CIUDAD
DEL ESTE, Paraguay--The taxi driver stops, hands
the rider a helmet, and cautions him to put it
on snuggly before climbing on the back of the Honda
125 motorcycle for a cross border trip.
Smuggling
is legal here, but going helmetless is not. "You
can get a big fine for that," warns the driver
as he speeds across the Friendship Bridge past the
idle Brazilian customs officer.
With no passport check,
no luggage check, and
with helmets completely
covering their faces,
the driver and his
customer could easily
have been smugglers
or international terrorists--which
is exactly what American
diplomats on both sides
of the border say goes
on around here. Authorities
on both sides deny
they have found any
connection with terrorism,
but they agree the
border is loose.
And they like it that
way.
Although the Brazilian
side of the tri-border
area of Brazil, Argentina
and Paraguay is nearly
empty these days because
the falling Argentine
peso has made prices
there more expensive
than last year, the
Paraguayan side is
still booming. And
that's because very
few merchants pay tax
of any kind.
Crossing over from
relatively quiet and
clean Foz do Iguacu,
Brazil, to the noisy,
bustling, and somewhat
slovenly Ciudad del
Este, a visitor hits,
within 20 meters of
the bridge, a wall
of stalls selling hundreds
of thousands of CDs
that might not stand
strict copyright scrutiny,
cheap Chinese-made
toys, and home electronic
appliances that somehow
cost less than they
do in the countries
where they were made.
Climbing a steep hill
that rises sharply
from the bridge, a
shopper could walk
half a mile in a tropical
rainstorm without getting
wet through a warren
of tiny shops packed
tightly into back-to-back
bazaars.
A
recent visitor, confused
and tired
after too long being
inundated with offers
for batteries, electric
razors, blank CDs and
video games, asked
a stranger "which
way, please, to the
street?"
"That
staircase."
" Up or down?"
" It doesn't make any
difference."
Further clogging the
shopping areas are
retailers from all
three countries who
buy wholesale and sit
down in front of the
stalls to repack boxes
of mostly cheap goods
into smaller boxes,
and stuff them into
strong, woven plastic
bags which, of course,
are also on sale everywhere,
mostly by wandering
stall-less merchants
who carry them on their
backs.
The wholesale business
is so well known that
some shops have neither
signs on their stalls
nor labels on their
boxes. One smiling
woman in a nameless
stall did a booming
business out of unmarked
boxes which turned
out to contain computer
parts.
The lingua franca
is, well, a few. Absolutely
everyone speaks Spanish
and Portuguese, and
a combination of both,
large Chinese and Arabic
communities speak their
native tongues, and
at least one copy of
the instruction booklets
for the products is
in English, so most
can at least read that.
A recent visitor picked
up for $1 a watch band,
a dead ringer for the
one he paid $8 for
in New York; and a
pair of reading glasses
for $2 that go for
$16 in US chain stores.
Not all the stores
are seedy. Some are
multi-level, marble-floored,
air-conditioned emporia
with elegant fittings.
And they all have armed
guards.
Some stores specialize
in computers and everything
that goes with them,
and tool shops sell
highly specialized
high-technology tools.
Asking about Global
Positioning System
(GPS) satellite navigation
equipment, a visitor
was directed to the
Aquarius Galleria.
But, although he found
there handheld radios
designed for pilots,
some handheld pilot
navigation systems,
and medical supplies
including stethoscopes
and things that looked
like they could hurt
if used wrongly, he
was told that Aquarius
did not, in fact, carry
pilot GPS systems.
"But Pyramid
Galleria does," said
a helpful clerk.
Pyramid did not, as
it happened, have aviation
GPS systems, but they
had boating GPS systems
which could pinpoint
any craft to any spot
on earth, guaranteed
accurate to less than
200 meters--an interesting
item for a landlocked
country like Paraguay
to carry.
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