IguaÁu and the Cataratas Therein - 24 Nov 2002
Heading North
Jesuit mission - should you care to accept it.
Sensible dirt
This place sucks
Vic Falls, who cares if we missed it?
Meeting up with Mike was hugely advantageous to us. Heís been travelling an awful lot. His wife passed away some time ago and since then heís been on the move. I guess it sometimes takes unsettling events to make you realise how short life is. Hippy and I were lucky, I guess, to get out of the rut so soon.
During his travels, heís collected lots of useful bits of information and, even more useful to us, a complete set of maps for the countries that weíre heading for and neglected to sort out for ourselves. As we sat over all our info one evening in a bar, we were expecting to take note from his maps.
We were surprised and made up when he handed over a huge wad of cartographic material and told us to help ourselves. In the past, we have given away or swapped travel guide books and so it seems that what goes round has come round. Of course, we had to get Mike a bottle of our favourite Legui for his trouble. Heís planning to settle here and has not yet tried this local beverage.
He has travelled for so long in the Latin Americas that he has obviously more lingo than we and we were pleased that he organised some accommodation for us with his mates sister. Although not as cheap as some of the places that weíve been staying, it was at least an apartment and gave us the chance to sit down and eat in one room, wash in another and sleep in a third. This all seem quite luxurious and with our recent run, it seems that our accommodations (can this really be pluralized like this? They seem to in most of the guide books) have improved with a change of continent.
Talking of guide books, it is interesting to note that Obera does not appear in any. The reason is fairly clear ñ it does not have anything major in the way of scenery, museums, history or all that stuff. In fact it is a very ordinary town but is handily placed for day trips out to all manner of things. It is the kind of place where we could also consider settling and the point is that if one simply sticks to the guide-book-towns, half of the potential new homes will never be seen.
We hung around here a bit looking at the weather fronts blowing over and the incredible rainstorms causing rivers down the streets. The red clay of the surrounding soil dyed the water as the heavens opened and the streets looked as if Enoch Powellís prophecies were reaching fruition. We didnít mind too much as we had ages and ages of journal to catch up with and bits and bots of jobs to do.
Jesuit mission - should you care to accept it.
Eventually, after a few days we managed to get away and do something. Our first major ruins in South America. Regrettably not as ancient as we would have liked, they were in fact the redundant Jesuit mission at San Ignacio.
The road leading into the modern town had an archway of welcome that was our first hint of the ruins to come, being partially constructed from the original gateway to the mission.
I have to say that I am ignorant of what breed of Christianity Jesuit Christians are. But as we entered the museum, it was clear that they seemed in the past to be big on setting up missions and using the ignorance of the locals to persuade them into working for beans, literally probably, to create goods and grow crops to send back to the Christian world. This might explain why this area of Argentina is called Missiones, something to do with a rash of missions that once plagued the region including over the border into Paraguay.
The main ruins were, I have to say pretty impressive, and created from an orangey red sandstone, which in the subtropical heat and humidity, in parts was covered in thick emerald green luscious vegetation and in the more prestigious sections been cleared to reveal the detailed workmanship. They clearly had not had the constructive foresight of the Greeks and Egyptians, and the buildings had not been made to withstand millennia, but nonetheless, there was enough remaining that you could tell that this would have been an impressive community base. Complete with library, courtyards with covered walkways, simple terraced stone houses for the masses, etc. and of course the obligatory enormous church with huge plaza in front to preach to the masses. It is no surprise how these buildings, would have established and fostered awe almost relatively simple people. In the short term at least the locals may have felt that they were better off. Food to eat, shelters to live in etc.
I took the opportunity to do a little drawing and sat for a couple of hours, trying to attempt to get a feel for the grandeur as troop after troop of tourists came and went doing a half hour lap of the site. From behind you could hear their approach it was as if a swarm of bees was nearing, starting as a distant hum and gradual and inevitable intensity, until I was unable to concentrate. Then one or two would stroll over intrigued by two foreign looking types sitting on a rock and would peer over my shoulder. This has the effect of paralysing me, my pencil poised to make the next stroke. Just as every student will tell you, that when an invigilator stops and starts to read what you are writing it destroys your ability to think, write or do anything, I sat frozen like a startled animal in car headlights. On top of this, I was consumed with a wave of self consciousness. I am not by any means a good artist, I just like to have I go and then having a bunch of uninvited strangers inspecting my work, its naivety and lack of sophistication glare back at me from the page. With each approach of tourists I become less content with my attempt and finally lose confidence and give up.
Leaving Obera was not so much as a wrench as a break with habit. When youíve got all your stuff spread out in an apartment, it seems a shame to pack it all up again and set off. It didnít take long to get back in the habit and we were on the road in no time.
In fact, when you get moving itís quite a relief and I drove along wondering what weíd done with the last few days. The feeling of movement is quite important to me, now, and I begin to wonder whether Iíll ever settle down. For sure, when we do, Argentina and Uruguay are top of the bill.
The region we are in is described variously; Missiones (on account of all the Jesuit missions), Entre dos Rios (because its entre dos rios) or Mesopotamia (for a similar reason). Following one river is route 12 and the other route 14. It was something of a toss-up which one we took as they both head up to the north east. Whichever it meant a road across between the two at some stage and as there were plenty to choose from we left the decision ëtil later. I guess you know whatís coming. We ended up on the only road in between the two major routes that was not paved all the way.
We considered our options over a cup of coffee and a cheese cob in Dos de Mayo and decided with a little advice from a local to press ahead and see how good ¥good¥ really meant. For once, the mud was only in tiny patches and the rest of the track was nice hard packed red earth which encouraged sensible speeds. No accidents or anything to report. That was boring, wasnít it? We were on such a roll that we just kept going and missed out on the chance of seeing the largest maze in South America. Something of a wasted opportunity.
