a life in words: catching the ferry in tigre

15th April 2012

Tigre, Argentina

On a glorious Sunday morning in the metropolis of Buenos Aires, I decided to head out of the city for the day to check out the river port of Tigre which lies in the Parana Delta about 28km north of central B.A. Getting up after a night of very little sleep, as my body clock is still firmly broken, I strolled through the streets of San Telmo which were bustling with activity in preparation for the Sunday morning market that was about to descend upon the area. Walking north, I crossed the attractive Avenida de Mayo and joined the shopping street of Calle Florida; past the newsagents unfolding their crammed shelves of magazines, shop owners raising their iron shutters and street sellers rolling out their blankets of wares on the pavement for another day of bartering over socks, calculators and wrist bracelets. A short amble though the peaceful confines of Parque San Martin led me towards the cavernous Retiro train station where I managed to squeeze myself onto a train which was about to depart for Tigre on the mitre line; packed with crowds of city dwellers heading out of the city for a Sunday stroll along the Parana river or, as I was planning, to take a cruise in one of the wooden ferries that sail through Tigre´s vast network of rivers and streams. The train was bustling with activity: ecstatic children tugging their parents trousers in anticipation of an exciting day on the river, men parading through the different carriages selling everything from plastic credit card wallets to energy saving light bulbs, empanada sellers (meat-filled pastry snack), buskers singing for a spare peso and the gringos who, like me, were swept up in the pace of it all. After an hour of passing through the surrounding districts of the Greater Buenos Aires area, gazing out of the windows as suburban life sped past in a blur, we finally arrived in Tigre.

After asking the tourist office where I could catch the ferry, I headed to the Estacion Fluvial where I bought a return ticket to Tres Bocas (34 pesos) and jumped on board a narrow wooden-decked ferry which was docked by the rivers edge. Climbing across several ferries which were lined up parallel to the jetty, I lowered myself down into the cabin of the final one and was confronted by a full ship. Spying a free space behind the driver, I knocked past the knees of people sitting on the central and side benches until I reached the free seat. As the small diesel engine was powered up, we headed off down the river past legions of waving families who were tucking into picnics on the grassy banks of the river and kayakers who floated over the small undulations which were kicked out by the propeller of our chugging ferry. By this point it was midday and the sun was dominating the sky; snapping at any foolish clouds which dared enter it´s azure domain and I was thankful for the small wooden roof of the ferry which kept us out of the searing rays. Leaning out of the open sides of the ferry, I looked down as the wooden hull cut through the rippling waters of the Parana river which rushed past and was covered by a fine spray every time the boat crashed into the wake of a passing boat. Picking up speed, we soon left the crowded banks of the Estacion Fluvial and chugged past abandoned ferries which had been left to rust in the scorching sun, busy rowing clubs that were hives of activity due to the perfect weather and the stylish jetties of exclusive weekend holiday homes. After a 30minute cruise along the waterways we reached the neighbourhood of Tres Bocas and just as I was getting off the small wooden ferry which rocked in the reflective waters, I got talking to a couple of friendly fellow gringos by the names of Dina (Chicago) and Imran from London. As I mentioned in the previous post, I hadn´t come across anyone in my hostel who could speak English and so it came as a bit of relief to be able to chat away with some fellow travellers. Getting off the boat together, we strolled along the narrow alleyways which connected the area together; skirting the edges of small waterways and strolling past families who were eating lunch together on the lawns of their weekend homes. After an hour of following a small path we reached a clearing and with no discernible way forward - and faced by an extremely agitated Alsatian who was not at all happy we had entered his turf - we turned around and headed back towards the small jetty where the ferry had dropped us off. Returning to Tigre, we strolled through the colourful Puerto de Frutos market in the town where everything from Delta plants to wooden furniture and local handicrafts were on sale and after a short rest on the grassy banks of the river, soaking up the final few rays of the day, we hopped on the 6pm train back to the city after a very enjoyable day on the river.

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