The Paraguayan Pantanal-Least Visited Area of One of the Least Visited Countries of South America

March 2021: I have always been intrigued by places that are seldom visited by foreign tourists, places where internet searches turn up mostly blank pages. Paraguay is no exception to this. Paraguay is the third least visited country in South America behind Guyana and Suriname. However, if you remove the Brazilian tourists who mostly visit Paraguay for cross-border shopping of cheap goods, I would venture to guess that Paraguay is the least visited country by foreigners in all of South America.

Why do so few tourists visit Paraguay? The main reason for this is that there are so few prominent tourist attractions, such as Iguacu Falls, located just across the eastern border of Paraguay along the Argentine/Brazilian borders, or the Andes Mountains just across its western border in Bolivia and Argentina.

A skull of a soldier that was found at a battlefield from the Chaco War/Mennonite Museum in Fildelfia

Another reason to visit any country, aside from its natural beauty, is to learn about its history, and Paraguay has some of the most interesting history of any country in South America.

• Paraguay, despite its current tranquilo nature, like most countries, has seen war. The distinction in Paraguay’s war history is that 98% of the men died in the Triple Alliance War with Brazil and Argentina in the late 1800s. Due to a lack of men to fight in one battle, children were forced to fight and given painted-on mustaches to appear adult-like. The ensuing massacre was one of the worst of the war.

• The indigenous language of Guaraní is the most widely spoken language in Paraguay, largely because of the efforts of the Jesuits to protect the indigenous people during the early years of European colonization and because of a decree by a dictator in the 1800s who wanted to eliminate the control of the European elite by mandating Paraguayans to marry outside of their ethnic groups.

   

• Paraguay fought a war with its neighbor Bolivia in the early 1900s over the prospect of oil in the Chaco. 100,000 people died mostly from malaria and dehydration from fighting in the grueling dry jungle conditions. Unlike the Triple Axis War, the Paraguayans won the Chaco War.

• Many Germans migrated to Paraguay after World War II, some of whom were Nazis fleeing prosecution for war crimes. Some were Nazis fleeing prosecution from war crimes. One of the most infamous was Josef Mengele, a Nazi doctor who conducted deadly experiments on prisoners. A persistent legend claims that Hitler may have faked his death and fled to Paraguay, living out his final years in secrecy.   

The Condition of the Road to Bahia Negra

What I like about Paraguay the most is the vast area of emptiness it possesses. Almost all of western Paraguay lies in the vast Chaco region, which contains the world’s largest tropical scrubland forest. The area is even known to still have uncontacted nomadic tribes living in its wildest parts. To the north of the Chaco is the Pantanal—the world’s largest wetland. It was these two places that grabbed my attention the most and what I came to Paraguay to see.

Paraguay is also not the easiest place to visit. Almost half of the country lies in the Chaco region—the western half of the country—and is only accessible by one partially paved road. Although many beautiful parts of the Chaco can be reached via this paved road, in my opinion, the best and most preserved parts are only reachable by the many dirt roads, many of which are in poor condition, like the one shown above on the way to the Pantanal town of Bahia Negra.

With one week in Paraguay, I chose to visit the remote Pantanal region of Tres Gigantes. The journey requires two days of travel each way, but the area’s incredible biodiversity makes it worthwhile. Named the “Three Giants,” this region is one of the only places in the world where the giant anteater, giant armadillo, and giant river otter coexist in the wild.

Photo of the Pantanal where Tres Gigantes Reserve is Located

Tres Gigantes is marked by the red pin on top of the map. We drove two days each way from Asuncion to get there. There is no way to get there via Brazil or Bolivia as the whole area is surrounded by Pantanal wilderness and there are no roads. 

To reach Tres Gigantes, we embarked on a two-day journey from Asunción, Paraguay’s capital. The first leg involved a 6-7 hour drive along the Trans-Chaco Highway to Filadelfia, a Mennonite town in the heart of the Chaco. This highway is currently the only paved road across the Chaco, though that will change once construction of another asphalted route from Brazil is completed.

The second day was far more grueling, requiring 10-12 hours of driving on rough dirt roads through the Chaco. The final stretch to Bahía Negra is infamous for its poor condition, demanding a 4WD vehicle. At the time of our trip, it was uncertain whether the road would even be passable.

