Who needs immigration officers anyway?
Arose to the familiar routine of packing up and checking out. Life on the road being what it is, you spend quite a bit of time packing and unpacking, but that doesn't actually make it any more fun. At least in this case, I was only hopping over the river, so corners could be cut as long as everything fits in the packs. Before going to Argentina (across the Rio Iguacu), however, I was crossing the Rio Parana into Paraguay. The reasoning behind this is pretty simple - I like being able to say I've been to countries, I hadn't been to Paraguay before, it was as easy as hopping on a bus, so why not?
Well, it turns out that, although it's easy to get to Paraguay, it's not necessarily quick. The bus dawdled along at only slightly over walking pace, attempting to pick up every possible passenger on the way to the border, regardless whether or not they were at a bus stop or showing any interest in the bus. The border formalities were non-existent - Ciudad del Este is a duty-free city, so Brasilians pretty much come and go as they please, and the same applies to foreigners coming from Brasil, as long as they're only coming for the day (presumably, they take a bit more notice if you have a big bag...?).
It also turns out that Ciudad del Este is a bit of a hole. Actually, it's quite a lot of a hole. Existing as a support town for the Itaipu hydroelectric dam and a duty-free stopover for Brasilians hunting for bargains, it has evolved into something akin to a cross between Khao San Road in Bangkok and Nathan Road in Hong Kong, but expanded out to the size of a small city, with everyone speaking Spanish. On a hot, sticky day, I have to admit that my contribution to the Paraguayan economy consisted of the cost of a can of beer - I'd been thinking of getting a cheap watch or something, but the total absence of any printed prices in most places and the fact that I'm not even that great a haggler in English, let alone Spanish, put me off.
The bus ride back, once across the Friendship Bridge (which is a nice little traffic jam suspended above the Rio Parana), was at least swifter than that over to Paraguay, and back at the hostel I met back up with Ross, the English guy who had become my partner in crime (disclaimer: no laws were knowingly broken in the authoring of this blog) at this point. We were on the verge of going off to have a bite to eat and a drink before getting the bus to the border when the staff advised us that they had an Irish couple (the lovely Stephen and Tricia) waiting to cross for whom they'd ordered a shuttle minibus which, for a few Reais extra, would get you straight through, as they have some kind of a fast-track system. Sounded dodgy, but was totally legitimate, and amusingly meant that I crossed from Brasil to Paraguay to Brasil to Argentina in the course of a day, and didn't even see an immigration officer (the formalities of the stamps at the Brasil-Argentina crossing were done by the minibus driver on our behalf!).
Once in Puerto Iguazu, Ross and I checked into our hostel there, Timbo Pousada, and went off to hunt bus tickets. We had decided that, given the difference in cost between the cheapest bus and the most expensive was only about 10 quid, we were going for the most luxurious class of service we could get. At this point, we found that it was a good thing we had acted to book ahead, as one company's "full bed" service for the Friday was already totally full - luckily, our backup choice still had seats, so we nabbed those, and then headed off for our first meal in Argentina. No, it wasn't a steak, we were both still fairly stuffed with meat from the Rodizio the previous night, it was pasta. To be precise, Gnocchi in a Bolognese sauce, and very nice it was too. Happy side-effect of all the Italian immigrants to Argentina. After this it was a case of vegging out for a bit. I decided to make use of the hostel's pool (yes, both my hostels up near Iguazu had pools, though both were small), at which point the weather shifted, there being a sudden cooling in the air and it started to rain. Typical.
Still, this didn't totally finish off the day, Ross and I ended up heading over to another hostel to meet up with Paola, my Italian friend whom we had seen a couple of evenings earlier in Foz. Along with a French lad from her hostel, called Pierre-Jean, we headed off for some dinner. And yes, I had steak, though it was a small cut with pepper and vegetables rather than one of the slabs that normally comes to mind when dealing with Argentine beef. After that, Ross went back to fight off the cold he had unnacountably developed (I blame the aircon in the Foz hostel...), PJ went back to the other hostel, Paola went to see a man about a pumpkin lamp (seriously, this wasn't a Hallowe'en thing, it was being carved to give as a present!), I watched a wee bit of a football game on the TV (they´re in a pre-season friendly tournament at the moment), managed to wangle a few minutes on the hostel internet computer (Argentine hostels work mostly on the basis of free internet access, but with not many machines and not a great connection - fine if you just want to check if anything's come in, but not much use for anything else, when you still have to search out an internet cafe) and then crashed out.
