30 September 2007

The Chaco - Illustrated

If much of this post seems familiar it is because it is taken verbatim from my earlier post, "Back from the Chaco". However, this post does have additions and, more importantly, pictures.
I was in the Parque Nacional Defensores del Chaco towards the end of the dry season so everything was very dry, extremely dusty and decidedly warm.

My guide was Joni (pronounced Johnny) Arnold, who insists his parents were from Germany, despite his English surname. He grew up in a Mennonite community in Eastern Paraguay, and so found it easy to fit in with the Mennonites in Filadelfia. However, he speaks Spanish in preference to German, which is not the norm in Filadelfia. It is very odd to see bilingual signs in the supermarket, with German being the more prominent. Some of the comments below are dependent on my understanding of Joni`s words, which was imperfect. I apologise if any errors have crept in.

Those who worked with me will agree that I am not the best organised person on the planet, but I am way ahead of Joni.

At least he took vehicle preparation seriously. He just wasn´t very good at it. We had two spare tyres and plenty of extra diesel. We also had 20 litres of drinking water, which turned out to be barely enough.

Within an hour we had a flat tyre. OK, that´s bad luck. It can happen to anyone. Joni told me several times that it was 18 months since he last had a flat. But it must have been a rear tyre because the jack wasn´t big enough to lift the front axle so that the wheel was clear of the ground.

I was going to suggest that we lift the jack up on a rock when I realised that there were no rocks. The Chaco is an ancient sea bed and the ground is innocent of stones.

However, we were not far from town and it was hardly any time before a farmer came along. He and Joni chattered away in German while a he-man size hydraulic jack was produced and deployed. The farmer seemed quite pleased that his quite recent investment in this technology was being used. Maybe his wife had disapproved of the purchase.

We drove North to the most remote park in Paraguay. Coming the other way was a wind that was hotter and stronger than any Canterbury Norwester I have experienced. It whipped up the dust to the extent that, on occasion, we couldn`t see to drive.

And when a truck went past it was as though the daylight had been turned off for a couple of moments.

Apart from the ground doves examining the road for goodness knows what sustenance, birds were uncommon. The most obvious were the vultures and caracaras riding the thermals.

The vegetation of the Chaco is dominated by these huge cactus ´trees´.





At least one driver had much worse than a puncture to deal with that day.

Joni examining the wreckage. The driver is on the far right.

This truck had left the road and half-buried itself in the dust. Lots of bits, including the chassis, were bent but miraculously no-one seemed to have been injured. About a dozen men, whom I supposed were passengers, were philosophically lying in the shade waiting for a rescue. Two days later, when we drove back, everything had been cleared away.

Proof that I made it to the remotest park in Paraguay.

At the Park HQ we stopped for lunch. Having eaten I stalked a parakeet and then wandered over to the artifical lake, like the ones all the farmers create for their stock to drink at.
And perched on a twig was the most gorgeous small bird I have ever seen. It had a scarlet head, neck, breast and tummy that gleamed as if it were new that morning. A black stripe extended from the beak to the eyes, like a tiny Lone Ranger mask. This superhero outfit was moderated by tasteful, dark greeny wings. It was a vermillion flycatcher. In Bill Oddie`s Little Black Bird Book he quotes a vulgar birder expression for a really wonderful new bird. I will settle for MEGATICK.

Spring stirring in a Chaco cactus.

There is only one road in the park, to the one campsite, which was infested with other nature lovers, a band of German Jehova`s Witnesses taking a break from pestering the pacifist and rather solemn Mennonites of Filadelfia and Loma Plata. They actually produced copies of Watchtower in English and offered them to me.

However, offer made and declined, they proved to be pleasant and two or three managed simple conversations in English.

For the evening we drove on to the end of the road, a picnic spot at the base of Cerro Leon, the Park`s only hill. One of the drawbacks of driving through the Chaco is that you can`t see much beyond what is at the edge of the road. Most of Paraguay is an old sea bed and very, very flat.

An unidentified plant putting out new leaves in anticipation of the rains, probably still 4-6 weeks away.

There is a track up the hill, which we climbed to enjoy views of the Chaco under a haze. I guess it`s due to the dust. In the rainy season everything is washed clean, the trees sprout new leaves and the impression is quite different.
There is a cabin at the campsite, with beds and mattresses. The generator was not working so we had no light and the fridge was useless. Isn`t it lucky that I carry a torch with spare batteries, eh Joni?
There`s no shortage of dead wood around so cooking over an open fire was easy. Sleeping indoors was a hot option. There were just two mattresses left, so we dragged them outside and slept under the stars. The JWs had elegant mosquito nets. Joni didn`t bother with such refinements. We slept unprotected and, since it was so dry, were not bothered by mossies. However, there was fly with a whine that sounded very like a mossie. I`d have preferred a net. The haze meant that only the brightest stars were visible, but I did see bats chasing moths in the light of the fire`s embers.

The palo boracho (drunken tree) is found only in the Chaco. It is not a cactus but it has nonetheless developed a system for storing water during the wet season to tide it over during the dry months. The reservoir is in the trunk, often generating a distinctive bottle-shaped bulge. It is frequently planted around estancias in the Chaco. Other examples were already putting out new growth and I happily watched a turquoise-fronted parrot munching palo boracho shoots.

Another similarity with a cactus is the growth of offensive weapons. The palo boracho´s spikes are not as needle like as a cactus, but they are hard and sharp.




The fruits stay on the tree until the following spring when they burst to reveal small seeds packed in something very like cotton wool. The wool helps to disperse the seeds.


