After getting off in Posadas, I stumbled onto a bus to the centre. I find that most Argentinian towns have the same format, from a one-horse village to a provincial capital: a basic grid of streets (always a San Martin and a Sarmiento) and two main squares, with a church in one of them. I had scribbled down directions to a cheap hostel in Posadas from Johan's Lonely Planet but found it under renovation. Asking the lot's security guard where I could find a cheap bed for the night, he shook his head and said the nearest hotel was the Continental (198 pesos a night! Yeah right...). I humped my rucksacks all around the town in the fading evening sunlight, and finally settled on a hotel overlooking the main square (9 de Julho). As staying in a hotel was a step up for me after sleeping in dorms for 3 months, I thought I would take advantage of the added privacy by trying to find a nice Argentinian girl. Unfortunately, Posadas doesn't have much of a nightlife and even after sitting down with a Quilmes on the next table along from the only ones available, they went home! Now where are promiscuous Americans when you need them... As I was crossing the 9 de Julho I saw some statues of colonial Argentine soldiers. I was going to inspect the detailing on the face, when the the nearest one's eyes looked straight at me! Jasis! It was a person! The whole squad was standing stock-still, clean-shaven like a baby's bum, with bayoneted rifles held at the ready. Pretty decent discipline for historical recreationists. Maybe this is how they pick up chicks in this town...
I left for the station early the next morning, and asked for a ticket to Colonia Pellegrini, the base for exploring the wetlands National Park of Esteros del Iberá. The road was closed for repairs from Posadas to Pellegrini, so I had to go round to a town called Mercedes, south of Pellegrini. If I wanted to go direct I would have to wait a staggering 12 hours for the next bus and since I was impatient to leave Posadas, I elected to head to Corrientes first, and catch a connection. As soon as we entered Corrientes province, the landscape changed yet again from hilly pine forest to miles and miles of flat prairie. This was Marlboro country: thousands of cows were swallowed by the vast horizon, gauchos herding them into dusty estancias, with man-made tree plantations made, it seemed, solely to provide shade for the thirsty cattle. Thankfully for the cattle, the rain started to pour down and I made it to Corrientes with only minutes to spare before the next bus. Eventually I arrived in Mercedes (having gotten through another 400 pages of The Count of Monte Cristo) and immediately asked for the bus to Pellegrini. Dismayed to find I had missed the only one and grumbling about having to spend another night in a provincial town, I was pleasantly surprised to find that Mercedes was a lovely town with first-class people. I arranged my transport and hostel in Pellegrini with Graciela, a very friendly lady with too much eyeliner and missing teeth, and was lucky to take an air-conditioned 4x4 along the bumpy, pot-holed country road to Pellegrini. The other passengers were a German couple from Berlin, Britta and Carlos, very square but I was thankful for the company (and the chance to practice my very rusty German) nonetheless. Along the way we saw a huge number of birds from hawks to rheas, the famous capybaras (the largest rodent in the world) and a couple of marsh-deer. According to Britta, the animals in Iberá are so isolated that they have no fear of humans, and even when we reversed the 4x4 to come face-to-face with the marsh-deer they simply stared at us and went back to munching grass.
We arrived in Pellegrini where I had a room waiting for me at Casona del Iberá. After a quick spot of lunch, I retired to a hammock with the Count to wait out the midday sun. At 4 when the temperature was cooler we took a boat out onto the Laguna Iberá with Cesar. After a much-needed swim to cool off, we continued on to the ranger's station to signal our presence, then skimmed along past the shore of reeds and marsh. We passed floating islands of waterlilies and oxygenators with the buzz and drone of many-coloured dragonflies, and the croak of tropical frogs in our ears. We stopped at a strange scene: a caiman with jaws ajar poised in full view on an island surrounded by a family of capybaras happily munching on foliage (they must eat almost continually day and night to maintain
their own body-weight) and swimming next to the side of the boat. A wading bird was following the capybaras diligently for any morsel their jaws left behind. We continued on to see the chajá or Southern Screamers, birds as big as vultures with white collars like a vicar and fearsome red eyes, noisy jacanas and graceful kingfishers. It is a real treat to observe caimans from the sides of a boat, they float perfectly still in the water even when bumping against the side of the boat, fooling you into believing they are a log, until they snap and thrash at their prey or when spooked. As we were drifting through the floating islands of Salvinia we caught sight of a big alligator around 8 metres long, no longer a caiman but one of his larger cousins so often portrayed on nature programmes swallowing cows and such. Wisely we kept our distance as he was not to be trifled with.
