The Falls, Dam, Paraguay etc

We left you in the dull town of Rosario, where we stranded ourselves for the weekend. Well, get ready, because we've not rested since then - we've been on the move.

Our first impressions of Rosario were well founded: it is a rather dull town. We spend most of our time looking for somehere to eat. On Saturday night at 10pm this is very hard, and it's only later we realise that we were just too early. On Sunday everything is closed except the supermarket. We eat sanwiches and a GBP1.20 bottle of wine. In the afternoon, the populace decamp to the grassy banks of the Paraná, sittings in folding chairs and sipping their maté tea. On Monday we try to take a ferry to nearby island delta, but the ferry isn't running. Well, it is Monday after all. We console ourselves with beef. Let's get out of here!


- Damn those eengleesh!!!!


- The best bit of Rosario


- Dunno what this means. It's probably a gaucho hoodies' tag. All over Rosario's squares

We take the nightbus north. It's a plush double-decked affair, and we have the grandstand seats, in the front upstairs. It's dark and the road is just a bit scary. From our vantage point, every truck, lit like a Christmas sleigh, is rushing headlong at us, and every overtaking maneuvre is going to be a disaster. Thankfully, our steward saves the day by drawing the curtains, firing up a succession of bad movies, and doling out dubious whisky. A little later, tv dinner trays materialise on our laps. We're rather pleased that we brought some extra ham and grapes to go with the salad and tinned fruit. We scoff the lot, only to look like fools when great hunks of roast beef and mash are delivered, with a nice malbec to wash it away. We push our seats back, raise feet and relax. This is better than the back of a jet, and much cheaper than Ryanair...

...but it's far far slower. After twelve hours (and over 1000kms) our knees are not in the mood for bending, and we're dumped in an anonymous bus terminal in a nothing part of a nowhere town for our "connection". It takes two hours of negotiation with the drivers to get us moving again, and finally we are where we want to be, in the little town of San Ignacio, near the Paraguayan border. This is the site of a famous reduccione, a mission, set up by the Company of Jesus, where the local Guaraní folks were roped into the construction of an early hippy commune. These are the guys, I think, who were dramatised in the film "The Mission". For more information, see the Wikipedia entry about San Ignacio.


- Remains of the church at San Ignacio


- Ruins never looked so pretty

Giving up ideas of staying the night, we hail the next passing bus, whose steward insists on forcing coffee liqueur into us. Our teeth recoil at the sweetness, but the kids around us seem to be enjoying it. Eventually, after another five hours of movie graveyard robbery (we're talking ancient Jean Claude van Damme here) we are finally able to touch down and pitch our tent in the extremity of Argentina, Puerto Iguazu. After a nice night under the canvas, which feels so familiar now, we make for the Igauzu cataracts. Whatever I say can't do them justice, but to put them in context, the Vic Falls are knocked into a cocked hat by them. Here are some pictures:



- Down the Garganta del Diabolo


- ¿Mrs. W, I presume?


- Picture-perfect Iguazú

For a counterpoint, we cross the border into Brazil to visit the man-made version of the falls - the Itaipú hydroelectric project. It's obviously not as visceral an experience, but it is pretty marvellous (it's the biggest HEP in the World), and appeals to the slumbering physicist in me. God knows what kind of a mess they made putting the thing up, but the end result is good news for already-polluted Paraguay and Brazil.


- One of the spillways at Itaipú, spilling the Paraná river

This being a complicated little corner of the World, we leave Brazil almost immediately for Paraguay, and the free port of Cuidad del Este. In the spirit of this part of the adventure, we do it the hard way: on foot, fully laden. Here's a tip for anyone wishing to disappear themselves. Make your way to Paraguay, and particularly Cuidad del Este, any way you choose. Do some shopping. Stroll over the bridge, or catch a bus, to the Brazilian side. Wander through nonchalantly. You will not be stopped, your passport will not be stamped, and Biggs' yer uncle, you've disappeared. Easy!


- Now that's the kinda signpost we like!


- A rather picturesque border crossing; Brazil left, Paraguay right

Paraguay looks pleasant enough from the bus we take to Asuncion, the capital. It's very green and sleepy outside the cities. People draw up their chairs to the roadside and face the traffic. This may say a lot about Paraguayan telly. It is odd to see your typical Paraguayan without his or her enormous thermos of iced water and guampa (cup) encrusted with Yerba mate tea leaves, which they suck at all day through a bombilla (straw). Apparently this is a nation of addicts. Obviously it's better than being on class A drugs, but it does look a bit gay carrying one's teapot around all day. I´m pretty gutted to discover that the Miss Paraguay competition was held while we were in Asuncion, and we missed it!


- The Pantheon de los Heroes. Does not seem to include a mention for Senhor Stroessner


- Got me! Ascension Sunday in Asuncion doesn't hit the heights, but at least the shopfronts are pretty colours

And now we're back to Argentina, seeking out more natural wonders. More bus-rides to come...