As if planning a trip across the remote Chaco region to Tres Gigantes wasn’t challenging enough, just days before our arrival in Paraguay, the president declared a national COVID lockdown. The decision came in response to rising infection rates driven by a new Brazilian variant sweeping across the shared border.

The lockdown not only cast doubt on whether we could reach Tres Gigantes but also left us uncertain about whether we’d be able to do much of anything in Paraguay at all.

Normally, when I travel, I rent a vehicle and drive myself. However, given the uncertainties surrounding COVID restrictions and the challenging road conditions to Bahía Negra, I needed more assurances to salvage the trip from the unrelenting grip of the pandemic. The lockdown threatened to derail our plans entirely, and navigating the remote and unforgiving roads of the Chaco required more than just determination—it required experience.

To improve our chances of reaching Tres Gigantes, I hired a 4×4 vehicle, along with a driver and guide, José, whom my traveling companion Richard had used on a previous trip to Paraguay. With José’s expertise, we had a much better chance of safely making the long and unpredictable journey.

José was excellent in the lead-up to the trip, promptly answering all my questions and helping strategize ways to navigate both the COVID lockdown and potential checkpoints. Together, we brainstormed solutions, ultimately settling on the rather dubious claim that we were members of the media. The closest thing to journalism between us was my website and Richard’s previous YouTube documentary about Paraguay.

However, claiming media status provided an exemption from lockdown measures, allowing us to continue our journey across the country. Fortunately, José was well-connected, with contacts in every police district and within the military—an advantage we would need not only to clear checkpoints but also to secure permission for travel along the national river border to Tres Gigantes.

Given that residents were restricted from venturing more than 500 meters from their homes due to the lockdown, I was skeptical about our chances of leaving town. Asunción seemed chaotic, and I expected a difficult escape.

However, to my surprise, not only was it easy to leave the city, but there were also no checkpoints along the highway. Outside of Asunción, in the wild west of Paraguay, COVID restrictions seemed to be more of a suggestion than a rule. 

In the remote countryside, few people appeared concerned about the pandemic, and the sheer logistical challenge of enforcement made it nearly impossible for the police to impose restrictions.

In the mid-1900s, Mennonites fleeing Europe for various reasons migrated to Paraguay, seeking a place where they could establish their own settlements. In exchange for taming the vast and inhospitable Chaco, they were promised autonomy and the freedom to live undisturbed.

We stayed in Filadelfia, the regional capital and the heart of the Mennonite community. After hours of driving through the wild, scrubby jungles of the Chaco, the landscape suddenly transformed. Verdant farmlands replaced the arid wilderness, Germanic street names lined the roads, and cattle ranches stretched into the distance—reminding me more of southern Minnesota than the remote interior of Paraguay.

Mennonite Man Standing in front of a Cross Found Buried at a Battlefield in the Chaco War

The road was dusty and desolate, stretching endlessly through the Chaco. For hours at a time, there were no signs of human settlement—just an unbroken expanse of dry forest passing by the window. The monotony of the landscape was occasionally interrupted by bursts of spectacular birdlife—toucans with their oversized beaks, elegant cranes wading through the shallows, and eagles soaring overhead.

At one point, we encountered an anaconda, its thick, muscular body coiled on the road. As we approached, it quickly slithered off into a nearby swamp, disappearing into the wilderness as swiftly as it had appeared.

My favorite wildlife sighting was of the red footed tortoise. The little guy was crossing the road and when he caught sight of us, he froze and hid in his shell on the side of the road, instead of disappearing into the scrub, which he easily could have done. 

Paula hugging a Bottleneck tree, Common in the Dry Chaco Forest

At one point, in the absolute middle of nowhere, our truck suddenly lost its ability to accelerate, and the engine began to emit a high-pitched squeal. Stranded on the desolate dirt road, we crawled along at 20 mph, anxiously wondering if we’d be forced to spend the night in the truck.

After an hour of slow, uncertain progress, our driver managed a temporary fix by cleaning out the engine’s air filter, allowing us to resume our journey. However, this was only a short-term solution—the engine turbo was failing, and the vehicle was under significant stress.

As expected, the truck eventually gave out, but thankfully, it waited until our return trip to Asunción—breaking down only once we had safely reached our hotel in Filadelfia. With a stroke of luck, we secured a replacement vehicle, which arrived the next morning to take us the rest of the way.

