Peter at the confluence of the Parana & the Iguazu.
Paraguay's monument. Brazil's upside down.
Argentina's blue & white.
Paraguay's monument. Brazil's upside down.
Argentina's blue & white.
Monday, Oct. 25
Two months until Christmas, and we will be in New Zealand then. As Maggie Muggins used to say, “I wonder what will happen tomorrow?” Anyone younger than 65 will have to look that up in the CBC Radio archives.
I cook eggs with slightly-toasted bread for breakfast. It seems more substantial than just the bread, cereal, and jelly you get as the usual fair in Argentina. Wonderfully-sweet orange wedges finishes this lavish meal. Peter drinks the Tang they serve as juice here, but the fresh fruit is always an option.
We gather our dirty clothes and our package for home (nicely wrapped in brown paper and secured with tape),and catch El Practico (the local bus) into town. The washing fits easily into the 15 pesos bag and we are off to the post office. A lovely, patient young lady serves us. She has a little English which she says she has taught herself, so she efficiently takes us through the steps, one-by-one, to successfully mail our parcel. Of course, the brown paper will have to come off so the immigration guy can inspect and clear the contents. No problem, she will give us a more official-looking box to use. Peter fills-out one of many different forms which she does not overwhelm us with, but just keeps handing a new one as Peter finishes the previous! Finally, thirty minutes later, we are ready for the immigration. Peter has his photocopy of his passport ready, and we are led through a maze of offices to a pleasant-looking, middle-aged guy who appears as though he is happy to have something different to enlighten his otherwise mundane workday. He asks what is in the box. I answer in my motley Spanish. Oh, canadienses he says with a smile, he tells us either that his wife of twenty-four years is Canadian or that he was married in Canada twenty-four years ago. As you can tell, my comprehension is not perfect! Anyway, we are now buds, and we are quickly cleared.
The nice young lady at the desk tapes our package, takes our money, and we are on our way. We find the store for the needles and thread I need, but it is now after 1 p.m. and it is closed for siesta. We will return tomorrow when we pick-up our laundry.
We walk to the three-corners’ monument, from which point you can see a monument in Paraguay and another in Brazil. It is like standing in Millennium park as Argentina and viewing Brilliant as Paraguay and Selkirk college as Brazil. Now everyone know exactly where we are - right?
On the way back to town I buy a key chain with a crystal inside a rock the guy says is volcanic. Patrick, was he giving me a line or is this possible? Anyway, it is pretty. Also, I buy a t-shirt with hand-printed hummingbirds on it. Everything is inexpensive by our standards.
For dinner tonight, we go again with the house special, a breaded-beef with cheese. There is so much that neither of us finish, so we have lunch for our trip to the falls tomorrow. Chow.
Two months until Christmas, and we will be in New Zealand then. As Maggie Muggins used to say, “I wonder what will happen tomorrow?” Anyone younger than 65 will have to look that up in the CBC Radio archives.
I cook eggs with slightly-toasted bread for breakfast. It seems more substantial than just the bread, cereal, and jelly you get as the usual fair in Argentina. Wonderfully-sweet orange wedges finishes this lavish meal. Peter drinks the Tang they serve as juice here, but the fresh fruit is always an option.
We gather our dirty clothes and our package for home (nicely wrapped in brown paper and secured with tape),and catch El Practico (the local bus) into town. The washing fits easily into the 15 pesos bag and we are off to the post office. A lovely, patient young lady serves us. She has a little English which she says she has taught herself, so she efficiently takes us through the steps, one-by-one, to successfully mail our parcel. Of course, the brown paper will have to come off so the immigration guy can inspect and clear the contents. No problem, she will give us a more official-looking box to use. Peter fills-out one of many different forms which she does not overwhelm us with, but just keeps handing a new one as Peter finishes the previous! Finally, thirty minutes later, we are ready for the immigration. Peter has his photocopy of his passport ready, and we are led through a maze of offices to a pleasant-looking, middle-aged guy who appears as though he is happy to have something different to enlighten his otherwise mundane workday. He asks what is in the box. I answer in my motley Spanish. Oh, canadienses he says with a smile, he tells us either that his wife of twenty-four years is Canadian or that he was married in Canada twenty-four years ago. As you can tell, my comprehension is not perfect! Anyway, we are now buds, and we are quickly cleared.
The nice young lady at the desk tapes our package, takes our money, and we are on our way. We find the store for the needles and thread I need, but it is now after 1 p.m. and it is closed for siesta. We will return tomorrow when we pick-up our laundry.
We walk to the three-corners’ monument, from which point you can see a monument in Paraguay and another in Brazil. It is like standing in Millennium park as Argentina and viewing Brilliant as Paraguay and Selkirk college as Brazil. Now everyone know exactly where we are - right?
On the way back to town I buy a key chain with a crystal inside a rock the guy says is volcanic. Patrick, was he giving me a line or is this possible? Anyway, it is pretty. Also, I buy a t-shirt with hand-printed hummingbirds on it. Everything is inexpensive by our standards.
For dinner tonight, we go again with the house special, a breaded-beef with cheese. There is so much that neither of us finish, so we have lunch for our trip to the falls tomorrow. Chow.
Based on your concise description, I am almost 100% percent certain the crystal is volcanic. Only if it is green.
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