Arriving in Puerto de IguaÁu did not really inspire us. The camp site was nice enough, but recent rain had us looking at the cheap room options. Lonely Planet suggested a hostel and as we were in need of swapping our books, this seemed the best option. Man, it was quiet! When we eventually found some staff, they showed us to a tiny room mostly consisting of double bed. Still, it was cheap enough and brekky was incluido.
Thus did Ariane introduce herself to me. Clearly frustrated by the quiet ambiance that Puerto de Iguazo was displaying, she was in search of company for the evening. I agreed in Hippyís absence wondering whether this might have been a mistake given the circumstances of our meeting.
Because weíd arrived at a reasonable time, I set about washing the bike gear. This does not sound very interesting, but as this had not been done since Khartoum (over 7 months ago) it was at least challenging. Wash after wash after wash had a stream of mud running off them. We really ought to make use of a washing machine now and again and hang the expense. I was still up to my elbows rinsing when Ariane arrived for evening jollities. New man, eh?
To our great relief, Ariane turned out to be wonderful company. By a strange coincidence she was our second Californian in a row and from her attitudes to the world and travel in general, which were very similar to Mikeís, it seems that on a sample of two we are going to like California. If only they were representative of other Americans we have met! We dined and agreed to meet up to head off to ëthe fallsí in the morning. Just as we were about to leave for home a group of youths mucking about in the street managed to kick an old coke bottle up in the air. It landed on our table spraying the last vestiges of its contents over Hippyís shirt. I can reliably inform one and all that she has the teacherís emergency standby ñ the ëif looks could killí stare.
Vic Falls, who cares if we missed it?
We have been maligned by several folk for our sniffy attitude to paying 20 dollars to see Victoria Falls. I can assuredly say now that we were bang on right not to spend the rip off price. GO TO IguaÁu, ITíS LOADS BETTER.
For under 2 quid we had a full day of exploring this huge array of falls. Train rides to the furthest points are included in the entry fee and so we were right chuffed with our day out.
We were so lucky that Arian turned out to be of a very similar mind set to ourselves, finding delight in the little things; butterflies, orchids, small furry creatures and all. We held on to her stuff as she went for the obligatory (for everyone else, that is) drenching in a speed boat beneath the falls. I was tempted to go off bird spotting in the meantime as weíd seen a lovely pair on the way down into the gorge. More than a pair in fact as there was another girl being photographed in exotic poses while dressed in a very small gold bikini. Old boilers, the lot of ëem. That may be what he says now, but when we bumped into the babes on the path in skimpy gold spangly bikinis, glistening with the spray from the falls, he was more than a little distracted.
The butterflies were most charming, as we walked through the forest to each part of the falls we were accompanied by an ever-changing confetti of butterflies. Teasingly stopping and showing their beauty for just long enough for us to get out the camera and then flutter off to tease the next tourist. Something about Patís aura or his sweat (read B.O.), at least, meant that they had a particularly liking for him, butterfly after butterfly would land on different bits of his anatomy and cadge a ride as we walked along. Lizards of varying sizes and colours scampered in and out of the undergrowth, again frustrating the amateur photographer. (that will be us, then)
Birds were similarly difficult to catch on film. Most of the really beautiful ones were very coy and hid behind small branches or perched in the highest trees. Iíd chosen not to bring the big zoom lens with me on the basis that it was just something else to get wet and so bird pickies were out. Shame, really, as there were loads of toucans, bright woodpeckers and all sorts. Helen was really taken with something more diminutive, though. Largish ants with golden bottoms (abdomens for the more biological of you)
The falls themselves are a shoal of falls forming the overall appearance of one gigantic fall. On this, the Argentine side, it was a day of discovery seeing; side views, full frontals and vertical shots of the plethora of separate falls. The epitome of all, was the ëgarganta del Diabloí the devils throat to you, where the force and volume of water was so great that the base of the fall was a mass of thundering water, and the spray rose up as dense clouds to the height of the falls. As you looked down , all that could be seen was this cloud overlain with a perfect rainbow. As the water swelled over the edge into oblivion, it humbles you into realizing that the force of nature, makes manís puny attempts to control it laughable.
Talking of manís feeble attempts to control nature, I was, of course, more interested in the engineering that created the walkways to the falls viewing point. Earlier in the day, many of the paths had been closed off with warning signs and I assumed that this was due to the large amount of rain recently. More likely it was because the paths led to the sort of old walkways that we could see tumbled down by the last section we walked on. Earlier attempts seem to have been simply plonked on top of boulders in the river with a lump of concrete gobboed on top. The extremely impressive new version seems to rest on piled foundations bored into the river bed. Where the old catwalks had been of grotty, thin concrete planks and a wooden handrail, the new ones were rather swanky galvanised steel decking. A huge amount of money must have been spent on all this recently and I went away from here feeling guilty for not having paid more.
We had been looking forward to seeing a coatimundi somewhere on our travels and we figured that this would be a good spot as there were hundreds of ëdonít feed the coatisí signs. True to form, there were none until we were just about to leave and then we caught a fleeting glimpse of a snuffly little fellow as he skittled off to the security of the undergrowth. Still, itís another one we can tick off.
Over dinner we chatted with Ariane about all and sundry; the affect of karma, the possibility of the existence of the soul. She had experienced a time at university when her professor had treated her very unfairly and after she had given him a highly verbal complaint heíd experienced some kind of bad event. In stead of putting this down to a balancing of his Karma for his acts, he tried to suggest that she had cast a spell on him in some way. I feel that the first is highly more likely, but weíll only get onto the same karma debate here. A fascinating day, nearly perfect, but I got the squits on the way back to the hostel.