The Night I Didn’t Exist: What Nobody Tells You About the Puerto Iguazu to Ciudad del Este Bus

Ok, so I am going to tell you ALL the things about the Puerto Iguazu to Ciudad del Este bus ride from Argentina to Paraguay that not a single person I asked about this bus ride, told me. It’s also about the night that I technically didn’t exist, because no documentation of me existed in any country. Let me explain.

For whatever reason, I decided that I would pop through Paraguay on my way from Iguazu Falls, Argentina to Salta + Jujuy in Northern Argentina. Geographically it made sense, and because I could literally see Paraguay from where I was staying, I figured it would be silly not to just check it out.

See, Iguazu Falls marks a triple border between Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay. There’s a point that you can visit where you can see all three countries at once. I think Paraguay was tempting me from across the river.

Researching How to Get to Paraguay from Puerto Iguazu

I did quite a lot of research on Paraguay and transportation to/within/from it, and my route from Puerto Iguazu, Argentina to Ciudad del Este, Paraguay to the capital (Asuncion) and across back into Argentina seemed feasible. I thought I had become accustomed to bus travel in South America, so figured it would be doable. But first, I had to confirm the first bus ride just to get to the bit of Paraguay right across the river, Ciudad del Este.

I asked my knowledgeable tour guide for Iguazu Falls about this bus ride. “You can get the ticket straight from the bus station,” she said. “You’ll have to go through both borders. Be careful there.”

I asked at the bus station the day before my trip. “It’s a collectivo (public bus) from Platform 7,” they said in Spanish. “You buy your 50 peso (roughly $1.85) ticket on the bus every 2 hours.”

I even googled it for my British passport. “You do not need a visa to enter Paraguay for 90 days,” it said. I also checked for Brazil because the route went through Brazil, and I don’t need one there either (but many people, including Americans, do!).

I googled the location of the bus station, found that it was less than a 10-minute walk from my hostel, and decided I would ask around if it would be safe to walk, and if not, grab a taxi.

Cool. I felt comfortable and ready for my short bus from Puerto Iguazu to Ciudad del Este. I arrived at platform 7 with my 50 pesos on the proper 2hr interval, and walked up to the driver.

“Ciudad del Este?” I asked. “Si,” he confirmed. So I handed him my cash and got on the bus.

Disclaimer: Sorry these photos are absolutely terrible. I didn’t plan to write about this location so these iPhone photos are the only documentation I have. It still apparently goes to show I still document everything I do for absolutely no reason. 

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The Puerto Iguazu to Ciudad del Este Bus

It was an interesting bus – it was definitely a ‘collectivo,’ meaning public bus. It was nothing like the fancy-schmancy night busses they have all over South America; it was a rickety and dirty almost-like school bus, with plastic seats that shook quite a lot when the engine turned on.

Everyone else on the bus was local/indigenous, and they all peered over at me at intervals because I surely looked very out of place as a random white girl by herself with two massive backpacks. I smiled back at them, clutched my belongings, and gazed out the window, ready for my next adventure.

Little did I know, I wasn’t ready for my next ‘adventure.’ We reached the border of Argentina, stopped, and everyone automatically got off the bus. Not sure whether I should bring all my things or not (a lot of borders want to scan everything) I helplessly watched everyone else. No one really had many bags, but I resolved to just bring my smaller backpack.

The bus driver motioned me towards an open window, which lead me to believe he was looking out for me. I gave him a nod of thanks, got my passport stamped quite quickly, and got back on the collectivo bus on the other side.

We crossed the bridge over the Iguazu River, which changed from blue and white railings to yellow and green halfway through.

“Hello again, Brazil,” I thought, after spending the day on that side of the waterfalls the day before. Not sure how crossing through Brazil temporarily worked on this public bus, I had my passport in hand, ready to cross the border.

But, to my surprise, we sailed around the outside of the border without even braking a little bit. I thought this was interesting, but resolved that since the bus is going straight to Paraguay they must have some type of agreement where they don’t stop in Brazil. It did, however, confuse me when the bus stopped to let someone off…

We sailed through the much larger city of Foz du Iguacu, Brazil, and around towards the other river that forms the border between Brazil/Argentina and Paraguay. As I expected, we sailed through the other Brazilian border, too.

But what I didn’t expect, was when we sailed through the Paraguay border as well?!?!

Confused and with my passport in hand, I narrowed my eyes and looked around. Did I miss something here? Are we going to another immigration point? Did we really just….where are we?!

I waited another minute or two, confirmed how to say ‘ stamp’ in my Spanish dictionary app, and walked up to the driver and leaned over the rickety makeshift turnstile to get his attention.

Disculpa, porque no cerramos a immigracion?! Necesito una estampilla!! (Excuse me, why didn’t we stop at immigration? I need a stamp!)

Why Didn’t You Tell Me You Need a Stamp?

