![]() My sense of direction – especially here – is relatively pathetic, but I’m positive we did not embark on this route. Julio had said it would take us to two of the smaller falls and then up the river toward the Devil’s Throat. We all clambered into the boats with raincoats and heavy duty bags to keep our stuff dry, and then the boat took off. It’s pretty interesting when it comes to the means of obtaining heart of palm, but you know the trip isn’t going to be that spectacular when the highlight is a notably tall palm tree. At first, it was an exciting mixture of off-roading and toucan-spotting, but then we stopped for about ten minutes at a palm tree while our guide told us about heart of palm in both English and Spanish. We hopped in some open jungle bus thing and rode down to the river via a jungle trail. It wasn’t all that impressive, though it was fun. I suspected it might be a tourist trap, but our whole group went, and probably Julio just wanted some time off to sip mate or something. The walk itself feels risky, and as I ventured out, half-certain that the walkway would collapse and send me down into a bubbly death, I wondered what it must have been like for the people who first came upon the falls.Īfter exploring on foot for a while, Julio encouraged all of us to take a boat under the falls for a decent price. His demeanor constantly shifted from friendly to totally closed off, so I kept to myself and walked out toward the falls. He had a bounce in his step and I wondered if he was harboring a pot of gold back at his hostel. The only other English-speaking traveler was a short Irish man whose walk can only be described as sprightly. I understood bits and pieces of his Spanish instructions, but was grateful for the English translation, because no one wants to mistakenly walk off of a cliff or something. ![]() Our guide, Julio, explained in English how to get there, and then joined the rest of our Spanish-speaking group. We paid the park fee, $100AR ($25 US), and headed straight to the most famous section of the falls, Garganta del Diablo, the Devil’s Throat. ![]() Regardless, I threw on some shorts and a T-shirt and hopped in the van as we rolled on over to Iguazu. Of course, the day I was set to see the falls it was cool and cloudy. I’d spent the previous day at Marcopolo Inn (the hostel near Iguazu) lounging in the sun by the pool and reading a book. I was disappointed – but not at all surprised – to wake up Sunday morning to an overcast sky.
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