We checked out early the next day as we were moving hostels, and storing our bags, got a bus over to the Brazilian side of Iguazu falls (Cataratas de Iguazu). Walking along the track above the river, stunning waterfalls could be seen across the other side, becoming more impressive as we worked our way up the trail. Though most of the some 275 indivdual falls, are on the Argentinian side, the Brazilian side gives a great panoramic view of the cataratas. Near the end of the trail however is where it becomes truly amazing as you approach the Garganta Do Diablo or Devil’s Throat. Throw every superlative at them and you still might miss the mark. The sheer volume of water crashing over this particular water fall is mesmerizing, enhanced by walking onto the catwalk in front that not only gives incredible views but allows for a nice soaking from the spray to cool off.

With the sun out there were also many colourful rainbows arcing over the tops of the individual waterfalls. With Desmond having made a premature appearance, to the amusement of the hordes of Argentinian and Brazilian weekend visitors, he was partly inflated again for some headshots in from of the Devil’s Throat. The final piece of the trail led right up to the side of the Devil’s Throat, almost to within touching distance, and it was easy to get lost just staring and cascading water.

With a sense of satisfaction for finally having seen something worthy of bringing the camera out, we headed back to the park entrance and debated whether we would make the complicated journey to Foz Do Iguacu (the Brazilian town) to book our onwards bus tickets at the Rodovario. With the sun sending the mercury close to 40, it was an easy decision, there was time to worry about that later. So we instead caught the bus back across the border, anxiously waiting to see if we would have to pay the $100USD entry fee to get into Argentina again (thankfully we didn’t!)

Unable to book it the previous night we moved over the Hostel Inn at Iguazu (Argentinian side) for what turned out to be quite the experience. We arrived drenched in sweat after walking from the hostel up the road with our packs in the searing heat. Rated as one of the best, if not the best hostel, in South America, it was easy to see. At the front of the hostel was a massive pool filled with beer drinking travelers like out of a college Spring-break movie. The reception area was flanked by a big open restaurant and bar on one side, and pool tables, couches, foosball and computers on the other. Struggling to handle the influx of people checking in, there were bags strewn everywhere and travelers and hostel alike dripping in sweat around the reception desk. A woefully inefficient check in system saw us line up, give our reservation details, get put on a list and called back two hours later to pay and be given our key. Bizarre. We didn’t let it phase us however, instead grabbing a bite to eat in the restaurant and just soaking it all in. After check –in we grabbed some beers and headed to the pool, catching up with a group we’d seen at the falls earlier, who were heading to BA that evening. Once again we were eager for any travel tips as they had already come down through Colombia, Ecuador Peru and Bolivia.

Mealtime saw us at the buffet again with one of our roommates, a travel agent from Melbourne who although lovely, seemed rather disorganized for a travel agent. (The first clue being that her friends had gone ahead because she hadn’t yet organised her Brazilian visa)

After dinner the party scene started to kick off a bit and we ended up drinking with a big group of predominantly Aussies. Turned out the Superbowl was on, so I chatted away to a couple from Pittsburgh who were watching it and was stoked to see the Saints win it as underdogs. Time began to fly by as everyone in the hostel participated in the general revelry and we ended up having a few drinks with some Israelis that were staying in our room. Between Aussies and Israelis that night, there wasn’t much room left at the hostel for other nationalities. All in all, a fun night and good to finally unwind a bit and have a few drinks.

The next day however was absolute hell. Got up early to try and book an onward bus to no avail, then headed up to see the Argentinian side of the falls. Once again it was a scorcher , and the yellow public El Practico buses were a sauna. I did well not to lose my breakfast on the ride up. We caught the train at the park up to the top of the falls first having to change trains midway, and I gradually perked up a bit as we walked out to the top of the Devil’s Throat waterfall. Again it was an awesome image to behold, and easy to see why the books recommend viewing the falls from both sides. With the Argentinian experience you get to just stare down from right at the top of the falls into the abyss below. I must have spent five or ten minutes rooted to the spot just staring into the tumbling water, though the previous nights drinking may have also had some impact on my immobility.

