Carpinchos & Caimans:
Exploring Argentina’s Los Esteros del Iberá

Getting There: Flechabus #63
By Mike Norman - “Take Fletchabus #63 from Buenos Aires to Mercedes. A driver will meet you in Mercedes.” That was the extent of the correspondence I had received, and yet, like well-behaved sheep, Katie and I found ourselves at Buenos Aires’ Retiro bus station at 9pm, tickets in hand, ready to embark on what was supposed to be a ten-hour, 500-mile trip to the north.

My New Favorite Watering Hole (Mike Norman)

During a trip where we routinely traveled completely on blind faith, our excursion to Los Esteros del Iberá in the heart of Argentina’s Corrientes Province required the biggest leap of all. Although, in the end, it produced the greatest rewards, as it led us to friendly folks, fascinating fauna, fabulous food, and flooded forests.

Perhaps not surprisingly, even with the very comfortable semi-cama reclining seats of Flechabus #63, sleep did not come easily that night. Yet, despite our worst fears, almost exactly ten hours, seventeen stops, four movies, and two lomito (think shoe leather infused with the essence of beef) sandwiches later, at six o’clock the following morning, our bus arrived in the town of Mercedes.

From the two minutes of online research I had done on Mercedes, I figured it was a good-size city, and that it would have at least a decent-size bus station. To our surprise though, what Mercedes—which is home to 35,000 people—called a bus station, would scarcely register as a bus stop back in the States. Nonetheless, this is where the cryptic message told us to get off, and so once again, like cows willingly being led to the slaughter, we collected our bags and left the friendly confines of Fletchabus #63.

Six in the morning in northern Argentina in late July meant that the sun still had two hours to sleep, and our eyes were not prepared for the pitch-blackness in Mercedes. However, once our eyes adjusted, a sinking feeling began to set in. Fletchabus #63 had just slinked off into the abyss, and there we were with our far-too-large suitcases at the bus depot of Mercedes.

Los Esteros I (Mike Norman)

A couple of minutes passed, and we noticed a small older man standing by a pick-up truck at the far end of the parking lot. Instinctively, we wandered toward him, and as we approached, he flashed a knowing grin and simply said, “Norman.” It was not a question but a statement that served as a reservation confirmation.

Old Man & The Pick-Up
Taking the path less traveled took on a whole new meaning as we stared out from the backseat of the old pick-up truck that was being driven by Julio, the man I assumed was our driver. Ahead was an unpaved, red dirt track that snaked its way off into the pre-dawn emptiness of Los Esteros. This was the only road, and we had been told it was over a two-hour drive to our final destination of Colonia Carlos Pellegrini. We had known this stranger for all of five minutes, but then the Fletchabus #63 had worked out, so why should we think twice about this?

By the time the sun finally rose around 7:45am, we were nearly forty miles into the Los Esteros del Iberá Provincial Park and we had seen only two other cars. At about that time, as we were finally able to see what the surrounding wilderness looked like, we were struck by the most dramatic feature of the landscape—that being the complete and total lack of any dramatic feature. It was perfectly flat grassland in all directions with only the occasional stand of imported eucalyptus or pine breaking the monotony.

Utilizing the remnants of our high school Spanish vocabulary, we asked Julio about the geography. He just replied, “Wait until you see la laguna; then you’ll see why you came to Los Esteros.” Forty-five minutes and three sore rear-ends later, Julio and Los Esteros delivered on that promise.

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