Twenty hour bus ride. That's how long it takes to get to the northern part of Argentina known as Puerto Iguazú. We left out of the Retiro bus station (sketchy as hell) on thursday afternoon and woke up friday morning in San Ignacio Miní, a Jesuit Missionary town. There are these amazing ruins in San Ignacio where the indigenous people of the region used to live in long adobe houses with a school and a courtyard area. Most of the foundations are still there and the front structure of an old church still stands as this great piece of history for the indigenous people. Just outside of San Ignacio, we had a great
asado for lunch (
asado is ALWAYS what's for lunch, not that I'm complaining). And we got to see how they harvest the yerba mate plant to make mate. And, instead of drinking the traditional hot mate during the blazing hot summer, many people in this region drink mate made from the
yerba and cold juice. I may have found a the Iguazú version of southern sweet tea. But it was Saturday that was one of the most amazing experiences of my still young life. Standing under the Iguazú Falls of the argentine, brazilian and paraguayan border, there is this beautiful balance: the simultaneous serene beauty of the
cascadas and the unyielding, sheer power of the rapids. The mists from the rapids were so thick I had the sensation that I was walking through clouds. Seriously, Niagara falls has nothing on Iguazú. Pictures can't even do the falls justice. There's just something about the mist engulfing you and the deafening roar of the waterfalls that can't be captured on film. It drowns out the rest of the people around you and it's just
you and
the falls. And, you can literally ride under the falls; we took a speedboat through the cascadas and emerged resembling something like drowned rats. But it was an amazing experience and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. This morning, before we flew back to the hustle and bustle of BsAs, we visited the Guarani village, the indigenous people of the Iguazú region. It's sad to see these indigenous people, who have nothing, and we just come in and snap photos and intrude on their lives like they're some amusement park attraction. But they welcomed us so warmly. They loved having us there, taking pictures with us and looking at the pictures on our cameras. We walked through the
selva with our Guarani guide and saw the different types of traps the village uses to catch animals and a group of little kids sang to us to thank us for coming. Cara literally had to hold my hand to stop me from trying to steal one of the Guarani toddlers. I am obsessed with babies and toddlers. Someday, I want nothing more than to be a southern housewife, baking and cleaning and raising babies; and I want boys and girls so i can buy bows and bow ties :)
Twenty hour bus ride. That's how long it takes to get to the northern part of Argentina known as Puerto Iguazú. We left out of the Retiro bus station (sketchy as hell) on thursday afternoon and woke up friday morning in San Ignacio Miní, a Jesuit Missionary town. There are these amazing ruins in San Ignacio where the indigenous people of the region used to live in long adobe houses with a school and a courtyard area. Most of the foundations are still there and the front structure of an old church still stands as this great piece of history for the indigenous people. Just outside of San Ignacio, we had a great asado for lunch (asado is ALWAYS what's for lunch, not that I'm complaining). And we got to see how they harvest the yerba mate plant to make mate. And, instead of drinking the traditional hot mate during the blazing hot summer, many people in this region drink mate made from the yerba and cold juice. I may have found a the Iguazú version of southern sweet tea. But it was Saturday that was one of the most amazing experiences of my still young life. Standing under the Iguazú Falls of the argentine, brazilian and paraguayan border, there is this beautiful balance: the simultaneous serene beauty of the cascadas and the unyielding, sheer power of the rapids. The mists from the rapids were so thick I had the sensation that I was walking through clouds. Seriously, Niagara falls has nothing on Iguazú. Pictures can't even do the falls justice. There's just something about the mist engulfing you and the deafening roar of the waterfalls that can't be captured on film. It drowns out the rest of the people around you and it's just you and the falls. And, you can literally ride under the falls; we took a speedboat through the cascadas and emerged resembling something like drowned rats. But it was an amazing experience and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. This morning, before we flew back to the hustle and bustle of BsAs, we visited the Guarani village, the indigenous people of the Iguazú region. It's sad to see these indigenous people, who have nothing, and we just come in and snap photos and intrude on their lives like they're some amusement park attraction. But they welcomed us so warmly. They loved having us there, taking pictures with us and looking at the pictures on our cameras. We walked through the selva with our Guarani guide and saw the different types of traps the village uses to catch animals and a group of little kids sang to us to thank us for coming. Cara literally had to hold my hand to stop me from trying to steal one of the Guarani toddlers. I am obsessed with babies and toddlers. Someday, I want nothing more than to be a southern housewife, baking and cleaning and raising babies; and I want boys and girls so i can buy bows and bow ties :)
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