Rush Hour in Downtown Bahia Negra

We finally reached the isolated town of Bahía Negra in the northernmost corner of Paraguay by afternoon. This dusty little frontier town, perched along the banks of the Paraguay River, is one of the most difficult places to reach in the entire country. Surrounded by the vast wilderness of the Pantanal wetlands, it feels like the edge of civilization. Across the river lies Brazil, with even more untamed Pantanal jungle stretching beyond sight.

The only road into town is often impassable for nearly four months each year due to seasonal rains, turning the journey into an unpredictable gamble. Flights, operated by the military, are infrequent and notoriously unreliable—so much so that a recent military transport was discontinued after it crashed, killing all its passengers. The only other option, a rickety river ferry that departs from Asunción, takes a grueling week to reach Bahía Negra. Even that, however, had been disrupted by COVID, leaving the town even more isolated than usual.

Upon arriving in Bahía Negra, we had several logistical hurdles to clear before continuing to Tres Gigantes. First, we needed to obtain permission from the Navy headquarters to travel up the Paraguay River, which forms the border with Brazil. This authorization was crucial, as the river is a national frontier and closely monitored by the military.

Next, we had to secure a boat for the journey, ensuring we had a reliable means of navigating the remote waterways of the Pantanal. Finally, before setting off, we were required to pass a COVID health check at the local clinic—a necessary step given the ongoing lockdown and travel restrictions in place throughout Paraguay.

As expected when traveling to remote corners of the world, we encountered delays. The Navy refused to allow any locals, including our boat driver and cook, to accompany us up the river to the Tres Gigantes Reserve due to the COVID lockdown. Instead, they insisted on sending Navy soldiers with us, whom we would have to pay directly.

Sorting out this unexpected complication took time, and by the time negotiations stalled, it was too late to depart. No boats were allowed to leave for Tres Gigantes after a certain hour in the afternoon due to dangerous sections of the river, forcing us to spend the night in Bahía Negra.

Fortunately, the quiet little town seemed interesting to explore, and we made the most of our unexpected stay. We picked up some beers, cooked a river fish, and spent the evening hanging out with a few locals—including the doctor who had administered our COVID health checks at the town clinic. Everyone we met in Bahía Negra was exceptionally friendly and seemed genuinely excited to have American tourists as guests.

Hotel guest that was creating a raucous in the hallway by fighting with a giant Cane Toad. After seeing this, my friend placed a towel under the crack of his door to keep unwanted guests out of his room.

The Navy finally relented, allowing the locals we had hired to take us into the Pantanal. With this last hurdle cleared, we were finally set to embark on our journey up the Paraguay River to Tres Gigantes.

We set off in the morning, but not before swapping out a broken boat motor, ensuring we had a reliable engine for the long journey ahead. As we made our final preparations, the air was filled with the piercing shrieks of macaw parrots, their calls echoing through the quiet frontier town—an unmistakable sound of the wild Pantanal awaiting us.

Richard relaxing on the boat as we traveled the Pantanal

As we journeyed upriver, deeper into the Pantanal, it didn’t take long for any signs of civilization to vanish. The further we traveled, the more the river narrowed, until it became choked with thick mats of river weeds—a common obstacle in the months following the rainy season.

Patches of these weeds stretched for hundreds of meters, creating a near-impenetrable barrier. Our boat driver employed a simple but effective strategy: rev up the motor, charge into the weeds at full speed, and push through as far as possible before the boat inevitably got stuck. From there, we grabbed long sticks and oars to manually shove the boat forward, inching our way through the tangled vegetation. It was slow, grueling work, but each hard-earned stretch of open water brought us closer to Tres Gigantes.

Stuck in the weeds

Caiman prowling the waters 

View of the Pantanal

Reserve headquarters where we stayed in rustic rooms

After a few hours of navigating the wild waterways, we finally arrived at the Tres Gigantes Reserve headquarters, our home for the next few nights. Nestled deep in the Pantanal, the reserve consisted of a handful of rustic cabin rooms, offering a simple but comfortable place to sleep amid the untamed wilderness.

We were greeted by Carolina, an enthusiastic park ranger, who welcomed us with a warm smile before diving straight into an overview of the local dangers—venomous snake bites, being stalked by jaguars, crocodiles lurking in the waters, and other “fun” survival topics. Her energy and passion for the reserve were infectious, though the list of potential threats certainly kept us on alert.

