Iguazu Falls, and last visit with friends
After an epic trip of 3 days in the back of a Landrover, a stop in Mendoza, and then the day-night-day bus again, we arrived in the far North East tip of Argentina at Puerto Iguazu , home of jungles, big waterfalls and lots of people!
I (Jamie) was to volunteer at a bird sanctuary/wildlife centre as a vet while Katie... we didn't know actually. Anyway the folk at Guira Oga were quite happy to have us both helping out, and set us the task of rejuvenating the monkey enclosure. After a couple of days Adeline and Anthony arrived, two French travellers who also wanted to volunteer, and they joined us at our campsite also. They were heaps of fun!
not sure what species of monkey these were...
We built platforms and rope ladders, pretty much whatever took our fancy..
Toto and Kiten
And of course we checked out the wildlife
Mirem was a lonely anteater that we would take for foraging trips - great times lounging about and watching her feed furiously on a rotten log
The Park Guards would sometimes bring road-injuries to the refuge, where the Brazilian vet 'Anderson' had some very limited supplies. This forest cat didn't survive.
So we confirmed the cause of death = lots of haemorrhage (surprise!). Pity about the national highway passing thru the middle of the most abundant jungle in Argentina..
Half an hours walk to 'work' in the morning
Cooking and cervezas in the evening - all in our common language (Spanish) The shopkeepers thought we were hilarious, arguing about what to buy. 'Don't they have their own language?'
Farewells - an asado with the friendly staff at Guira Oga - some really dedicated people. Seems we were forever saying goodbye to good folk on this trip!
´Hay que a matar los humanos´
There’s a wooden sculpture in the spot where you start the tour of Guira Oga, a wildlife rescue and rehabilitation centre on the border of the Iguazù National Park. The carvings represent a family group of three monkeys, `shot by the owner of a hotel next door,´ explains Nahuel, the bright-faced young guide.
But he doesn’t go on. It’s a sad story, and the group of struggling and yelping primary-age children haven’t even blinked. They want to see some of the birds they can hear and almost spot, in the large enclosure amongst the trees behind him. So he continues with instructions and advice for the walk, and they move on. But it’s a story worth hearing. It shows who always wins when human interests come against animal.
`They were a family of mono aulladores (Howler monkeys),' explains Silvia Elsegood, founder of the Guira Oga centre. `and they never came down from the trees.´
Of what was a large local group of wild Howlers only 15 years earlier, the sole remaining connections are Toto and Kiten, two males confined to their 8 meter high recinto alongside the guided trail. Silvia hand-raised Toto after his mother was killed by hunters, and Kiten was brought to the centre with a spinal injury, thought to have occurred during a leadership battle in his group. A surgery and hospital care left him with sufficient mobility to move about his cage, but not enough to be released back into the jungle.
`For a long time, Toto was free here at Guira Oga,´ continues Silvia. `But he wasn’t afraid of humans, and sometimes he would leave the trees and go to the hotel alongside. He even entered the cabins and stole food. The owner was so angry that he came here with a rifle, and shot these three wild monkeys, the mother, father and their baby. They had never left the selva (jungle). I think he knew that Toto was like a pet, so he was afraid to hurt him.´
Wary of discovery, the owner buried the monkeys on his hotel property. Later, tipped off by an employee that the staff at Guira Oga had discovered his crime and were preparing to come with the police, he dug up the bodies and incinerated them in the hotel furnace. Crushing the remaining bones, he then scattered them in the grounds of the hotel.
`We arrived with the police, guardaparques, and biologists from the national university,´ Silvia goes on, `We found enough of the parts of bones that the biologists could confirm they were from mono aulladores, and the owner was convicted and had to pay a large fine. He died himself only a year or so later.´ she finishes, in a remarkably neutral tone for somebody so obviously affected by the incident.
The story shows the complicated issues that occur when a population of humans pushes up hard against a functioning ecosystem. Guira Oga is a thin buffer between national park and the ever-growing barrios (suburbs) of Puerto Iguazu, a growing township in the north-eastern tip of Argentina. Every year, hundreds of thousands of tourists arrive to visit the renowned Cataratas (Falls), but unfortunately, it seems little of the income remains with the population, or even in the works of the local municipalidad.
`Look at this place,´ complains Nahuel, over his sandwiches later in the day. `Foz do Iguaçu is just over the river in Brazil. It’s much newer than Puerto Iguazù, but they’ve had street-lighting for more than 5 years. Here, they’re still starting with it in some places. The problem is our politicians rob all the money for projects, and nothing gets finished.´
`There’s a wire fence along the border.´ Abram is a driver, transporting tourists by tractor from the entrance gate to the trail and visitor centre. `We have to check it all the time, because people cut the wire, take down the trees and bang, bang, bang, they’ve put up a house in few days!´ No such monitoring takes place along most of the park borders.
