Hangin' in Hernando's Hideaway

This post was written two weeks ago, but is only now getting posted due to a lack of internet access for the last half of our trip. Sorry. The next post, also already written, about Machu Picchu, will hopefully get up tomorrow, only a week late, once I have added the pictures. I still have to write the last post about our Amazon adventures...

All smiles as we arrived in Iguazu.

No the water doesn't go down the drain in the opposite direction here. Mr. Coriolis is spinning in his grave every time someone claims that myth to be true.  And yes, he is spinning in the same darned direction as always. It is cool, however, that we are finally far enough south on our journeys that the switching of the seasons actually matters. It is truly winter here. I've been to New Zealand, but prior to this, nobody else in my family had experienced winter in July.  Bali and Fiji are summer-year-round places and that is as far south as they had ever been.

On the party bus.

I find it appropriate that we now number a baker's dozen, because we have cleaned out every pastry shop within 3 km of our apartment each of the last three mornings and will do so tomorrow morning as well. And that is saying a lot because the pastry shops are more plentiful here than in Paris. But I am getting ahead of myself because although now we are in Buenos Aires (affectionately known by the locals as BA City), this chapter began in Iguacu. So that is where I shall begin.

Cliche, but still too cool not to photograph.

The Hagawiesches met us with the party bus at the airport in Iguacu, Brazil. Including their family of five, we are now a lucky group of thirteen, and will continue to be until the end of this adventure. The first stop was a bird park that was only on the agenda because we believe it provided a big kick-back for our local travel agent. But it was impressive nonetheless. There were more tourists than exotic birds, but we saw at least fifty different species in multitudes, every one. So no complaints there. Then it was a short walk to the entrance to the national park wherein was contained the most astonishing natural phenomenon I've yet encountered.  Seriously.  This place was unbelievable.

The pompadou alone was worthy of inclusion.

We looked up Iguazu falls on the net and discovered that the average volume of water that spills over is a bit less than at Niagara Falls, though the elevation loss for each drop is about three times as great down here. But forget averages. The maximum recorded amount (12 million gallons per second, in June of last year) of water spillage is over five times that of Niagara's maximum. And apparently, according to the park employees, we were there on an extremely high volume day, near absolute maximum. I can't imagine that it is even possible for more water to fall from one river. At one viewing point, called the Devil's Throat, you are surrounded by about 270 degrees of walls of falling water.  No pictures can capture the experience. You need the peripheral vision experience. And you have to feel it and hear it and even smell it on top of simply seeing it. We all got so thoroughly drenched that even after showering and changing clothes nobody felt warm and dry for hours. "Insanely awesome" is the best I can do when trying to describe it. I guess that is why I am limited to blogs and am not writing novels or travel books.

Don't know these guys, but they wouldn't get out of my shot. The water looked more like melted milk chocolate.

Think about that again. Twelve million gallons a second. Sheesh.

Chloe's expression says it all.

We stayed in a crazy hostel that night and ate fried chicken at a local dive on the recommendation of the proprietor. Nothing but chicken hearts to report home. The next day we would take the party bus to the Argentinian side of the falls. Now we were in Iguazu, Argentina rather than Iguacu, Brazil. It was old hat at this point, and we were all harder to impress. But here, the walking trails took you both above and below the falls rather than off to the side. We all had raincoats and we bought throwaway ponchos, but nothing helped. We were drenched again, and once again in awe. We must have taken over a hundred pictures of the dozens of rainbows that were decorating the lower river amongst the mist. Sawweeet!

Today was the day we found the "rainbow connection". Kermit would be proud.

A few of us (Carol, Josh and I, along with Annette and Brian H.) splurged for the optional boat ride into the falls. A better call I have rarely made. The other eight were too tired of getting wet, but if they truly understood what they had missed, they would be dripping with regret instead. The "raft" could take about forty lucky visitors at once and had so much engine power that I was seriously concerned we would get airborne enough to flip the boat. The captain was having fun snaking us up the river catching every eddy and wave head-on.  We made at least five attempts at charging directly into the falls. Everyone was screaming like they were on a rollercoaster and I'm pretty sure even my spleen got wet.  Carol tried to take video footage, but all you can see is water everywhere.  It was, I imagine, much like it would look if you walked into a gas station car wash and starting filming. Only the car wash would need to be dumping millions of gallons per second. The captain would kill the engine and we'd drift out with the current at about thirty mph only for him to gun it again so we could go through yet another rinse cycle.  Even Josh was speechless, and impressing that kid is not easy. Needless to say, we got our money's worth.

One of many videos we took on the boat. None really captured the experience. Sorry if the video doesn't work on the blog.