Day 2 was spent entirely in the Park. We farewelled the JWs early and went to explore other trails.
Joni on Day 1, when he wasn´t feeling ill.
Only there aren`t many. There is a another one that goes half way up the hill to a lookout, and one that meanders around on the flat. I walked along this one by myself because Joni was unwell. In fact, he spent most of the day dozing in the ute.
It was interesting, rather than spectacular, walking through the Chaco. Most of the trees were dormant, but I did find new growth and even flowers to photograph. Birds were not numerous, but the variety of species was remarkable. I seldom saw a species twice. Except the vultures.
This nest appeared to be unoccupied, but since I reckoned it was built by wasps or hornets I didn´t knock on the door. I showed it to Joni the next day. He helpfully described it as built by "insects". However, he did tell me that the dark ´sock´ to the left was an old hummingbird´s nest.
After about 50 minutes the trail became rocky and indistinct. Without a guide I had turn back. We returned to the camp for lunch, which was enlivened by the arrival of a family group of blue and yellow tanagers.
We both had a siesta.
The vultures would fly over every so often. I imagined them checking, "Drat, the humans still have water. Look again in 4 hours."
With nowhere new to explore I set off again on the flat track. Sure enough, I saw new species of birds, two types of parrot. On my way back I saw an animal. They generally vanish in the dry season, but this one was poking a white head out of a fallen tree trunk. I stopped and watched through my binoculars as it sniffed and growled. I`m pretty sure I was seen and smelled. But I stayed still and finally, after a number of false starts the white head was followed by a long, brown body and a long, brown tail. It trotted rapidly along its home `roof` directly away from me and vanished into the undergrowth.
Home to the white headed animal.
When he woke up, Joni was a disappointment. He could not recognise the beast from my description, although I`m sure there are not many white headed mammals in the Chaco. The Filadelfia museum finally solved the mystery. It was a tayra, a kind of giant (5kg) stoat.
Somehow the cooking/washing water supply was exhausted. It started out as a huge plastic drum, brim full. What had Joni been doing?
Not a big deal, though, because the campsite has an underground reservoir of rain water captured during the wet season. Joni retied the bucket to the line and dropped it into the reservoir. Heave. And the line came up without the bucket. We never saw the bucket again. I guess it sank.
There was one more vessel, a plastic container with water to flush the toilet. This time I tied it with a proper bowline and was able to draw plenty of water to store in our big drum.
A Chaco flower.
On the final morning Joni was much better. I showed him where the tayra slept and the path was alive with new and exciting birds, only about half of which I could identify from the field guide. One I did identify was the tiniest woodpecker you can imagine. It was smaller than a sparrow.
We set off back towards Park HQ. While Joni signed us out I looked for the vermillion flycatcher again. No luck, but I did see red crested cardinals. These are birds that are dressed in professional grey and white as if they were off to an important business meeting, to which they have added a scarlet jester`s hood. I also saw my first scythebill.
It`s amazing how, once you first identify a bird, they can suddenly be everywhere. We saw many more cardinals as we drove back to Filadelfia. We did finish off the water, but the vultures were disappointed. We lasted back to the town with fantasies of cold beers playing in our heads. And the hotel had a swimming pool. That dip was worth 3 beers!
Joni, having made a small fortune from the trip, invited me to an asado (barbecue) at his house for the evening. He cooked enough meat for about twelve, although it was only he, his wife and me. And there was cold beer.

Argentine Buses Disappoint

The first disappointment was getting into Argentina. I elected to cross the Parana River from Encarnacion to Posadas, which seemed simple enough.

I caught a bus quickly and it ploughed through the traffic to the Paraguayan customs post. Most of the passengers were locals, who stayed on the bus. Getting my exit stamp was quick and easy but the bus didn´t wait. Luckily the guide book had warned about this so I had all my luggage and my bus ticket with me. I just had to wait half an hour until the next bus from that company.

Getting two thirds of the way ocross the bridge was easy. The last third was a traffic jam that moved painfully slowly. Finally we were able to disembark and everyone went through Argentinian immigration. A charming lady who spoke good English listened to my request to use my NZ passport in Argentina when my Paraguayan stamps were in my UK passport. "Why not?" If only more government officials were this intelligent.

There was a queue for customs that moved at a snail´s pace. Eventually it transpired that this was the wrong queue, but I was not the only one misled by the lack of signs. A new queue formed for those not bringing in commercial goods and somehow I was at the back. Two customs ladies looked thoroughly disinterested, made me unlock and open my big pack and then merely glanced inside it. Maybe they had x-ray vision.

The 2nd bus was long gone and the driver had refused to give me my ticket back. The guide book did not explain that apparently you can hop on any bus from Argentinian Customs to the Posadas bus terminal. The route wound its way all over the city but did eventually end up in the bus terminal with just two passengers left.

And here was the answer to where are all the new buses in S. America. Huge, powerful new vehicles lined up to whisk the travelling public all over Argentina. Just you wait, I thought. One day you will be retired to wreck your suspension on Bolivian highways.

I adjusted my watch to Argentinian time and set about finding a bus to Iguacu. Miraculously there was one leaving in only 15 minutes and I got on it.

Other travellers had painted a rosy picture of Argentine buses, with seats that folded back to become comfortable beds. The better companies were praised for their selection of movies , the quality of the food they provide and the generous provision of alcoholic beverages. Coffee and water are constantly available. Lesser classes of bus are cheaper and deliver correspondingly less luxury.

This bus was "ejecutivo" class, which I now understand to mean that it will stop at any bus stop. Since these are placed along the road at about every 10th tree, this did not make for a high speed journey. There were frequent turns down lanes to little towns and stops along the main highway. Luckily it also meant that hawkers were allowed on the bus in Posadas so I was able to buy sandwiches and a soft drink. No steak meals here. The seats were "semi-cama". This means that they recline, but not to the extant of imitating a bed; just a tad better than economy class seats on a plane.


Even at this proletarian level of travel there was a coffee and water dispenser. The coffee was pretty good, too, if you like a tablespoon of sugar dissolved in an egg-cupful of black coffee. Oh well.


The countryside sometimes looked the same as Paraguay and sometimes not. I saw plantation forests for the first time on the trip. They were some kind of pine tree. For all I know they were pinus radiata, which is grown so much in NZ. Certainly they were well tended. Pruning was obvious.

There were also fields of bushes, which I took to be yerba, the basis of mate. The plants were at a convenient height for plucking leaves. In amongst this were cattle and a range of crops I could not identify. There was also plenty of bush, but from the height of the bus I could sometimes see that it was only a narrow strip alongside the road.

The road signs notified ever smaller distances to Puerto Iguacu, but the numbers went down so slowly. We were not going to arrive at 6:30 as scheduled. I amused myself by estimating the arrival time, based on assumptions like "we will not leave the main road again". I had settled on 7:30 to 7:45 when the distance to go shrank dramatically. We went from 50-something kms to 30-something to 11 in about 5 minutes. I swear I am not making this up. And we did not fly. I was awake all the time. We actually pulled in to Puerrto Iguazu bus station at about 6:50. I cannot explain it.

Exploring the Iguacu Falls will have a post of its own.

In the hostel the Via Barloche bus company was given a big boost. My informant had been plied with champagne and whisky. This is more like it.

Extensive enquiries failed to find a direct bus to Rosario at a convenient time. The best arrangement I could make was an overnight bus to Santa Fe, from where there should be lots of buses to Rosario, just 2 hours down the road. Via Bariloche was one of the two offices that offered this deal so I booked there, of course.

But the booking clerk invited me to accompany her to the other office with a Santa Fe service to issue the ticket. It wasn´t a Via Bariloche bus. Never mind. It was still cama class, with fold-almost-flat seats. It will be good.

It was a Plus Ultra bus and the seats were great. They are only three across and I had selected the side with a single seat so I had a window view and direct access to the aisle. No climbing over other passengers this time.

We left promptly and I leaned back. This was travelling!

For the start of the journey we were played a selection of music videos. There was no meal immediately, but Argentinians dine late and we left at 7:30pm. There was a paper bag of chocolate bars in the meantime.

By the time the movie started I was hungry, so I dug into my pack. I always carry food. It was a good film, too. Not the usual C-grade action flick. And I do applaud showing an English-language film with Spanish subtitles. I could understand everything in the rather involved plot. By the time the movie ended it was apparent that our paper bag was all that the company was going to supply. I dug deeper into my bread rolls and cheese.

I didn´t sleep as well as I expected. The seat was certainly comfortable enough so I cannot explain it. I could almost lie on my side as on a real bed.

By the time it was fully light we were driving through very flat country. Another former sea bed I guess. There was lots of grazing land here. On one estancia I even saw rheas, the S. American relative of the ostrich. Since they were in a paddock I assume they were domesticated and therefore not a tick.

