Iguazu Falls, about 800 miles north of Buenos Aires, was worth every bit of the project it was to get there. Our mid afternoon flight was delayed until nearly eleven and even then the gate agent advised us that weather might make landing difficult. She informed us the pilot would try to land, but if that didn’t work out (presumably not as an unsuccessful attempt), we would return to Buenos Aires for another try the next day. I’m convinced the training manual for gate agents does not include phrases like “try to land”. Anyway, we successfully completed the late night attempt as the pilot slammed the plane down on the runway hard enough to bottom out the shock absorbers. It was one of those flights on which passengers applaud as the plane comes to a stop.
We decided to visit the Argentine side of the falls first. It was a drizzly and damp day, but the only one we had, so off we went into the mist. Jaguars run wild in the jungle that surrounds us and we found it interesting there were so many warning signs along the highway. I suppose they don’t do well with cars. Or perhaps, the signs are warning drivers not to get out to take a break or check a tire. I didn’t ask.
I worked in Niagara Falls for a bit in the 1970’s and we visited Victoria Falls in Zambia some years ago. This monster waterfall took Niagara down several notches and rivaled Victoria in magnitude and intensity. We wound our way a half mile or more on elevated metal catwalks that were slippery from the constant mist. I was amazed they could have been built so sturdily over the rushing water. We saw our first Toucans other than in captivity or on a box of Fruit Loops. I was surprised they could fly with beaks nearly as long as their bodies. There were plenty of interesting plants and other birds that we had never seen before. We were able to get right up to the edge of the Falls and, unable to converse due to the roar, enjoyed the incredible display of nature together yet to ourselves.
On day two, we crossed the border to see the falls from the Brazilian side. I had our passports as required, but had not been informed we needed proof of vaccination. I had an image of our most recent cards on my phone but got a frown from the border agent when I produced it. Then on a hunch, I pulled up the pictures I had of Susan taken in Rome last Fall with Brazilian President Balsonero. The agent snapped up my phone with apparent glee and quickly shared the photo with her pals behind the glass wall. We got celebrity treatment from there, ushered through the line and out the door into “the land of palms”.
The Brazilian experience exceeded the previous day in proximity and pleasure. We had signed up for a boat ride that would take us not merely up to the falling water, but under it. The journey made the biggest and wildest roller coasters we’d been on seem like kiddie rides. The pilot raced up the river against the rushing water - zooming in, out, over and through huge whirlpools and giant walls of water flying at us from all directions. The rubber boat flew up, crashed down and lurched from side to side. As we approached the cascade all I could hear was Susan screaming even louder than the crushing water above us. I ducked. After we passed through the waterfall, the pilot put the vessel in reverse and drenched us again. The ride back to the dock was another flight through and over the wild rapids. We were exhilarated.
Any thought that would be the highlight was extinguished when we walked out on catwalks and platforms that took us right back to the thundering waterfalls. We were drenched again by mist and sprays and at times it seemed were part of the cascades. Iguazu was an unforgettable experience. I’d go again in a minute and wish it wasn’t so far away.
We learned from our hotel desk manager that we could exchange dollars for pesos on the black market and get twice the official rate. Suddenly, everything we might purchase became “half price”. Susan practically ran down the street to the money changer with every greenback she could find in her purse and my backpack. Somehow I managed to stuff nearly 50,000 pesos into my wallet and my thrifty wife set out to save as much as she possibly could in our remaining time here.
We visited Recoleta Cemetery at the urging of several pamphlets and guides. I was skeptical, but the cost of admission (for visitation purposes only) was well worth the price. The place was filled with huge, ornate mausoleums, most decorated with mammoth sculptures of angels, nymphs and assorted religious figures. Many were built with yard thick slabs of dark and gloomy granite. There were a few low bid edifices here and there, one even appeared to be a sheet metal cellar door like one you might have ducked into to avoid a tornado. Apparently there are a number of famous military figures, politicians and business leaders interred on the premises. We did pass by Eva Peron’s spot and learned her remains are buried 26 feet below the surface to discourage grave robbers. She was buried here 26 years after she died, having spent some time in Italy, Spain and her husband’s dining room. It’s a story worth a few minutes to read if you are in the mood. My favorite was the Salvador Maria del Carril tomb. She had such a terrible time being married to her husband, that she instructed the cemetery to situate their seated statues so that they would not ever have to face each other again. And they don’t.
Coincidentally, we happened upon a Louis Vuitton store after the cemetery tour. Unfortunately, their inventory was completely depleted, preventing us from benefiting from the huge savings our newfound conversion rate could have provided.
We finished off the day at a Tango Show in the San Telmo district. We had originally booked this as a Viator tour that included dinner and transportation. Having become comfortable with getting around on our own and hefting our full bellies, we canceled the dinner, grabbed an Uber for five bucks and paid for the same show with pesos. It was a pleasant experience, but obviously produced for the tourist crowd. Locals don’t really go out casually to watch people dance and sing in such settings. It was pushing midnight and deciding not to walk the dark and unfamiliar streets so late and alone, we grabbed an Uber back to our hotel. It was a sad little wreck of a car with a bad exhaust leak, no seatbelts and a driver that took tailgating to new levels of intimacy. We should have walked.
On Sunday, this time we did walk to San Telmo for the famous weekly street fair. There were hundreds of booths to enjoy with plenty of products, crafts and artwork that were new to us. We spotted a parilla that looked inviting. The waiter cut our steak with a spoon. The fries were the best yet. We were in another meat coma as we walked the couple of miles back to our neighborhood.
Monday came and, having run out of pesos to save, returned to the money changer for more. We walked to the Plaza Serrano district this time to admire the graffiti covered walls in the alleys. It was quite a hike, and we managed to find a little spot for steaks along the way. Serrano was interesting, but nothing more to write home about than what you just read.
We have a late afternoon flight to Lima and begin our Peruvian adventures tomorrow. Catch you there.
