How to get from Montevideo to San Ignacio

San Ignacio, Argentina

7:30 in the morning

This time the rumble that woke me up from the latest hour and a half of sleep was not thunder but the sound of a car engine. Maybe it is finally over ...

All through the day yesterday it kept building up to this. Clouds appeared all along the horizon and grew as the day progressed, huge walls with ever more threatening thunderheads billowing. Yet the sun was still shining throughout the afternoon, and we had time enough to walk the length and breadth of the extensive grounds of the San Ignacio Miní Jesuit monastery. This UNESCO world heritage site is surrounded by a sleepy little town of the same name, and until we stood in front of its gates we would have found it hard to believe to find anything than the usual small shops and restaurants here. Dirt roads branched off the few paved streets, and our feet stirred up small clouds of dust of a deep, dark red colour when we crossed them on our way to the area of town where we suspected the few lodgings to be.

It had been a long trip to get here. Early Saturday afternoon we boarded a bus to Salto, about a six hour bus ride north and a bit west of Montevideo on the Uruguay river. We had booked this, the first ticket on the long journey to Puerto Iguazu, in advance, but after that it wasn't quite clear what the best way to proceed would be, and we couldn't have booked with the same company all the way through because of the border crossing to Argentina. Yes, it was time for another little adventure after the sheltered few days with friends.

We arrived in Salto after seven pm, still not quite sure if we needed to spend the night here (not our favoured choice) or if we would find a bus to take us across to Concordia, the Argentinean city on the other side of the Rio Uruguay. A bit sticky from the bus ride – this time the air condition system was underfunctioning, contrary to the trip to Punta del Diablo – and almost overwhelmed how hot it was outside when we stepped out into the open we were glad to enter the air conditioned bus terminal. Here, like so many times before in bus terminals all over South America, we walked along the long row of bus company booths looking for one going to Concordia. The 'Flechabus' office we found after a short search opened at 8 pm, still more than half an hour away, but the schedule posted looked as if we might be lucky – if they weren't booked out. When the office opened we were pleasantly surprised that the company representative even spoke English. Yes, she said, there was a bus that very evening, leaving at 9:30, arriving around the same time in Concordia: we'd be back to Argentinean time, gaining an hour. A short bus ride indeed, especially since it also included a border crossing.

At the appointed time we found that there would have been no need whatsoever to worry about space: we were six, including the bus driver, and no tourists except for us. The road leading away from Salto was narrow and bumpy, and traffic was sparse. After maybe fifteen kilometres we turned left and soon entered the bridge crossing the mighty Rio Uruguay. At the end of the bridge was the border station. The bus stopped, we all got out, and the bus driver led us into the brightly lit building. He walked past a large group of people from another, obviously much fuller bus waiting in line to a couple of border agents at the end of the long desk. In no time at all we had our stamps, guaranteeing us a 90-day stay in Argentina as visitors. After a perfunctory inspection of our luggage at customs, consisting of a brief glance into the baggage compartment by a customs officer holding a flashlight, we were free to continue to Concordia.

Now came the real test: would we find a bus to take us to San Ignacio, a stop on the way to Puerto Iguazu, that same night? If not, we would have to find a place to stay in Concordia, a sizeable city from what we could see driving through, but not a very inviting prospect at this time of night. Again the walk along rows of company booths, this time with several prospects, according to the signs. Alas, one after the other – all of them in perfect Spanish – regretted to have no space until at least the evening of the following day. Now what? The English speaking bus representative in Salto had suggested we'd visit the tourist information booth in Concordia if we needed help, and while the friendly man who slid back his window now did not speak a word of English either he had an alternative for us: why not go to Posadas instead? A bus left at 1:30 the same night for this city on the Paraná river, and we could connect to San Ignacio and ultimately Puerto Iguazu from there. He directed us to a company we had visited before, and this time it didn't take long until we held the tickets in our hands. Why the bus company employee hadn't thought of suggesting this alternative herself is a bit hard to understand. One more time the tourist information guy was able to help us, this time in our quest to exchange money, which happened at a store selling sweets and snacks. The exchange course, this time, was 11.5:1, but then, the store lacked the competition present in 'Florida'.

We had to kill three hours until our departure, so we went in search of a place to eat and have a beer, not a difficult undertaking. It was very hot: 31 C at eleven o'clock at night! No wonder people avoid being out during the afternoon. In Argentina and Uruguay it is completely normal to have the evening meal at ten, eleven or even midnight, and even small children and children who have to go to school the next day are up and about. Concordia was no exception, and until our departure there was no sign of traffic slowing down or the crowd thinning.

We slept much of the rest of the night on the way to Posadas. I have trouble keeping my eyes open during bus rides even in the daytime here. Maybe the landscape and the driving here are less exciting than in Ecuador, Colombia, Bolivia and Peru. Daylight showed a slightly rolling landscape stretching far into the distance to both sides, lots of cattle, here and there some sorghum fields in the vicinity of infrequent feedlots. Small bushes were planted in often irregular rows, grass high between them: yerba mate, the ubiquitous drink of Argentina and Uruguay. Other than that, we passed plantations of pine trees, much less eucalyptus than further south, and native brush. There is enough moisture here to keep things growing, but the soil doesn't seem to be very fertile.

It was no problem to find a connection to San Ignacio in Posadas, and within the hour we were on our way. We arrived at our destination after about 24 hours and 1100km

of travel. Contrary to the travel guide the town (now?) has a small bus terminal, and we had only a few blocks to walk until we found a place to stay, right across from the San Ignacio ruins. An older man, shirtless because of the heat, welcomed us at the door. I could only understand a word here and there in the flood of Spanish, but he did indeed have a room for us, a small, simple cabin, but clean and equipped with air conditioning – very important in this heat. He led us through the hallways of his house to get to the cabin, stopped at a freezer, pulled out an opened beer bottle and added some to a glass standing on a small table beside it. 'Alemanes toman – Germans drink', he stated, handing the glass first to Johann, then to me. It felt a bit like sharing a pipe in a native American ceremony, and somehow it wouldn't have felt right to decline the room after this.

By now it is almost 9:30, and we should think of checking out and getting to the bus station somehow. I sure hope we can find a taxi, because it is still raining, and right now it's raining hard again. We just made it back to the hotel after going out for a meal, around 8:30 last night, before it started to rain hard and harder. At times it felt as if somebody was pouring water from huge buckets – never in our lives have we experienced rain like that, and it was almost scary. Time and again the clap of thunder, lightning lighting up the sky all around. A few times it seemed to have slowed down, maybe even to have quit, but then the sluices of heaven opened again, and water poured down with renewed force. It will be interesting to see what the dirt roads we crossed yesterday will look like today. The poor people living there, or in the country. This must be the kind of rain that produces floods and land slides.

The 'wifi' promised brazenly on the sign in front of the hotel only works outside: if I understood our landlord correctly it is the network of the monastery ... This means we don't have an internet connection at the moment, since I don't plan to subject either myself or the laptop to a downpour. Posting this likely will have to wait until we are in Puerto Iguazu, about four hours by bus from here, where we hopefully will not have too much trouble finding a hostel or hotel.

By now it is 8 pm. We arrived in Puerto Iguazu at about 3:30 this afternoon, are checked into a hotel, went for a walk 'downtown' (not a big undertaking), had a beer to cool down a bit - and now it's raining again. The internet here is working just fine, and inside the room, too, so I will post this and possibly report a bit more later.