was pretty intense. Our request for money went to a guy at the counter, who in turn fed the cheques to a hole in a wall. Our Real magically appeared a few moments later.

Our afternoon was not complete there though. In every South American country we had visited, Margaret had managed to purchase a flag embroidery patch. Unfortunately, it seemed that Paraguay had not yet caught on to this extremely lucrative business. That’s right, no Paraguayan flag patches could be found, and we visited just about every tourist shop that lined Avenida’s Palma and Colon. Frustrated by our lack of success in this department, we put on our tourist hats and I had a photo taken in the seat of an Asuncion taxi. The Asuncion taxi is very recognisable, as they are generally all Mercedes and very yellow. I managed to get a photo in the drivers seat of one, after managing to convince the driver, who was standing around talking to his friends, that I wasn’t about to hot wire it. All this in broken Spanish! Our Asuncion tourist jaunt finally ended when, braving traffic, I managed to get a photo of one of the many Partridge Family style buses that hurtle down the busy Asuncion Avenidas.

We returned to the hotel to organise our packs for later in the evening, and managed an hour or two rest, before heading for dinner. Margaret and I opted for dinner at Bolsi’s once again. Well, when on a good thing we weren’t about to change it. Dinner was served quickly, and we were back in the hotel just as fast, this time hauling our packs down into the foyer to meet the rest of the group for the beginnings of our overnight journey to Foz do Iguaçu.

As with our arrival into Asuncion, our group was met by several mini-vans which in turn took us across town back to Asuncion bus station. We had a bit of a wait at the station, but by and large our overnight coach was on time. Boarding the coach was a little bemusing for the men in our group. There was exceptionally tight security, and the guys bore the brunt of it, with one guard feeling us up and down to ensure we weren’t concealing any weapons. Bus jackings must be rife I thought. In the end, my security check wasn’t too humbling, but Ian seemed to be complaining about some less than appropriate groping. The groups were in a quiet chuckle over this little outburst, and eventually we slid into the reclining comfort of a coach seat, for the 8 hour journey ahead to the border town of Ciudad del Este and Foz do Iguaçu.