Border Crossing

Puerto Iguazu, Argentina

After a nice sleep in, we cross the border into Argentina. I’m not a fan of borders, but at least this

View of the falls from the Argy side


one is clean, without the usual nasty border town to accompany it. The only hold up is on the Brazilian side where they take about 2 hours to pass the truck through. The customs official, not normally known for his speedy service, was now training a new official in the art of chatting on the phone, taking lengthy cigarette breaks and generally doing anything but working on our paperwork. As they bumbled around with the truck paperwork, the rest of us basked in the hot sun and our pre-carnaval hangovers.

When we finally made it across the border, we went into the small town of Puerto Iguazu to do shopping for lunch and that night’s dinner. Though the supermarket selection is paltry at best, we’re able to find ingredients for the requisite Argentinean steak dinner.

When we reach the campground we set up camp, eat lunch and then immediately jump into the pool to escape the heat and humidity. After dinner a couple of us, including Steve, Andy, Leigh, Martin and Claire decide to go out on the town. Since I’ve never been out in Puerto Iguazu and this is my last visit, I decide to go. Our first stop is the big hostel next door. It turns out that they’re having their own pre-carnaval party, but at this one they only have a drummer/emcee and a couple of dancing girls. The girls were wearing their obligatory scanty samba outfit and doing the mandatory shaking of the ass dancing, but it seemed a little embarrassing for some reason. Where in Brazil it seems natural and platonic, here I found it a little seedy. They, of course, pulled some gringos up on stage to prove how deficient we are in natural rhythm, but there was a lot more grinding, rubbing and gawking then there would be in Brazil and half the time in Brazil the girls are topless. I don’t know. It was just weird.

From the hostel we lose Steve, Andy and Claire, but Martin, Leigh and I decide to continue on into town anyway. In Argentina, like the Mediterranean, people don’t dine until 10 or 11pm or go out until at least 1:30 or 2 am. This is a little awkward for gringos who eat dinner at 8 pm, as it’s often hard to keep people’s attention in the 5 hour interim between dinner and dancing. We make in though and dance until 4 am or so.