Posts Tagged With: river

Gorging on Waterfalls

I mentioned yesterday that the Finger Lakes were formed during the last ice age and are thus quite young: a few tens of thousands of years. But they have company, in the form of a number of spectacular narrow gorges. The best known of these is Watkins Glen at the foot of Seneca Lake. It’s an insanely photogenic canyon, 400 ft (120 m) deep and about a mile and a half (2.5 km) long. If you walk the whole length — we did about half — you’ll go up and down something like 890 steps, and you’l see 19 waterfalls.

The geology of the gorges is interesting. They are sedimentary rock, a mix of shale, limestone, and sandstone. These differ a great deal in their hardness and thus their rates of erosion, resulting in a number of natural staircase-like rock formations.

That’s today’s geology lesson, so here are some photos from today’s hike:

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Pretty cool, huh?

Categories: US | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 64 Comments

Whales, Kayaking, a Lighthouse, and Stuff

Kind of a grab bag of topics since I haven’t posted in a few days, in part because I’ve been tired in the evenings: there is a haze of “vog” (volcanic fog) on the island — it having made its way 500 km to Kauai all the way from the Big Island — which has given me a minor but enervating cough. But there is nonetheless lots to tell, and I want to get it down before we leave tomorrow for the penultimate leg of this trip, three days in Honolulu with our old friends Laura and Brian. (That will be followed by four days in Scottsdale, Arizona on our way home.)

At home we are avid if not particularly ambitious kayakers, and since Kauai is the only one of the Hawaiian islands with navigable rivers — six of them, supposedly — it seemed reasonable to find a riverside kayak rental outfit. Such a place existed, quite close to us in fact, and so we spent a pleasant three hours kayaking on the Hanalei River, beginning about a mile from Hanalei Bay and working our way upstream to a nature reserve a few miles away.

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The experience was, as I remarked in a Facebook post, just like kayaking at home except for the palm trees, the hibiscus blossoms floating on the water, and the whole laid-back tropical gestalt of it all. We did not see a lot of animal life in the nature reserve — a few fish, some turtles, a few egrets — but gliding among the palms and pandanus trees and spotting modest mini-waterfalls along the banks gave the whole experience a pleasantly dreamy ambience.

A few miles down the road from our house, east of Hanalei Bay, Kilauea Lighthouse perches on a dramatic promontory, overseeing a violent surf and a hillside heavily dotted with red-footed boobies. Here’s the scene:

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If the lighting looks a little unusual in this picture it is because it is actually a nighttime scene, a twelve-minute time exposure taken by moonlight… hence the creamy, blurred-looking surf. But back to the birds. The red-footed boobies, thousands of them, look like white confetti on the far hillside, but close up resemble ungainly seagulls with enormous red feet and blue bills. You can see them as white dots at upper right in the shot below. (You can also see that you would not want to swim here.) We have seen their more famous cousins, the blue-footed boobies, in the Galapagos.

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The lighthouse’s location is quite the quite the focus for local wildlife. There were some nenes (Hawaii’s state bird) walking around the parking lot, a pod of whales cavorting offshore, and the occasional Laysan albatross — an endangered species — gliding by on what could be a several thousand mile journey. They breed in Hawaii but may travel as far as Japan or the west coast of North America to feed. Here’s one that we saw:

laysons-albatross-kauai

When we returned from the lighthouse our AirBnB hosts invited us to attend a bonfire and barbecue on the beach at Hanalei Bay at sunset that evening, a practice they happily indulge in every Friday night. We went, enjoying the sunset over the waves and silhouetted mountains along with about four other couples, all with interesting backgrounds. (You kind of have to have an interesting background if you’re living here.)

The next day (yesterday, Saturday Feb 4) was our opportunity to complete the geographical trifecta, as the day dawned clear and we got to see the Na Pali coast from the sea. (We had already seen it from the hiking trail lookout and via helicopter.) Our tour operator, Na Pali Riders, were quite the cowboys, leading about 20 of us into what was essentially a large Zodiac, a rubberized pontoon boat right at the water level, powered by twin 250 HP motors. That thing could move, and with the trade winds coming up and the surf high, the ride was anything but smooth. How bone-shatteringly bumpy was it? Well, in addition to a rope handhold running along the edge — and you sit on the edge — there was a rope foothold around the perimeter of the floor. You keep one foot slid underneath it to keep you from bouncing backwards into your own personal whale-watching adventure.