I breakfasted on treacly coffee and more cheese rolls.

The distances on road signs suggested that we were making good time to Parana, and Santa Fe is just across the river from there. And indeed we pulled into Parana Bus Terminal with a full hour to make Santa Fe on time. People got off. Other people got on. The bus rolled back and changed to forward gear - and stopped. Very slowly the driver edged us forward so that we were not blocking any other buses and switched the engine off. Que pasa?

This nearly new wonder-bus had broken down. It was, of course, a Sunday. If Plus Ultra maintains a workshop in Parana there was no sign of it. The driver and his conductor opened huge doors around the engine and disappeared weilding spanners. They spent a lot of time on their cellphones. Passengers ran into the bus station for sandwiches.

Half an hour after we should have arrived in Santa Fe I started investigating the possibility of another bus. Yes, there was a direct bus to Rosario leaving in half an hour. I don´t suppose the fare was much more from Parana than from Santa Fe. I collected my day pack from inside the bus and requested my big pack from the luggage compartment. At that moment the engine restarted with a roar. The conductor tried to dissuade me, but I had already bought my new ticket.

The San Jose bus was semi-cama but plenty comfortable enough for the two and a half hour run to Rosario. And this conductor came round with snacks, sweets and coffees. No grog though. And the bus didn´t break down.

Rosario was the location of the 2007 Golden Oldies Hockey Festival. I got to the Riviera Hotel and my Hampshire Harlequins team mates at 4pm, with three whole hours to get ready for the welcoming ceremony. Excellent timing.

I have since checked the Via Bariloche web site. They have a "super-cama" service between Buenos Aires and Bariloche. I wonder what extra services you get on that run?

26 September 2007

I´m not dead

Sorry, blogwatchers, about the silence. I have been having an especially busy and great time at Iguacu and now at the Golden Oldies hockey in Rosario.

I have decided to have a clearance day on Thursday instead of going on a tour. That will enable me to get nearly 500 photos downloaded, catch up with my emails and post some more adventures on the blog.

In the meantime, thank you thank you to those who have left comments.

22 September 2007

A Quick Update

It feels like a long time since I visited an Internet cafe. It´s simply that the days have been so full.

I am currently in Puerto Iguazu. The last two days have been spent at and around the Falls. They are very spectacular and the surrounding park bursting with wildlife. There is much to write about but it will have to wait until after tomorrow´s trip to the Brazilian side of the Falls.

After that I get one of the luxury Argentinian buses overnight to Santa Fe. I want to go to Rosario but there are no direct buses at a convenient time. I am trusting that there will be lots of buses from Santa Fe to Rosario to get me there in time for the Golden Oldies hockey festival.

I know you are busting to ask, so I will tell you that yes, I have seen toucans. They are quite common around the Falls area and very spectacular.

I make no promises about when the next post will be.

19 September 2007

Ruta Uno - complete and illustrated

Yes, Route No.1 translates as Ruta Uno, not Ruta Una. I don`t understand why, but it does.

I have Jenny Spencer, my ex Peace Corps advisor, to thank for setting off down Ruta Uno. I didn`t get to all the places you suggested, Jenny, but to enough to make the trip more than worthwhile.

To make sure of getting off in the right place I was smart enough to select a bus with a large "Vaguaron" sign in the destination window. Only it didn`t finish its trip there, and I had to hop off smartly when I realised the bus was leaving Vaguaron.

Well, it`s not a big town, so I shouldered my pack and marched back towards the centre. Jenny had invited me to enjoy the view from the nearby hill (hills and views therefrom are rare and precious in Paraguay). I looked at the hill and decided that it was too much like hard work to climb with my big pack so I took a photo instead. Here it is.

The main attraction is a colonial church, with a museum for dessert. Only I had not noticed an old church from the bus. Hmm. After a few blocks I asked for directions and turned off the paved road. Two blocks later I still hadn`t seen any sign of the church, but I was being invited to purchase a bite to eat at a tiny cafe. As it was lunch time I agreed that this was a good idea. And where was the church? Oh, it`s two blocks that way.

Lunch finished, a young man invited me to sit in a cooler spot and have a chat. Joel was a journalist, and certainly managed to communicate well with this foreigner. Mostly he was interested in life in NZ and the opportunities to work there. I did my best, but had to refer him to the nearest embassy for detailed information. He was also interested in why someone would come all the way from NZ to visit a church in Vaguaron. A pretty reasonable question.

He assured me that my packs would be safe in the comedor, told me to wait and popped off on his motor bike to deliver his wife and their fairly new baby somewhere. He returned in 10 minutes and it was my turn to be the pillion pasenger.

Joel solved the problem of the hill by finding safe storage for my pack and taking me to the base of the hill. Together we scrambled up and so, Jenny, I did get to admire the view. He also pointed out a roof that, he promised me, belonged to the church.

At the top of the hill.

The South of Paraguay is much greener than the Chaco. There is more obviously farmed land, although there are plenty of patches of bush. Part of the hill had recently burned and Joel bemoaned the terrible number of fires raging in Paraguay. I gather that the Russians have promised to send a fire-fighting plane.

Back down in the village, we motored past the church. One of the reasons I had missed it from the bus was that I had been looking for a conventional stone church with a bell tower. This was a wooden structure and the bell tower was merely a lattice not as high as the main building. We passed on to the museum, located in the house of Dr Francia, Paraguay`s first post-independence dictator. Dr Francia was not a pleasant person. The museum was closed anyway.

The church seemed to be open, so I asked to dismount and see inside. From the moment I produced my camera it became apparent that Joel`s claim to work in television was no idle boast. He had an excellent command of camera angles and the importance of the position of the sun.

There was a nominal charge to enter the church. I have seldom felt I got such good value from visiting a building. Normally I get bored very quickly, but this was different somehow. The walls and supporting pillars were decorated with subdued, natural colours. S. American churches have tended to the garish. There were helpful information boards. They were printed on clear plastic, but Joel and the church guardian found a folder to place behind the plastic and allow me to photograph the information. One day I will copy them into an Internet translation engine and find out what they say.

Despite its modest size, Vaguaron has a one-way system and I now understand the wanderings of the buses. I bid a very fond farewell to Joel, reclaimed my big pack and set off to wait where the buses run. Bursting with local information I successfully hailed the direct bus to Ybycui.

I had a lot of strife with this place name. My final understanding is that it is pronounced Ee-bee-kwee. My attempts to master this have caused much hilarity amongst the locals. The bus took me to the village where, my guide book promised me, there was a hotel with a restaurant. My plan was to alight at the plaza, which is normally the community centre. Ybycui fooled me. It has no plaza. This is virtually unique in South America. However, I spotted the hotel and hopped off before the bus could carry me off to unknown parts.

I thought that if I didn´t photograph the hotel´s name no-one would believe me.

There were no lights on, and only one door half open. However my "Hola" produced a senorita from the equally unlit back rooms. Yes, they had a room. I chose the economico as the austere streak in me will always do. I was shown a perfectly acceptable room and the two bathrooms shared by the money-saving guests. I was also shown how to unlock and relock the front door when I wanted to go out or come back in.