Tres Gigantes was a basic but well-run outpost, with sporadic electricity provided by solar panels, which powered ceiling fans, lights, and a system to pump water from the river for showers. It was a true off-the-grid experience, offering the perfect setting for immersing ourselves in the Pantanal’s raw beauty and untamed wildlife.

What struck me immediately upon arriving was the cacophony of birdlife—a constant, vibrant symphony echoing through the jungle. Everywhere I looked, exotic, colorful birds flitted through the trees, chattering loudly as if announcing our arrival.

Surrounding us was a dense wall of untouched jungle, alive with movement and sound. In the river, the heads of patrolling Yacarés (caiman crocodiles) would surface from time to time, their watchful eyes just above the waterline before slipping back into the depths.

Standing there, taking it all in, I knew immediately—I was going to have a great time exploring this place.

One of the few birds that posed for my camera long enough for me to take a photo

The mosquitoes in Tres Gigantes were no joke. You didn’t have to go far to find one—though, more accurately, they would find you. But nothing could prepare me for the dense, swarming clouds of them lurking at the edge of the forest, waiting like an army ready to attack.

A head net quickly became an essential piece of gear, and DEET-soaked pants and a long-sleeve shirt were mandatory to avoid losing catastrophic amounts of blood. Even then, the relentless buzzing and biting never fully let up.

And just when I thought mosquitoes were the worst of it, nighttime introduced a new horror—foot-long flying cockroaches. These oversized hitchhikers had a habit of crash-landing onto heads, backs, and whatever else happened to be in their chaotic flight path. Whether you liked it or not, you were never alone in the jungle.

Paula with a mosquito head net in front of our nightly visitor, the solo capybara-world’s largest rodent. 

Flying Cockroaches

Tree frog that had somehow managed to climb 100 feet to the top of the wildlife watching tower

Snake that visited us at night

We spent two nights in Tres Gigantes, making the most of our time by exploring the untamed wilderness surrounding the reserve. We hiked the trails around the headquarters, scanning the dense jungle for wildlife, and took the canoe out for some piranha fishing, hoping to reel in one of the infamous sharp-toothed predators.

One of the highlights was paddling across the river to step foot in Bolivia, where we wandered through untouched Pantanal wilderness. There were no signs of human presence—no border stations, no guards, not even a marker. The only ones acknowledging our unofficial entry into Bolivia were a few howler monkeys, who loudly announced our arrival with deep, guttural calls. It was a border crossing like no other.

Capybara Photo

Red Howler Monkey

My favorite place to relax was the 100-foot-tall watchtower standing by the river. Perched high above the jungle, it provided a rare escape from the relentless mosquitoes, as they rarely ventured to such heights. The covered platform offered shelter from the sun, making it the perfect retreat during the heat of the day.

From this vantage point, I could watch wildlife moving along the riverbanks and treetops, observing the rhythms of the Pantanal from above. But the best time to be up there was at night—when the sky exploded with countless stars, and the vast wilderness below came alive with an eerie symphony of strange, unseen creatures. Sitting in the stillness, surrounded by the raw sounds of the Pantanal, was an unforgettable experience.

During our time in the Pantanal, we didn’t manage to spot the elusive jaguar, giant anteater, or tapir, but we did come across fresh footprints in multiple locations—tantalizing evidence that these giants of the jungle were nearby, just out of sight.

The giant river otters remained hidden behind thick river weeds, which now choked the waterway leading into Bolivia. It was disappointing, as this river would have been an ideal route to explore, offering prime opportunities to spot jaguars and anacondas along the shoreline. Unfortunately, with the dense vegetation blocking passage, venturing further wasn’t an option.

Although we missed out on some of the Pantanal’s most famous inhabitants, we were far from disappointed—we still encountered an incredible array of wildlife, each sighting just as thrilling in its own way.

This little Titi Monkey-best name for a monkey- jumped down from the trees to have a better look at me and stood only a few feet away staring in utter curiosity. 

Every afternoon this crab eating fox would appear from the forest to eat the organic scraps from our meals. He was really shy, so I could only get within 100 feet of him. 

My favorite animal was this huge shrieking owl that came out every night to feud with another owl.