Monday, June 8, 2015: At Foz de
Iguazzu
Going through Immigration was
painless at Rio de Janeiro’s Galeao airport, but retrieving my baggage from the
Claim area took forever: the No-Win Unwritten Rule of International Travel is that
if Immigration is a snap, the wait at Baggage Claim is endless; if Immigration
takes an hour, you get your bags in five minutes! For me, the next aim was to
find the Domestic Departures section as I was to be airborne again in less than
two hours, for my onward flight to the south of Brazil—for I was headed to the
small town called Foz de Iguazzu which is the base for every global roamer’s
wish to spy the Iguazzu Falls.
Well, the connection was just as
smooth as peanut butter—and this time, I requested a window seat—but again, all
were taken and I was placed besides an Oriental woman who seemed to have flown
to Brazil from China as she slept right through the flight! What a horrible waste
of a window seat, I thought! Still, at least she did not pull down the blind. Lonely Planet (my Travel Bible) had
said that passengers on the left side of the plane often received a good view
of the Falls at landing—and as luck would have it, there they were in all their
glory. A gush of water that ended in a haze which was clearly a result of the
mist that develops where the river Iguazzu makes landfall! Needless to say, I snapped
a few pictures and was quite pleased with the results.
At Foz de Iguazzu airport, as is my
wont in a foreign country, I picked up my baggage and looked for the Tourist
Information Desk in the Arrivals Lounge. It was a tiny little room manned by a
lovely young girl named Marcella who spoke functional English. It was 12. 30 pm
when we landed at Foz and at 1.00 pm, there was a public bus right outside the
airport to take me to my hotel. There was little time to waste: I was grateful
for the maps handed to me and being directed to the little bank kiosk next
door, I changed a couple of hundred US dollars into Brazilian Reais for a far
better rate than was offered at New York or at Rio airports! Feeling very
pleased with myself, I raced off for the bus stop, found it in a jiffy and five
minutes later, along came the bus.
It
took me less than five minutes to figure out how the public bus system works in
Brazil: you board the bus, wish the driver Bom
Dia (pronounced Bonjia—very similar to the French Bonjour), turn to the
conductor, usually a female, who is seated at the front at a turnstile! You pay
her your fare (a flat R3. 40—approximately a dollar) for any journey, then turn
the turnstile around to let yourself through. If you have baggage (as I did), a
kind passenger gives you a hand to pass it across the turnstile on the top—God forbid
if you are handicapped! I found a seat and spent the next 20 minutes feasting
my eyes on the tropical green of southern Brazil for the Iguazzu Falls sit bang
in the midst of the great Brazilian Rain Forest—thousands and thousands of
acres of it as is easily evidently from the aircraft. If you are familiar with
Goa or Kerala, you will fancy yourself in that part of the world for the
vegetation is similar: miles of coconut palms, cashew and mango trees.
As luck would have it, the bus
dropped me right outside my hotel: all I had to do was cross a busy street and
there it was: Hotel Rouver (pronounced
Hotel Hoover—as words beginning with R are pronounced as H in Portuguese). Five
minutes later, I was checking in, opening the door to my first floor room,
dumping my baggage, changing into a tank top and capris (for it was HOT!) and
using the facilities before heading off to the Falls.
Because, you see, there was no time
to waste. I was only at Foz for one night and my flight back to Rio was to
depart at 2. 45 pm the next day. I had little choice but to make the most of
the rest of the day and I was determined not to waste a second. The hotel
receptionist kindly directed me to the bus-stop (again, right outside my hotel)
and in the ultra-warm afternoon, I waited for ten minutes for the bus that then
made its way back to the airport and past it to arrive at the entrance to the
famed Iguazzu Falls.
I should make clear at this stage
that it was our family friend and physician, Dr. Edward Pinto, who had told me
that the Iguazzu Falls were one of the most spectacular sights he has ever seen—and
he is well-traveled. He had advised me to make a detour and go and see them, no
matter where in South America I happened to be. Since I always heed my doctor’s
advice, there I was! At 3. 00 pm, there was plenty of daylight left and at
least three hours to see the place. Once off the bus, I hurried to the Main Entrance
to buy my ticket (R54, approx. $18) and was directed to the bus that ferries
travelers through the vast expanse of the National Park in which the Falls are
located. I took a seat on the top deck and within ten minutes, the bus took off
with about twenty passengers on board. I was very grateful for the strong
breeze that blew throughout that ride (on the open upper deck) that threatened to
blow my baseball cap right off but cooled me well!