Speaking of which, en route to Na Pali we first encountered a large pod of spinner dolphins, maybe 100 in number all told, to set the stage for the excitement that would follow. Here are a few of them:

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(My photos from this boat trip, by the way, were taken with our “backup camera”, a nice waterproof point-and-shoot, since I did want to risk my nice SLR and expensive lenses ending up photographing the cetaceans from underneath. Picture quality is not as high, but the thing is indestructible, which is a big plus in this environment.)

Anyway, whales. We got lucky: we encountered a number of them, most thrillingly a mother and a juvenile. The latter was only a few weeks or a month old, “only” 10 ft long or so and just learning to breach:

na-pali-whales-kauai-021That’s Mom’s pectoral fin on the right, the baby breaching on the left. Notice that baby is flopping over on his back: that’s how whales actually do it. So here are two more shots, ’cause you can never have too many whales.

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The whales were clustered near the southwest corner of the island, a little south of Na Pali itself. So we motored up the coast to catch these striking scenes, which I promise will be the last ones I show you of Na Pali.

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We’ve already had the Jurassic Park discussion, but if it all looks a little “Skull Island”-ish to you, there’s a good reason for that too: the 1979 remake of King Kong was filmed here.

In addition to these A-list destinations, Kauai has its share of minor touristic oddities as well. We hit a couple of them on the way back from our Na Pali expedition. They include salt evaporation ponds, which are basically very shallow artificial lake beds next to the sea. Just add water and wait, and voila! Sea salt! (Add pink food coloring and you can pretend it’s from the Himalayas, a designation about which I have always been deeply suspicious.)

But probably the surrealistic best of the B-list sights is the “Russian Fort”, which we visited briefly. Very briefly. Still, its history is so weird that it is worth relating.

Kamehameha I unified the islands under his monarchy in 1810, but unsurprisingly not everybody got with the program immediately. Chief among these (hah! get it?) was Kaumuali’i, who ruled Kauai and much preferred doing his own thing. This included seizing a cargo ship belonging to the  Russian-American Trading Company in 1815. The Russians were none too pleased at this and dispatched an agent, a German physician named Georg Schäffer, to free the goods.

Schäffer figured his best play was to befriend Kamehameha and then convince the latter to pressure Kaumuali’i. The befriending part worked OK… the pressuring part, not so much; Kamehameha didn’t see much upside to antagonizing his disgruntled underling on behalf of a guy who looked like the Wizard of Oz. So Schäffer went straight to Kaumuali’i, who promptly conned him. Kaumuali’i convinced Schäffer that if the Russians would build a fort, they could seize the entire island chain from Kamehameha. Schäffer promised the Tsar’s support, and had the fort built.  Then things went predictably sideways: (1) upon learning of all this the Tsar said, “WTF?”; and (2) what Kaumuali’i was really planning, of course, was to take the islands for himself (“We don’ need no steenkin’ Russians!”). So the whole endeavor collapsed, Kamehameha’s supporters took over the fort, and after a halfhearted attempt to retake it several years later, Kaumuali’i’s guys threw in the towel. The place was abandoned in 1853 after decades of proudly defending Kauai against, well, nothing. Today it’s a rock wall about shoulder-high (about 1/4 of its original height), tracing out a rough octagon a few hundred feet across. We were positively rapt for about 3 seconds.

I never did learn what was on those cargo ships, but in the interest of adding some irony to the whole bizarre tale I like to imagine that it turned out to be something of absolutely no use to the Hawaiians. Fur-lined mittens and frostbite ointment, say. You can think of your own.

Today was our last day on Kauai. The weather was beautiful, and so we made the precarious hike down to Queen’s Bath on the coast. I’ll post some photos of that in a few days. But for now, on to Honolulu.

Categories: Hawaii | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Escape to Tineghir, Hours Ahead of a Sandstorm

(This is a repost of an entry prematurely posted and titled “TBD” due to a flaky internet connection.)

My postscript in yesterday’s post described a rising wind and some rain. The rain passed, but the wind blew off most of the clouds and left us with a glorious night sky, two photos of which I offer you here. The first shows the constellation of Sagittarius in the middle, and you can see the Milky Way extending up out of the dunes; the orange glow is from another camp. The second photo is looking west, and shows the stars above the lit tents.

