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Firstly, catching up with fannish life again activated more than one muse. The Other Space Station complained about my B5 indulgence, and I committed Julian Bashir angst.

"A little more than kin, and less than kind"

I always wanted to use Hamlet's description of himself and Claudius somewhere, and the Shakespearean challenge over at

celestial_templ was perfect.

Secondly, the final part of my Brazilian journey:

IV. Iguassu

The final stage of our journey brought us to the Argentinian border. More precisely to that part of it which is formed by the river Iguassu.

When I was 14 and visiting the US for the first time in my life, I felt somewhat let down by the Niagara Falls. Somehow, I had imagined them… well, bigger. The waterfalls of Iguassu, however, are the mother, father, vampiric sire and amoebic ancestor of all waterfalls, and I'm 34 now, having seen quite a lot in between. They stretch from horizon to horizon; to use a biblical image, when God parted water and earth, this is what it must have looked like, water cascading straight down, or sometimes in two steps, for an eternity, interrupted now and then by moss-covered rocks or the rain forest vegetation in what is an protected area with only one hotel allowed inside. One can walk to one end of the waterfalls, a kind of semi-circle which is called "the Devil's Gorge" and sounds like it but displays the most divine rainbows. In all likelihood, it's the first and last time I was able to stand above a rainbow and to see where it starts and ends.

(No golden pots, alas, but the water was startling clear.)

About eight kilometres down the river, one could take a trip with an air speed boat (not sure this is the correct English term). Having observed these boats on the day of our arrival, we had the good idea to prepare ourselves accordingly for our own trip the next day. Which is to say: we wore our bathing suits under the t-shirt and shorts we stripped off when arriving at the pier, and quickly put into a plastic back. Consequently, while we got drenched through and through, we were able to dress in dry clothes afterwards.

There were, oh, about ten people on the speed boat, and when it raced towards the waterfalls, I felt like the heroine of an action adventure movie, because that river was anything but peaceful and every bit as wild as you can imagine. Strangely, I was only exhilarated and not a bit seasick when far less movement a week earlier had made me make throw up so humiliatingly. Our boatsman let us take pictures and film with video cameras, then told us to hide them away in the plastic bags, and then drove ride inside and under two of the waterfalls. I tried to keep my eyes open, I really did, but all that water drumming down on you forces the blink reflex stronger than your own will can prevent it. Even a bit away of the actual cascades, the air of the river was so dense with humidity because of the falls that you felt like you breathed water, but not in a drowning fashion. More as if you were somehow changed into a mermaid, or -man.

Now the sight of those glorious waterfalls would have been the perfect final note for our trip, but alas, it got soured somewhat by what happened with the hotel. Only somewhat, because in the end we were victorious, but it was annoying. Here is what happened:

1) We arrived and checked in. The girl at the reception searched for our booking for a while, but accepted our voucher. Incidentally, we had booked in September 2003, and had the booking confirmed (and the confirmation with us).
2) Having disposed the luggage at our newly received room, we hurried to the falls. Afterwards, being soaked through and through - in transpiration as well as the humidity - we went to the swimming pool and relaxed a bit, then returned to the room.
3) By that time, there was a note telling me I should call the manager. Which I had no chance to do, since he called me almost the moment I entered, and told me that there had been a booking mistake, that we were really booked for a hotel about ten kilometres away, since they were out of rooms.
4) Fat chance, thought I, and said that I had my confirmation with me, for this hotel, which incidentally was a pretty pink ode to colonialism. I also said I had no intention of leaving my paid-for-months-ago room.
5) Various phone calls during which I didn't change my position later, the two of us marched to the front desk and presented the copies of the confirmation. The manager caved, or seemed to. "But it's going to be very difficult", he added.
6) The next afternoon, upon our return from the boat trip and another walk: the same thing happens again, this time with his assistant. "But we're really completely full, and no one cancelled," she whined. "Tough for you," said I. "I am remaining in my room for the entire time I paid and you accepted my money for."
7) Then we went to the swimming pool again, secretly somewhat worried that she just might lock us out, but determined to not let spoil this the final days of our vacation.
8) The other guys blinked first. No more attempts to kick us out. Hah!

The air plane carrying us away (not to Germany, to the next bigger airport, which was Sao Paulo) played, of all the things, the soundtrack of "Pirates of the Carribean". Which was a fitting note to one of the most exhilarating journeys I've had.

Thirdly,

hmpf, may her name be praised, helped me with the first bunch of photos. So, hoping that I don't screw up the linking process, here they are. Me in my samba parade costume, blackmail material for the future.