Well, it turns out that, although it's easy to get to Paraguay, it's not necessarily quick. The bus dawdled along at only slightly over walking pace, attempting to pick up every possible passenger on the way to the border, regardless whether or not they were at a bus stop or showing any interest in the bus. The border formalities were non-existent - Ciudad del Este is a duty-free city, so Brasilians pretty much come and go as they please, and the same applies to foreigners coming from Brasil, as long as they're only coming for the day (presumably, they take a bit more notice if you have a big bag...?).
It also turns out that Ciudad del Este is a bit of a hole. Actually, it's quite a lot of a hole. Existing as a support town for the Itaipu hydroelectric dam and a duty-free stopover for Brasilians hunting for bargains, it has evolved into something akin to a cross between Khao San Road in Bangkok and Nathan Road in Hong Kong, but expanded out to the size of a small city, with everyone speaking Spanish. On a hot, sticky day, I have to admit that my contribution to the Paraguayan economy consisted of the cost of a can of beer - I'd been thinking of getting a cheap watch or something, but the total absence of any printed prices in most places and the fact that I'm not even that great a haggler in English, let alone Spanish, put me off.
The bus ride back, once across the Friendship Bridge (which is a nice little traffic jam suspended above the Rio Parana), was at least swifter than that over to Paraguay, and back at the hostel I met back up with Ross, the English guy who had become my partner in crime (disclaimer: no laws were knowingly broken in the authoring of this blog) at this point. We were on the verge of going off to have a bite to eat and a drink before getting the bus to the border when the staff advised us that they had an Irish couple (the lovely Stephen and Tricia) waiting to cross for whom they'd ordered a shuttle minibus which, for a few Reais extra, would get you straight through, as they have some kind of a fast-track system. Sounded dodgy, but was totally legitimate, and amusingly meant that I crossed from Brasil to Paraguay to Brasil to Argentina in the course of a day, and didn't even see an immigration officer (the formalities of the stamps at the Brasil-Argentina crossing were done by the minibus driver on our behalf!).
Once in Puerto Iguazu, Ross and I checked into our hostel there, Timbo Pousada, and went off to hunt bus tickets. We had decided that, given the difference in cost between the cheapest bus and the most expensive was only about 10 quid, we were going for the most luxurious class of service we could get. At this point, we found that it was a good thing we had acted to book ahead, as one company's "full bed" service for the Friday was already totally full - luckily, our backup choice still had seats, so we nabbed those, and then headed off for our first meal in Argentina. No, it wasn't a steak, we were both still fairly stuffed with meat from the Rodizio the previous night, it was pasta. To be precise, Gnocchi in a Bolognese sauce, and very nice it was too. Happy side-effect of all the Italian immigrants to Argentina. After this it was a case of vegging out for a bit. I decided to make use of the hostel's pool (yes, both my hostels up near Iguazu had pools, though both were small), at which point the weather shifted, there being a sudden cooling in the air and it started to rain. Typical.
Still, this didn't totally finish off the day, Ross and I ended up heading over to another hostel to meet up with Paola, my Italian friend whom we had seen a couple of evenings earlier in Foz. Along with a French lad from her hostel, called Pierre-Jean, we headed off for some dinner. And yes, I had steak, though it was a small cut with pepper and vegetables rather than one of the slabs that normally comes to mind when dealing with Argentine beef. After that, Ross went back to fight off the cold he had unnacountably developed (I blame the aircon in the Foz hostel...), PJ went back to the other hostel, Paola went to see a man about a pumpkin lamp (seriously, this wasn't a Hallowe'en thing, it was being carved to give as a present!), I watched a wee bit of a football game on the TV (they´re in a pre-season friendly tournament at the moment), managed to wangle a few minutes on the hostel internet computer (Argentine hostels work mostly on the basis of free internet access, but with not many machines and not a great connection - fine if you just want to check if anything's come in, but not much use for anything else, when you still have to search out an internet cafe) and then crashed out.
posted by Pat at 12:00 pm
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