The room rate I got was a steal. There was a working air conditioning unit in my room and since I appeared to be the only guest I had two private bathrooms!

Half an hour later I sallied forth to explore. The hotel was now fully locked and it was apparent that the restaurant would not be serving dinner that night. In lieu of a plaza Ybycui has a very long main street. My search for an Internet cafe was unsuccessful, and I drew an equal blank in my quest for a restaurant. I bought precautionary supplies from the supermarket, including a litre of cold beer.

I did find hot food for sale. A small establishment with no signage was barbecuing asaditos (something like kebabs) and hamburgers on the pavement. I suppose 2 hamburgers and a litre of beer is at least plenty of calories.

The next morning brought two unexpected events. The first was a power cut and the second was rain. Thunder rumbled and the rain came straight down. It certainly cooled the air. It didn`t matter that I had no air conditioning or fan.

The restaurant door was half open again. Yes, of course I could have breakfast. And by some miracle water was heated for my coffee before the electricity returned. When would the bus leave for the national park? "10 o`clock, but it won`t run because of the weather. Well, it might."

It didn`t. But by the time I gave up on the bus the rain had eased and I had a plan. I would hitch-hike to the park. I double checked the route and set off. Paraguay has a reputation of being an easy country to hitch-hike in and my experience backs that to the hilt. At least half the vehicles that passed indicated that they were shortly turning aside, which strongly suggested that they would have given a lift if they were going my way. And in less than 10 minutes I had a lift.

It`s a long time since I hitched a ride in the back of a ute and, with the breeze playing around me, I had fresh air all the way to the park.

Admission was a nominal 5,000 Gs ($1.30). First I visited the historical site of Paraguay`s first ironworks. It was based on iron deposits in the neighbourhood. The English language information was both informative and entertaining. The translation was not of the highest standard. For example, the Spanish word cañon can mean both canyon and cannon. You will be uplifted to know that this factory manufactured many canyons. There was no coal available for the high temperatures necessary, so the Paraguayans made "coal from trees". I presume they meant charcoal. It must have been charcoal burning on a huge scale.

The restored part of the ironworks.

The works were sponsored by dictator Carlos Antonio Lopez. He certainly had his darker side, but he did many constructive things for Paraguay. His blind spot was his son, who was mentioned in a previous post. Lopez Jnr initiated the war of the Triple Alliance in which the ironworks was an early casualty, destroyed by alliance troops.

While I lined up my first photo I made the acquaintance of Paraguay`s equivalent to sandflies. Who had forgotten to apply his insect repellent? That remedied, I was off to enjoy the natural history of the park. From the museum to the recreational area was an hour`s walk through the bush. Unlike the Chaco, cactuses were rare and most trees lacked spines. Birds sang in the treetops and, for the most part, stayed hidden. Plump doves foraged on the trail, but usually I only saw cinnamon brown wings as they fluttered out of sight. There were a few butterflies, but of disappointingly dingy colours.

At the recreational area was the first of the waterfalls the park is famous for. They were indeed pleasing to the eye. Something like Whangarei Falls, but barely half the height. Remember that Paraguay is generally very flat and has few waterfalls. The area beside the falls was equipped with a picnic table, which I spread out my lunch on. How thoughtful of the park authorities. It had not rained for some time so I risked taking off my waterproof.

The peace was dashed by the arrival of a high-spirited school party. They greeted me gaily and laughed at their inability to make me understand. Across the river I was quizzed by an anxious teacher. Had I seen three girls? He did not seem relieved that I had seen three girls earlier walking the track toward the museum.

In a grassy area I did see birds. Lots of red-rumped caciques, flashing their bright behinds as they flew and cackled from tree to tree. The visitor centre was a disappointment. It was firmly locked and looked as though it had been for some time.

A photogenic ant.

My worst case plan for returning to the village was to walk, but I still had time to follow the trail to another waterfall. Here the butterflies were more numerous and much more colouful. I even saw a couple of big blue and black morpho butterflies.

The Salta Guarani waterfall was quite a bit higher and well worth the walk.

Proof that I was there.

It was 4 or 5 km back to the park entrance. Optimistically I enquired of the ranger if there might be an afternoon bus. "Walk 4km along the road to (something I didn´t understand) and there will be a bus from there." It was encouraging but after the morning disappointment I wasn´t going to rely on it.

Striding along the highway it dawned on me how incredibly lucky I had been to get a lift all the way to the park, which is the end of the road. However, there were farms so there must be some other traffic. And the school party had a bus waiting to take them back to their homes.

I got a short lift quite quickly and then walked a long time with no passing traffic. I saw nothing that remotely resembled a bus or a place a bus would turn round. A farmer going the other way in a cart drawn by two cattle engaged me in pleasant conversation. He had a brother living in California. Of the 5,000 ha park, 1,000 ha had burned. Today´s rain was very welcome. He, too, promised public transport. There would be a micro at 5 o´clock.

My worst case solution was to walk all the way to Ybycui village so I kept on tramping. Eventually I did get a lift. Once again I travelled in the cargo section of a ute. And a small bus did pass us going towards the park. If I had needed it the afternoon bus was running.

In the evening I dined on asaditos and beer for a change.

I had visited a tiny part of the whole park. The very best waterfall, Salta Cristal, is approached from La Colmena, a settlement famous for being populated by the descendants of Japanese immigrants. Paraguay is a country of many surprises. But getting to La Colmena by public transport was too time consuming.

It was still two buses to get to my next destination on Ruta Uno, San Juan Bautista. It calls itself a ciudad (city) but that´s stretching it. Large village is more like it. I arrived at lunch time, so I first visited a comedor near the bus stop for a barbecued meat meal. When I asked for directions to a hotel or similar I was escorted round to the back and shown a nice little room. It was expensive, but it did feature a modern air conditioning unit and a private bathroom. And I had no evidence yet that there was any alternative, so I took it.

After settling in I sauntered along the main road checking out the birds and taking photos when I realised that across the street was a military installation. Not a good place to be seen using binoculars and a camera! I changed direction and found the plaza, where I watched a nice bird with blue wings and ate ice cream while soaking up the tranquilo atmosphere.

In the night the modern air conditioning unit dripped on me. The pipe for discarding moisture must have been blocked.

Jenny´s most urgent recommendation was a village a little way off Ruta Uno called Santa Maria de Fe. It was a lovely, laid back place. Plus there were monkeys in the plaza. And for anyone planning a trip to Paraguay I echo this endorsement. It is charming. I did remember the women´s collective, Jenny, but the only place I saw with "co-operativa" on the wall was closed.

The plaza is well wooded. At the time I arrived it was monkey-less but a large flock of monk parakeets was noisily building large, untidy nests. At times their shrill gossip was almost deafening. The park keeper (pictured) saw me sitting there and came over for a chat. Communication was limited because I had great trouble understanding his accent, but he companionably shared his terere.

I mentioned the monkeys and he got straight to his feet. He took a few bananas from a bag beside his wheelbarrow and beckoned me to follow. Behind the museum in what looked like private garden he whistled at the trees. And monkeys came to investigate. I had imagined something small like squirrel monkeys or even tamarins but these were big animals. What I took to be the dominant male was all black, while the others were off-white with black faces. They were at least the size of howler monkeys. The older members of the troupe had a thick fringe of fur round their faces, like hillbilly beards. If anyone knows what species they were, please leave a comment or send an email.