The plan on a bus tour of this sort
is something akin to the Hop On, Hop Off bus service found in many of the world’s
cities. You get off wherever you please (usually an Observation Deck) and wait
for about 20 minutes for the next bus to come along and take you to the next
stop. I had done my homework and had found out that Stops 14 to 19 were the
most crucial because they offered the most stunning views. At Stop 14, most of
the passengers alighted and climbed down the ramp leading downhill for their
first glimpse of the Falls. From that point, I walked for about 4 kms (2 miles)
along the periphery of the canyon stopping frequently to take pictures and
appreciate the sights from many varied vantage points. For what is unique about
Iguazzu is that, unlike Niagara, is it not just one gushing wall of water but
several different falls—some narrow, others wide; some very tall, others much shorter;
some close at hand, others far in the distance; some a drop over a single shelf,
others comprising multiple tiers. Overall,
the variety of scenes and the fury of the Iguazzu Falls make Niagara look like
a trickle! With every step I took further along the trail leading eventually to
the piece de resistance, Devil’s
Throat, at Stop 19, I was awed! At some points, there are simply no words. You
just gaze and try to get your camera to do justice to what you see—but you soon
realize that the impact is only partly visual. Much of the effect is audio—you hear
the gushing, you take in the deafening roar. And tactile—for you are sprayed
gently at some points and well soaked at others. It is a completely sensual
experience to be drenched by the spray of hundreds of tons of gushing water as
the mighty Iguazzu goes over a succession of rapids and plunges into a foaming
cauldron of white blindness! What is also spectacular about this spot are the
multiple rainbows that form across the ravine as the tearing waters catch the
sun’s rays. Cameras work overtime to capture it all—and often fail. But I did
spot at least two rainbows through the length of my stay at this spot.
Enough said! As often happens to
solo travelers, you request fellow sojourners to take your picture against the sound
and the fury—and before you know it, you have a new friend. This was the case
with me as I requested a sweet young man to take my picture and in turn offered
to take his. He happened to be one Mohamed Saad, Algerian by parentage and heritage,
French by birth (he was born and grew up in Lyon) and now working in Bristol,
UK, as a petroleum engineer. I enjoyed trying my French out on him for size and
was delighted to receive compliments on my fluency! We got into the natural
rhythm of discovering each other in French as we discovered the Falls and were
grateful for each other’s company. As we trekked through the rain forest to the
next vantage point, we squealed at the sight of raccoon-like furry brown wild animals
who stomped around in packs. They are called Quatchi in the local lingo and
they amused one and all with their hunt for food.
Ultimately, after walking for about
an hour, we arrived at Devil’s Throat,
a spot where visitors actually walk right over the falls on a concrete trail
that takes you to the heart of the ravine. This part of the Falls is very similar
to Niagara and boat trips (similar to the Maid
of the Mist) take visitors to the base of the Falls (for an additional fee
earlier in the day). We contented ourselves walking to the absolute edge of the
canyon and watching the water swirling in mighty pressure beneath us. Right
across the ravine is Argentina—and, as in the case of the Niagara Falls where
one has views from the America and Canadian sides of the borders, so too here,
one can view the Falls from both countries. There were many people across on
the Argentinian side also walking along a concrete trail—which led me to investigate
the possibility of getting on the opposite side the next day. However, I nixed
it when I discovered that US citizens need a visa for Argentina which is
available at the border but costs a whopping $160! Not worth it, I thought for
just a few hours! Overall, I was very thrilled with the visit to the Falls from
the Brazilian side and did not regret my inability to cross international
borders to see them again.
The
trail was wet with the constant spray and we were quite drenched by the time we
tore ourselves away from the Devil’s
Throat and returned to the bus stop to take the bus back to base.
Restaurant, restrooms, souvenir shops and other amenities are frequently available
along the trail. Had one the entire day to spend at the falls, one could do all
sort of trails, take the boat to the base, etc. But I was perfectly content
with the three hours I spent there and felt that it had certainly been worth my
while to make the long two-hour flight to South Brazil to catch a glimpse of
this astonishing natural wonder.
The
drive to base took another 20 minutes, at which point I spied the public bus
that would take me back to my hotel. Mohamed and I took the same bus and got
off at the same stop—he had reservations at the local Youth Hostel near by. We exchanged
contact information and parted and I walked to my hotel. En route, I spied a McDonald’s—yes, I have to admit that
when I am alone in a small outpost where I cannot speak the language, I am
rarely tempted to enter a restaurant. McDee’s
suits me just fine and with a salad, a fish burger and a cold chocolate milk, I
was content to return to my hotel, eat my dinner and spend the rest of the
evening catching up with email—for I had free wifi. Sadly, the TV only transmitted
in Portuguese—of which I do not understand a word. One hot shower later, I
prepared for bed and having taken the red eye flight from New York, slept the
sleep of the dead!
Ciao
until tomorrow…
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