From Urugay to somewhere else

Hitchhiking in Argentina. Again

You kidding me? No freaking way. We took a night coach to Puerto Iguazu. Yes, that was our mysterious destination. Doesn’t ring a bell? Let me give you a hint:


We arrived there in the early morning, got on a bus to the park and spent the whole day exploring this kick-ass place. It isn’t much to say that it’s the most impressive place I’ve ever been to, but I over heard Cranky and Weirdo saying it too. And they, you need to count their age in years. That’s how old they are. So you can trust me, it’s a pretty impressive place. Actually you don’t have to. I have pictures. Pause the scrolling and watch this:

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Disclaimer: We paid entrance to get in there. And there were shitloads of people. And there were handrails everywhere. It was like waterfall-disneyland. But even Weirdo was glad. That’s how awesome it was.

We left when they kick us out, along with everyone else. Just before sundown. We rode the bus back to Puerto Iguazu, missed the last bus to Foz de Iguazu, the Brazilian side of town, because Cranky was busy trying to pull a financial hoax. By the time me and Weirdo had agreed on what to do with her, another last bus showed up. That’s how organised things are there I suppose. We hopped on it.

The bus driver wasn’t too happy to have us non-Argentinian-or-Brazilian on board. It meant he had to wait for us to go through the paper-dance at the border. This time, the paper-dance took a lot longer than usual, because the Brazilian side wanted to be shown a paper that stated that Weirdo and Cranky really were my parents. Like, Cranky could be a kidnapper that just had a miscarriage and happens to be lactating so it doesn’t prove anything that she’s breast-feeding me. But with an official-looking paper sporting an official looking stamp maybe, everything would be fine. I was about to puke on them when the bus driver barged in and started screaming on them to hurry up. The border paperman was torn between his obligation to paperness and the mean looking bus driver. He found a convenient middle ground: he granted us entry, but for only one-third of the standard time-allowance. What a douche!

In Foz de Iguazu, we got to the bus terminal and found a night coach to Curitiba, where we had a host. Yes sir! Two nights in the bus in a row. That’s how we roll.

Oh! Fun trivia! The bus driver wanted to see some filiation-paper before letting us board. He changed his mind when he saw the look on our faces though. But what kind of weird fetish do people have for paper here? Weirdo says it’s worse in France. I hope I never have to go there.

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Petit Bibi

Petit Bibi

I started this trip when I was 5 month old. By the time it ends, I'll have spent more than half my life on the road.

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