Hostel Inn Iguazu

Staying at a hostel is like going to summer camp, but they provide you with your own sheets. I met a few people: two Australian girls, a kid from Ireland, a guy from New Zealand, a Brazilian dude, Nick from Australia, Juan Pablo from Colombia, another Australian boy, two Swedish girls and a girl from Ireland. I shared a cabin last night with Anita from Holland. It’s uncanny the things we have in common. She’s been in Buenos Aires the past three months learning Spanish. She lived in Recoleta just blocks away from my old apartment, but decided not to pay rent her last month and went traveling instead. She likes to salsa dance and volunteered to go first after the Hostel Inn Asado & Tango Show. She volunteered me to dance as well.

Australian Nick, Anita from Holland, Juan Pablo the Colombian & Meg

The falls were beautiful. Every turn was an even more breathtaking view.

I wandered the Park with an Australian lady named Diana, whom I met on the local bus. She described herself as “no spring chicken” and an ecologist on a 4-month holiday to learn Spanish. Nick from Australia said he remembered seeing us at The Falls and thought it was a mother-daughter trip. My mother does not have frosted tips and a Pixie cut. Nor does she wear a yin-yang necklace.

Diana & Meg on the Upper Circuit

I kept trying to compare The Falls: the red dirt is Jamaica, the muddy water is Belize, the green hills are part of the Texas Hill Country – but then I stopped. Because this is Argentina, this is Cataratas, this is Iguazu. There is no need to compare. There is nothing else like this.