The bus driver launched into a rant in full fast Spanish, of which I did not understand at all. After asking him to speak a bit more slowly, I understood him saying that apparently I should have told him earlier that I needed to stop at the border… that I needed to inform him of my necessity to stamp into a new country.

I needed to TELL the bus driver… to STOP at IMMIGRATION… in a DIFFERENT COUNTRY.

I have never, in all of my 65+ countries, needed to give notice of my necessity to stop at god damn international border. What part of the word ‘border’ insinuated anything about not stopping? How is that even legal?

I would soon learn that this was a completely open border where Paraguayans and Brazilians can pass freely when they want… which is why I was the only one on the entire bus who needed an actual stamp. But honestly though, what part of my completely obvious blonde lost backpacker appearance seemed like I DIDN’T need to stop to check into this country?! I mean, I guess it was fine to enter, but exiting without an entry stamp would be the problem… and I did NOT want to deal with that.

‘Well, f*ck,’ I thought, my mind totally spinning and having visions of Paraguayan prisons and arrests for being inside a country like this illegally. The bus driver didn’t speak a lick of English, and in my forlorn broken Spanish I asked him what I could do to fix this predicament.

He scribbled some things down on a piece of paper and handed it to me – they were directions to a main road where I could get off and walk 500m to the border. I’m sorry, but HELL NO am I, as a very clearly foreign solo female backpacker, going to walk to the Paraguayan border alone at night time with three bags. Next option.

He could tell how distraught I was, and he ended up driving me directly to my hostel and dropping me off, which was nice. But, there was still the problem that I technically didn’t actually exist at that moment in any official place; I had stamped out of Argentina but not into anywhere else. I was nowhere. There were no records of me. I could just disappear…. that is, until I tried to leave the country of Paraguay. Then, I would be in trouble.

Seeing my concern, the hostel workers were quick to console me. They told me it happens a lot, and that I would be fine to go back in the morning. Skeptical of spending an entire night in total nonexistence and having a discrepancy of dates on my passport stamps, I pried a little.

“Are you SURE?”

“Yes… but I’ll see if my son can drive you back tonight.”

I didn’t want to be an annoyance, so I politely declined the offer despite the hostel owner’s insistence that she would ask. She told me I would be fine, and to just go first thing in the morning to stamp in. I was nervous, but really… what else could I do?

The morning came, and I awoke with sweat already on my brow. I set out on a brisk walk through intermittent thunderstorms in the city.

Ciudad del Este has an uncanny resemblance to some shopping cities in Southeast Asia or something… people come here from all over South America to buy cheap knockoff brands of everything from designer clothing to electronics. Tents and stands line all the streets selling everything you can think of, and I darted between these makeshift tarp-stands between rain showers as I inched my way to the border.

The border came into sight. I was on the side that I should be on if I was leaving to cross the bridge to Brazil…. but I crossed to the side where people should already have come in. A few men tried to sell me action cameras and cell phone cases as I walked toward the entry side of the Paraguayan border from the totally wrong side.

Would they see me walk up from already being INSIDE the country? Would they see the wrong date on my exit stamp? Would all my stamps confuse them enough to not raise a red flag? Would they take me straight to prison?

There was only one way to find out.

I snaked along the side of the building so no one would see me coming in the wrong way from the inside. I walked into the building and there was absolutely no one in line, and the guards seemed more occupied by a world cup game than nearly everything else – especially the side of the building I had entered on. That was a relief.

The Moment of Truth

I handed him my passport, and he looked at me. He looked at it. He flipped through my pages for an uncomfortable amount of time… flipping one way, then back the other… then back to the front again. I was internally shitting my pants, but trying to keep calm and collected on the outside.

He held the passport open, sighed, and looked behind him, as if to seek out a coworker or a higher up. There was no one there. He flipped through another time, looked at me, found an open page, and…….

Stamped my passport and gave it back to me.

I’m… good to go?

“Yes, have a nice time,” he said.

And holy actual shit, I was legally inside Paraguay.

Now that I had taken care of my illegal activities, I felt like a load was off my shoulders. I actually had a really nice time exploring and shopping in Ciudad del Este, bought a few things (of questionable quality), met some new friends in my hostel, made it safely to Asuncion and, believe it or not, out of the country a few days later. Thank gawd.

The moral of the story is, if you’re thinking of taking the collectivo bus from Puerto Iguazu Argentina to Ciudad del Este Paraguay, MAKE SURE TO ASK TO STOP AT THE BORDER TO GET A STAMP!

Read More of my Ridiculous Travel Stories:

How We Almost Didn’t Get Into Vietnam

• The Morning a Wild Fox Stood in Me and Stole My Shoe

A Trip to the Penis Museum in Iceland We Cannot Unsee

How I Snuck into the Marina Bay Sands Infinity Pool in Iceland

Visiting the 403’s Edition of Shin-Kicking at the Cotswold Olimpicks