My impromptu guide held out a banana and the black male came down and cautiously took it. Who had left his camera behind in the plaza? Silly Bill.

This noble park tender then showed me two wild bees´ nests in the plaza before resuming his duties. The more accessible one he had assued me was populated by bees that did not sting, so I took some photos. Fortunately he was right, because several got in my hair.

Stingless bees at the entrance to their nest.

After absorbing more of the tranquilo atmosphere of this remarkable village I moved on. I would have eaten there, but everywhere was closed, including the comedor. One passing villager said there were buses at 1 and 2 pm. Another said 12:30 and 1:00. In fact, a bus came at about 12:45 and took me into San Ignacio, where I got a very nice lunch of vori vori, a typical Paraguayan dish.

There were flat sections of Ruta Uno, but mostly there was enough irregularity in the land to generate widely spaced contours. The farms passed by the bus window to Encarnacion. Properly this is the end of the highway, but I have counted my visit to Trinidad as part of my Ruta Uno trip.

The chosen day started with rain. Heavy, we mean serious business rain backed up by deep no-nonsense rumbles of thunder. It was like that in Ybycui. It will clear up. And indeed the intensity waned so I hardly got my jacket damp as I jogged over the road to the bus station. But it didn´t stop.

I quickly found a bus to Trinidad. I do not refer, of course, to the Caribbean island, but to Santissima Trinidad del Parana, one of the many Jesuit settlements in the province now called Misiones. I think it was the wrong bus. It was a bus that did not want to get out of the garage that morning. Maybe it didn´t like the rain, but it sulked. It found traffic jams in the town and stopped for ages for no reason. Once out on the open road it grumbled along at a crawl. It was due to go all the way to Ciudad del Este and seemed determined to turn a 4-5 hour journey into an overnighter. It took over 70 minutes to travel the 35km to Trinidad and I pity the passengers going all the way to Ciudad del Este.

The Jesuits set up scores of settlements on either side of the Parana River. They brought Christianity (of course) and significant economic development to the indigenous people. They also organised an army that put an end to slave raids from Brazil. In particular they virtually controlled the yerba trade. This plant is the basis for Paraguay´s tereré and Argentina´s mate, so it is consumed in great quantities. Eventually the Jesuits became so powerful that the Spanish king - Carlos V I think - evicted them from S. America.

The settlements are called reducciones (don´t rely on that spelling) and are now all in ruins. It was a few hundred metres from the bus stop to the site and, whilst the rain had almost stopped, it was unnaturally dark; almost to the level of moonlight. The sequence was classic. There was a flash of lightning, closely followed by a very loud clap of thunder. A few very large, fat raindrops heralded a downpour of impressive dimensions. I wriggled into my waterproof in record time and skeltered to the entrance where the ticket office offered shelter.

For quite a long time the custodian and I gazed in gloomy silence at the rain as the paths became streams. Eventually the rate of the downpour eased enough that I decided to resume my role as tourist and I walked out onto the grass. Miraculously, the ground had absorbed most of the water and my boots hardly squelched at all.

The walls and floors were of stone and brick, so the dimensions of the buildings are very clear. There are no roofs left, so I guess they were built of timber, possibly with some kind of thatch. Stone buildings for the indian workers and their families would have been luxury compared to the indigenous style of residence.

At some stage the original church and cemetry were replaced by new ones, but the "primitive" church is about as well preserved as the newer one.

The bell tower of the first church.

The rain continued to vary in force, with one burst of quite torrential precipitation. Luckily I was near the section where the archaeologists have roofed in a section of cloister and was able to take cover.

There were lovely white flowers growing in the grass. They were fairly delicate and had been badly battered by the rain. I took photos of a couple, but they weren´t focussed correctly.

I was most surprised that visitors were permitted to descend into the crypt. There is nothing there now. I do not understand is how it wasn´t flooded, because the entrance is open to the elements and plenty of rain was able to flow down the steps.

I´m not sure if visitors are supposed to climb to the upper level, but the chain was down and there was no-one watching. This is the altar end of the new church.

In all, I wandered around the site for an hour and a half. I didn´t see a soul. The custodian kept dry in his office and no other tourists braved the weather.

There is another site in nearby Jesus, but my enthusiasm for Jesuit ruins was amply satisfied. Besides, the buses to Jesus run hourly, and waiting for up to 60 minutes, even in a bus shelter, did not appeal.

The bus back to Encarnacion was an optimistic, can-do sort of bus. Water sprayed busily from its wheels as it completed the return journey in three quarters of an hour.

And that really was the end of Ruta Uno, because I crossed the river into Argentina the next morning.

18 September 2007

The Salar de Uyuni - Part One

This is the start of an account of a three-day trek across some of the most spectacular scenery in Bolivia, including the salt desert (salar) near Uyuni. I apologise for the formatting. I have tried to get the spacing right but Blogger just isn´t behaving itself today.

It commenced just across the border in San Pedro de Atacama, Chile, with a minivan ride to the Bolivian immigation office. The story really starts when we transferred to a Toyota 4x4. The tourists in the group were 3 Frenchmen, a Spaniard and myself. The same company was running a companion ´jeep´ in which a French couple were escorted by a French-speaking guide. This was presumably quite an expensive extra. The guide, Guillermo, was Chilean and loved to show off his expertise in both French and English. I suspect he thought of himself as one of the boys, and enjoyed the company of the younger men in my party. With this mixture the lingua franca was French. I managed OK. I think it was the Spaniard who struggled most. But he could talk to our driver/guide much more easily than the rest of us.

There were plenty of specific natural wonders along the route, but the background scenery was sometimes quite breathtaking. I apologise for the quality of the photos. Getting the exposure right to capture the range of colours was a knack I never acquired.

