First, let me get my geography straight. Iguazú Falls are not on the Paraná River as I claimed in yesterday's post. They're on the Iguazú River just before it joins the Paraná.

The photo below should make this crystal clear. Coming in from the right is the brown, muddy Iguazú River. The clear, bluish waters of the Paraná are flowing toward Jean and our driver, Walter. Jean is standing in the country of Argentina. That round building across the Iguazú is in Brazil. The land to the left is Paraguay. Got it?

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I was surprised to find out the Paraná is navigable between this place, called Porto Iguazú, and Buenos Aires, some 1,600 miles downriver. Agricultural goods are freighted south and large excursion boats make a five-day run up from the Capital. I'm takin' it next time I'm in Argentina.

People from Brazil and Paraguay all want to shop in Argentina because devaluation of the peso results in low prices. The easy way to go is via a bridge that connects Argentina to Brazil, and another that connects Brazil with Paraguay. But Paraguayans take a slow, clunky ferry direct from Argentina to avoid Brazilian imposts. Aren't governments wonderful?

Above the falls, the Iguazú River breaks into many channels and slowly meanders over a large plain, creating a moist ecosystem.

Parts of the river look like hot chocolate.

A 200' drop from the plateau creates the falls. This image is of a portion of them called La Garganta del Diablo—The Devil's Throat. If you could stand in the middle of the lower river at this point, you would be surrounded on three sides by cataracts like this.

But you probably couldn't see them because of the mist which sometimes reaches hundreds of meters into the air.

The spray creates permanent rainbows; permanent, that is, depending on the elevation of the sun.

The subtropical jungle is dense, supporting a huge variety of wildlife and plants. Here an Andean condor, Argentina's national bird, is drying its wings.

A caiman basks in shallow water.

Here in its highly specialized habitat—a walkway beside a snack stand—we find a Coati, a South American type of raccoon. Signs prohibit touching or feeding them. People do anyway. They stand on their hind legs and stick their noses in your shoulder bag.

The wildlife is terrific. I wish I could spend a couple of days on a Zodiac looking for jaguars and ocelots.

But most people don't come here for the wildlife. They come here for the falls.

Around 275 individual waterfalls are strung along a curtain that is one and two thirds miles long. From the ground, you can't see them all. But you can hike trails and clamber over catwalks for hours, revealing countless views. I could not take enough pictures.

The park is full of plants: some new to me, some new only in the wild: bromeliads, orchids, epiphytes, cacti, rare palms, timber bamboo, ceiba trees, mate trees, many different vines, houseplants on steroids.

I don't know the red-flowered plant. The inflorescences on the right are on a cupay tree. A rarity, it grows only here.

And then, there's the falls: the overwhelming, thrilling, inescapable falls. No moving water anywhere in the world can match them.

I was with a small tour group and I kept up with everybody so I could get a good overview of the park. I also would have liked to just sit quietly, listening to the roar, feeling the spray on my face, and watching the vencejos (a kind of swift) diving at Mach 2 past the columns of water.

When we decided to visit Argentina, our plan was set up housekeeping in Buenos Aires; maybe make a couple of short side trips to Mendoza and Iguazú. Well, Buenos Aires is a great city, deserving of a close look, of experiencing living there. But the real Argentina is outdoors. My next visit will be to the Andes, Patagonia—and Antarctica while it's still there.

But I'll return to Iguazú, too. My quick look left me wanting much, much more.