THE LATER OF THE ALLOTED TIMES

Entering Argentina involved the usual bureaucratic rigmarole that seems to accompany border crossings. I never understand why customs and immigration procedures should be more convoluted simply because entry is being made by land rather than air or sea. It cab be slightly irritating, unless of course you are Austrian and used to ruthless efficiency, in which case it then becomes incredibly vexing.

Earlier that morning, the mini-bus we’d hired to take us south of the border unexpectedly motored past the turn-off to Argentina and made for a drugs compound just outside of town.

I am open to the possibility that the building in question was a hostel rather than a drug processing plant but its isolation spoke otherwise and its inhabitants spoke German. On reflection, solid conclusions are perhaps difficult to draw.

The upshot of the detour was that our small party of waterfall enthusiasts had been increased by one. Austria was on board and he would tolerate no delay. Waterfalls would be seen and they would be seen in an orderly, efficient and thorough way.

He fidgeted and worried at the border crossing, which took about 45 minutes, expressing concern that we might not get to see all that the park had to offer.

“Maybe we will have to run around the waterfalls,” he said as we waited for the Argentinean authorities to stamp our passports. I was midway through a reassuring reply when he pointed over my shoulder and shouted; “here he comes”, before leaping back onto the mini-bus and taking his seat.

Ten minutes later the van still hadn’t moved. Neither had Austria. He was still perched on his seat, cradling his daypack in his lap like a nana nursing a handbag full of bingo winnings.

When we finally did arrive, Austria leapt from the van, waiting just long enough to hear our driver say he’d meet us at the entrance at “5:30 or 6:00 o’clock”, before sprinting off into the park.

Nearly five hours later, having seen all the falls and exhausted all of the walking routes, Alan and I made it back to the rendezvous for a cold drink and a nice sit-down. We were a little early but after a long afternoon of sappingly direct sunshine we were looking forward to getting back to the hostel for a shower and a cold beer. Not so our Austrian friend who was nowhere to be seen.

It would be another 45 minutes before he emerged from the park. On the stroke of six o’clock we spotted him making his way up to the reception centre. That we were able to spot him so clearly among the hundreds of people exiting the park was mainly down to the fact he was sporting a rouge-tinted pair of eye-catchingly brief swimming trunks that were roughly the same colour as his sun-roasted head.

He looked as content as it’s possible for an Austrian to look and on reaching us he nodded once and said: “I took the later of the allotted times.”

Well hello to you too.

That is all,

Dale Atkinson