Some mountains sported lacy threads of snow, greenish tinges where there was some grass cover and rocks of many different hues.
For the most part we drove across very level, dry terrain. The jeeps were quite capable of driving all over the level sections, but mostly they followed well established tracks.
I´m writing this up so long after the event that I can´t remember names. I think it was Vincent (I will call him Vincent), a French student, who claimed the premium seat beside the driver. The other two French guys had scrambled into the back first, and thus had the least comfortable bench at the back. For them to get in and out the Spaniard and I in the middle row had to get out first so that the seat could be folded forward. We did offer to swap after the first day, but they stuck to their awkward possie.
The first named attraction was the Laguna Verde (Green Lake), which gets its colour from minerals in the water. For some reason I don´t have a picture of it. It was large and green and fringed with ice. This seemed odd in the sunshine, but we were very high and it got extremely cold at night.
We were allowed 20 minutes at a thermal spring. The Europeans were strangely reluctant to take up the chance of a swim. After the cold showers in San Pedro and the prospect of 2 nights with no shower I was into my togs in no time to get a good soak.
At least my example prompted Vincent to strip off and try the water.
Next stop was "the geysers". These turned out to be an area of fumaroles, although one of the holes contained a small sputtering spray of hot water that might technically have been a geyser. However, it was genuine thermal activity with fumes and boiling mud and much higher than any site in NZ. We were almost at 5,000 masl.
There followed a long drive through the dry, multi-hued rocks towards our lunch destination.
The view over the driver´s shoulder showing the "road" that we were following.
The driver must know the area very well. I´d need a map and a GPS to navigate in this terrain.
Finally we met life. A trickle of water through the rock had attracted a couple of dozen gulls. Goodness knows what they found to eat. Beyond them some low buildings came into view. They were built around three sides of a courtyard to provide some shelter from the wind.
I wonder if they have any function other than hosting high-altitude tourists. There was a rapid exchange of Spanish between our driver and the resident ladies. We were directed to one dormitory, then another. Then our companion jeep arrived and the merry-go-round started again because the French couple wanted a room to themselves and there weren´t any two-bedded rooms. Eventually they did get a room to themselves and Guillermo bunked in with us. The drivers disappeared to unknown quarters, where they turned the page of their job descriptions and cooked lunch.
The Cordillera Tours ´jeeps´ before the other company arrived.
Eventually another company arrived with two full jeeps, so the sleeping quarters ended up quite full. There was strangely little interaction between the tourists of the competing tour companies.
Our afternoon treat was a visit to Lago Colorado, a larger lake. This one is coloured red, due mainly to its occupants. These are red micro-organisms that flourishin the salty water and hundreds of flamingoes feasting on them.
First of all we were driven to a small hill that permitted a wide view over the entire lake. Over this lookout blew a wind that removed hats and threatened to freeze the innermost cells of your body.
We had an hour to explore the lake edge.
For Vincent and me this was an hour of attempted nature photography. Almost the entire world´s population of puna (James´s) flamingo breed on this lake and a good portion of them were enjoying the winter season amongst the ice sheets.
With my regulation camera I had to be content with groups that stalked earnestly over to drink the fresher water that arrived courtesy of a stream. Vincent was brandishing a camera with a massive telephoto lens. It must also have had a monster battery pack because he calculated that he had taken over 100 pictures that afternoon.
Even in the lee of the little hill the wind was more than noticeable. Even I, ardent naturalist that I am, surrendered the last few minutes of my hour for the shelter of the jeep. It was Vincent, oblivious of time, that kept us waiting.
Back to the lodge and French conversation until our driver/chef served dinner. It was hot and nourishing and accompanied by a bottle of wine, but not a patch on Mario´s offerings on the Salkantay Trek.
Heating for the tourists´ quarters was one tiny wood-burning stove with barely a handful of twigs for fuel. If this was a hint to stop nattering and retire early it was entirely successful. Most of us used sleeping bags under the blankets and prayed that we would not need to make a nocturnal trip across the bare concrete floor of the corridor to the bathroom.
The dormitory windows were caked with ice in the morning. Guillermo cheerfully told us that this was nothing compared to a trip some years age when it reached minus 25 during the night. It was quite enough thank you, Guillermo.
Thankfully the previous day´s wind had died down and it was really quite pleasant in the sun. Day 2 started off with another cross-country journey through other-worldly scenery.
Our first destination was the famous stone tree. This is not a fossil, but a weirdly eroded piece of rock that does make you think "tree".
The arbol de piedre.
In fact it is just one of a large number of strangely sculpted rocks. I took several photos of the less renowned examples. I will post them separately or email them to any funny-shaped-rocks fans. Send me an email or post a comment.
And on through desert valleys, some with sparse tussock grasses and some without.
An outcrop of layered rock took my attention. "Could we stop for a photo?" I asked. "Of course," answered our chauffer. The layers reminded me of the pancake rocks at Punakaiki, but these had been tilted at some stage of their history.
What I christened the "Pikelet Rocks". They are not marked on the itinerary because in this area they are not very remarkable. Vincent is in the centre photgraphing a ´living rock´ plant.
And once I got out, Vincent had to unship his sophisticated gear and take a dozen snaps or so.
This is another attempt to capture the range of colours that surrounded us as we drove across the Andes
To be continued in a separate post.

17 September 2007

Asuncion

I´m not a great fan of cities and Asuncion didn´t change that.

Once I had established myself in pleasant accommodation I went walkabout to orient myself. It seemed that, despite the guide book´s assurances, Pension de Silva was still in a poor part of town and there are homeless families camped under black plastic in the nearby Plaza Uruguaya. I did not feel totally comfortable walking around after dark.

In the daytime, though, there was a walking tour of the city that allowed me to photgraph the big, historical buildings and visit the museum in the city´s oldest building. I ended up in the Plaza de los Heroes, which features some statuary and the Panteon, where the nation´s heroes are honoured.

To my amazement, this building is the final resting place of Francisco Solano Lopez, the dictator who initiated the war of the Triple Alliance by declaring war simultaneously on Brazil, Uruguay and Argentina. Lopez´delusions cost Paraguay a huge percentage of its menfolk (one estimate is that after the war there were 10 women to every man), yet he is still held in high regard (locally) and his fat face appears on the 1,000 Gs note.

More agreeably, the Lido Bar is located just across the road. This is a landmark eatery, where I sampled the local dishes, sopa paraguaya and chipa guasu. These are both very tasty, but neither of them is a soup so the reason for the former name is a mystery. During the lunchtime rush you have to wait and grab a stool at the bar as it is vacated, the establishment is so popular. No school-age fast-food servers here. Having hips wider than the counter is no bar to employment as a waitress at the Lido.

Both Lonely Planet and my special adviser on Paraguay, Jenny, recommend Bolsi Bar. It has the same stools at a counter system as Lido Bar, but much fancier prices. However, I enjoyed my splurge, and if I had my notes with me I could spell the type of fish I ate. Surubi? Anyway, it was excellent.

My lodging was just round the corner from the Museo Etnografico (ethnography = "tribes and such"). There I was taken aback to be greeted by a locked metal grille. A sign invited me to ring the bell, an action that produced a smiling attendant who eagerly de-padlocked the grille and let me in. In the hour-and-a-half I was there I was the sole visitor, which explains why it is impractical to leave the front door open.

There is much good material in the museum, but the presentation is unusual. Exhibits are sorted by who collected them, rather than what they are or which tribe produced them. However, there was no restriction on photography, so I have many souvenir snaps. These are mostly taken using flash because the light was quite low.

The museum itself has many black and white photos from the 1950s featuring scenes from a ritual that involved many costumes and masks. Unfortunately the Spanish explanations were well beyond me. Other photos featured a very butch German archaeologist with various indigenous groups.

A friend of a friend in NZ has a Paraguayan wife from Paraguay´s small ethnic Korean community. An email was sent to the wife´s sister, Lizza Eum, to say I was in the country and a copy gave me Lizza´s phone number. I replied to the email and, several hours later in the evening, phoned the number. Unfortunately Lizza had not checked her email for a little while and so was very surprised to get a call from a NZer.

Luckily her English is excellent and she grasped the situation as though a call in English from a complete stranger was something that happens every week.

First of all she rounded up an English-speaking friend, Rodolfo, to be my chauffer and guide for an afternoon. Rodolfo´s English wasn´t as fluent, but with some help from my Spanish, we managed to communicate. With the aid of a phone call, Rodolfo overcame the incomplete directions in the guide book and drove me to the Museo Boggiani in San Lorenzo.

