Why is Everybody Talking?

(Written by Mark)

 

On Saturday we arrived at Puerto Iguazu, a tourist town organized around the main event of Igauzu Falls.  We arrived at the small airport with our driver Juan Pablo waiting.  He didn´t speak any English, so this was my first chance to ditch the crutch of the lost phrasebook and let my Rosetta Stone Spanish I skills shine.
 
Juan Pablo gave us a quick tour of the town.  He drove a brand new Chevy.  Much to my surprise, Chevy´s are popular in Argentina.  As Javier had explained to us in Mendoza, they are inexpensive, reliable, and parts are easy to find in Argentina.  Who knew?  The town of Puerto Igauzu is small, but charming.  It has all the normal services a town could need, bank, post office, hotel, and lots of parrilla restaurants (Argentinian BBQs).   We went to a scenic vista at the edge of town, which was an intersection of rivers where you could see Brazil and the Ciudad del Este skyline in Paraguay.
 
After the quick tour, we went to our hotel: Hotel Cabañas del Leñador.  The digs were nice.  We had our own Cabana, complete with honor system mini-bar.  The tropical forest grounds were nicely maintained.  The only downside was that the pool was not very clean.  It seemed it wasn't high season just yet and they did not put a priority on keeping it clean.  After Juan Pablo dropped us off, we setup an appointment to go to the Brazillian side of the falls.  We hear it's good to check out the Brazillian side first then do the Argentinian side the next day.
 
Juan Pablo took us across to the Brazillian side.  There was one tense moment at the border crossing.  While waiting in the border line, I mentioned to Juan Pablo in my limited Spanish, ¨¿Es no problemo sin visa?¨  He gave us an ¨Oh Fuck!¨ look then told us let´s just proceed and see if they deny us.  I probably should have just not mentioned it and just see what the border official would do.  We knew from reading the guide book that they Brazil ¨unofficially¨ will let you through the border without a previously organized visa if they know you are just going to the falls for the day.
 
The Brazil park was organized efficiently for straight-up, lazy tourism.  A bus takes you to the drop off point.  There's a short downhill walk to the falls, then a panoramic elevator ride back up to an area with gift shops and buffets.  As far as the falls, I had my doubts, but they delivered.  As Eleanor Roosevelt exclaimed upon seeing them, ¨Poor Niagra!¨ (thanks Wikipedia).  At the bottom of the falls, named Devil's Throat, you are awed at all of sheer force of all the crashing water. 
 
We ate at a buffet with a great spread of food at the end.  The place was packed to the gills with mostly Brazillian Tourists.  I found the Brazillian tourists to be generally more rude than Argentinians.  They didn't have much respect for lines or personal space.  Even worse, the woman had zero respect for the unwritten spandex rule,¨It's a privilege, not a right.¨  There were way too many obese Brazillians just letting every muffin top, jelly roll, and pork fat piece of their bodies hang out of various shades of spandex.  We must have missed the spandex required memo.  After a Juan Pablo inspired stop off a huge bird zoo (Tucans, Flamingos, screaming parrots!), we headed back to our hotel and retired to the mini-bar and some television. (ed note: Around dusk, a cacophony of birds and wildlife outside our cabana reached a fevered pitch the likes of which we´d never heard before. It really was crazy - just screaming birds making the weirdest noises for about 20 minutes. And then a return to normal bird noises. I really would like to know which birds were responsible for the dusk time concert. It was amazing.) 
 

(Written by Mark)

 

Dear Argentina,
 
Print some more money.  
 
We learned shortly after arriving here that having exact change is a commodity.  The problem is that the ATMs only dole out 100 Peso notes (about $33 USD).  And yet, hand someone a 100 peso note and it´s like you just gave them their HIV positive test results.  We handed a 100 Peso note to a Locutorio clerk and her response was to throw her hands to the heavens and mutter ¨Dios Mio!¨ (Oh My God!).  The standard response is usually ¨Do you have anything smaller?,¨ to which we apologize and they empty out their till or call a manager over to give them more change. A few days into the trip we started organizing our purchases around where we could get change.  Normally restaurants don't complain if you bust out a $100.  A few days after that we started doing multiple ATM transactions to get smaller bills. 
 
The culprit of all this?  Argentina doesn't have enough smaller bills or coins.  http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1859249,00.html  I can recall only having a $1 peso coin a handful of times on this trip, and much of the paper bills are crusty and old.  I hypothesized this problem early on to Beth much to her doubt.  I imagine I'd get similar responses in the United States if I tried to pay for a pack of gum at a convenience store with a $100.  But that never happens, since ATMs only give out $20s and our mints are staying on top of things.