The wind continued to rise through the night, and few of us got much sleep, both from the racket and from the continuous influx of fine sand into our tents, driven through our screens by the wind. All four of our canvas walls bowed inwards as the near-gale tried to collapse our tents, and by the middle of the night both ourselves and all our possessions were coated with the finest grit. Have you ever tried to sleep while sand was blowing into your mouth? 

It did grace us with a much more colorful sunrise than we had had the previous day, and our camp had acquired two new features: a Berber child who had appeared out of the dunes during the wee hours and positioned herself on the sandy “avenue” between our two facing rows of tents, and a new layer of sand, complete with tiny dunes, in that same space. So here was the view, at about 7:15 AM.

 

What these shots do not show was that the wind was still full force, driving the fine sand everywhere, and making it very uncomfortable to be outside. We had breakfast in the mess tent, loaded up the 4 x 4s, and got the hell out of there.

Not a moment too soon, as it turns out. The wind continued to rise and, we learned some hours later, had risen to gale force and birthed a full-blown sandstorm that completely cut off the camp and forced its closure. Had our departure been delayed by as little as two hours we would have been “sanded in” (as opposed to “snowed in”, right?). This may sound very romantic and exciting to you, and probably would be too, for about 20 minutes. But based on our small taste of it in the morning and last night I can guarantee you that it would quickly have turned into an Extremely Not Fun experience, and not without actual danger.

But we did not get sanded in, and we hotdogged out of camp across the dunes and bounced across the hard packed desert to retrace our route back to Erfoud to join the highway westward. As we approached the outskirts of town we encountered a date market — this is date harvest season — so we made a short unscheduled stop and wandered among the farmers as Momo pointed out the various kinds of dates and the prices they would bring. (Top quality Medjool dates go for about $5 a pound here at the market, much more by the time you buy them at retail.)

“I’ve got dates for sale!” “I’ve got dates for sale too!” “Jeez, is there anybody here who’s NOT selling dates?”


“So this girl said, ‘Want lots of dates?’ and I said, ‘Sure!’ and, well, turns out that we were talking about two different things, so here I am.”

Our destination today was the town of Tineghir, about 80 miles to the west of our desert camp. We stopped for lunch at about the halfway point, in the town of Ksar el Khorbat. “Ksar” means “village”, and within the town was an old walled village where the locals have created a sort of crafts commune for lwomen to make goods for sale, as well as a small museum showing the history of the place. This is a Berber region, and so it has a fairly complex ethnic heritage that includes an admixture of Jews (all of whom are now gone). The relationship between the locals with the town Jews was convincingly illustrated by a display of a stockade with inward-pointing nails around the inside of the wrist and neck holes.

A little outside of town, we passed a hillside with gigantic words painted on the side above a green star, the country’s emblem. The words, in Arabic, said “God, Country, King”, which is the motto of the Moroccan army and is intended to reflect their priorities in decreasing order. One of the locals got a little crosswise with this slogan, however, and paid a price. Ksar el Khorbat has a strong Spanish heritage and in particular identify strongly with the Catalan region. A local soccer enthusiastic got a little too gung-ho about his favorite Spanish soccer team and spray-painted “God, Country, Barcelona”, for which cleverness he went to jail. Moroccans enjoy a pretty healthy freedom of speech, but they draw the line at lèse majeste: you absolutely cannot diss the king, which includes implying that the Barcelona soccer team is more important to you than Hassan II.

As approached Tineghir, we encountered yet another indication that we are far from home. Here it is:

You think hitting a deer with your car is bad, try running into a camel.

Tineghir is known for a number of things, one being an old part of the city that is built from Adobe and clay from the adjacent mountainsides and thus blends into the mountain with a rather New World pueblo look, as you can see below. (Alice and I both observed that it also looks like the setting of any number of our video games.)

It is also known for the scenic Torda Gorge, a narrow canyon with a shallow river running through it, flanked by towering cliffs something like 500 feet high. We walked a few hundred yards through it, ogled the view, then boarded the bus back to the hotel.