The neighbouring suburb has developed rapidly in the last 20 years, as small farms have been subdivided and streets and houses built, quickly and simply, often by the people now living in them. Named Barrio Hermoso (Beautiful), the trees that presumably made the suburb so are mostly gone. Grass sometimes survives between the dirt roads and plain houses, but its often worn away by the chickens and dogs
An island in this sea of exposed red earth and kioscos is the Eterno Reverdecer camping ground. Forest trees and small ponds crowd this 5 hectare section, part reserve and part Zen garden. Owner for 15 years, Oscar could have made plenty of money carving off parts of his land for new houses. But he’s not that sort of guy. Originally from Buenos Aires, he worked as a guide at the Iguazù Falls for many years before retreating full-time to his small part of paradise. His heavily tanned face creases with a proud smile as he explains,
`My mission is to protect this place. My children will enjoy it too, and hopefully theirs´ too. We used to see monkeys in the trees here, from the national park (only 500m away), but there’s far too many houses now. And the Yellow Fever killed a lot of them.
Grey waves of hair almost reach his shoulders, and he pours a large glass of coke into a chilled glass before explaining why he stopped working in the park.
`I got tired of the changes at Iguazù, they’re only interested in visitors and their money. Too many interests and nobody really wants to care for the naturaleza. All sorts of things happen here, but you’ll never hear anything about them.
A couple of years ago a guardaparque (park ranger) arrived on a work exchange from one of the provinces much further south. He had a house right in the Iguazù National Park. One day one of his sons runs into the house and says ´Papa, un perro grande esta afuera!¨ (There’s a big dog outside!)
He knows there are puma and jaguar, so goes to look, but there’s nothing. Then a few days later his son is playing outside, and there’s a face behind him in the trees, a puma looking out. So what does this boludo (idiot) do? He takes a photo, with his 4 year old boy and a puma in the background! He thinks that because he’s a guardaparque, he´s something special. Then the next day, the son runs into the house and says ´El perro llevó Juanito!´ (The dog took Juanito!).
He runs out with his gun, but of course there’s nothing, his 2 year old son has been taken by the puma. So next he `volvió loco´ (went crazy). He takes his rifle and hunts in the jungle until, Bam, he kills a puma. Opens up the stomach, but there’s nothing. Then he finds a jaguar, Bam, same story, nothing. Another puma, Bam! He’s supposed to be a park guard, but nobody stops him from doing this.
After ten days, the local people came and said, `We need to look close to the house, the puma might have buried the body.´
So they search, and only 300 metres from the house they find the body, buried where the puma can return later. And with a bit of wire they catch him!´
Oscar has other sad stories. They depress us more than a little. But he finishes with a resolute statement, and his broad, happy smile,
`No podemos perder la esperanza por un mundo mejor.´
(We can’t lose hope for a better world)
We pass nearly three weeks in Oscar's small piece of paradise, and he farewells us with instructions to return.
'Sabès que si querès ver me, hay que venir acà, por que no voy a salir de mi parte nunca' ('If you want to see me again, you'll have to come back, 'cause I'm not leaving my place, ever)
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Funny accents - language essay
Funny accents. Now I have two! Not only a flat, rural, Antipodean English, but also a sshluring rioplatenese version of Castellano (or, Argentine Spanish). After a year in the land of Spanish-speaking Italians (as they’re often described) the place where Katie and I learnt the language will always be plainly obvious to any Spanish speaker.
.`The first time I saw an Argentine film, I thought they were Italian actors speaking Spanish.´ Catarina Rossi, Italiana living in Patagonia.
`Tu botessha, huha!´ (`Your bottle, haha, funny gringo..´) Getting mocked for the accent while in Bolivia on a visa-run.
Katie and I landed in Argentina with 9 instructional CDs and a months travel in Spain under our belts, with two main goals – to get to know the country, and to learn Spanish. And of course the two are tightly connected. Along the way to becoming what I would now cautiously describe as semi-fluent, we have relied on the help of countless friendly individuals, various instructional books, and (in my case) lots of cartoon strips!
Voy a pegarte con un pato! (I’m going to hit you with a duck!)
Katie trying to threaten a friend with a stick.
At first we lived on the farm with Carolina and Facundo, `espectacular´ amigos from Oamaru days. English speakers, they immersed us in their world of friends and family gatherings, where our heads would whirl and eventually stall from all the words and attention.
I carried a notebook and dictionary, the family laughing as I rushed to scribble down an obscure phrase from one of Facundo’s father’s stories. `Don’t learn that, no-one says that anymore!!´
I spent days picking through newspapers and magazines, finding cartoons the best supply of everyday language. Carolina happily gave lessons, although Katie seemed to absorb the new words and structure by osmosis rather than through much study. Although not always perfectly, as she proved by asking a guy at a job interview..
