Argentina v The Netherlands from Igacu Nacional Parque 21 June 2006

When I had gone to bed, at about 4am, the weather was dry. At 10:30am, when I awoke in our deliciously dark room, I could hear heavy rain. 'Good' I thought. It would be an excuse to call the day off. Then Sal came into the room, perky, wearing her Argentine top.

"It's raining outside, I said. "I was thinking, perhaps we could call the day off¦ on account of the rain?

"What? said Sal. "You want to call the day off?

Her reaction surprised me a bit. I thought she might conspire with me and allow a quiet couple enclosure to develop so we could forget about all the promises we had made to others and to ourselves. I am sure that with little bit of encouragement from Sal, I would have happily stayed 'home' and 'slept'. But Sal was so fresh and eager and ready to go. I need to hear it from her, because I really was not.

Perhaps it was our intended itinerary for the day that discouraged me so. We planned to go to Igacu Nacional Parque, on the Argentine side of the border, to watch the match at the tourist centre and do our best to squeeze in a look at the falls. Frankly, it was starting to get embarrassing for us to have been hanging around Igacu for so long and yet still not have made a trip to the falls. The waterfalls were the main reason tourists come to the region. We had been fielding questions about the falls from hostel owners, our fellow travellers, our friends back at home and even the most vacant and disinterested media types. We knew that we would leave the Igacu area once Stage 2 of the World Cup got started, so we thought we had better take our chance to see the waterfalls while we still could and watch the match in the visitors' centre.

I delayed in the morning, using the rain as an excuse not to ready myself. It was a good excuse. There was no way we could take cameras out there. Even if we went out without all our camera gear, we would have suffered immensely. The sky plummeted down; the road was a stream; the clouds were booming at us with monster thunder.

In bed, I had formally conceded to Sal that we should proceed with our intended trip to the Argentine falls, but, now I was up, I was secretly undermining the plan.

"We'll probably have to telephone for a taxi, I said. "Are the boys around?

I was referring to the two fellows who operate the hostel with their Mother. I like to imagine that these two charming and good looking young men must do very well with romance at the hostel. I've spent many an hour admiring what must be a dream job: an Internet connection, a kitchen and great big gates to keep the outside world out.

"The boys aren't around, said Sal.

I knew full well the boys weren't around.

"What about Mum then? I asked.

I knew Mum was around, but I also knew we were both scared of her. We weren't scared for any good reason, but just because she's a Mum. I also knew her English also wasn't so great. Asking her to telephone a taxi for us would be about as useful as trying to call for a taxi ourselves.

We stood in the front window of the hostel watching the rain.

"The important thing, said Sal, "is that we get over the border into Argentina.

"But we can't go to the same city again, I said mindful that we had already been to Puetro Igacu, which was by far the closest Argentine place.

Match time was at 4pm. We really needed to leave before midday to be confident of making it to the waterfalls in time for the match. Most of the morning had already been washed away. We continued to watch the rain from the front window of the hostel, silent in our Argentine tops. I tried to write. Sal took some shots of the road. Perhaps after another hour of this, just as it was becoming too late to leave, the rain eased. Then, it came down terribly again. Then, the rain eased a little once more. We decided we had to try now.

We wrapped ourselves up in our wet weather gear: a blue plastic coat for me (bought from a second hand shop) and a plastic poncho for Sal (nicked from my parents). With our bags hidden under our plastic, and a little red umbrella (a gift from Serene) held above us aloft, we hurried outside! The rain bit back hard!

"C'mon! Run!!

We ran on our toes, across the street, and hid under an awning.

"At least we're out now, said Sal.

I had to concede it was true, even though we were now stranded, enjoying the same view, from the opposite side of the street, minus, of course, the pleasures of the Internet connection, the kitchen or gates.

Two boys in shorts and torn t-shits ran up and took shelter at the next house along.

"Aw¦ I said to Sal. "Their awning is bigger than ours!

The four of us stood, under our awnings, watching the rain. After maybe five minutes, the boys decided the rain had eased enough for them and they left. We switched houses, claiming their awning. We waited another ten minutes. It was still raining, but we thought it had eased a little more and we simply could not wait any longer. We left.

By the time we reached the bus stop, the rained had lightened considerably. The holes in my shoes were now working to leak water out instead of in. Our bus across the border came mercifully quickly. We stopped to stamp passports at the Argentine (but not the Brazilian) side of the border. We jumped off in Puerto Igacu to catch our next bus.

We must have waited there, under a bus shelter, cold and wet for more than an hour until a bus came to collect us. When we finally arrived at Igacu Nacional Parque it was about 3pm. I felt agitated and hurried. I begrudged paying the entry fee of $US10 each and the guy laughed at my face when I told him we didn't want tickets for the next day as well. The park was scheduled to close at 6pm, leaving us only three hours to look at the falls. Of course, we had two hours of football to squeeze in as well.

