Kyle Berg

I returned to the Argentine side of the Falls to view the parts of the park I had not seen the first time. First came the Circuito Superior. This circuit was distinct from the lower in that it provided a view from on top of the Falls and was much shorter. I thought there would be more walking, but before I knew it, the water was falling before my eyes. Arriving earlier in the morning had its advantages as the crowds were thinner for a while. On one of the 4 or 5 outlook platforms, I set up my tripod and tried to take self portraits with the water as a backdrop. This was easier said than done, not only in regard to the logistics of setting and focusing the camera, but also in regard to dodging the incoming tourists. It was incredible to watch! I could be alone and felt like I had the park to myself and the next second a group of 50 Scandinavian senior citizens would maul me as I stepped back and waited. Again, the rapidity with which they were herded through was amazing. I felt sorry for them as it would be a pity to visit such a beautiful place and not take the time to enjoy it.

At one of the main overlooks where I had my tripod out, there was a leathery old man offering to snap pictures for the tourists. With his Ricoh camera from the 1970s or 80s and a small step ladder from which to gain a better vantage point, he appeared like part of a time capsule against the backdrop of incoming still and video digital cameras. After one of the waves of tourists left, I struck up a conversation with the elderly man–something I could do being on that side of the Paraná River. His name was Jorge and he had moved to the province of Misiones some thirty years ago from Bolivia. I can’t remember how long he had been taking pictures, but it was a while. He described a couple different professions he used to be involved in, but I didn’t really understand the intricacies of his earlier work. There was something to do with glass work and art, eventually leading him to photography. We chatted for 10 minutes or so and I let him cater to the next group of tourists.

After they left, I worked up the courage to ask him to take my picture with my camera. I say courage not in the sense that I was afraid, but that it was strange handing the elderly gentleman, with a camera that could have come from the Smithsonian, my digital SLR. It was silly to think, but it seemed like I was belittling him by merely asking him to use the camera rather than his. Of course he didn’t care and was happy to oblige. We talked a bit more and I went on to the next leg of the Circuit.

At the final balcony, the congestion seemed especially bothersome. While waiting, I bought Maria an Iguazu magnet (she collects magnets from around the world), hand painted by a local artisan. Just to show that it’s not about your equipment, but how you use it, I asked a man with a similar Nikon camera to take a picture for me and he was completely helpless. He took a couple, but the composition was way off and I would guess his camera was set to automatic mode. Jorge and his old school glass put the guy to shame.

For some reason, I decided to do the Lower Circuit again that day. I can’t remember why, but I think it was in order to take advantage of the better lighting. After that, I walked back to a food court area and paid through the nose for a couple bottles of water, a couple sandwiches, and empanadas. I allowed myself to convert the price mentally to dollars and then I felt better.

Next it was off to see the apple of Iguazu’s eye, La Garganta del Diablo. Rather than taking the mini train, I set out on foot down the 2.5 km path. It was quite a change as I had the red dirt path to myself and enjoyed the silence. But man was it humid! Upon arriving at the entrance, I was dripping and had drunk most of my limited water. From here, it was another kilometer or so walk along a bending path of bridge over the river. Here, the breadth of the water was quite vast and it was hard to believe the Falls were not far away. Here the water was shallow and showed none of the force of the Falls nor the rapidity of the river below the Falls. As along the walk there, the humidity was oppressive and it was cool (not literally) to think “I’m in the jungle!”

It is impossible to describe the sensation of standing on that platform in front of La Garganta del Diablo. All I can say is that everyone ought to visit it before they die. The quantity of water and the force with which it fell was unfathomable. Had this corner of Iguazu comprised the whole park, it still would have been worth visiting. Add in the other falls and I sat there marveling at God’s creation. He didn’t have to put all those falls together in one one place. He could have just let the rivers flow along calmly. Be he didn’t. He chose to give us beauty and display his creativity in a manner that defies explanation. (Even as I write this a couple weeks later at a pizzeria in Canela, Brazil, I’m holding back tears. The beauty of what God makes is overwhelming. I don’t know if it’s because I’m older, because I’m seeing more of the world, have a camera, or some other reason, but I see Him in creation. Before, I thought about it, but it never struck me like this).

I felt helpless trying to capture that slice of paradise in pictures, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t try. At first, I kept my camera in the bag, both to keep it protected from the mist rising from below and to give myself a few minutes to stand there and enjoy the scene. During a lull, I took out my tripod and took a few self portraits as well as a series of photos I hoped would come together in a panorama. The sun was shining fiercely and the mist caused by the force of falling water made for limited visibility at times, but I was patient. It was actually refreshing and it felt like someone was spraying me with a giant water bottle set to “mist.”

When the sun was free from the cloud cover, anywhere between 2 and 4 rainbows would appear in various parts of the chasm below. One of my favorite photos that day was taken with my wide angle lens. (Wow, was I glad to have that thing in order to take in such a wide field of view). With the camera orientated vertically, I took a picture of my feet on the bridge, the waterfall below me, a rainbow at the bottom of the gorge, and the waterfall on the other side.