 

 

From Mark:

 

On Saturday, we went to ride horsies.  I've never ridden a horsie before, so Beth has requested I write about it so we get the first-timer perspective.  Giddy-up!

 

Backstory on the use of the word horsie rather than horse.  Richard Pryor used it on one of his old comedy albums.  As he assesses his audience (paraphrasing here), he says:  "Where's all the white people at?  You guys still fucking?  I don't see any white people anymore.  You guys stopped fucking because some rich guy told you to (in white guy voice). 'Stop having babies!  I need lots of land so I can ride my horsie!'
 
Javier picked us up at about 9:45.  It was an unusually chilly morning, in the 60s as opposed to the 80s that we've grown accustomed to.  I asked him if we should pack something warm, and he instructed us to "wear a thick shirt and bring a jacket."  So I grabbed my base layer and jacket and Beth grabbed her button-down shirt and her thin cotton jacket.
 
The drive to the ranch took about an hour and a half.  We drove up into the mountains past some scenic vistas and to the country into an area where many of the richies have their holiday homes.  Beth fell asleep within ten minutes as she normally does while Javier and I chatted.  I'm convinced that Beth has a condition in which a moving car causes her to fall asleep.  There's got to be some long medical name for it.  It happens to her every time without fail.
 
Once we arrived at the ranch, the riding commenced.  Anne and Matthew, a nice couple from England, were waiting and would also be riding. Renaldo, the Argentinian version of the Marlboro Man, was introduced as our riding guide.  Lucia, Javier's cousin and former Polo player, came out and instructed us how to ride the horse.  "You will be riding South American style.  Hold the reins with one hand.  Pull them right to go right, and left to go left, and back to stop.  Kick the horse with your heel to go."  There may have been more instruction than that but that was the gist of it. 
 
Renaldo led the way and we headed out.  Beth said I had the "look of fear" in my eyes when the horse took off, but I don't remember it that way.  I think of it more of a "what is happening?" look. [editor's note - he had the look I imagine I had when we were riding that boat in Jamaica] We headed out of the tiny village and into the country side.  My horsie, a large white horse named Tamano, kicked into slow trot and followed along.  I soon found out that I really didn't have any control of the horsie.  He was so well trained he would just follow along.  Sure, I could steer him a little bit, but he already knew the route and didn't care what I wanted.  Nor did he care about going fast.  Matthew and I were perpetually in the rear while the ladies rode out front.  

 

[end Mark's writing] Mark grew weary of writing this blog, so I will finish it off. We ended up riding for about 2 hours up into the mountains - it was beautiful but cold as FUCK. Literally, the last 15 minutes of the ride, I was just silently waiting for it to be over (and Mark confirmed that he was thinking the same). But the rest of the ride was lovely - Renaldo regaled us with information on the flora and fauna of the region. After the horse ride, we returned to the lodge and had lunch. Renaldo built a fire for us thankfully preventing frostbite from setting in and we enjoyed a lunch of steak, salad, bread and wine. (As an aside, no matter where we've gone in Argentina, the bread has been delicious and homemade. Every restaurant brings you a bread basket of at least 2-3 types of bread. Which probably means I've gained weight.) What is it about being coming in from the outdoors that makes a meal so delicious? The salad in particular, with fresh tomatoes and onion, was very simple, but tasted like heaven. And for dessert, we had simple canned peaches but somehow they were just perfect. We finished off the meal with coffee around the fire. It was a nice meal and it was fun talking to another pair of newlyweds (the Brits Mark mentioned earlier).

 

After lunch, we went to a local brewery called Jerome (after the owner). We learned that there are very few microbreweries in Argentina, and Jerome is the only one that uses only Argentinian grown hops and barley. The owner himself gave us a tour - I use the word tour loosely. It was just Mark and I along with Javier and Jerome talking about beers of the Pacific Northwest, home brewing, Jerome's brewing process, some new experimenting he's doing, etc. Afterwards, we finished off the day in Jerome's pub with a few of his beers. They were quite good. Apparently, he does have some contracts with places in Seattle, so we'll have to try it again sometime.

 

I slept some more on the ride home and then we said a sad goodbye to Javier and Mendoza. That night, we rode the bus to Cordoba and had the pleasure of going first class in the Royal Suite. It was wonderful! Our seats became completely horizontal, they served us a very good meal of roast chicken and potatoes, we drank champagne.  We kept paraphrasing that song GLAMOROUS - "riding first class up in this bus, drinking champagne..."