Shouldn't you be leaving now?

It had been a long, long bus ride from Buenos Aires to Puerto Iguazú. 21 hours, to be exact. The coach had left BA at 3:30 the previous afternoon, and we pulled into our destination at around half past noon instead of 9 AM. No explanation was given for the delay. Frustrated that the morning had been wasted, I rushed to the hostel to drop off my bag. Just my luck: not a staff member in sight. After impatiently waiting for around 15 minutes, I located the bathrooms, got showered and changed. I was here for one day only and could not waste any more time.

Eventually, somebody appeared at the reception desk and checked me in. I dumped my bag in the luggage room and ran over to the bus station to catch a ride to Iguazu Falls. “Cash only,” said the guy at the ticket desk, as I proffered my card hopefully. This was my last day in Argentina, and I had used up all my pesos. “Do you know where I can get cash nearby?” I asked desperately. “No.”

Excellent. I ran up and down all the nearby streets (steep and hilly, naturally) while the sun was at its most fierce, looking for a bank, a cash machine, a shop that would give me cashback. No luck. Finally, I came across a small currency exchange kiosk that gave me a wonderfully terrible deal on my US dollars. I ran back to the bus station to purchase a ticket from my helpful friend from earlier. “You just missed one,” he told me happily. “The next bus leaves in half an hour.”

At least the station had food. I grabbed a sandwich and perched on the hot metal bench (no shade here) and waited for the next bus to arrive. Half an hour later, I was on my way. I had the bus to myself, because, obviously, nobody else was heading to the falls in the mid-afternoon. (They close at 6 PM.)

Finally, I arrived. The place was huge. I took a look at the map by the entrance and sadly cast an eye over the numerous trails leading to various viewpoints around the park. I would have to head straight for the main attraction, the Devil’s Throat. There was a train that would take you up to the beginning of the walkway. It was a nice if painstakingly slow journey through the forest, and there was great excitement when a coati momentarily boarded the train at a midway stop.

The walkway to the edge of the falls is amazing. It winds its way through the trees before you emerge, blinking in the sunlight, to walk on water to the Devil’s Throat. You are right on top of the falls, deafened by the sound of the water thundering over and into the bottom of the chasm and pleasantly cooled by the spray dispersed for miles around. It's truly incredible.

You can even forget how many tourists are crowding around you (this was pre-COVID, of course) until you get a selfie-stick in your viewfinder, or are jostled by a 30-strong group trying to squeeze each one of them into a photo in front of the falls. Luckily, I have a special talent where I can close my ears and peripheral vision and just focus on the scene in front of me. I employed this very useful talent when someone tried asking me to move because I’d been in the same spot “for more than one minute.”

After I had thoroughly taken in this wonder of nature, I moved on. It was getting late, and people were beginning to head to the exit. I saw a trail with a sign saying it would take around 30 minutes. There were 45 minutes until closing time. Perfect! It was a beautiful trail that twisted and turned through the rainforest, every so often emerging at a viewpoint where you could gaze at the network of falls on the Brazilian side. A few people followed me down, but it was still a lot quieter and more pleasant. There were monkeys in the trees, and colourful butterflies flitting around, and the most enormous spider webs I’d ever seen, but I walked swiftly past those.

I stopped to take some pictures at a scenic point, and then it began. A staff member was here to round us all up, like unruly sheep, and herd us towards the exit. Luckily, it was a one-way route, so I would get to walk the whole trail, even if I was being chivvied along like a naughty child. I came up with a sneaky plan to be able to take more pictures undisturbed by racing along the walkway to the next photo opportunity and enjoying the view until the park ranger caught me up and told me to keep moving. I felt slightly bad for being so irritating, but this was a once-in-a-lifetime trip.

At one point, the trail split off. There was a long walkway down to a viewing platform at the edge of the falls. I could see a family with two toddlers sitting down there, and the ranger went down to collect them. “Brilliant!” I thought. “They’ll be super slow and he’ll be preoccupied with them now instead of me.” Everyone else had been much more obedient and had headed immediately for the exit when asked. I’m alone!

The walkway turned sharp right, away from the edge of the falls and back towards the forest. After a hectic day, I thoroughly enjoyed these few minutes of pure peace and tranquillity. I ambled slowly round the rest of the trail, enjoying the late afternoon sun, the insect chorus, and the sound of the water flowing steadily towards the edge of the falls. As I rounded a corner, I spotted the exquisitely beautiful toucan pictured above perched on the handrail. I’m not sure if I knew that toucans existed in real life, or if they did, certainly not in the wild. It felt like being in a dream.

I sneaked closer, feverishly hoping that I’d be able to get my camera out in time. He stayed a moment more, just long enough for me to whip off the lens cap and capture him giving me the side eye, a look that clearly said, “Shouldn’t you be leaving now?”