The famous Ciudad de Este of Paraguay. The man with the cart of boxes is carrying something like CD players, stereos, or computers to Brazil by foot. The people on the right are searching out clean paper and cardboard to sell so they can survive. Hundreds of thousands of dollars change hands here every day.
Now to get to Paraguay from Puerto Iguazu the easiest and cheapest way is by bus. This local bus goes through Foz Igua? part of Brazil, to arrive outside the bridge leading to Paraguay. Unfortunately, all Australians need a visa to enter Brazil and Paraguay. However, since the buses only stop for the Argentine border in the entire journey, there is no real problems in slipping through. It is seen by some as a "tourist area" where visas are optional and not mandatory. There is another way to Paraguay too, but it is slower and more costly and less convenient. That is to directly cross over the river by boat to Paraguay. This misses out the Brazil part of the equation. In my case, since I had a Paraguayan visa, it would have been the better choice. But I was not thinking about this at the time.
Traffic lining up to cross the bridge from Paraguay to Brazil
It was my second crossing through Brazil now, and all had gone smoothly as I entered Paraguay and went about the business I needed to complete while there. On my return over the bridge, I hire a motorcycle taxi as usual. These daredevil style riders provide a rather unsafe ride as they cut through the gaps between the busy bridge traffic, but their full face helmets help in the process of entering the countries without being stopped. It was fortunate that I asked this rider to drop me off on the other side of the bridge. THE RETURN Normally I would have asked for a ride back to the bus station or something else, further in town, but today I knew there was a bus that I could catch to take me all the way back to Argentina from the other side of the bridge. So I asked to stop there, and when we arrived there I was very glad that I had. There seemed to be a huge congestion of bikes ahead. THE PROBLEM As I got off and paid for my ride I looked for a reason as to why all of these motorbikes would be stuck in such a massive traffic jam. It was then that I saw that they were stuck, not by some traffic incident, but rather by a line of very serious looking Brazilian police and special forces officers. Each rider and their passenger were being checked over thoroughly, looking at documentation and through bags.
Motorbike Taxis waiting for a customer.
Now I was not carrying anything terrible at all, and would have passed easily with what was in my bag. This was not my concern however. I had just entered this country illegally, albeit with the intention of leaving again within 15 minutes. If the police realised this, there could be any of a number of consequences, none of which I really wanted to consider right now. Realistically, the best approach would have been to turn around and go back to Paraguay where I could be legal, and then return to Argentina via the river boat option that completely avoids Brazil. I did not think of this option at the time. Instead, my instincts were to find a way through this formidable looking police line. FINDING A SOLUTION I quickly ducked into a nearby market stall that hid me from their view. Everything in me wanted to walk immediately out to the other side of these markets, but I knew that if someone was watching this would be suspicious behaviour. So instead I spent a few minutes looking over the wares for sale. When I did head out the other entrance to this stall, I noticed that there were some guards nearby the exit to this narrow lane. They were not overly interested in the minimal foot traffic ambling their way through here however. So with my daypack on my back, I started my own amble towards the exit, which was also heading right at them. In Ciudad del Este I had been mistaken for a Brazilian in virtually every shop I entered, my Australian accented Spanish only adding to their convictions. Perhaps this is what allowed the next set of events to happen, or maybe it was my casual manner, disinterested look, and clothes that I had previously carefully selected for such an event as this, although I really don't think I looked that unobvious. I would prefer to think instead, that the quick, desperate prayer I had sent up to God was now in action. As I reached the entrance to this narrow lane, there were no guards to be seen. Quickly I turned and headed directly away from the scene, hoping and trusting that my actions had not drawn attention to me. I made it almost a block away before doubling back in the hope of catching my bus back to Argentina. Brazenly walking within 20 metres of the line of officers towards my bus stop, I had wished I hadn't. Only once I had neared the bus could I see a number of police moving around inside. It would be foolishness to board this bus.
Looking down at the police line with the bus to Argentina on the left, detained at the bus stop.
FINDING A WAY OUT Hoping again, that my brazen approach and sudden retreat had not caused too much attention, I walked back up the hill with my heart in my mouth. Surely somebody would see me and know that I was a tourist. I kept waiting for the gruff shout that would identify me as a possible target, with the inevitable checking of documentation that follows. Gaining some distance from all of the commotion, I stop and take a hurried photo, then continue onward. My heart stops as I look up and see two uniformed officers heading in my direction. Not giving them a chance to question me, I duck through a car parking lot, looking as casual as possible. This whole thing was turning out to be a lot more serious than I had first imagined. On the other side I felt safer, moving onward and never looking back. There were no shouts after me so I must have avoided them. As I crossed the road to the next block, there were another two police officers situated on the opposite corner. Feigning interest in some unknown object, I kept my face turned away from them as I casually, but oh so nervously inside, continued my walk. Every second block there were police officers stationed. Each pair of officers were looking out for something, and I wanted to make sure that it was not me. In my previous two visits to this area I had not see so many police before. More than once I found myself walking directly toward these stationed officers, at times much closer than comfort would allow. So, in an action common to every shopper, I made an angled crossing of the road to put as much distance between me and them as possible. FEELING SAFE This dodging of officers continued for what seemed like ages, covering over ten or more blocks, as I kept walking away from this very unusual situation. Eventually the police officers stopped appearing, and I started to feel safer. The trouble was that now, after ducking and weaving and winding my way through the blocks of this unknown city, I had no idea where I was. Another thought ran through my mind also, "was I now unwittingly walking through a dangerous suburb?" Forging onward, there was no time to stop, and no retreat. I did not want to start considering things like that right now. At one point I saw a major road down a side street but kept away from it when I saw another police blockade. After this, I remained skeptical of the security of all major roads for my plight, and chose instead to keep to the back roads. Occasionally a motorbike taxi would zip past with a passenger. One or two without passengers also raced on by, but I was still too cautious at the time to want to hire one. When I did decide I was ready to hire one again, there were none around. GETTING OUT It was many blocks on that I finally discovered one, stopped at a tin shack take-away on the side of the road. We agreed on a price, which for me at this moment could have been anything as long as it got me closer to Argentina, and were soon racing down the road. As we raced along, I asked the rider about the police line that I had slipped through. He told me that they were mainly looking for drugs and criminals, as there was a lot of drugs that passed through this border. Considering that I neither carried drugs nor was a criminal, it put me a little at ease about my situation, although there remained a niggling doubt as to whether my illegal entry would have been seen as criminal activity or not. After the ride I climbed the bus to Argentina and trundled off happily back into a country where I am readily accepted. My only concern was in approaching the Brazilian border where I wondered if there was a similar police line situation, or if security had been tightened and I would need to show my passport before being allowed to leave the country. Fortunately, nothing like that happened, as we drove straight through the border as usual. My entry to Argentina brought both relief and reflection. I was happy to be back here again, legal and known. THE QUESTIONS What would have happened if I had shown myself to the police in that line back in Brazil? What would have happened if I had been caught trying to slip past the line? Or if the police on the corners had singled me out for questioning? Unanswered questions, and thankfully so. Be-it prayer, actions, or a Brazilian appearance, I was very thankful to be safe once again. Next time however, I think I will take the boat.