Out of the park and back over the border to stay another night in our Brazilian hostel, everyone was feeling pretty good about our choice of destinations. But there was one last experience to be had before we left Brazil for good. We were taken in the party bus to a well-loved local churrascaria. This is an all you can eat BBQ place for which Brazil is famous. They had an insanely well stocked salad and pasta bar as well as a crazy good dessert bar.  But the real draw is the meat.  Guys come by every thirty seconds or so wielding giant skewers with one of dozens of different cuts of meat.  There was veal and there were chicken hearts, and there was even a little pig every once in a while, but mostly there was beef. Each cut was introduced with a Portuguese name and a smile. The names meant nothing to any of us, so we just kept nodding our heads with a "why not"? and a shrug. I ate more beef in that meal than I have in the last six months put together. And I don't think I ever had a duplicate slice. Just, wow. I don't think being a vegetarian is an option in South America. For the thirteen of us, that was not an issue. Combine the "tasty meat!" with the boat ride, and Josh may just have trumped his favorite day ever.

One last party bus ride across the border and we were in the local Argentian airport destined for Buenos Aires. The flight was without incident. But we did run into a snafu when Mark got his ATM card eaten by the machine at the airport. And of course it was Sunday, so there was nobody to help. I had a helluva time communicating by phone with the bank employee the next day trying to get the card back. I guess my Spanish is not as up to snuff as I'd hoped. In the end we discovered that the card had been broken by the machine. So I did my best to confirm that they destroyed it thoroughly so that no shady individual could use it. Sadly, good old Bank of America then closed Mark's account entirely. But in the interim, several frustrating and fruitless trips to the bank have made things rough for Mark and Michelle. This all shouldn't have been such a big problem with the rest of us still capable of getting cash. But Mark has this wonderful habit of getting up before everyone else and buying out the breakfast pastry shops that only take cash using up all of our combined cash in the process. The country seems to limit each cardholder to $100 a day withdrawal. Our drug, I mean pastry, habit notwithstanding. We have it all figured out now I think, but little is more stressful than being in a foreign country with no money and useless credit cards. So I'm glad for Mark's sake that things have finally been resolved.

Our new digs (well, one of the thirteen rooms)

Out of the airport and into our new digs for four nights, we felt like we'd hit Shangri-La. This apartment is truly amazing. Five bedrooms and five bathrooms (there are 13 of us after all), a huge living room complete with a pool table (Josh is quickly becoming a shark), an enormous kitchen, a separate second common room and a laundry room all on one super-long single story floor plan. Seriously, with no exaggeration, we are talking 55 meters long, give or take a meter. It takes a helluva long time to get from the kitchen to the kids' bedroom. I'm not truly convinced the bedrooms really are in the Southern hemisphere. OK, now I am using hyperbole, but you get the idea.  All hardwood floors and fifteen foot ceilings with intricate moldings and multiple chandeliers. I haven't asked Carol what we paid for this place. I don't want to know.

Quincy thought the marble stairwell up to apartment was pretty cool too.

So now we are in big bad B.A. city. Many call it the Paris of the South. I can see where that nickname comes from as the architecture is quite similar to Paris and the number of marble statues per square meter here may be higher than any city I've ever been to. But walking around town it feels more like San Francisco to me than Paris. All the little neighborhoods have strikingly similar character to those back home. Part of it reminds me of China Basin (Puerto Madero), then there is the Union Square part (San Nicolas), and the Haight-Ashbury section (La Boca) and the Marina (Recoleta). We loved San Telmo's old town (the Mission) and the hip neighborhood of Palermo (Pacific Heights). The main difference is that San Francisco has all of those hills and Buenos Aires is flat as a pancake. Even the weather is quite comparable. Finding a cab in this city is absolute cake. Apparently there are three times as many cabs per capita as in NYC. I can believe it. We used a public bus once, just so we could say we did. We also only used the subway system once since the cabs were so easy and cheap. Plus the subway never seemed to go where we needed to go. But the kids were tired from walking around town all day, so I volunteered to spare them the thirty block walk home today.

A cool bridge in Puerto Madero

A couple of pics from colorful La Boca. 

A fun story ensues. And when I say "fun" I mean long and tedious to read but mildly amusing for the reader and for the writer as well, now that it is over, but not as I lived it. Should you like to skip it, just skip over the next four paragraphs.

So as I said, I took my two kids and the Allen's two kids home on the subway while the adults decided to walk. First, I made the mistake of entering through the pay-gates with all of the kids before realizing that the only accessible trains were going the wrong direction. In order to go the other way, you have to enter the subway from the other side of the street above. I didn't want to leave and pay again for all five of us. So we decided to ride the train the wrong way for one stop and then transfer at the next station, where the platform is in the middle and transferring is possible. No problem, only it must have been rush hour, because the first train was so full we couldn't board. The second train required a whole lot of pushing and shoving for all of us to get in, which almost didn't happen for Quincy, the youngest member of our party at eight years of age, who was reluctant to board amongst all the bodies. We were almost separated, but I got her on just as the door closed.

We got out as intended at the next station and then boarded a train going the correct direction with little issue. But a local who saw us do this figured we must be lost and so decided to be "helpful". He asked where we were going and eventually recommended we stay on the train for one stop beyond where we originally intended to go, as it would be a shorter walk home. Long story short, it wasn't. But short story long is the only way to make this story worth the telling. We stayed on until the extra stop. We got off and exited the station into a beautiful part of town. The problem was that I wasn't sure where we were exactly as my map had no subway station markings. The train had been dutifully following below one particular avenue for the last five stations, so I figured it had continued to do this and I extrapolated a bit, giving me a perfectly logical starting point from which to walk home.