Our hotel overlooks the “new city”, which looks like this: 

It’s pretty completely urbanized and of modest size. Our hotel is comfortable and generally unremarkable, save for two things, one being a very unreliable wifi connection (which is why you may have received this post out of order), and the other being food whose taste has been meticulously and thoroughly drained away prior to serving it. We’re not sure how this is even possible, but we may know the “why”, which is that the hotel’s clientele include a large number of Germans, for whom the concept of actual flavor in food is highly alien. Thumper complained to Momo, who was also unhappy with it for the same reason and so confronted the manager about it. The manager did not look happy and we can only speculate about what actually got said; to the non-Arab-speaking listener, even a friendly Arabic conversation is so loud and intense as to be indistinguishable from an exchange of death threats. I fully expect our breakfast tomorrow to be laced with some exotic local poison, part of our immersive experience.

 

Assuming we survive and the wifi stays up, you’ll hear about our “day in the life of Tineghir” tomorrow.

Categories: Morocco | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Down the Rabat Hole

This will be a short post for the simple yet boring reason that not a whole lot happened today, it having been mostly a travel day on the van to get us from Tangier to Rabat. It’s about a 3 1/2 drive through not especially interesting countryside, mostly big industrial-sized farms that are far more similar to their American counterparts than to the small family farms that we saw in the Rif mountains. The countryside is mostly pretty dry, as you might expect, but the farms are irrigated. The most common crop that we saw was strawberries, with okra a distant second. Lots and lots of strawberries, protected from the sun under acres of plastic sheets… “strawberry fields forever”, one might say, if one was desperate to insert some lame humor into an otherwise pedestrian blog post.

We arrived in Rabat around lunchtime and did a quick spin around the city in the van to get a feel for it. It is a somewhat schizophrenic place: very modern looking on the one hand, with a gleaming light rail system that would be the envy of any American city, yet at the same time exuding the Moorish ambience of the royal palace and the very large mosque next door. And overlooking the city and its river (called the Bou Regreg), the largest casbah we have seen, a huge medieval fortress housing a walled town with its souk and medina, and an ancient royal garden. This casbah is a classic Moorish fortress, with tall onion-shaped arches under classic medieval parapets like a marching row of squared-off teeth.

Momo (our tour lead Mohammed) brought us all to lunch at a bustling trattoria adjacent to Rabat’s central rail station. It was a very American kind of place, serving mostly burgers, pizza, and, um, shawarma (which if this were Greece you would call gyro). It all had a very big-city feel to it and could have been any European city except for the proliferation of women in hijabs. But far from all of them: being the capital (and having a population of 2 million), Rabat is pretty cosmopolitan. There we a larger percentage of Wester-dressed women her than any other place we’ve seen, and this included the co-owner of the restaurant, an attractive and thoroughly Western 30-ish woman who spoke nearly perfect English and came over to chat with us for a while. (Her father is the other co-owner.)

We had a couple of hours to kill after lunch, so Steve and Thumper and we decided to do some exploring on our own. We had heard that the casbah gardens, called the Andalusian Gardens in the guidebooks, were worthwhile, so despite the likelihood that we will be visiting them tomorrow we jumped in a cab and instructed the driver in French to take us there. That did not turn out as well as we hoped. Not because our French was inadequate — we can get by in that department — but because, unbeknownst to us and the guidebooks notwithstanding, the locals do not refer to them as the Andalusian Gardens but rather the Oudaya Gardens, Oudaya being the name of the casbah. The only reason we got there at all was that Alice showed the driver a map indicating our destination, at which point the light bulb went on and he charged forward. The ride took about 10 minutes and cost $1.50. I gave him two bucks in dirhams and felt like a big spender.

The gardens were pleasant if unspectacular, more enjoyable for the setting beneath the castle walls and the locals strolling about that for the flora. The was a group of teenagers playing music on a guitar and flute; pairs of women in hijabs taking selfies with their phones; families with children; lovers sitting on a ledge holding hands. It was cool in the shade and fragrant with roses, an unselfconscious little idyll behind high walls.

An archway at one corner of the garden led to an outdoor tea salon on a terrace overlooking the river, where for two bucks apiece we each had a glass of achingly sweet and satisfying mint tea and a plate of genuinely spectacular almond cookies. The river view itself is austere; it is broad and shallow with surprisingly little boat traffic, and long low rows of boxy apartment blocks on the far shore. One boat in particular caught our eye: a large dark brown wooden dhow, surprisingly resembling Captain Hook’s ship from Peter Pan, lay moored at the shore. We had been told that we would be having dinner aboard a boat tonight, and wondered if that was it. (Spoiler alert: it was.)

