The Destination
Poor Niagara: the Falls That Humble All the Others
The Guaraní named it before anyone else could: y guasu, "the great water." Where the Iguazú River reaches the edge of an ancient basalt plateau on the Brazil–Argentina border, it does not fall so much as shatter, up to 275 separate cascades across a front of nearly three kilometres, wrapped in subtropical rainforest and permanently crowned in rainbow. Eleanor Roosevelt is said to have taken one look and murmured, "Poor Niagara."
The falls hold two names and two passports because they deserve two entirely different days. From Brazil, Iguazú is a panorama: the single greatest scenic walk in South America, facing the full curtain across the gorge. From Argentina, it is an immersion: a little train through the jungle, catwalks over the braided river, and the terrible, magnificent lip of the Garganta del Diablo (the Devil's Throat) where half the river folds into a cauldron of mist and swifts dart through the falling water to their nests behind it.
This is a four-day private expedition, timed like a piece of music: the Brazilian gallery and the great aviary of Parque das Aves on one day, the Argentine circuits and the Devil's Throat on the next, with a private guide who knows the hours when the light is gold and the tour buses are elsewhere. The base is comfortable, the borders are handled, and the optional boat run under the cascades is exactly as wet as you hope.
"Two hundred and seventy-five waterfalls, two countries, one gorge, and a river that takes three kilometres to finish falling."