A group of Argentinian school kids engaged us on the way back to practice their English skills, quite amazing for 11 or 12 year olds compared to my paltry Spanish. This helped pass the time as we waited for the train down to the other trails. By this stage I was feeling a lot better and Dan was taking a turn for the worse. My rise in fortune no doubt served to accelerate his demise. There were a few interesting things to see along the Paseo Superior and Paseo Inferior particularly the wildlife, amazingly colourful butterflys, capuchin monkeys and coatis (raccoon like food thieves with sharp claws), but by now the falls were getting a little played out.

We grabbed lunch while I nervously eyed off a big thunderstorm brewing. Just as we hopped on the train at the mid-station it hit, with full force and fury. If only we hadn’t had stopped for lunch… hey DAN! Everyone on the train took it well, laughing as we were absolutely saturated by rain hurled at us in gale-force bursts of wind. By the time we got to the bus stop there was no point in trying to stay dry, and we all gratefully tumbled onto the bus like drowned rats.

Back at the hostel it was a dream to have a hot shower and get into dry clothes. We still hadn’t booked our bus that night to Curitiba and we could see online that seats were filling up fast. Grabbing our packs we made another dash through the rain into a cab and managed to reach a very reasonable price with the cabbie to take us all the way to the Brazilian Rodovario (bus station). The cab driver was a champ, and told us his cab was his classroom for learning English, though he already spoke it very well, and helped us with a few Portuguese phrases. As we crossed seamlessly through customs on either side and headed towards the station, it was easy to see just how painful the bus crossing between Argentina and Brazil would have been, particularly in the rain, as it required three different bus changes.

With a smooth beginning to the journey, the realization that I was travelling again was predictably delayed until I set foot on Argentinian soil. The only minor hiccup occurred one hour out of Buenos Aires when we were diverted to Santiago, Chile due to bad weather.  A reasonable dose of turbulence kept things interesting along with the puzzlement of ground staff at Santiago as to how to refuel the plane as, according to the pilot, they were not used to this type of aircraft. Though our 12 hour flight turned into 16 hours travel time, I had to spare a thought for the passengers whose final destination was in fact Santiago. Unable to disembark at Santiago, they had to continue on to Buenos Aires and then fly back again to Santiago.

The rainy weather made for a rather dreary introduction to Buenos Aires, although we had little trouble locating the right bus and shuttle combination to our hostel, the V & S Hostel on Viamonte. Having to navigate three or four flights of narrow winding stairs to reception, we checked into our reasonably clean but crowded seven bed dorm, and decided to go in search of food and refreshment.

Spooked a little by the constant stories of petty crime and muggings  associated with South America, I was probably a bit over cautious as we wandered down the streets , regularly checking for my wallet and walking with hands in my pockets in crowded areas, but paranoid or not, that I still have my wallet is the main thing.

Finding a nice little restaurant a block or two from the hostel, we settled in at a window to people watch, drink some beer, and sample some of the famous Argentinian steaks. Successful in the first two endeavors, unfortunately a breakdown in interpreting the menu on our part saw us eating a very ordinary cut of meat with what looked to be part of the rib cage embedded throughout the steak. Not exactly terrible but still a bit of a struggle to finish.  It did serve as a good reminder to research the menu a bit better before ordering.

Thoroughly buggered by this stage, we had a short walk around the area on Florida, then went back to the hostel for a little bit of internet, a scrub up, and an early night. Or so we hoped… After sleeping for a maybe an hour, there began what appeared in my hazy state of a consciousness, to be a constant stream in and out of our dorm room until around three or four in the morning. Stranger still, at roughly five am, a girl in the dorm woke up, packed all of her stuff and then went back to sleep…she wasn’t leaving for another few days.

With an early breakfast the next day, we headed off in our sleep deprived state and wandered around the streets and down to ‘the waterfront’. Not quite what we anticipated, finding instead a few dirty brown canals and an eerie overgrown jungle area marked as a park on the map, and a bad case of sunburn to boot. Nevertheless it was good to be out in a bit of sun, we happened across a few nicer areas and managed to find that steak that had eluded us…unbelievably good.