their own body-weight) and swimming next to the side of the boat. A wading bird was following the capybaras diligently for any morsel their jaws left behind. We continued on to see the chajá or Southern Screamers, birds as big as vultures with white collars like a vicar and fearsome red eyes, noisy jacanas and graceful kingfishers. It is a real treat to observe caimans from the sides of a boat, they float perfectly still in the water even when bumping against the side of the boat, fooling you into believing they are a log, until they snap and thrash at their prey or when spooked. As we were drifting through the floating islands of Salvinia we caught sight of a big alligator around 8 metres long, no longer a caiman but one of his larger cousins so often portrayed on nature programmes swallowing cows and such. Wisely we kept our distance as he was not to be trifled with. The next day, I woke before dawn to see the sun rising across the lake. Despite the early morning mosquitos, I was entranced by the peaceful scene before me, a welcome change to the crazy bustle of the city. As I sat on the jetty with my cup of maté, birds flying overhead were following the rising sun to their hunting grounds in the shallows. I was lucky to hear the strange calls of a Scarlet-headed Blackbird trying to attract a mate from a bullrush nearby. Eventually, a female showed up and I was mesmerised by the arcane mating ritual which took place between them. I felt like an intruder here, in one of the last natural wetlands untouched by man. In the molten glow of the early morning, I hiked along the bridge linking Pellegrini to the outside world, and was stunned by the profusion of flocking birds of all shapes and sizes. After visiting São Paulo Zoo and seeing exotic toucans, with such brightly-coloured beaks as to be otherworldly in an artist's dream, macaws and parrots resplendent in greens, yellows and reds but with a call noisier and uglier than a crow, and other birds equally fantastical, I thought Brazil was a place ornithologically unchallenged but because of it's unique habitat, Esteros del Iberá is a close rival. Though it was 6:00 in the morning, I felt refreshed and meditated, lulled by the calm lapping of the waters. I headed to the ranger's station we had passed the previous day, played with a family of domesticated capybaras in the courtyard and bought a wildlife guidebook for the area. The hike around the park was disappointingly short and apart from several lizards scuttling along the path, was short on wildlife too. I later heard from Britta that there was a family of howler monkeys at the end of the path. Damn! While heading back along the bridge I saw a total of nine caimans next to the ranger's station, floating motionlessly in the shallows. After gaping in awe at this natural scene, I walked a safe distance from the shore and, stowing my clothes in some bushes, dipped into the lake through a gap in the culvert's wall. The water was deliciously warm, and I had to dive down deeper underwater to cool off. But as the gaping jaws of the caiman were still ringing in my mind, I soon surfaced and climbed safely onto dry land!
One of my first impressions of Argentina was of the Wild West, where cowboys slept under the stars and lassoed straying cattle. Pellegrini is a dirt-road town straight out of a spaghetti western, and a block on the tourist map corresponds to an area the size of a farm. I tried to find the "centre" but there isn't one, so I fed some chestnut horses and headed to a "restaurant" (actually just a family's living room with some tables and menus). Lazed in a hammock for the rest of the day, waiting for nightfall. Cesar took us out at dusk onto the lake, the mosquitos thick as fog in our eyes and face, so that you could not speak without swallowing a dozen. And I had forgotten my insect repellent! The night air was fresh and electrifying, along the horizon distant thunder rumbled and the dark clouds flashed golden with lightning above the cattle plains. Filled with apprehension, we skimmed along the surface of the water, with the lunar phosphorescence glittering in our wake. We were out hunting for caimans, with a sharply-bright torch scanning the marshy shoreline for signs. It was not long before we spotted a light dot, the eye of a caiman reflected like the facet of a diamond. We sped towards it, the alligator seemingly unperturbed by this human intrusion into his night hunt. I was incredulous when Cesar mentioned we could touch him if we liked (I translated into German for the others' benefit), just to avoid the head. He proceeded to demonstrate this by handing me the torch which I kept shining in the creature's eyes, making a grab for the caiman's tail, and almost falling in the water after the now-frenzied caiman. Christ on a bike! While it was thrilling to hunt for these glittering diamonds in the pitch blackness, with dark waves lapping the speeding boat, our main purpose for this night tour was to see the pale white flower of Aguapé de noche, one of the most unique flowers in the world, found only in these wetlands, which for a few weeks in January and February flowers when the moon reaches it's zenith. It was a stroke of luck that I had found this magical place on impulse, after perusing Johan's Lonely Planet for the nearest national park, and deciding from the few scraps of information a name, a whim, given flesh.
One of my first impressions of Argentina was of the Wild West, where cowboys slept under the stars and lassoed straying cattle. Pellegrini is a dirt-road town straight out of a spaghetti western, and a block on the tourist map corresponds to an area the size of a farm. I tried to find the "centre" but there isn't one, so I fed some chestnut horses and headed to a "restaurant" (actually just a family's living room with some tables and menus). Lazed in a hammock for the rest of the day, waiting for nightfall. Cesar took us out at dusk onto the lake, the mosquitos thick as fog in our eyes and face, so that you could not speak without swallowing a dozen. And I had forgotten my insect repellent! The night air was fresh and electrifying, along the horizon distant thunder rumbled and the dark clouds flashed golden with lightning above the cattle plains. Filled with apprehension, we skimmed along the surface of the water, with the lunar phosphorescence glittering in our wake. We were out hunting for caimans, with a sharply-bright torch scanning the marshy shoreline for signs. It was not long before we spotted a light dot, the eye of a caiman reflected like the facet of a diamond. We sped towards it, the alligator seemingly unperturbed by this human intrusion into his night hunt. I was incredulous when Cesar mentioned we could touch him if we liked (I translated into German for the others' benefit), just to avoid the head. He proceeded to demonstrate this by handing me the torch which I kept shining in the creature's eyes, making a grab for the caiman's tail, and almost falling in the water after the now-frenzied caiman. Christ on a bike! While it was thrilling to hunt for these glittering diamonds in the pitch blackness, with dark waves lapping the speeding boat, our main purpose for this night tour was to see the pale white flower of Aguapé de noche, one of the most unique flowers in the world, found only in these wetlands, which for a few weeks in January and February flowers when the moon reaches it's zenith. It was a stroke of luck that I had found this magical place on impulse, after perusing Johan's Lonely Planet for the nearest national park, and deciding from the few scraps of information a name, a whim, given flesh.
