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Other entries in Foz do Iguaçu

Ig-wassup!

A 22hr bus took us from Rio to Foz do Iguaçu, the home of the world's most impressive waterfalls on the border of Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay. By now Ben was visibly feeling the strain from several days of being on  the road, but that did not stop an adolescent Brazilian girl from acompanying him for the whole trip. While I fled to the back of the bus to sleep, away from her incessant chatter, Ben found his personal space invaded, his sleep interrupted and his I-pod abducted for the duration of the journey. At the end of the journey we managed to lose her however. I began a conversation with a Dutch girl, who we had not previously noticed on board, and within no time Susanne (the Duth girl), Ben and myself were sharing a taxi to the HI hostel on the way to the Brazilian side of the falls, despite Susanne having neither an HI card, nor any desire to stay on this side of the border due to an onward journey to Buenos Aires, Argentina.

I had already been on my last stay in Brazil, but Iguaçu Falls is a sight that never ceases to amaze. Having booked a bus ticket out for the evening of our second full day, we left the Brazilian side until the end and did the full day trip to the Argentinian side first. Susanne, who was celebrating her 22nd birthday, joined us for the day in Argentina and was treated to the bizarre brand of humour that now consumes us. They say that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, but 'they' have probably made that statement without witnessing our schizophrenic impressions of people whom we have met on our travels. On this particular day, Susanne entered the 'Hall of Fame' with a slightly incorrect pronunciation of 'hepatitis', a word that may appear understandably difficult to get right for someone who's mother tongue is not English, but nonetheless had us in hysterics, before we took to amusing ourselves by talking in song titles.

In the evening, we decided to help Susanne celebrate her birthday by organising a night out for her. This involved me asking the taxi driver, in my best Spanish (I felt like a change), where he would recommend going for eating, drinking and dancing , and all within easy reach of a cash machine. He duly took us to a fine 'churrascaría' - a restaurant with a buffet of salads and side dishes, where delicious meats on giant skewers are brought out by the waiters in a seemingly neverending procession. On one trip to the salad bar I mentioned that we were celebrating a birthday. "Leave it to me," said the waiter, "There's a little thing we do on such an occasion." So, once the meal was over, our table was suddenly ambushed by all the waiters, one of whom presented Susanne with a huge plastic cake and a beer. After a rendition of 'Parabens' (Happy Birthday), the band then played 'La Cucaracha' for her, before the fake cake was removed, as quickly as it had appeared. We paid the bill and then headed to a pre-club cafe for a drink.

At this point I must mention that we were joined for the evening by a couple of American guys from our hostel. These two brothers (I never quite caught their names), seemingly always looking for a party, found out we were going into town and more or less invited themselves along. Having witnessed their almost child-like, part neanderthal, table manners, Ben and I were in no mood to make much of an effort with them, but we were lefted open-mouthed by their redneck views towards Brazilians and the Mexicans, who they claim will work for them in construction jobs, under conditions that show that America is still some way off wiping out slavery. Despite not having much money or any bank cards between them, they accompanied us to the club. Here the Brazilian system seems to have worked against them. Rather than pay the entry fee at the start, you are presented with a card, which you charge all drinks to. You then pay all charges when you leave and hand you're card in to one of the huge bouncers. Wary of the potential problems a night of excess might cause, Susanne, Ben and I held back and paid relatively little when we left. Our gringo friends, however, saw it as an opportunity to drink as much as they wanted and then worry about the consequences later. Thus, they stayed on after we left, though they probably had not thought to take a card from the 'Albergue Paudimar Campestre' (easy to recall when drunk at 5am) and didnt have money, or any way to get money, for a taxi to take them the 20 minute drive back to the hostel, let alone to cover their expenses at 'Disco Internacional'.

As we said our goodbyes to Susanne the next day at 11.30am, the slightly worried hostel receptionist approached us and enquired about the previous night's events. It seems that the gringos had not returned to the hostel, despite the fact that they were supposed to have checked out by 10am and had a bus to Buenos Aires to catch at 2pm. Those bouncers were awfully big...

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