Puerto Iguacu and Rosario, Argentina

Post date: Apr 3, 2011 10:31:39 PM

Puerto Iguacu and Rosario

4-3-11

Is it April already? 11 months on the road… I feel like I’ve had such a long life already, and to think that I have another 90 years to go! Call me optimistic or call me a self-determiner, but I think I’ll live a very long life. 120 years is a good age to go. I’ll retire when I’m 100.

Turns out that the day I crossed into Argentina, the entry into which was smooth even with the seemingly brain damaged Aduana personnel, was a holiday, so all the hostels I preferred were full from reservations. So, I took this shabby little hostel in town.

I reflected on my presence in what could be the final country of my trip. Still, Argentina is a long, long country, and I was only half way down the continent. A lot can happen between here and there, I thought, but without a doubt I wanted to get down to Ushuaia ASAP so that I could sell the bike and wrap up this grand adventure. Ah, the land of English, cheap ice cream, and safe roads! Of course, there is more to the U.S. than that that I crave.

I also reflected on my bank account, which was dry due to the fact that I had not sold my bike as anticipated. My stocks were below the price I bought them at, so I could not sell. Fortunately, Tammy was able to deposit money into my account, and that cash got me through Puerto Iguacu and all the way to Rosario. Good thing that I had the cash because I was wrong in assuming that the gas stations in this “developed” South American country accepted credit cards without question. In fact, I ended driving from one station to the next in search of stations that would accept. Plus, some of the stations didn’t even have gas. Was it due to the high traffic holiday weekend? I suspect this is a sign of Argentina’s delicate/failing economy. The stocks rebounded after a few days, however, and I was able to sell at my buying cost. And then I received news from my mother, whom had received a letter from my former employer stating that their records showed an undeposited/uncashed check from January of last year. I checked my account and sure enough, I had somehow missed its deposit. I must have been too frantic with the planning of this trip. So, I should have a check coming from good ‘ol San Diego! Funny how things can work out like that.

The reason I came to this region was two-fold: this was the most convenient location to cross into Argentina from Brazil and it is home to some of the most beautiful, biggest waterfalls in the world. The money from Tammy had not arrived yet, so I had to get creative with my admission payment. I requested my key deposit back early from the hostel to help pay my entry fee, but I still lacked the $3 I needed to park my motorcycle, but I asked around. Down here, if you ask, “Do you accept credit cards?” they say “Yes” and then try to debit your bank account. Or, they say, “No, but there is an ATM over there.” Credit means credit, people. I went to a souveneir shop and talked real pretty to the lady there and persuaded her to let me use my credit card to withdraw cash from their register. I’ll remember that one.

I started this day trip on Sendero Macuco by the recommendation from a friend I made through Couchsurfing. It’s a pretty 3 mile hike through sub-tropical forest, typical of the region, and it ends in a small 100 foot waterfall. At the entrance I was greeted by a band of 4 or 5 monkeys that were clearly human-friendly because one of them came within 5 feet of me without a trace of fear. He even showed me his butt and scratched it. Spiders hung motionless on webs stretching the entire width of the trail. Ants over one inch long marched along with paperclip thick legs. I saw one killing and carrying a big bug. I made the hike early in the morning, before many people had arrived, and I headed off the trail just as it started to heat up and get crowded. It was a beautiful start to my morning.

Then I toured the Upper and Lower Trails, each of which had spectacular view after spectacular view of the falls. These falls aren’t just one wall of water like Niagara Falls. The walls from which the water drops is a zig zaggy U shape. The pictures, of course, do not do it justice.

The grand finale is the “Devil’s Throat,” “Garganta del Diablo.” This long bridge takes you a quarter mile over the river to the very edge of the most dramatic area of the falls. It’s just amazing. Words can’t describe such a sensational experience. All the stereotypical, cliché word apply here, but the words only compartmentalize and limit the true splendor of the experience. I could describe the falls as “powerful, inspiring, majestic, enormous, breathtaking” etc., but… I will just say that I was not disappointed. They really are incredible and worth visiting, even if tourism and the construction of a capitalistic machine have infiltrated the natural, raw beauty of the landscape.

I left Puerto Iguacu to visit Yara in Rosario. I drove the whole first day in the pouring rain. I camped at a gas station/truckstop and was awakened by a police officer shaking my tent and telling me I wasn’t supposed to be there (at least that’s what I assumed his Spanish meant in my groggy delirium). But, by the time I unzipped and stood up from within the tent, he and some other guy were walking away. I announced that I was ready to talk, but they just walked away. Ah well, I thought, and laid back down. Nervous of his return, I planned various excuses. I was too tired and irritated to pack up, and driving at that hour was too risky. There’d already been a truck accident just up the road due to the rain and darkness. The 400 miles I put behind me that day was enough. I wasn’t going anywere. And I wasn’t going back to sleep anytime soon, but it did come, and I awoke to sunshine in the morning.

In the morning a trucker from Mendoza made friends with me. He wants to travel by bike someday also, and he was curious what equipment was most valuable. I was so happy to be getting some actually interesting questions and comments about my trip. After the rude policeman, the rude lady at the gas station, and the rude girl at the hostel, it was pleasant to find a genuinely nice person in Argentina. He gave me some dry asparagus soup mix and some canned fish. He gave his address in Mendoza and invited me to visit him when I passed through there. What a guy. It appears that although the reputation of Argentinians as “assholes” is not ENTIRELY correct.

The road south over those 800 miles to Rosario took me from subtropics to dry plains to the strange intermediary landscape of Rosario. On one street I found cottonwood, willow, palm, pine, and half a dozen other types of trees. The land is dominated by farms, and the air is remarkably similar to that of Indiana. It’s a flat land with the giant Parana River running through it. The river teems with fish, including catfish like Dorado, which exceed 100 pounds. All in all, it feels pretty good here, in terms of land. But, it’s Argentina.

I mention this partly because I am weighing my options of where to live after the trip is accomplished. Things between Yara and I have evolved to the point that we are thinking long term. We spent a week together in a little house outside the city, blocks from the river. All I can say is that life is a little complicated right now!

To describe Argentina’s culture- well, they like their rules. They certainly lack the humanity of all the other places I’ve visited, but they are also more organized and technologically developed. They love their Matte. Matte is a tea. Matte is an event. People drink Matte morning, noon, and night, alone, with friends, good times and bad. It’s always there. At gas stations you find hot water dispensers. At parking lots you find hot water dispensers. The grocery store has an entire aisle with nothing but Matte. Matte is passion, life, party, relaxation, and probably something that only an Argentinian can understand. As for me, well, Argentina can keep its Matte. It’s too bitter.

Having reached the point of exhaustion with coffee, I will be quitting in 2 days, when I leave Rosario and journey south to Ushuaia. I may also quit chocolate. I relapsed on both in Guatemala, and like any true addiction, the use of them has escalated steadily since then. I started and quit smoking on this trip also. I may even go vegetarian the last 2 weeks here in South America.

So, once I reach Ushuaia, the plan is to sell the bike to the first guy to offer me $1500, enough $ to buy a ticket home and get by for a month, living with Mommy. I’ll come back to Rosario for a week or two while I shop for a plane ticket, further investigate what a life in Rosario, going to school here would be like, and enjoy my time with Yara. Then, back in the states, I’ll return to my old hapkido school, investigate graduate program options for me and Yara at IU, and enjoy friends and family. That’s a gist of the plan in motion right now. But, one thing at a time.

I was informed by Yara’s prospective property manager that at the time of this writing, it is snowing in Ushuaia. This is an unusually early snow, she explained, but still… brrrrr….