Given our terrible sleep the night before and the consensus that BA was just another city, we decided we’d only hang about one more night before busing up to Puerto Iguazu (ig-wassoo) the following day. Trying to book a bus at the massive and chaotic Retiro bus station initially proved a bit of a struggle with the language barrier but Dan managed to get by with what he had learnt during time in Central America. I’ve never seen such a busy bus terminal though, with what seemed like a hundred different ticket windows for all the different companies and destinations. In any case, most of our money was back at the hostel so we decided to head back there and see what we could find out online. The saving grace of the V&S was the extremely helpful staff, and rather than trudging all the way back to the Retiro, they were able to book us a bus and print out a ticket at the hostel. It is hard to imagine travelling anymore without the wonders of the internet as we did some further planning in booking hostels in Puerto Iguazu and paid a deposit for a Inca trail trek in late March, fingers crossed it will be re-opened by then. We also had a brief chat to some girls that happened to be from Newcastle and had vaguely the same travel plans as us, though a day ahead, as they were bussing it that night to Puerto Iguazu before making their way up to Rio for Carnivale. I guess there is rarely any originality on the backpacking trail.

I was also informed of the fact that one of Joel’s mates, Johno, had just arrived in BA and so we organised to catch up for a beer his hostel, the Obelisk on Corrientes. Getting slightly lost, and having a breakdown in communication, we found the hostel but no Johno, so decided to hang out at the bar there for a few beers and hopefully spot him. Given that the last time I had seen him was possibly at Big Day Out nearly ten years ago, I was a bit uncertain of what he looked like and awkwardly went up to some random at one point thinking it was him.  The hostel however was amazing compared to our current digs, with a cool little bar and pool table area, a cat walk over head with big rooms full of bean bags looking out over the street and most of all some real vibe and atmosphere that V&S was sadly lacking.

Managing to send Johno a text through the computers at the hostel we eventually caught up for some bevvies and swapped a few stories and travel plans. Having travelled some of South America previously, he was able to offer us some sage advice, and had some pretty interesting ink to show from his recent travels.

Still pretty zoned out from lack of sleep, the beers knocked us about a little so we said our goodbyes and went in search of dinner.  After a bit of wandering we chose a parilla on Lavalle that had about three or four spruikers out the front and a friendly atmosphere. Sure enough, as soon as we walk in, Johno happens to be there also, so we join him for another beer, and what else but… steak.

Thus arrived our descent into a second night of humid, hellish sleep. This time however, it was punctuated by a random guitarist down on the street until 2am, a nightmare of a girl in our dorm wrestling with the locked door for half an hour before managing to get in around 4am, and the most ridiculously loud garbage trucks and buses swarming through the streets below.

Although BA had started to grow on us a bit more, we were thankful to be getting the hell out of there that evening, and were comfortable in the knowledge that there would be time to experience the essentials of BA such as the nightlife, a tango show and hopefully a football game, before we flew home from there in May.

Another drizzly day saw us wandering over to San Telmo and the Plaza Dorrego. Saw some very cool graffiti work and an interesting cathedral.

By the time we were due to head to the Retiro, the heavens once again opened up and we struggled for a while to get a taxi in the rain. The weather played havoc on an already crowded and chaotic bus station. Nervously eyeing the departure screens (and our bags) our scheduled time came and went still without our bus showing on the screen. We asked several people in broken Spanish about our bus, only to be told to listen out for it over the PA system…right…

All was well eventually, and our bus, though a little delayed was quite the experience in luxury bus travel. I’d been told that buses in Argentina were good, but wow! Unable to purchase the top of the range seats that fully recline, we nevertheless got the Cama exejuctivo. Large comfy seats, more like an armchair than a bus seat, that almost reclined fully were just the beginning. Throughout the trip we were served a hot dinner, drinks including wine, and a breakfast the following morning.
To top it off, the bus attendant was a marvel of balance, style and humour as he confidently strode up and down the aisle with trays stacked high with food and drink as the bus lurched along towards Puerto Iguazu. The only drawback to the journey, were the torrential downpours at the start of the trip that turned our sixteen hour trip into nearly twenty hours. The luxurious conditions though, made this far more tolerable.