Out of Humous: Iguazu

The movie shown on the bus to one of the largest waterfalls in the world, the Iguazu, was Jules Verne's "Journey to the Center of the Earth," which added to the general sense of excitement and anticipation. 

The entrance to the Iguazu Park is very attractive and the beauty of the park induced us to sample all four of its walking trails. Tons of roaring water spilled down from the height of a sky scraper, crashing into the water bellow, producing a cloud of droplets that soaked you in minutes. In a word: Wow! Recovering from the first magnificent impression, I allowed myself a quiet moment with the falls, a few long seconds just to look and later close my eyes and observe the feeling of that immense energy and beauty.

Beautiful butterflies dedicated part of their short lives to sitting on our hands, cameras and noses and posing patiently. I also got to see monkeys in the wild for the first time, but they were anything but photo-oriented.
 

 
Brazil. I am no longer a fish in the Spanish pond. Many houses, including the hostel we stayed in, are surrounded by electrified wire. The internet place I went to offered the unusual combination of manicure, haircut and internet access. That was not the only oddity. The store was closed, with a lock, and was opened from the inside to the appropriate clients only - and that was during working hours.
 
We found a nice Posada (modest hotel) that offered services in Portuniol (the unregulated mixture of Spanish and Portuguese). Expecting the habitual continental breakfast, we got up to a Brazilian breakfast -  exotic fruits, jams, cheese, pizza, pies, wraps, cakes and fruit shakes. We were all very excited.
 
I, for one, developed a deep interest in an exotic yellow fruit. I complimented the owners on the good breakfast and asked if the fruit, called Jaca, was also available in the stores.

"No," she replied, "it's quite hard to get it."

 I realized that my exquisite and refined taste has exposed yet another culinary pearl. "Why," I wondered, "is it so hard to obtain? Is it that rare?"

"Well," answered my host, "it's because there's so many of them that we feed them to the cows and pigs."
 
···
 
The Brazilians have made great efforts to upgrade their side of the park. The facilities allow the visitor to go behind the waterfall - still at a very safe distance.
 
Outside the park is a Birds' Park, with - suprise - hundreds of birds. I saw the melancholy Toucans, stayed in a cage amid shrieking parrots, gently walked through the butterfly garden and watched the lazy aquatic birds. Apparently, when you are a bird and cannot fly, and do not need to search for food, there aren't a great many things you can or want to do besides cleaning your feathers and poking the lens if my camera.

I couldn't resist a picture with an indifferent, yet colorful, parrot. A snake is another story. Prejudice aside, the laid-back snake felt like a roll of chilly mozzarella around my neck. Not the worst thing in a warm climate. The snake (a cobra) sniffed me with his tongue, at which point he probably thought me a weird kind of parrot, but that was as close as we got. I went back to town to hear the rest of the story of the exceptional man we had had dinner with the night before. 
 

 
Now in his fifties, Claudius still doesn't know who his real parents are. He grew up to be an artist. He creates large-scale artworks using stone and water. Working mostly by himself, his art suits him. He works as long as there is light, and sometimes after. The only thought that shadows his work is his longing to see the family he leaves behind when he works in remote cities.
 
He's a small man, shy, his skin brown from days in the sun. He has dim blue eyes and a yarmulke over his thick gray hair. He first presented himself as a Jew and was exited to meet young Jews cooking breakfast just next to the artificial waterfall, pond and stream that he is creating for the hostel.
 
We talked a while about Jewish history. Claudius discovered that his family originated in Belgium and got to Brazil through Spain and Portugal. Touching the painful topic of the inquisition, I came to mention that not only the Jews forcibly converted by the inquisition hid their true identity, but also some European Jews, hoping to save their offspring the suffering they had experienced.
 
Something changed in Claudius. Since you said that, he told me, I want to tell you my story. He grew up adopted. He never knew his real parents. When he grew up, as a hippie, he was taken by the military regime and beaten. Military Juntas aren't fond of hippies. For years he traveled around Argentina and Paraguay. When he came back he started searching for his roots. There was inconsistency in the registration of his biological mother. There was no clear record of his father. Almost like someone tried to hide something.
 
Rumors, investigation and an undeniable sense of belonging, he finally traced the roots of his family. He is now reconstructing the family tree for centuries back. "My wife is also Jewish" he says proudly. He is learning Hebrew by himself. He was very happy to hear about Beit Hatfutzot and all he asked of me, after inviting me to come and stay in his house, was to send him a list of basic phrases in Hebrew via email.