Having been dropped off at the hostel, back over on the Brazilian side of the border, I got my things together and, three buses down the line and with darkness having already set in, found myself at Paraguayan immigration in Ciúdad del Este, separated from Brazil by the Rio Paraná. Paraguay was going to have to be short and sweet – it was already Tuesday evening, and by Thursday night I had to be in Argentina and on a bus headed for Buenos Aires.

I found myself a hotel – no hostels in Paraguay, not a single one – and immediately landed n my feet. The señora offered to cook me dinner, free of charge, using the food I´d brought over the border with me; there were Arabic TV channels on the box; best of all, however, was that out in the courtyard was a group of Brazilian gaúchos from Rio Grande do Sul who invited me to a plate of barbecued ribs and a beer: South America, the best continent in the world, bar none. They came to Ciúdad del Este once, sometimes twice a week to buy goods to then sell back in Brazil. Not for nothing is the city known as ´the supermarket of South America.´ I was hoping to find a few bargains myself the next day.

First port of call the following morning was the Itaipú Dam, 15km north of the city and still, at least the 3 Gorges Dam in China is fully up and running, the largest hydroelectric project in the world. The tour itself, though free (!), was a bit of a disappointment, but the site is undeniably impressive. The water channeled through the dam powers 20 turbines and, incredibly, Paraguay needs just two of these turbines to generate enough energy to satisfy the demands of the entire country, such is the lack of industry within its borders. The other 18 are used by Brazil, yet account for less than 20% of its energy needs.

Back in town it was time to find some deals. The microcentro was a bustling warren of stalls, malls, shops and alleyways. It was fun to simply wander around, surrounded by hectic, vibrant, seemingly more authentic South America. By midafternoon it was time to skip town and catch the bus to Encarnación, 4 hours south. Onboard was cramped – my legs ddn´t fit in the space in front of my seat – sweaty and overcrowded, with people stood shoulder to shoulder in the narrow aisle. I loved it – proper travel! And at proper prices: after the European level costs in Brazil this was back to Bolivian prices.

After a night´s sleep in Encarnación I was up by 7am and had a rapid wander around town. Aside from a small museum dedicated to exhibits of and explanations on the Chaco War with Bolivia there was little to see, the pretty main square aside, so I caught the bus 30mins out of town to the ruins of the Jesuit mission of Trinidad.

The day was a stunner, cloudless cerulean skies, a soft warm breeze blowing and still early enough in the day for the sun to not be beating down. As I wandered away from the highway and along dusty roads several locals pointed me in the direction of the ruins. After eventually finding them I had the site virtually to myself, and was able to amble my way around them, spending what has to be one of the best hours of my trip revelling in life´s simple  pleasures. It was like the very best English summer days can be – the air was pleasingly heavy, somniferous almost; bees thrummed amongst the flowers, which in turn exuded sweet aromas; birds chirped in the trees; off in the distance the low growl of a lawnmower. The ruins too were spectacular, spread over acres of perfectly maintained grassland: the enormous roofless main church; the colonnaded squares of the community; and the bell tower, which afforded views over the site and on to the idyllic gently undulating countryside around. Despite being in deepest darkest Latin America the scene was decidedly Anglo-Saxon: my Paraguayan detour had been more than worth it for that hour alone.

Soon, too soon, it was time to catch a bus back into town and from there over the river and across the border to the Argentinian city of Posadas, where I hoped to have time to visit the Jesuit ruins of San Ignacio Miní an hour outside of town.

I did, just. Onto the bus, over the Paraguayan border, a long wait on the Argentinian side, onto another bus to Posadas´ bus station and from there on to San Ignacio. By the time I arrived the sun was already low in the sky. It thus didn´t help that I couldn´t actually find the ruins; when I eventually did I found them encircled by a huge fence. I didn´t have time to find the entrance so vaulted the barrier, trying the appease the rather large guard dogs that greeted my arrival on the other side. Breaking and entering into an historic site – this was like Sacsayhuamán all over again, the only difference being that I actually intended to pay this time.

Sure enough, within a minute I heard whistling and saw a guard running towards me. He wasn´t happy for some unknown reason, and marched me off to the ticket office. I explained to him that I´d been unable to find the entrance and had always intended to pay. He seemed to have understood my predicament, before leaving me with the staff at the ticket office with the killer line “I just caught this guy trying to break in. Deal with him, would you.” Cheers pal.

Fortunately they were somewhat more accepting of my excuses and after handing over my cash they let me back in. I cast a quick glance over the contents of the site´s museum and then wandered round the ruins themselves. Bigger, better preserved and with information boards every 100 metres or so, it was unfortunately also packed with tour groups and, while undeniably impressive, lacked the unspoiled charms of Trinidad.

Back to Posadas then. Creamfields festival down in Buenos Aires was only two days away!