Puerto Iguazú – Day 4: Into the Devil’s Throat
PUERTO IGUAZÚ
Day 4: Into the Devil's Throat
February 28, 2023
Back at the hostel, a few other backpackers were raving about their incredible experience at Iguazú Falls from the Brazilian side. With another day on my hands and no set plans, I decided I’d see that for myself. After figuring out the logistics involved in a day trip to a different country, I was on my way to Brazil to visit the same waterfalls from a completely different angle.
Accompanied by Margaux, a forty-something who’d been on the road for the past two years, I hopped on a bus and crossed the border to Foz do Iguaçu. She told me all about her wild adventures, how she’d travelled all over South America doing week- to month-long treks where she camped, cooked, and stayed completely self-sufficient throughout. I was in pure admiration and found myself wondering whether I’d ever have what it takes to do something like that. I mean, sure, I managed to get coconuts and hunt fish on Sandy Caye, but would I survive foraging on a mountain? I’d probably eat the wrong mushroom and end up as skeletal remains decorating the hillside for centuries.
As I pondered my hypothetical demise, I was jolted back to reality by the PA announcing our arrival at the park in Portuguese. Despite it sounding like a sensual, broken-down Spanish with a vaguely Russian accent, I realised I could understand almost everything. Maybe I should finally commit to learning another language, huh? Or would my brain just turn into an unholy hodgepodge of Latin languages? After almost seven months of mostly speaking Spanish, my Italian had already started to decay and my French had all but vanished. Throwing Portuguese into the mix might finish them off entirely. Maybe Hebrew, Arabic, or Japanese would be safer. Hmm.
Big Water, Bigger Feelings
Another short bus ride inside the park brought us to the start of the trail, one that faced the very falls I’d been standing on just the day before.
Same waterfalls, sure, but seeing them from this angle was on another level entirely. Absolutely hypnotic. Cascades of water poured endlessly downward, each waterfall a moving step wrapped in dense, exuberant jungle, all perched above the muddy brown river below. Margaux and I couldn’t help ourselves, blurting out “Oh my god!” and “Wow!” every few steps.
About halfway along the trail, we reached a viewpoint overlooking the confluence of the falls on both the Brazilian and Argentinian sides. Together, they formed a massive horseshoe-shaped recess opening into the river’s mouth, appearing as though it were swallowed by a cloud. That cloud, we were told, was created by millions of water droplets thrown into the air by the sheer force of the falling water. This was the Devil’s Throat – the very section I hadn’t been able to visit the day before.
Buzzing with excitement, we hurried onwards. Along the way, we were treated to even more jaw-dropping views, along with blue morpho butterflies gliding effortlessly around us, toucans and turkey vultures soaring overhead, monkeys leaping between trees, and tarantulas casually claiming the trail as their living room. By the time we reached the end, it took every ounce of restraint not to scream with excitement.
Into the Devil's Throat
A metal catwalk led straight into the centre of the Devil’s Throat, soaking everyone brave enough to step onto it. As much as that explained the hideous ponchos and abominable Crocs, which according to Forbes might be the next it thing, god forbid, I still struggled not to internally judge every single person wearing them. I swear, Argentinians seem obsessed with Crocs. Grr.
Standing on the viewing platform, I was met with a breathtaking panorama that left me completely speechless and quietly thanking the universe for creating something so ridiculous and beautiful. To the north was the roaring main cascade, gallons upon gallons of water plunging violently downward. To the east lay the Argentinian side of the falls. To the south, the river mouth feeding the torrent below us. And to the west, the forested hillside and trail we’d just walked. And beneath it all? Perfect rainbows shimmering at the bottom of the falls, half-hidden in the mist. Qué piola…
After that, we made our way up to the visitors’ centre, which offered yet another stunning perspective, this time from above. Then followed another round of photoshoots, and we finally managed to tear ourselves away.
On the bus ride back, I stared wistfully out the window, knowing I’d probably never witness anything quite that glorious again, while fully appreciating just how lucky I was to have seen it at all. What a privilege.