The Savvy Traveler: My Hobbies

Maybe your travel agent loaded you up with lots of flashy brochures and promotional DVDs. You came to Paraguay expecting to see and do it all. Perhaps you already did it all. Perhaps you got no further than the Pink Palace when your bus broke down. Either way, you're bored. Let's face it: sometimes our brains just get tired of being stuck inside our heads all day. Like you, your mind needs a diversion every once in a while, but you're on a budget. As a seasoned Paraguayan traveler I feel duty-bound to impart some wisdom that will keep your mind, and your wallet, happy.

Conversion:

Some people whine about being the only country that hasn't switched to the metric system. I prefer to embrace the challenge of being stuck between two measuring systems. Think of it as being bilingual...in units of measurement. Once you've got your brain hooked on conversions, it'll be occupied for hours. Try these for starters.

Currency: The first challenge. Paraguay has a simple 5000gs:$1 ratio. Just pretend like you're 5000 times as rich as you are and you'll know exactly what you can afford.

Time: Even metric countries are beholden to the mighty twelve hour clock face, but sometimes out of spite they'll refer to things in 24 hour time. Resist the temptation to simply subtract 12 hours. Remember, you're on Latin American time. If the concert is supposed to start at 20:00 they really mean 9:15 pm.

Distance: There are two reasons people want to convert kilometers to miles. Their first question is, “how far is it?” but what they're really asking is, “how long will it take to get there?” and distance really has nothing to do with it. Instead you should be asking whether the potholes are 9cm or 40cm, whether there's a broken down bus blocking traffic, and how mentally sound your driver is. (sane = slow, suicidal = anywhere in 10 minutes). The second question people have is “how fast are we going?” The answer is, given the road conditions, the number of crazy drivers, and the number of kids wandering the median, you don't want to be asking that question.

Temperature: the morphine of conversions. Once you start there's no turning back. Asuncion is pocked with temperature marquees. At practically every stoplight you'll have a chance to try out this formula. After all, when you write home it sounds a lot more impressive to say it was 104º (it was for about a week – this is wintertime, remember) than 40º. Ready for it? Degrees F = 9/5 (Degrees C) + 32

Religious Tracts:

Speaking of conversion, these are some nifty little boredom-killers. Granted, unless you're a Young-earth, Pre-millennial, Evangelical Protestant, (and maybe even if you are) you'll doubtless find something offensive in them, but regardless of your theological persuasion these tracts are your one-stop travel entertainment shop.

Sure, everybody knows you can always find a great moralled story between the covers, but that's only the beginning. Did you know these little guys are also terrific phrase books? You won't find gems like “Juan, you're damned to hell” or “Jesus will be your worst nightmare” anywhere else*. Hang onto these guys. (*I wish I'd made those up)

Itching to pick that hermeneutic fight? Did you know some people write their doctoral theses over these tracts? As long as you're stuck on the bus, why not start yours?

Traveling with a child? Even if you aren't, these tracts represent the world's smallest mass-produced coloring books. Bring to life the artist's renderings of the apocalyptic horsemen or Elijah's chariot. Maybe you're lacking for colors. Look no further than the stains on your clothing for ideas. There's that persistent red dust that never quite washes out, or the bright yellow from the mango you had for breakfast, or even the tea-green splotch from the mate that spilled when your car hit a pot-hole. Use your imagination!

Head games:

Sometimes traveling can be a pain in the neck...literally. Bad roads abound, even in the heart of the city, and few vehicles have functioning seat belts. Unless your driver is uncommonly talented, or drives annoyingly slowly, you're bound to hit your head on the ceiling at some point. Some people can't tolerate these roads, but the enterprising traveler isn't so easily thwarted. Here are some suggestions. Option 1: Head Darts. Mark out a large dart board on the ceiling of the vehicle. When the car hits a bump, each person records where their head hits the ceiling. First to 100 wins. Option 2: Headdle Ball. It's like paddle ball. With your head. Hang a small ball (golf balls not recommended) from the ceiling. With each bump in the road, head the ball to another passenger. Mouthpiece and helmet are encouraged for children under the age of ten.

