Girl, I Want to Make You Sweat!
San Ignacio Miní can be aptly summarized by quoting a truly rockin' reggae song by the band Inner Circle,
"Girl, I want to make you sweat, sweat till you can't take no more..."
I cannot remember a time or place where I have sweat as profusely as I did in this town. In San Ignacio, I could have foregone showers and simply bathed in my own perspiration! It was just so.so.so damn HOT! Excuse me while I wipe my brow in remembrance. Phew. And this is coming from a gal who lived for 8 years in the United Arab Emirates where temperatures in the summertime reach 50 degrees celsius and the humidity a whopping 100%! But the crucial difference was that in San Ignacio, most places did not have air conditioning, so it was practically impossible to escape the heat.
And yet, despite the relentless heat, humidity and hungry mosquitoes nibbling on any/all of my exposed extremities, I had a friggin' BLAST in San Ignacio! It is a small town with very few tourists and only about 10,000 inhabitants, a quarter of which are dogs, and is located just off Route 12 in the Missiones Province (roughly 4 hours by bus from Puerto Iguazu), near the border of Paraguay.
There are only a few eateries in town, but the restaurant that my traveling companion, Sonia, and I ate at not once, not twice but THRICE, was incredibly cheap and tasty. Apparently, it is a fairly new restaurant so it wasn't listed in our Lonely Planet or anywhere online and they hadn't even made up a menu yet. But no matter, for the guy who owned/ran the place was a completely laid-back dude and made pizza with whatever ingredients he had in stock. Hell, he even offered to run across the road to the local market in order to purchase some fresh broccoli to put on my pizza (I declined as it would have taken much longer to prepare and I was famished)!
Sonia and I went to San Ignacio in order to visit the UNESCO World Heritage ruins of its Guarini mission, which is located in the middle of the town and dates back to the early 17th century. There are a few other nearby Jesuit missions, such as ones in Santa Ana and Loreto, but those missions are much smaller and not as well-preserved, so if you are intending to only briefly visit the San Ignacio area, they are not particularly worth the time or effort.
After a morning spent visiting the impressive San Ignacio ruins, Sonia and I were offered a lift to the Loreta mission by Carlos, a local Casanova who was hanging out at our hostel. Carlos was quite the character (Sonia had even caught him in the kitchen fooling around with one of the maids!) but we certainly appreciated him driving us partways to the (lesser) Loreto Mission, even if it meant having to deal with his flirty sideway glances and not-so-subtle talk about how he was looking for a new wife. We hopped out of his vehicle at the side of the road and then walked the final 3 kilometers beneath the blazing sun until we reached Loreto's much smaller and far less visited Jesuit ruin. What it lacks in structure, it makes up for in atmosphere for it lies within a shady silent wood. The decrepit ruins basically consist of a few dilapidated stone walls from the church and a...wait for it....colossal LATRINE!
After we finished exploring Loreta, Sonia and I decided to try and hitch a ride back to San Ignacio as I had been experiencing symptoms of dehydration (nausea and dizziness) and feared the walk would push me over the edge. At first we were frustrated for all the vehicles we encountered were going the opposite way as us, but after walking about a kilometer, a truck came rumbling along in our direction and OUT went our thumbs and UP went our skirts. Just joking about flashing our legs, ha ha! Tito, the truck driver, and Lucas, his companion, had us both squeeze in between them in the front seat,which meant my private lady parts were jammed right up against the gear lever. This meant that every time Tito down shifted, I was given a cheap thrill or horribly violated, depending on who is reading this and how they prefer to visualize it. Lucas asked us where we were from and when he learned that I was from the "Estados Unidos," his face broke out in a huge ear-to-ear grin and he continued to beam the rest of the way back to San Ignacio. An interesting, surprising reaction as I am accustomed to far less complimentary looks when I reveal my nationality. Oh and did I mention that Lucas was a bit of a hottie? No? Well yes...!! And am I blushing as I write this? Once again...oh yes...!!
On the following day, we had pretty much the majority of the day to kill as our overnight bus to Buenos Aires (413 pesos) didn't depart until 18:30. We took a stroll after breakfast that took us out to La Casa de Horatio Quiroga Museo. This tragic writer hailed from Uruguay, but built a home in the junglelike wilderness on the outskirts of San Ignacio where he raised his 2 children pretty much singlehandedly as his wife had committed suicide when their kids were still toddlers. His home/museum had a few nifty knick knacks displayed throughout the rooms, the best of which was an extremely lifelike stuffed armadillo.
After satisfying our literary curiosities at the museum, we hastened back to our hostel and pondered what to do next. Our choices were to take a bus out to the Santa Ana Mission, but due to the infrequency of the buses, we were reluctant to do this for it meant we would be stuck there for quite a few hours with little to see & do. Our second option was to hire bicycles from our hostel and ride the 8 km out to the Parque Provincial Teyu Cuaré, which lies along the Rio Parana along the border with Paraguay. Although it was approaching midday when the sun is at its fiercest, we decided to go for the latter cycling option. If only we'd known what we were getting ourselves into...(cue ominous music)...
At first, it was rather pleasant to be back on the saddle, or err seat. But once we started hitting the bumps and hills and the sweat started pouring down our faces in streams, we realized we were up shit creek during a drought. But we were determined not to be defeated and so we peddled ever onwards, reaching the park about an hour later with cherry tomato faces and sore biker butts.
The Teyu Cuaré Park has a number of short trails one can follow which lead down to the river or up to a few scenic lookouts. But the third path was the one we were most interested in following for it led to the stoney ruins of 2 houses where, rumor has it, the Nazi war criminal and former private secretary to Adolph Hitler, Martin Boormann, hid out. Locals stand by their claim that the secretive German who lived there in seclusion was, in fact, Bormann, but subsequent research I did on the Internet pokes holes in their tale. Whether or not he truly did live there is up for argument, but it was definitely a creepy place and the swastika someone carved on one of the walls was decidedly REAL.
On our way back to San Ignacio I took a bit of a tumble off my bike, which resulted in a nasty scrape below my elbow as well as a bruised pride. But once back at the hostel, I found solace in a cold beer and waited patiently for my heart rate to return to normal.
Sonia and I caught our bus to Buenos Aires at 7 PM, and waved a weary goodbye to the sweltering streets of San Ignacio. "Mucho calor" indeed.
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