Canada to Patagonia at a Worrying Age

Monday

SA transport triumphs as usual with a three hour ‘re-scheduling’ from BA to Iguazu. This means the planned preparation for doing the full moon trip was delayed. The danger that this might not happen was too scary to contemplate, given that Vicky’s timing and my 5 months of planning had led to Full Moon at the Falls. However, arrival indicated that we could go, but that we should book transport to the park through the hotel, which we did at very great expense. Naturally, we had no cash now and Vic no shoes for tonight’s walk, so we had to rush in and out of town to stock up on essential goods, before rushing around like nutters to be ready for our transport. No swanning around in the pool for us. Good job we’d booked dinner at the Falls rather than trying to fit that in somewhere else.

Transport arrives and turns out to be, in effect, a chauffeur. No wonder he was so bloody dear. Next little surprise was that a public bus could have got us there and back from outside our hotel £1.20 each. Still, we’re there with ‘Parker’ waiting outside and Lady Penelope with her new John Foos bumpers on itching to get out to The Devil’s Throat by the light of the silvery moon. Only problem was the moon failed to show (had another gig at the Mighty Boosh Tour or something). Cue slight concern, but, aware that we could get another crack at it tomorrow, decide to have dinner in the park. All a bit boring the next bit, but as an indication of the quality of the meal we had boiled vegetables for starters. At least the pudding (Don Pedro) contained whisky. Parker took us back into town and we realised the joy that having a chauffeur could be, but had to get an earlyish night as we had a day tour to the falls in the morning…

Tuesday

Up early, rushed breakfast and back to Iguazu to see what we saw last time we were here, only on this occasion with a rubbish guide and about a million more tourists. Quickly realised this was not to be a particularly mind-blowing experience, so cut our losses, gave our ID tags in and hopped on the efficient public bus back to the hotel where we could at last laze around to our hearts’ content, at least until it came to hunting out food at a ridiculously early hour ahead of our bus ride back to the falls.

The meticulously punctual bus service was, of course, late by 10 minutes. However, this was still not a problem as we had factored in 40 minutes for a 20 minute trip. Still, I was just on the verge of getting a cab (oh for the services of a chauffeur) when the bus rounded the corner. Hurray! We’re on our way to the falls and the moon had deigned to grace us with its presence (Vince must have given it the night off…).

Clearly, the idea that we might just go straight there was too simple for us and the bus blew a gasket outside of the army base on the way to the falls. Yet another one of those unforgettable South American ‘waiting’ moments ensued – this time on a lonely highway in the brightly lit presence of an armoured vehicle on a plinth while Vicky sat inside the broken vehicle as we awaited the replacement bus, knowing full well that we had missed our tour slot and wondering if we could get on one of the later ones. (Vicky didn’t know that, despite my breezy confidence, the bus driver and guide had expressed a certain doubt that this would be possible. Anyway, we always had the woman sobbing weapon in our armoury should the Spanglish persuasion fail.)

Arrival at the falls, for the third time in 24 hours, each time in a different mode of transport, led to immediate concern with no prospect of solace. We were booked on the first of three trips and the other two were sold out, so we couldn’t go tonight. Spanglish time with great emphasis put on the fact that we had come to Argentina specifically for this night. Nail-biting minutes followed with Vic on the verge of… what? I wouldn’t care to speculate, but it would not have been pretty. In the end they came through and sneaked us onto the trip, which was everything you might expect from a late night ramble through the jungle on a moonlit night to see one of the natural wonders of the world with 120 other people.

Just time for me to reflect on the fact that 4 weeks ago I was staring at a load of frozen water and being amazed and tonight I was staring at a load of moving water and being amazed.

Footnote: Adriano, our guide on the last moonlit tour, lost his girlfriend that night. Here’s hoping tonight’s many guides did not suffer the same fate.

Certain amount of debate with Vic on tonight’s song, but I’m sticking with There’s a Moon in the Sky Called the Moon by the B52s.

Tags: Travel

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