Leaving the terrace, we ambled through the medina for a half hour or so, a stroll that include Alice getting waylaid by an insistent lady selling henna tattoos. Alice plunked for one — the lady wanted five bucks, Alice offered two, deal accepted — and sported a nice henna curlicue on her arm that listed all of about a half hour before washing off.

Back at the hotel we finally met the rest of our group, a gregarious crowd of folks who mostly hail from New Orleans and mostly already know each other. They seem like a real good group that will fit in nicely with our current eight, and I expect we’ll enjoy our time with them. So far I’ve identified among them a nurse, an architect, a caterer, a retail store and coffee shop owner, and a rheumatologist. They’re all very good-humored and interesting to talk to; over dinner the rheumatologist was telling me about some volunteer work that he did in a refugee camp in Iraq.

Dinner on the boat was surprisingly good and the setting surprisingly elegant considering that it looked from the outside like some kind of tourist trap. (Our tour operator, OAT, does their homework in this regard.) Tomorrow we’ll have a city tour that I expect will bring us back to Oudaya. But that’s fine with us. I’ll post some photos of the day in my next entry.

 

Categories: Morocco | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Buenos Aires (Oct 15) and Iguazú Falls (Oct 16): Mucho Agua

Stephen King’s market place in Santelmo

Alice is recovering from a mild to moderate cold (that she caught from me) and so passed on a few of yesterday’s goings-on, starting with an indoor marketplace. A somewhat grungier version of Baltimore’s Lexington Market or Philadelphia’s Reading Terminal Market, Buenos Aires’ Santelmo market is housed in a cavernous warehouse space that, but for being too small, might in some other life have been an abandoned railway station. As it is, most of the stalls were closed since we we there on a weekday — weekends are the big market time — which gave the place a somewhat forlorn and slightly spooky aura; you get the idea from the photo at left.

But there were nonetheless a fair number of places open, mostly butchers and produce stalls (with very nice looking produce, I should add), as well as a certain number of hard-to-describe places selling extremely random odds and ends: antique dolls, mismatched china sets, pots and pans, household utensils and tools of uncertain purpose, long-obscure toys (anybody remember Topo Gigio, the Italian mouse puppet from the Ed Sullivan Show? He’s here.), etc., etc.

   

It was an unusual but strangely interesting way to spend an hour or so. So to continue…

Buenos Aires sits on the Rio La Plata, or “silver river”. Why that name? Is it silver-colored? No. In fact, because of an enormous amount of suspended sediment, the whole river and the delta at its mouth are the color of chocolate milk. It is a very odd sight, the broad and tranquil river flowing into a wide delta stretching to the horizon, all the water a pleasant but surreal café au lait brown that makes it feel like someone has Photoshopped your retina by somehow shifting the color scale. In any case it is definitely not silver.

Ah then, perhaps there are some big silver mines along it. Nope, not that either. Turns out that the Argentines are prone to hyperbole and the original settlers were misled by the natives into thinking that somewhere at the headwaters of the river there were major silver deposits. So they optimistically named the river after them and basically got stuck with the name even after the eponymous silver turned out to be mostly nonexistent.

We spent a pleasant sunny morning on a boat out on that earthy-looking water, or rather I did; Alice had that cold and decided to sleep in that day. But the rest of us boarded our van and drove for an hour to the town of Tigre, first passing some of Buenos Aires’ extensive and remarkably constructed shantytowns, as you see here.

No plumbing, no problem — we got cable!

The slum is vast, dense and essentially improvised, with surprisingly sophisticated structures constructed mostly out of scrounged materials, and sustained by bootleg connections to city utilities. They may not all have water, but you better believe they all have TV.

Liquid bus stop

We continued pass the tenements for another half hour or so to the town of Tigre, whose mascot and town logo is exactly what you think it would be. Tigre is a pleasant resort town near the delta of the river whose claim to fame is an entire community that lives on the water. The delta is crisscrossed by river channels — again that chocolate brown water — that are perhaps 50 or 75 yards wide and lined by a mix of residences and vacation houses whose condition ranges from luxurious to caved-in. There is a local “bus” service rather like a water taxi with fixed stops; you can see one at right. Note the color of the water and the elegant wooden structure of the boat itself; a large fraction of boats plying these waters are genteel-looking low-slung dark wooden hulls, most of them dating back 50 or 60 years.