Hmm, this post needs pictures. Here are a couple of my favorites. Paraguayan merchandise at its finest:

Top Nine

As I count down my final week it's time to write the “things I'll miss about Paraguay” post. In no particular order...

1. Yerba. Any Paraguay travel blog probably deserves a post dedicated solely to this tea. Yerba is the loose tea leaf used to make tereré (add cold water) or mate (add hot water). It's traditionally drunk communally from a cow horn (called a guampa) using a special sieve straw (called a bombilla): add water, drink, add water, pass to the next person. Yerba in Paraguay is like coffee in the U.S., but less personal addiction than social rite – and a much more effective source of hydration on hot days. It's so pervasive, in fact, that I sometimes wonder whether the Paraguayan social structure would collapse in its absence. In Asuncion it provided an excuse to stop and chat in someone's office. On an isolated Chaco ranch it's the only reason needed to drop by and see the neighbors. Yerba is really just a catalyst. What I'm actually going to miss is a culture where social interaction is considered a necessary part of the productive work day.




2. Whoopie cushion toilet seats. It's like something you'd order from a Boy's Life magazine. Paraguayans are fond of their padded foam toilet seats, so when you sit down all the air poofs out. If you're lucky it'll make a not-quite life-like impolite bodily function noise to boot.



3. Multilingualism. Actually I don't expect to miss this for the first couple weeks. Right now I need a vacation from it. I've been listening to (and learning varying amounts of) Spanish, Guarani, German and Plautdietsch for the past three months. There's nothing like knowing only one language to make you feel like a North American.



4. Carnivorism. I'm not a strict vegetarian, but meat had become my once-a-week food in the states. That's not exactly an option in Paraguay especially on a cattle ranch, but for as much meat as I've eaten here, it's always worthwhile – no hamburger hotdish for us, most has been roasted over a fire or stewed in savory juices all morning. It's tasty, it's local, it's free-range, it's grass-fed, it's hormone-free ... why was I toying with vegetarianism?




5. Being South. Many of us believe the Earth is round, but there's something about the sun being in the north that sort of cements that. That, and the way that the wintery chill comes from the south and the north wind blows down pure heat. I also hear that drains spiral in reverse here, though I have yet to find a bathtub in which to test the matter. And then there are the stars. I'm no star buff so I was surprised to look up and realize that indeed, the constellations look totally different to me.




6. Living outside. North American houses are increasingly sealed against the elements. Paraguayan houses are anything but. As an outsider I wonder whether people here identify themselves as “outdoorsy” the way they do in the U.S. Living, cooking and eating spaces are often found outside and most houses are closed up only on the hottest, coldest or wettest days, if then. I'm still a little ambivalent, being an ashamedly huge fan of air conditioning, but I respect the philosophy that seeks ways to accommodate nature rather than trying to block it out.




7. Siesta. It's like yerba. It acknowledges what's really important in life: napping. At least in the Chaco everything is closed for three hours over noon. It's partly necessity – when the temperature recently jumped to the triple digits there was no point in being outside before 3pm – but I'll take a 2 hour siesta over a 15 minute power nap any day.




8. German radio. I remember being in Heidelberg once trying to find a radio station that played German music, but the only music I could find was in English. Now my search is ended. Every afternoon one radio station plays back to back German oldies. I think it's sort of the Lawrence Whelk era of German music, and I imagine these men with clear voices and accordions are singing about walking by the Rhine with their love on a summer's evening. I would probably find the songs hilarious if they weren't also so calming. It's perfect post-siesta music.




9. Not paying rent. Now it's back to the real world.

Chaco Charlie

Chaco Charlie is a rancher. He raises grass-fed hamburgers and cheeseburgers. He also likes to eat grass-fed hamburgers and cheeseburgers, but one morning he was not happy. He didn't want a hamburger and he didn't want a cheeseburger. He wanted a milkshake.

“I know,” said Chaco Charlie, “I'll go ask Brigita the Goat for a milkshake.” Brigita was Chaco Charlie's friend and she gave him a nice frothy milkshake. Then Chaco Charlie felt much better, but he also felt very strong. He wanted to work.

“I know,” said Chaco Charlie, “I'll go work on the Chipper-chopper. Then I'll be happy.” So Chaco Charlie worked on the Chipper-chopper. He used lots of tools and made lots of noise. When he was done, everything worked perfectly, and he felt much better, but all that work had made him lonely.