A pic of a cool tree and a cool kid just to tide you over while I prattle on with this never-ending story.

There are very few street signs in BA-city. I guessed which way we needed to go based on the sun position and proceeded to herd the children home. After three long blocks, we finally encountered a street sign and realized we were now three blocks north of where I thought the station was located. We needed to be going south. It wasn't much past noon, so I didn't trust myself with sun navigation and turned us all around. We walked the three blocks back and passed the entrance to the subway, and then walked another four blocks until we finally found another street sign. Guess what, now we were ten blocks north of where I thought that darned subway station let us out. I had obviously been correct the first time. Remember, we took the subway because the kids were too tired to walk.

I should have trusted my sense of direction more than I trusted a stranger's advice. You see, the westbound train had turned north in between the last two stations, and the exit was actually six blocks north of where I thought it was (and where the darned "helpful" local thought it was, I might add). So now we had walked four blocks farther north than that and were ten blocks farther north than where I thought we were going to start the walk. We turned around again and walked the four blocks south back to the station and then the three blocks we had already walked originally and then three more blocks to get us to where I thought the station was originally. If you are keeping track that is fourteen unnecessary blocks if I had trusted my sense of direction, plus six more blocks that I hadn't anticipated since the station was in the wrong spot.  So those twenty extra blocks added to the twelve I knew we had to get back home, and I had five incredibly unhappy kids ready to stage a revolution. 32 blocks times 5 kids equals 160 extra sighs, 160 extra moans and 160 extra whines. Needless to say, the adults beat us back to the apartment. The kids will never trust me to guide them anywhere. Stupid subway. Stupid "helpful" locals.

They do architecture right down here.

OK, long mildly interesting story over.  Back to business.  Rio is ten times more beautiful than Buenos Aires when it comes to the natural terrain. In fact, Rio's location is pretty much unbeatable. The way the mountains come jutting out of the ocean is pretty darned awesome. But when it comes to man-made beauty, Buenos Aires is where it's at. Buildings in Rio are mostly ugly, with function trumping form every time. The walls are dirty and in bad need of paint jobs and nothing seems well kept-up at all.  The streets are filled with garbage and the sewer smells are omnipresent. But in BA city, none of that is even remotely true. The architecture is varied and fresh and old-school all at once.  The streets are squeaky clean. The air is pleasantly breathable. Everything is kept in tip-top condition. Street art and the hundreds of statues keep it interesting. It is just without any natural beauty at all. They try hard with grassy parks and the occasional impressive tree, but really, there are no natural landmarks to speak of. Even the oceanside real-estate is unimpressive.  We saw no beaches.  Paris need not feel threatened by its Southern cousin. But despite all this, Buenos Aires is still a beautiful metropolis.

Even the cemetaries are upscale.

So we saw the super-posh graveyard that houses Eva Peron and thousands of other VIPs. We checked out the ten story obelisk. We did the National Art Museum and ogled the super-cool budding flower statue that opens and closes due to solar panels as the sun rises and sets. We visited the national cathedral and the president's home, Casa Rosada in the Plaza de Mayo. We did the cool shopping streets of Monserrat and the cooler hip neighborhoods where we could "be seen" rather than simply see. We sampled as much local cuisine as possible and Carol and I even caught a Tango show complete with live orchestra and two over-the-top tango singers. I kept having flashbacks of playing "Hernando's Hideaway" in middle school band. It was the only tango I knew. "I know... a dark... secluded place. A place... where no... one knows your face..." But now I have heard an hour and a half of the stuff. The music was repetitive, but the musicianship was excellent. The dancing was amazing. The costumes were super-cool. The hour was rough.  Everything seems to happen after midnight here. They don't even eat dinner until after 10:00 at most places.  We gringos and gringas had a rough time staying awake. But the culture binge was worth it. My tango evening bookended nicely with the Bossanova night we had in Rio. Now that we are done with both I think I can sum up my opinion of the two most famous cities in South America as follows. If I had to live in one of the cities, I would choose Buenos Aires in a heartbeat. Its prosperous, hip, cosmopolitan feel would make it an easy place to be for years at a time. But if I am only visiting on vacation, and can pick only one spot to be a tourist in, I think I'd do Rio. I couldn't live there. But the landmarks and the terrain and the palpable deviation from other towns I've visited, with all of its idiosyncrasies, made it a must-see.

We were not allowed to take pics during the evening Tango show, but these two had no problems with us taking a pic while they tangoed it up in a La Boca restaurant at lunchtime.

We leave Buenos Aires and our super-cush apartment very early tomorrow morning. If we were natives we would simply still be up from the night before. It seems that super-early wake-ups calls are to be the recurring theme of this vacation. Not what I'd choose, given the choice. But you do what you gotta do when you only have one option. Peru here we come!

Now that is a pretty cool piece of moving art.