After taking dozens and dozens of the same pictures, and lacking creativity, I again put the camera away and just stood there watching. While watching, I saw a young Argentine guy taking pictures with his cell phone. Feeling sorry for him, knowing how expensive cameras are in Argentina, I asked him if he wanted me to take a couple pictures of him, which could easily be sent by email later. He decline and thanked me for the offer. We started talking and I learned he was from the province of Misiones, but was studying in Buenos Aires. He must have been comfortable talking to me because he asked if I’d still be willing to take some pictures of him. Of course I said yes. Without any sunglasses, his pictures didn’t come out great because he couldn’t help but squint under the fierce sun. But, at least he had something he could print and show friends and family.

I’m not sure how long I was there, but I could have stayed all day. I wanted to stay until the park closed, but eventually left due to overwhelming thirst and feeling the effects of 7 hours of sun exposure.

The sky began to cloud over and I couldn’t believe it. Earlier in the day, I had purchased a ticket for the moonlight tour of La Garganta del Diablo. With the cloud cover, it appeared the tour would be cancelled. They wouldn’t give us an official answer or refund until 7 p.m., so I had to wait around for another hour at one of the cafes, sipping my small bottle of water. Despite fatigue, I wanted to do the moonlight tour and was disappointed when they informed us of the cancellation and refunded our 50 pesos.

A cab pulled up to the park and offered 3 of us a ride for 5 pesos each–only 1 peso more than the bus. I said, “Vamos,” and we went on our way. The couple in the back seat was from San Francisco and it was fun playing translator for them and our extremely large cab driver (I think his name was Ricardo, but can’t remember). He was very friendly and we even arranged for him to bring the couple to the airport the following Monday. Having driven cabs in Iguazu for a long time, he demonstrated great knowledge and an ability to interact with tourists. It was fun to hear him talk in an accent different from that of Buenos Aires–using tú, pronouncing the “y” and “ll” in the neutral form, and speaking more slowly and in a clearer manner. He recommended a parilla restaurant and told me I’d get a better price for mentioning his name. This turned out to be a crock, but I couldn’t be too upset given how kind he was.

After dining alone on an excellent fruit marinated lomo, I was stuffed. I walked by a small church and thought about entering the ongoing youth service, but decided against it given the smallness of the building. I would have disrupted the service and become the center of attention among the native Argentines. I wandered a few blocks, heading toward the bus stop in order to return to my hostel.

Completely by accident, I ended up spending the next 2 hours sitting in a lawn chair talking. I had walked by a kiosco and had to step through a group of people. One of them recognized me as a foreigner and said, “Hello my friend” in a typical Latin way. Normally I would have kept walking, but they were persistent and friendlier than many in Buenos Aires. And when I started the dialog in Spanish, they really got interested. After butchering my name, we agreed my name was Carlos–much easier for Argentines to pronounce. They gave a me a cup of Quilmes beer, and after I refused more, ordered up a 1.5 liter bottle of water from the guy managing the kiosco.

Their group was a motley crew of 4 guys and a 1 woman. We talked about a little bit of everything and had a couple more intense moments when the man who resembled a homeless Jesus got riled after I said I didn’t agree with the communist ideals of Che Guevara. Obviously Che was some sort of hero to him and this should have entered my mind given the context of our location, a rural, poorer area, close to Che’s birthplace. The other more extended debate had to do with one guy’s insistence on mandatory tipping at restaurants. He was a waiter and thought at least 10% should be given. His friends, who worked at more fast food style places, disagreed. I explained how it worked in the US and also detailed how refills and customer interaction made waitering in the US much different. Also, given that he worked at a buffet, the situation was less clear. My ultimate thesis was that both parties were correct and were comparing apples and oranges. This resonated as sage insight with his two friends, one of whom shook my hand and said something about liking how Carlos thought or that he was smart.

The same waiter worked at Iguazu National Park and offered to let me ride the employee bus into the park and promised a free lunch at the restaurant as well as a free pass for the Adventure Tour. He wanted to be hospitable and show the kindness of the Argentines. He then realized it was closer to 10:30 p.m. and not 8 p.m. as he had thought. He realized he should have been home a long time ago and was a dead man. Remarkably, in spite of the anxiety and pain in his face, he hung around another 15-20 minutes before we finally parted ways, agreeing to meet at 10 the next morning.

I got back to the hostel, exhausted, but decided to sit down and read rather than going straight to bed. I ended up talking with a couple of sisters from North Carolina who had been living in Córdoba doing an exchange program and were traveling to Brazil for a few weeks before heading home. Our conversation was alright and I kept from rolling my eyes when they talked about their vegan sister and the challenges of being a vegetarians in Argentina. What I couldn’t believe was that they had been in Iguazu 2-3 days but had yet to visit the Falls. Why were they there?!