“I know,” said Chaco Charlie, “I'll go visit
the hamburgers and cheeseburgers. Then I'll be happy.” So Chaco Charlie went to see the hamburgers and cheeseburgers. Today was special because there was a brand new baby hamburger. Chaco Charlie castrated the baby hamburger and named it 'Hank'. Chaco Charlie was happy to visit the hamburgers, but he was sad that there wasn't enough grass for them to eat.

“I know,” said Chaco Charlie, “I'll go knock down some trees so that more grass can grow. Then the hamburgers will be happy and I'll be happy, too.” So Chaco Charlie took the tractor and pushed down the trees. He was happy to help the hamburgers, but now he was very, very tired.

“I know,” said Chaco Charlie, “I'll go sleep in my hammock. Then I'll be happy.” so Chaco Charlie went to sleep in his hammock. And he was very happy.

The End

By the Numbers

I've recovered from the flu. Let's run the numbers:

3: rolls of toilet paper and counting (a personal record for a single illness) used to blow my nose
6: number of hours I've actually spent working this last week
6: number of days spent in bed
2: number of days I didn't and should have
400: pages of Tolkien I've been conscious enough to read
12: hours of BBC's “Planet Earth” I've watched. Ask me anything about elephants.
80% : h1n1 score. The national news published a chart of normal flu symptoms vs. h1n1 symptoms. My symptoms scored 8 out of 10 for h1n1. With no medical opinion to back me up, I'm going to declare myself victor over some baby sibling of h1n1. I'll call it the “goat flu” until they can give it a proper name.
Countless: grapefruits, liters of water and hours of sleep I've taken on in the past 8 days. In the end, though, I've supplemented my natural regimen with actual pharmaceuticals.

Actually, since I composed this blog entry I've had five full days of work. Seemingly, one out of every two relatives I have here in Paraguay is a medical professional of some sort (MD, RN, Veterinarian, etc.) so I've been in good hands. Nonetheless, it leaves little to report when entire days are spent staring at the ceiling contemplating which is more torturous: the insistent pain of waking, or the dreadful feverish dreams of sleeping. This I will say, I witnessed rain in the Chaco. It wasn't long and it didn't do much more than settle the dust, but for a brief time there were actually puddles on the yard. Here's a picture:

The Chaco: First Impressions

Spending the summer in Paraguay was meant to be a chance to visit family and spend some time in another culture. Perhaps it's not as ironic as it seems that, having left Asuncion with its North American-styled shopping centers and cineplexes, its Hooters and casinos, I feel closer to home in the Chaco. A few hundred kilometers north of Asuncion, you begin to see the land transform from the wet grasslands and forests of eastern Paraguay into a desert not unlike Arizona: rain is scarce, especially this year (during the “rainy season” they received only a few drops), but plant life is abundant. And like the Sonoran desert, this means only the hardiest, woodiest, prickliest plants can survive. More than a familiar landscape, however, I've felt transported into a culture that mirrors the U.S. Midwest (an arid, German-speaking Midwest).

Understandably, the same families of German farmers who settled in central Kansas also broke the bush of the Chaco and started farming it (I've even met a couple Regiers here, probably no relation). Though I'm told their first years were very challenging, the towns that have emerged look little different from any small town in Kansas, with their grain elevators, feed stores, and motorcycle dealerships. The houses themselves resemble the low, ranch-style houses that populate large parts of Newton – a far cry from the homes of central Asuncion whose facades reflect a prison-like need for security.

On Saturday, I attended a volleyball tournament in town. Mennonites settled the Chaco in half a dozen colonies and from time to time, they get together for various sports tournaments. Apparently volleyball rivals soccer for popularity in these parts. Looking around the gymnasium, I could easily have been in rural Kansas. Apart from the ubiquitous tereré tea (indispensable if you'll be sitting for more than five minutes at a time), the crowd, wearing seed caps and plaid, could have been cheering on any Midwest home team. The score keepers looked to be two retired farmers perched high in the stands, the type who would meet for coffee at the local cafe.