`Està soltero?´ (Are you single?) instead of Està soleado (It’s sunny)
We set off traveling for a month, but that’s really no way to improve. Apart from ordering food, and asking hostel prices, you mostly end up talking English, or hand-Spanish with locals who are too polite to correct you. Of course, misunderstood directions and warnings make for adventurous outings – picture four rather drunken village lads all shouting advice at the same time, while another scribbles unreadable instructions for our map of a mountain pass in Jujuy.
`8 hours walking!
`3 days walking!´
`That valley, there!´
Who knows what they were actually saying..
We needed to stop somewhere. Luckily, we found work for the summer in a mountain refuge above Mendoza. Never mind that the boss didn’t speak English, and it took us five minutes to understand his offer. Oh look, none of the staff speak English either! This was really where our comprehension had to take off. Sometime during the three months of cooking, cleaning, serving tables, and occasionally climbing, the words started to make sense. I translated for someone for the first time in my life, a real buzz. We had arguments with people! And of course I made a fool of myself, the Argentinos always ready to laugh along.
`Querès cagarlo?´ (Do you want to shit it?)
Helping a client find a plug to charge (cargar) his cell phone.
`Soy una flora!´ (I’m a flora!) Jamie again, in a crowded van. (flor = flower)
`Si, una flora intestinal!´ Alejandro, laughing so much he nearly drives off the road.
Our sloppy New Zealand vowels were no help, as to the amusement of the other staff, I proved incapable of pronouncing the nicknames `Ale´ and `Eli´ differently.
`Once you can understand people, the next frustrating thing is not being able to say what you want!´ Facundo
Returning to the farm, we found we now had more work, not less. What had been a stream of unintelligible chatter had turned into half-sentences and recognizable words. If I managed to keep up and had something to say, by the time it came out the conversation had moved on,
`Hold on everybody, bit of a stick in the spokes, the poor neocelandés wants to say something..´
This turned out to be even more tiring, and I would skulk away, exhausted and irritable, to hide in my own language. This was definitely the hardest time for us both.
But small steps. Katie congratulates me after negotiating a phone call and message from Carolina’s mother. However, Facundo’s father continues to request `Pleez spek Inglish!´
You discover that you might know the right words, but you have to use a new sentence structure as well. And the cursed verbs – `struggling with the subjunctive´ took on meaning! (As did other grammatical terms, most of which I’d only ever heard of before..)
We headed off again, this time south and into the Patagonia winter. Por suerte, (with luck) we fell into a volunteer position on an organic vegetable garden, living, working, cooking, everything in Castellano. Our housemates were an Argentino and his chatty Italian girlfriend, and fortunately, Catarina was learning Spanish as well. Nico, who spoke English perfectly, was patient, answering and explaining the myriad of questions being thrown at him. Occasionally he couldn’t help himself, and would sarcastically call out `Es bien!´, `Mira tu!´ and other classic gringo misstatements. We put up a whiteboard for new words, and beat our way through workshops, meeting folk, and all the way to giving tours of the garden. Not surprisingly, our plant vocabulary took off, as our mountain terminology had done in Mendoza.
This constant stream of language combated one of the biggest obstacles Katie and I had – constantly talking to each other in English. The obligation to converse in Spanish (still something very frustrating) meant more and more time `working´ in the other language. I’d often wondered what it was like to think in two languages? Was there a constant translation to your base language going on? Or did the other words take on their own significance? I guess I’ve discovered that it’s both, the most familiar terms taking on the meanings completely (sometimes pushing the English words out, as seems to have happened to me with vegetables!) and the less used words remaining as a `second name´.
We left Patagonia, feeling `properly dressed´ for travel at last. Over a three month period the thrill of `successful´ two-way conversations while we hitched into town had arrived, peaked, and then sort of faded away as we got used to it. A spell in Chile and exchanges with word-skipping paisanos (farmers) slapped our new confidence around, but farmers tend to mumble all over the world, right? We passed two weeks with a very French couple, volunteering at a bird sanctuary, amusing local shop keepers by debating the dinner menu in our common tongue. (Don’t those gringos have their own language?)
Back at the farm in the weeks before we leave, we feel really fortunate to have hit both our targets. Argentina is a fantastic country, and is (luckily for us) full of people who love to communicate. Learning a second language has been one of the most satisfying things I have ever done. Katie is pleased too, although she complains that when she tries to speak German, Spanish comes out! Facu and Caro speak Castellano with us all the time, and we can add our piece to the family dinner-table banter. And Facundo’s Dad hasn’t even asked us to speak English again yet!
Gaturro - a great source of new words!
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Back on the farm with Caro and Facu - our base-camp and home during our 12mo in Argentina.
Jote (Josephina) and Guadalupe with their aunt and uncle..
And of course, asados with the guys. Facu, Caro, Lucresia and Katie on our last day. Five hours later at the airport, I found myself muttering 'Shit, shit, I don't want to go..'
posted by Jamie and Katie at 10:40 am
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