Once inside, I scoured the Information Centre looking for a TV, but found I none. The place was sterile; the whole park had that feel. I decided the best place to find a television would be the park restaurants and leapt on a dead information woman to find where they were. Her eyes refused to acknowledge us there, but her hands produced a little map from under the counter. The map indicated it would take perhaps six or eight hours to explore the whole park. We decided that maybe, just maybe, we could take in one walk and make it back to a restaurant in time to watch a match.

We had our plan! We were off! We hit the cafes and restaurants to find a locale for the match after our walk. No TVs! We could not find one anywhere! The best we could do was radios emanating from kitchens.

I felt aghast. We had worked so hard to get there on such a miserable wet day. We paid ten bucks each to get into this place of natural splendour and they couldn't even see fit to provide one stinking TV!

"I guess we might as well go and see a crappy waterfall then, I said stripping the AA batteries out of my camera so I could load up my little radio (given to me by Carlos in Mexico for an occasion just such as this). We decided we might as well go straight for the big one ' the biggest waterfall of them all!

Given we had no television to watch, things actually worked out rather well as far as keeping up with the game was concerned. While we waited for a little train to take us up to the falls, I managed to tune my radio from one being listened to by staff members.

I caught kick off, though the reception was bad and grew worse as the little train moved up to the falls. I did find that by sticking the aerial in my mouth (or nose), I could keep a reasonable fix on the match. It was all a little ridiculous really. I could make out the difference between the Argentine or Dutch players by their names, and I could understand the score updates of 'zero-zero', but that was about it.

We passed another train at one point and a couple of men gave me a smile and thumbs up for my efforts in keeping up with the game. We also passed a couple of platforms on our way up to the falls. At each one, the workers sat doing the same as me, listening to their radios, aerials up their noses. Okay, they were just listening to radios, with nothing in noses, but I felt a kinship nonetheless. I also felt like a bit of an arsehole, making noise, listening to sport, while the quiet green rainforest was passing us by. Without me sitting there with my radio, the environment could have been so very serene. The match remained 'zero-zero' for the whole train ride.

At the final platform, I gathered close to the park workers who had a radio better than mine. They looked pretty unhappy about things. There seemed to be nothing good for Argentina happening in the match. As half time approached, I thought it was time for us to make our break! Trailing a couple of other tourists, with radio in hand and the first half winding down, we took off for our peek at the falls!

We hurried down metal platforms, past rivers so shallow and calm it seemed impossible that there could be any waterfalls around. We tossed a couple of coins in the river for luck. We passed beneath trees growing happy and green on their islands, providing homes to snakes which would drop from above. At least so said the signs. We didn't meander, thinking it would be quite a walk, but soon enough we saw what looked like steam up ahead.

It was the mist from the falls! We started getting wet as we moved closer. Our vision started to blur with the moisture. There were step ladders at the platform to allow tourists a better view over the top each other, but when we arrived there only two women there, giggling and drenched, taking snaps of each other.

I'm quite scared of heights and so I approached the edge of the platform with some trepidation. The railing was only one metre up. The tiniest leap would mean a sudden exit and death. Yet the air was so thick with water that one could hardly see down. I had no sense of vertigo there.

The water looked so deep and green as it crashed over the edge and down, down, down, to a place that could not be seen. Birds flew above and below us, bathing in air. We shouted over the roar, scurrying about, trying to keep our electronics dry, and trying to sneak a few photographs at the same time.

I felt overwhelmed looking at this 'thing!'. It was unreal to me. It seemed a monster, alive, roaring and spitting, with energy endless - something that would never stop. It was calming to watch.

We did not stay for long; we had to get back to the match. We left in silence and barely spoke as we walked back with the two women in tow, also quiet now.

Back at the train station, we regathered ourselves for the mission. We joined the small group at the radio. There were two men and a woman, smoking and swinging back on her deck chair. The match had just resumed. Everyone looked flat, tired, cold and ready for home. The score provided no warmth, still stuck at zero-zero. After some time of this grim display, a little train arrived and we were herded aboard. The radio on the train had been tuned to the football and was being broadcast throughout for the half a dozen tourists and staff to hear. Once again, it remained 'zero-zero' throughout the whole trip.

We made it back to the last station just on full time. I was quite sure it was a nil-all draw, but hadn't the heart to ask any of the staff members on the train; they all looked so glum and flat. We paced past the empty facilities and the last few approved artisans selling wooden toucans and flutes. I spoke with a guy at the entrance.

"Zero, zero? I asked.

"Zero. Zero, he said.

"I thought so. We just listened to the game on the radio. I really thought you guys would have a television somewhere around here.

"We have a TV! Come, look!

He took me around past the desk in his office, past a giant Argentine flag, under a curtain and into a room where blue, white and orange were still prancing on green. He turned up the volume so we could watch the replays of the near misses at goal. He said he thought it wasn't much of a game.

"Now we play Mexico on Saturday!

I despaired at myself. I felt disappointed and surprised that we had not found this television. But I also knew that if we had found it in time, we would have faced an awful dilemma which would have almost certainly resulted in us watching the match and missing out on seeing even one Igacu waterfall. In a way, I guess we were lucky to have seen just the highlights of both.