Kyle Berg

Today started out unorganized and confusing, but turned out well. First, I went to the Puerto Iguazu bus station to catch the Práctico to the Brazilian side. I must have been tired because I got on the bus and, after a few blocks, realized we were heading toward the Argentine Falls. I hadn’t been paying attention, saw the word “cataratas,” and hopped on. So, I asked to be let out and walked back to the terminal, 4 pesos poorer.

I was still indecisive about going to Curitiba to visit Valeria, but was leaning toward not going. So, I found a locutorio and gave her a call. The sound quality was terrible, but over the course of 10 minutes, we were able to work it out. I had been mistaken about the bus prices in Brazil, and while much more expensive than Argentina, they weren’t quite as bad as I had thought. So, I promised Valeria I would go visit her in Curitiba and would work out the details in a couple days.

Next, I headed back to the bus station to wait for the correct bus, going to Brazil. It was here the divine hand of Providence turned my stupidity into a positive outcome. A young couple came up to me at the street corner and asked for directions on getting to the Brazilian Falls. We continued talking for a few minutes, which was easy as, though he was Austrian and she German, they spoke excellent Spanish.

At the border crossing, I had a run-in with immigration bureaucracy that caused me to consider not returning to Brazil for a long time, or ever. Earlier, when returning from my first visit to Iguazu: Brazil Edition, our bus driver blew right through Brazilian customs without stopping. We only halted at the Argentine side to receive an entry stamp. I learned that non-Argentines had to ask the bus driver to stop at Brazilian customs (and to wait too). So, officially, I had never exited Brazil. The problem was that I threw away the ridiculously simple entry paper they gave me because, having exited the country (unofficially), I thought it was no longer necessary. It didn’t help that the customs agent was an absolute @#$%!, as demonstrated by the wry smile on his face. I was not the first with this problem and it was as though he couldn’t wait to tell me I’d have to pay a fine of 166 reales. (Argentina has you fill out a form, but it stays with the agent and there’s nothing to present upon exiting the country. I’m convince there’s no logical explanation for the paper other than to serve as a government fundraiser. All the information is in their computer and the same stamp is on your passport). Anyway, he let me enter, but said I’d have to pay the fine at some point when exiting Brazil. For the time being, this left the possibility of vising Valeria seriously in doubt.

So, frustrated, but wanting to forget about it and enjoy my day, I walked the kilometer or so to the final bus stop with my companions. We continued chatting and were getting along well, mutually impressed with each others’ Spanish and enjoying speaking in a language that was foreign for all of us. Christian had obviously spent time in Spain, as made obvious by his accent. To me, it was dead on and, other than the slower rhythm of speech, at times I forgot he was Austrian. Inka also spoke well, although she didn’t have quite the same command as her boyfriend. Her accent was different because she had studied in Buenos Aires.

The afternoon was growing hot and humid. They were without water, so I offered them some of mine as we waited for the bus. I especially felt sorry for Christian, who was dressed in jeans and must have been dying. They were in such a hurry to get to the Park that they hadn’t thought through any logistics, had dumped their bags at the hostel, and then jumped on the bus.

Having already been to the park once before, I helped them through the process and we were on our way. Being their first day at Iguazu, it was fun to watch their faces as we came down the path and the vista opened up before us. We took a few tourist style shots, they bought some water, and then we took a few minutes to go down to a slightly lower vantage point in the shade. There I took a series of pictures for a panorama and they appeared to turn out well. After basking in the shade, we set on down the path and took our sweet time, stopping at various lookouts and waiting for other tourists to get out of the way of our pictures. I thoroughly enjoyed their company and the whole time we engaged in very pleasant conversation, getting to know each other better in the process. Sometimes you just click with people, and this was one of those times. I was able to take several nice photos of Christian and Inka and Inka did her best to take pictures of me with my camera. It’s always interesting trying to explain how use use that thing, especially in Spanish. But my hat’s off her for adapting quickly and doing a nice job.

Toward the end of the path, the heat and humidity were getting the best of us. I had drunk my 3 liters of water and was turning red because I had forgotten to apply sunblock. We cooled ourselves while simultaneously enjoying the beautiful views of the bridge/balcony area. Several subtle, beautiful rainbows could be seen in various parts of the falls and Christian especially seemed enamored by them. Afterwards, we headed up the hill and to the fast food area, but everything had closed for the day. So, we had to endure another hour or two without water or any type of snack.

Christian had wanted to take the bus all the way into Puerto Iguazu in order to see the city and maybe stop at McDonald’s for a cone and to relax. However, due to some miscommunication between our Spanish and the Portuguese of the woman on the bus, we got out at the normal stop and just took the bus back to Argentina. After my earlier experience with Brazilian customs, we made a specific point to ask to stop and receive an exit stamp. They received their stamps quickly and without incident and I proceeded to plead my case again with a different agent. After seeing that I would be delayed a few minutes, Christian and Inka ran back to the bus to make sure it didn’t leave without us. I continued the seemingly futile discussion with the man behind the window. At one point, he asked me in Spanish if I understood him. The difficulty was that he had been speaking in Portuguese prior to that and I didn’t understand anything. I simply kept repeating the same idea in Spanish. Thinking I was getting nowhere and going the miss the bus, I reached for my passport through the small opening below the Plexiglas. But he grabbed it and would not give it to me. I thought we were going to be there all night, continuing the same Portuguese-Spanish exchange. It must have been frustration and a desire to go home for the night, because a look of resignation came over his face and, when he was convinced I wouldn’t be coming back to Brazil, he gave my passport the stamp it should have received two days prior. I ran back to the bus, thankful to see it had not left, and not quite believing that he had given me that stamp.

I waited below in the hostel lobby while Christian and Inka showered and then we went out for supper at a parilla restaurant. Among the various topics of discussion was the status of Argentina and its brokenness. I shared some of my experience with confronting the different worldview of many people here and, being Germans, Christian and Inka were able to relate to my point of view. We were all exhausted and not nearly as talkative toward the end of the meal. We parted ways and, having thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company, agreed to meet up the next day at 9:30 a.m. at the Argentine side. I didn’t need to go back to the Argentine Falls. But having been told I needed to try the boat ride beneath the falls, I had a good excuse to spend another day with my new friends.