Groceries on the river

Some are are aquatic school buses, ferrying children to a school on the river bank; others, floating hardware and landscape stores selling tools and plants; and still others, floating grocery stores. (We pulled up to one of the latter  and bought some crackers and fruit through a port hole…kinda cool to do.) You can see one of the grocery boats at left; the one we stopped at resembled the dark, low-riding ones. The proprietors were greatly amused at the dozen or so childlike tourists sticking their arms through the window and trying to call out orders in execrable Spanish. But we did get our crackers and fruit.

It was a mostly sunny day with temperatures in the low 70’s, a welcome respite from the literal glacial conditions that we had been trekking around in for the past several days. Indeed, when we pulled back into port we stopped for ice cream — Chileans and Argentines love their ice cream — which made the whole outing feel like some kind of cross between summer vacation and a school class trip.

When I returned to the hotel Alice was up and about and ready to explore the city a bit more, which is to say go shopping. She had her eye on a purse that she had seen briefly in a store window that we had driven past, quite close to our hotel, and when we walked there we were delighted to learn that the store was called “Carpincho”, which is the Spanish word for capybara (the world’s largest rodent…look it up!) and specialized in leather from the that particular beast. This was a wonderful thing because I myself am the longtime proud owner of a capybara leather jacket that I bought here in Buenos Aires about a dozen years ago whilst attending a conference. We have long called it my “rat coat”, and Alice now has a “rat purse” that complements it perfectly. It is a speckled suede-like leather, very beautiful and soft to the touch. We are now fully rodent-accessorized.

Our next goal was a well-known synagogue, Buenos Aires having a large Jewish population and this particular temple supposedly very elaborate and offering guided tours. But not, as it turned out, on Wednesdays. So we pounded on the door and when an Orthodox-looking gentleman answered I tried to talk our way in by playing the “I’m a Jewish tourist” card. He trumped it by playing the “Today is a Jewish holiday” card and said I could come to Sukkot services that evening if I wanted to see the place. Since I am extremely committed to avoiding religious services of any kind, we didn’t get to see the synagogue. So we visited the Teatro de Colón instead, Buenos Aires’ famous opera house and performing venue, hooking up with an English language tour of the building. It is beautiful and elaborate, built about 60 years ago in the style of the palace of Versailles.

This morning we continued our northward march towards the tropics, leaving Buenos Aires for Iguazú Falls (also spelled Iguassu and Iguaçu, in all cases with the accent on the last syllable). We’re now up at 26° latitude, just a few degrees south of the Tropic of Capricorn, which is a fancy way of saying that in stark contrast to our glacier visits of just a few days ago it is now 102° F and greater than 70% humidity. Or to put it even more simply, we are in Major Schvitzing Territory now.

I have been hyping the falls to Alice since I visited them on my previous trip here, and they did not disappoint. They are both higher than Niagara Falls (with cataracts ranging up to 280′ high), and with a higher water volume. As it happens, due to recent rainfalls the current volume is far higher than usual, with several million gallons per second thundering over the sides among all 270 cataracts. It is simply stunning, and you get up close and personal on a walkway that takes you right up into the spray of one of the larger cataracts. I will let a few photos do the talking:

See the boats? We will be on one tomorrow, getting very, very wet. But to continue…

…and to get a little more up close…

After completing the walkway up to the falls, we were not sated and so took a helicopter ride, from which vantage point they look like this:

I should mention that the falls are located at the “corner” where Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay meet, and that this all took place on the Brazil side of the border. (We had to change to a Brazilian bus and go through passport control to cross the border; we applied for and received Brazilian visas for this purpose a few months ago.) Tomorrow we will explore the Argentine side, which is to say we will ride on one of those boats right up to the fall, which as I recall from my experience 12 years ago is like having a swimming pool dropped from 200 feet onto your head. Wet fun!

Tomorrow will also be our last night here. On Saturday the journey home begins, with a flight to Buenos Aires in the morning, and an evening red eye home.

Categories: Patagonia | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

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