This is another ethnographical museum. The exhibits were of much better quality and they were beautifully presented. The feature was a large collection of feather artifacts. The colours have been preserved much more successfully than in the central museum. They were spectacular. And once again there was no restriction on photography.

Rodolfo didn´t appear to share my interest in natural history, but he good humouredly took me to a park near the airport as the light faded. A quick walk identified no birds, but the winged creatures darting across the lake were bats. I don´t think Rodolfo believed that there are small mammals with wings except in Dracula movies.

For my last evening in Asuncion Lizza organised a dinner. I spent a good part of the day riding buses, because Lonely Planet was out of date on the opening hours of Museo del Barro. It now only opens its doors at 3:30pm on Thursday to Saturday. I can see that it is well organised and presented and justifies its status as Asuncion´s most recommended museum. However, it proved once again that Bill and modern art exist in different realities. But I did enjoy the indigenous art section.

Before returning to the pension I remembered to buy a bottle of wine. A shower, a shave, some clean clothes and then call Lizza, as arranged. Unfortunately something had come up and the dinner was cancelled. A shame, but these things happen.

What to do with a bottle of wine? It´s too heavy to carry with me. Better drink it. So I had a couple of good slurps before going out to a local restaurant. I tried a new dish - horse. Those familiar with Round the Horne will recall risible refences to the "horse meat shop in the Balls Pond Road". Well, I can tell you that horse steak is good food and not terribly different from beef.

Back in my room I was assisting digestion with more sips of wine when a message was delivered. Javier, Lizza´s brother-in-law, was sorry that the dinner had been called off and could we meet for a drink. This rendezvous was successfully completed and we had a very pleasant chat in Asuncion´s Britannia Pub. Luckily this was all in English. Javier had studied in Pennsylvania for four years. I had imbibed so much wine that my Spanish would not have been reliable.

Javier told me about a tourist train and an information office, neither of which I had come across in the guide book. So I postponed my departure to check these out. The train runs twice monthly and the information office provided some literature, including a very useful map.

And then I donned my pack and set off for the delights of Ruta Uno.

14 September 2007

A brief Spanish Lesson

Today´s lesson is on shop names.

Mostly they are quite logical. A libreria sells libros (books). A papeleria sells papel (paper) and other stationery items. A farmacia sells pharmaceuticals. If you say it out loud it makes perfect sense. So what does a ferreteria sell?

Yes, got it in one - hardware. Sorry, if you thought a ferreteria sells ferrets you just haven´t been paying attention.

12 September 2007

In and Out of Concepcion -now with pictures

Well, I´ve used a fair few travel companies on this adventure so I suppose it had to come eventually. I´ve travelled with NASA. True. The full name of the company was NASA {something} S.A. A Paraguayan subsidiary, no doubt. And I do have photos to prove it. Other pictures will be added to this post shortly.

It was one of the earlier shuttles. Indeed it still showed evidence of 19th century design features. At least the seats were, very slightly, padded. And it got all the way to Concepcion without a puncture. That was probably because it never even approached take-off speed.

The bus terminal was well staked out by waiting carreterias; that´s horse-drawn taxi carts. A youthful driver offered his services at a reasonable price and I right-hoed. I quickly came to doubt my decision. The poor horse was a bony grey and the school-age driver was far too ready to use his whip on the unfortunate beast.

My chosen hotel turned out to be full, but the proprietor directed me to another hotel. "Two blocks and turn right." What I didn´t establish at the outset was that there were another three long blocks after the turn and I foolishly carried my pack suitcase style in the heat. So, all hot and bothered, I applied to the Hotel Imperial. No rooms there either, but I was passed on yet again. A tall young man led me along the street, thankfully only half a block, to a residencial that I would otherwise have overlooked. Yes, they had a room. It was expensive at 50,000 Gs per night but I took it rather than trudge round the town´s dusty streets any more.

It was a good choice. The tariff included a nice breakfast and I was made extremely welcome by Senora Esperanza, who actually spoke a few words of English and German for when my Spanish failed. And the nearby Hotel Imperial provided good, cheap evening meals.

I had gone to Concepcion deliberately to be able to travel by boat on the Rio Paraguay. The ideal would be to go North for a day, where it is wilder and the birdlife more abundant, and then head South to the capital, Asuncion.

So, in the morning I trekked to the port. No ticket office. No posters of schedules. The old man sitting in the shade just inside the port gates was confident, though. The Cacique would leave for Asuncion tomorrow (Sunday) morning at 6:00. At least that tallied with the guide book.

My one source of recent information about Paraguay, Jenny recently retired from the Peace Corps, was adamant. "Whatever time they say, get to the dockside two hours earlier." Oh noooo.
A placid moth hanging out on a Concepcion pavement.

Next call was an optician. One of the arms of my spectacles had come adrift. It´s a common problem and easy to fix if you have the tools, but I couldn´t get the shop to accept any money for the service.

The kindnesses continued. Esperanza had explained that there was a big feria, which normally means holiday but in this case appeared to be something between a fun fair and the Mystery Creek Field Days. Would I like to go? Of course I would. Her friend has a motor bike.

The friend, Abel, was a young man with a ready smile. I bravely smiled back and determined that I would not let on that I am not a happy passenger on a motor bike. Helmets are a big city thing. Concepcion has many bikes and scooters but I never saw a helmet.

In fairness, Abel drove very well and always cornered at low speed so we never leaned over very far. And the road was paved all the way to the showgrounds, which meant we had a smooth ride.

Tractors and 4x4 utes look much the same the world over. There was some moto-cross, if that is the correct name for motor bikes racing round a dirt track with lots of lumps so that they can make their bikes jump.


There is an airborne bike there if you look carefully.

In another arena Abel promised lasso work was going on, but when we got there it was all rather vague. I saw two throws miss and one that landed neatly over the target´s head. But the horseman then simply rode alongside his captive to the exit. No taught ropes and bucking steers here.

Cattle were being shown. The bovines were mostly relaxing in the shade, but I got a few photos, including this brahma bull with several rosettes.

There was indeed a fun fair, but that only got going at night.

While we were enjoying a cold drink I noticed that vision in my right eye was blurred. I´d rubbed it so I presumed my contact lens had gone off centre. This is something that happens with contact lenses. I decided that since it wasn´t uncomfortable I would leave it until we got back to sort out. Only Abel had to be seeing perfectly on the motor bike. There is, of course, a tiny possibility that the lens had come right out. As a sop to good practice I scanned the ground with the good eye. And there was a lens-sized circle on the concrete. It cost 500 Gs for admission to the toilet so that I could wash it.

Returning to the town Abel asked if I had seen the cathedral. I confessed I hadn´t, so he made a detour. A very bland building. Think of a cathedral made of Duplo bricks. Next he showed me a plaza I had overlooked and we stopped to have a look at the museum. It´s not worth a long detour, but at least the town remembers some of its sons who served their country, mainly in the Chaco War. The supervising senora was properly thrilled to get a NZ signature in the visitor´s book.

Abel refused all my efforts to contribute to the petrol.

