February 1, 2004
After a glorious day at the Argentina side of Iguazu Falls, we decided to check out the Brazilian side. Since we don't speak Spanish or Portuguese, Frank arranged for a private car and tour guide from Iguassu Falls Tours to pick us up at the hotel and take us over. Our guide, a friendly young man named Edson, picked us up right on time in a small white car, and we were off to visit Brazil.
The best advice I can give to families with small kids traveling in a country where you don't know the language is to hire a private guide. Often, it's as cost-effective as a bus tour for four or five people and less nerve-wracking than trying to rent a car and navigate on your own. You have control over your schedule, and if your kids melt down 2 hours into it, you can change your course quickly. Native guides can often get the "inside scoop" on places and people that you won't get from a packaged tour, help you find a store that sells diapers or toys or whatever else you might need, or help you navigate a tricky situation. We've had great luck finding guides on-line and through recommendations of other travelers. This time was no exception.
The first stop on our trip was to the border customs building, where we passed from Argentina into Brazil. The customs building was a small, white, nondescript building surrounded by a large parking lot. We pulled in, and there was one other car in the lot, but it looked like a kind of desolate and lonely place, though not as desolate as the one at Jim's Corner in Northwest Angle.
The United States had recently enacted strict immigration laws for visitors into the US, including fingerprinting and photos, and Frank had read right before our trip that this had really ticked off the Brazilians. Brazil was the only country to file a formal complaint against the US for this policy. Edson explained in a low voice that this was something new that the Brazilian officials were doing, particularly to Americans, as a kind of quid pro quo for treating Brazilians like criminals when they entered the US. He was very apologetic about our having to go through the process, but there was nothing he could do about it. He said that the stop used to be fairly quick and routine, but now it took time to process people, so he was glad we got there early.
At first, Alexander stood stiff as a board against the wall, as though he were expecting them to frisk him at any moment, then burst into tears. It really did feel like we were having our mug shots taken (not that I would know anything about that), and that we might appear on "Brazil's Most Wanted" as a Notorious Family Gang of Tourists out to steal trinkets from unsuspecting merchants.
We then had to be fingerprinted. Alexander placed his tiny thumb on the ink pad and rolled it on the paper as instructed. When we were done, they went to their ancient computer and searched each of names to see if we required strip-searching, quarantine, or immediate deportation, I guess. The customs official emerged from his computer about 15 minutes later, finally cracked a smile and said, "Welcome to Brazil! Enjoy!"
The whole process took about thirty minutes, and although we were the only ones there when we arrived, by the time we left, there was a line of about fifty American tourists waiting to be processed. As were were leaving, we heard a few of them grumble about how long this was taking, and discussing whether this was retaliation for the US government's policy. At this point, Brazil was the only country taking the stance that if their citizens were being photographed and fingerprinted coming into the US, then by golly they would do the same to Americans.
Frank looked at the line of people and high-fived Edson and said, "Great timing!"
Had we gotten there after the bus, we'd probably still be waiting to be processed. I think Edson planned it that way.
