Iguazu Falls: Argentinian Side Boat Ride, Jungle Truck & Train

4.53

(140 reviews)

What’s the experience like?

We were already half-awake when the van pulled up outside our hotel in Puerto Iguazú—still sticky from last night’s rain, the air buzzing with cicadas. Our guide, Martín, greeted us with a grin and a warning: “You’ll get soaked later—no escape.” I laughed, but he wasn’t joking. The drive to Iguazu Falls only took about 30 minutes, but you could feel the mood shift as we left town behind and slipped into all that green. I kept watching for toucans out the window. Didn’t spot one yet.

The real start was that little open-air train inside the park. There’s something oddly peaceful about gliding through thick jungle while everyone whispers (or tries to). At Garganta del Diablo station, Martín told us to listen for the falls before we could see them—he was right. The roar is like standing near a jet engine but wetter somehow. Walking that long metal walkway over the river felt surreal; you’re just floating above all this wild water and then suddenly—boom—the Devil’s Throat is right there, mist everywhere, people gasping or just silent. I didn’t even try to take a good photo, honestly.

Afterwards we wandered more trails—Upper Path had these smaller falls like Bosetti and Tres Hermanas where butterflies kept landing on my sleeve (one even hitched a ride for a bit). Lunch was quick empanadas at a park café; nothing fancy but I swear food tastes better when your shoes are damp and you’re grinning for no reason. Then came the part Martín warned us about: climbing into those zodiacs for the boat ride. The spray hit before we even got close to San Martín fall—I tried yelling something in Spanish but mostly swallowed river water. Everyone was laughing by then.

The jungle-truck ride after felt almost slow-motion compared to all that chaos—a bumpy eight kilometers with our guide pointing out weird trees and telling stories about jaguars (haven’t seen one of those either). The forest smelled sharp and earthy after rain, kind of like wet tobacco leaves if you know what I mean. By the time we got back to town, my hair was still dripping and my phone case smelled faintly of river mud. But I still think about that first moment at Devil’s Throat—the sound gets under your skin somehow.