Nothing had prepared me for the sheer scale of the falls themselves. I heard it before I could see it. The roar was deafening. As I stood on the edge of the Devil’s Throat, the tallest cataract, I faced a veritable wall of water, cascading down in twisted, frothy jets. It seemed otherworldly, larger than life. I had never seen anything quite like it. The throngs of jostling tourists melted away as I stood, drenched and utterly spellbound, staring into the cloudy abyss.
Despite the late hour and the shuttered shopfronts, the square was alive and pumping. Diners mulled over their meals while children raced around an elaborate fountain, turning a deaf ear to their parents as they ran through the frigid spray. Couples sat entwined under trees as more gregarious groups of friends spread out over park benches. All conversations were centred around the communal mate, as friends shared their gourd around, topping up from steaming thermoses of hot water. We followed the thumping beats of live music to find a group of octogenarians, their faces sallow under the street lamps, but expressions vivid, demurely doing the tango. It was tango danced like I’d never seen before. Groups of onlookers cheered and some even joined in. And in that instant, I was utterly captivated.
I pen this while seated under the shadow of a deserted lighthouse in a quaint Uruguayan coastal town, a meaty chivito clutched in one hand, its juices dripping down my arm. You would’ve approved. As I ruminate on your teachings I promise myself, and you this: I will continue to savour my meals, in whatever circumstances and locations they may be in, and write about them, with no reservations.
My trip to Japan was as much a culinary awakening as a cultural rousing. Here are some budget-friendly suggestions for eating your way around the country.
I explore a range of locally produced gastronomic delights, perfect as gifts, and bound to put Bangladesh on the foodie traveller’s map.
Flemington, Melbourne. It had only been a few months since I’d moved to this bustling inner-city suburb; its streets lined with quaint Victorian cottages in stark contrast with the ethnic restaurants that plied their trade on the main strip. While out on an afternoon stroll around the neighbourhood, I decided to follow the sounds of what promised to be a heady carnival and turned up at the Melbourne Showgrounds. The annual Royal Melbourne Show was underway.
Finalist, World Nomads Passport & Plate Food Scholarship 2015 – for the best travel story that transports readers to a new place through food.
They call it “The City of Love.” And indeed, droves of hand-holding couples flock to Paris, taking in all that the city has to offer. I too am drawn to this city where I indulge in my most decadent pleasures – of the gastronomic kind rather than your general amorous pursuits.