Concepcion on Saturday night was humming. Groups of young people clutching cans of beer clustered round cars with unpleasantly loud sound systems. What a pity. Comcepcion seemed such a nice place.

I determined to be at the port by 5 o´clock. One hour early was all I could face. Esperanza insisted that a 4:30 breakfast was perfectly all right. She would phone for a taxi in the morning. A taxi was a good idea because there would be a lot of drunks around the port. I declined Abel´s offer of a motorbike ride in the pre-dawn.

And at 4:30 the water was boiling for coffee and nice bread rolls were laid out. Abel was up anyway and tried to convince me that the bike would carry both of us and my pack. I declined to try it. I don´t think the pack placed in front of Abel permitted any steering. So he graciously went instead to locate a taxi, since Esperanza´s phone declined to work.
Esperanza photographed before 5am.

The taxi driver was a non-smiler, and drove very slowly. Maybe he was worried about running into drunks. And there were many of last night´s party-goers still up and about. They seemed merry rather than potential assailants, but I´m not sorry I chose the cab. The bar just outside the port gates was still well patronised, and the party animals spread themselves generously across the street. Grumpy tried to extort 30,000 Gs, but Esperanza had warned me that the correct fare was 20,000. Anyway, a young couple were hiring the taxi before I´d even got out. He settled for 20,000.

I lugged my gear into the port, where there seemed to be a lot of slow-motion activity. A helpful bystander pointed out the Cacique; a boat-shaped collection of law wattage lights in the centre of the river heading downstream towards Asuncion. Oh no. After all my dedicated getting up early I´d missed it!

Another boat, the Aquidabán (pictured), was moored tidily. This one, my informat told me, was going North. Ah ha. Maybe I can get the ideal trip including some of the wilder stretches upriver. After a deal of frustrating non-communication I finally determined that this vessel would not be getting back to Asuncion for a week, and I couldn´t afford that much time. "You get the Cacique. It leaves at 7 o´clock." And finally my early morning brain registered that the Cacique was arriving from the North. It had simply been dropping downstream to turn and moor against the current. If I´d listened to the explanation properly I would have known. I understand llengando (arriving) perfectly well.

The Aquidabán had secured the berth at the lump of concrete that passes for a wharf in Concepcion. But the Cacique was prepared. She nosed into the shallows and extended planks across the water into the mud. Passengers and freight wibble-wobbled their way across with care and no accidents.

Walking the Cacique II´s plank.

The passenger cabin was plentifully provided with wooden seats, that I noted were not bolted to the deck. In fact, it was desirable to drag them around so that hammocks could be slung between the seats.

Cacique II, showing some of the hammocks.

As predicted, the Cacique II shipped planks and truly set off downstream at 7:00. The Rio Paraguay is very wide. Even when there are multiple channels it is hundreds of metres from bank to bank. We tended to follow the outside of bends, presumably to extract maximum assistance from the current, so I could usuallu get a decent view of one shore. I was surprised at the lack of birdlife. Where the water was shallow enough for water plants I had expected herons and the odd duck but the only bird I identified was a new species of vulture. I did better than that from the NASA shuttle (2 species of stork, a heron and a roseate spoonbill).

I had a long conversation with Maricel. I think I´ve spelled that correctly. He and his motor bike were going to Puerto Rosario. He was 61, had 4 children (not a lot) and lived in Concepcion. He generously shared his tereré with me. This is almost universally drunk in Paraguay but, so far as I know, in no other country. It is a herbal tea (mate) made from yerba with added spices. It is made with icy cold water and is very refreshing. In Argentina, I´m told, the population is equally devoted to the same herb in hot water. Anyway, I credit the tereré with not needing to drink so much water that day.

Maricel advised renting my hammock early. I wasn´t tired, but I hopped in to try it, of course. And woke up an hour later. Gosh, hammocks are comfortable. This beat buses hands down.

Not all the passengers were such good company. One old chap sat by himself. Every so often he would remove his dentures and flob all over the cabin floor. He only had to stand up and spit out of the window, for goodness´ sake.

We could, of course, wander round the boat, and my head still has several lumps to attest to the lack of headroom.

There were several stops en route. I´m blessed if I can tell how the captain could identify just which bit of mud was the disembarkation point. A young mother asked me to ferry her bag of possessions shore. She was carrying her baby, so how could chivalrous Bill refuse? But a crew member took the child and stepped ashore with the confidence of one who knows the wobble rythyms of the plank. So the mother walked across with only a handbag and Bill bounced along afterwards with the heavy sugar sack.

At one spot it was evidently too shallow to reach the bank. What I thought was a lifeboat was revealed as a lighter instead. The two passengers who needed to leave were rowed ashore while we chugged gently to maintain position against the current.

Night gently fell. From my first day in Paraguay I had seen evidence of many actual or recent fires. In cultivated areas they consume the tinder dry grass, and the trees generally seem to survive with a little scorching. After dark the number and extent of the fires became much more apparent. One was a true forest fire, with trees blazing fiercely. I saw no monsoon buckets or even whack-a-bunny fire beaters. I read subsequently in the newspaper that Paraguay has a major problem with forest fires at the moment. And there are some valiant fire-fighters; I just never saw them.

It´s because of the smoke and the dust that the sun seems so red every morning and evening. And the rainy season is still some weeks away.

Puerto Rosario came and Maricel departed with his motor bike. I settled into my hammock and slept. I woke a couple of times. I actually put my jacket on. It was cool and a breeze played happily through the windows.

The guide book told me to expect a 30 hour journey, but it´s quicker downstream. We docked in Asuncion after 21 hours at 4am. What a wretched time to arrive. There was no rush to disembark, but one guy set off with his sugar sacks on a barrow, so I followed him. There were a couple of men lounging in the port and one fell in beside us. He asked if I wanted a taxi, which indeed I did want. I thought it was odd that there were none waiting. In Concepcion the horse carts were out in force to greet the boat´s arrival.

He led the way down a street past the customs building. Always the taxis were further on. The blocks by the river are described as the place in Asuncion you shouldn´t go late at night. If you think I was uncomfortable about this you are right on the button. I was carrying both my packs and couldn´t run.

Then I recognised the street where my destination hotel was located. "I´ll walk to the hotel. It´s only two blocks." And I thanked my mysterious guide and set off with a purposeful step. Mind you, walking the dockland streets of an unknown city in the wee hours is not a pastime I recommend with or without a strange companion. It was more like 5 blocks in fact, but Hotel Embajador was there. It looked grotty but it´s in Lonely Planet so it must be OK. The entrance was a seedy flight of stairs with a locked gate half way up. "Hola." A voice answered cautiously. I enquired about a room. "No," replied the voice. Maybe they really didn´t have a room free. Maybe it´s just policy not to admit strangers at 4:45am.

I had passed a 3-star hotel on the way. This was no time to worry about cost. It was open and they did have a room. I was safely in Asuncion.

In the morning I hailed a taxi and transferred to LP´s #1 recommendation, Pension da Silva.

In the daylight I followed the route of a recommended walking tour. At one point it overlooked the river. Cacique II had not moved. If I had only asked, I´m sure I could have stayed safe and comfortable in my hammock until morning. Oh well.