IGUAZU—A MEMORY OF THE FLOOD
While paying the entrance fee to the National Park IGUAZU in South America, visitors could not possibly evoke enough imagination as to fancy even remotely what awaits them in a very short time. The jungle vibrates with the weary buzz of billions of insects; the tropical air is veiled by the unvaried stuffy heath and the brick-coloured soil dries after the usual afternoon downpours. Nonchalance and idleness are everywhere.
I get on a small train resembling a child’s toy together with dozens of other unsuspecting tourists, and after an uneventful short journey we are dumped on the bank of Rio Iguazu. A river similar to most South American rivers: wide, slow and chocolate-brown. We walk along a system of connecting bridges towards the middle of the stream crossing over from island to island. We gaze at the butterflies as big as sparrows. We point at gaily-coloured unknown birds chirping in the bamboo intertwined with lianas, or we try to find something worth taking a picture of in the calm waters of the river. Nothing disturbs the surrounding idyll.
After a kilometer though, the impersonal calmness of the landscape is suddenly disturbed by a mysterious water dust which seems to come off the surface of the river and like a cloud hangs down over it. As we keep going, we start hearing an inexplicable rumble, which swells at every step. We approach the last meters, and the bridge ends amidst a crushing roar. What bursts upon us makes us tremble with the nightmarish suggestion that not only the end of the bridge has come but also the end of the world.
We are standing at the very edge of a monstrous, bubbling, 80-meter high cauldron in which thousands of cubic meters of water flow per second only to erupt again pulverized into the form of a fearful geyser. This is the apocalyptic phenomenon Garganta del Diablo or the Devil’s Throat—the dizziest waterfall in the Iguazu system, which makes your blood run cold. With a total width of about three kilometers, the so-called Cataratas (Waterfalls) consist of dozens of never-ceasing water avalanches connected in a thundering cascade—a natural element in its genuine primal state.
Although most “cataratas” are located panoramically on numerous branches of the river, the Devil’s Throat is hidden in an oblong horseshoe-shaped gorge where water with unimaginable capacity flows. Seen from above, our view point at the moment, this sinister gorge sunken in a white dusk is always full of hissing spurts of water obstructing the sun. For the less timorous people who are prone to extreme adventures, concessionaires from the Argentinean river bank offer an emotion a la Disneyland–real, however, without any technical tricks. Like ghost trains elsewhere, special motor boats take the volunteers—screaming with excitement–near to the collapsing water masses of Garganta del Diablo. The sensation/emotion is indescribable.
Besides the Argentinean part, the National Park Iguazu also has a Brazilian section. I wonder if it is because Brazil is a country with a much bigger population than Argentina that the crowds of tourists here are nearly as overwhelming as the vast views of the foaming white stripes that cut through the impenetrable jungle on the opposite bank. Feeling dizzy, we pass almost at a run through the so-called miradores, or watching places, and without delay we get across to Argentinean territory. On our way, we stop at the confluence of Rio Parana and Rio Iguazu where the borders of three countries meet: Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay. From there it is very near to the Argentinean river port of Puerto Iguazu—a pleasant small town with small hotels that are not bad. The town is turned into a starting point for visits to Cataratas del Iguazu.
The national park itself was founded in 1939 on a territory of 55 thousand hectares. It is the most visited natural landmark both in Argentina and Brazil, with one and a half million tourists per year. The first Europeans who confronted this natural wonder face-to-face were, of course, the Spanish conquistadors. In 1541 an expedition lead by Álvar Núñez, with the cut-throat, thuggish nickname Cabeza de Vaca (Cow’s Head,) entered the area against the current of Rio Iguazu. Obsessed with the maniacal search for the ephemeral El Dorado, the Spanish were not particularly enraptured by the waterfalls and in their chronicles they pragmatically registered only the difficulties the natural element caused them. A similar attitude, although with a commercial nuance, can be observed even today: the best-selling Argentinean toilet bowl is called Iguazu. In any case, the unique cascade was formed 120 million years ago as a result of a volcanic eruption. Lava filled the future upper reaches of the river with basalt, and where the lava stream stopped, the threshold of the vertical chute was created. It is from this threshold that Rio Iguazu makes its breath-taking, stupendous somersaults.
The local Indians, Guarani, who undoubtedly know the waterfalls from time immemorial, have a romantic legend about their creation. A famous warrior named Caroba incurred the wrath of the forest god by abducting in his canoe a young girl, Naipur, with whom the supernatural being in question was also infatuated. Frenzied with jealousy and anger, the god broke the riverbed of Rio Iguazu in numerous waterfalls that engulfed the fleeing couple. After her death, Naipur turned into a rock jutting out at the foot of the cascades, and Caroba remained above sticking up as a lonely tree.
The Guaraní have an interesting history and fate not only because of the fact that they have inhabited an area where the most famous South American rivers like Rio Parana, Rio Paraguay, Rio Uruguay and Rio Iguazu are located. Another reason is the fact that because of their settled way of life and their inborn peaceable disposition they became the main target for conversion by the Jesuit missionaries. God’s servants replaced the gold-diggers in the area at the end of the 16th century after the Spanish finally realized that South America doesn’t abound in precious metals. The converted Guarani acquired valuable practical knowledge from the missionaries and started living in communes, thus guarding themselves more effectively against the Portuguese slave-owners collecting workers for the coffee plantations in Brazil.
However, as happened everywhere with the South American Indians, the Guaraní massively fell victim to diseases brought by the Europeans. This is why their number nowadays is very small. Of course, today they are an additional attraction of the National Park Iguazu. One can see them either in Puerto Iguazu or at the entrance of the park where they sell souvenirs like authentic adornments, articles for everyday life, bows, arrows etc.
After we buy some small souvenirs from the Indians, we proceed across the jungle towards the Cataratas. With the help of a narrow-gauge train we head towards the access points to the cascades. Strategically located platforms connected by steel footbridges afford an opportunity to watch the waterfalls from different heights, angles and distances. The so-called Lower Belt path reaches at one place all the way to the bank of the river. Here is the starting point of the already mentioned “ghost motor boats” that go into the Devil’s Throat. Besides them there are also “normal” boats that take the chicken-hearted tourists to the opposite island of San Martin. From there a series of steep steps takes you to within a stone’s throw of the second most impressive waterfall, Salto San Marin.
We stand staring at the falling water, which has the hypnotizing effect of a fire. We can’t take our eyes off it, although the rising wind takes up the pulverized water streams that spew from the tempestuous bottom of the boiling cauldron and pours them around in the form of a steady drizzling rain. In the course of seconds we get soaking wet. Luckily though, for a moment, the sun manages to break through the thickened clouds, and in front of the waterfall a rainbow appears.
The brightening is short-lived and soon it is time for the daily tropical downpour. We are wet anyhow, so we don’t mind. Now water is pouring literally from everywhere, and in the watery dusk that sets in before we head for the exit of the park we can’t help thinking of the biblical flood.