Unfortunately, I haven't been able to appreciate much of the Chaco yet, having caught a couple bugs at World Conference. So far, none of them appears to be H1N1, but as soon as my body overcomes one, another seems to set in. I'm hoping to do at least a little work here before I leave in a few weeks.

A first taste of Chaco dust (prettier pictures to follow)

Buffer

Sunday afternoon marked a sort of bookend between my time in Asuncion and my time in the Chaco, and it took the form of a bus ride. Actually, there were two bus rides. I met my cousin, Hugo at conference and through some broken English (for him) and broken Spanish (for me) we decided to take the public colectivo bus system to the outskirts of town where we'd catch the “NASA” bus to the Chaco. By now, I've spent a fair bit of time on city buses, but I haven't ever seen them this full. “Standing room only” doesn't really describe how packed they were, and a dozen or so passed us by before one had enough room for us. Preparing for the Chaco, I had packed hot weather clothes, cold weather clothes, farm work clothes, church clothes, relative-visiting clothes ... I was carrying a good 90% of my wardrobe on my back. Along with a small, but weighty portion of my personal library. Along with my violin, most precious of instruments. Along with my computer, digital repository of my life. Along with gifts for all my relatives in the Chaco. The dirty looks I received from my fellow passengers as I squeezed in were well-founded: I had paid for only one ticket, but both I and my life had come aboard.

This was perhaps the low point of the day. Everything changed when I boarded the bus to the Chaco. To start with, I found myself seated in the midst of a family reunion of Paraguayan Kansans, most of whom I had some connection to. My seatmate was a diminutive Guarani boy who spoke a very soft and slurred Spanish. Surrounded by Mennonites speaking Plautdietsch, I'm guessing he felt far more out of place in his own country than I did at that point. The seats were soft and the trip was long, affording time enough for thought, sleep, and reading. When I think of the word “buffer,” this trip strikes close to my conceptualization. A time to wind down from the chaos of Mennonite World Conference and associated responsibilities, a time to prepare for a month of ranching in the Chaco.

Oh, and the bus hit a cow. Being on the second level of the bus, it was extra exciting.

Mennonite World Conference

Mennonite World Conference is the reason I came to Paraguay this summer. I came for many other and more important reasons, but my trip has largely been scheduled around the conference and it deserves a blog entry.

The global Mennonite church congregates once every six years. Ostensibly, it's the time that the leaders from different continents converge to make statements and decisions and talk about the direction of the church. But it's also an excuse for Mennonites from all over to do some world-traveling, learn some new songs, and add some Facebook friends. The conference this year was held in Asuncion, mere kilometers from where I had been staying (having family in the same city as Conference was too good an opportunity to pass up) and was hosted in an almost completed mega-church building.

Paraguay has a sizable and visible Mennonite population. Immigrating largely from Germany and Russia, they are known mostly by their light complexions and tendency to speak low-German. If, in the U.S., Mennonites are identified by their ethnicity, it's all the more common here in Paraguay. Being of light skin and hair, I'm automatically assumed to be Mennonite, but it's confusing to people that I don't speak German. This is even more problematic for darker skinned Paraguayans who claim Mennonite values and practices, but lack the genetic heritage that most Paraguayans equate with the denomination. One of the hopes of the conference was to make Paraguayans aware that being Mennonite is not a matter of pigment. I heard not a few stories of locals who were amazed to find that their extremely dark-skinned African visitors had come for the Mennonite conference.

The majority of Mennonite World Conference is spent sitting. In both the morning and evening are services with singing, sermons, and presentations from any number of presidents and secretaries general of other denominations. Then you get up and stand in line for twenty minutes before sitting down with a plate of rice and sauce in a dining room built for 5000. Afternoons (between the eating and singing) are spent attending workshops or concerts. For my part, I helped out each afternoon with the Alto Refugio workshop, a small part, but I met dozens of people later who recognized me as “one of the people working with AIDS”.

In the end, I decided that the value of Mennonite World Conference might be the same for me as for the Paraguayans: to personally encounter a larger picture of the church – one that doesn't only look and think like I do. While it's no news that the church holds a broad spectrum of beliefs, practices, and worship styles, there's no substitute for witnessing that in person.

Seating area number 1


And 2