Lessons in Paraguay

Though Febrero is nearly finito and our South American sojourn is quickly coming to an end along with it, I thought it was about time to finally make a post about our trip.  Behold...my long awaited blogging debut!

Wisdom from an unlikely sage.
Oooh Yeeah!

Not long before embarking on this trip, I saw a quote by Randy "Macho Man" Savage, of '80s wrestling fame.  "If you're not on the edge then you're taking up too much room."  Not exactly the first person I'd turn to for wisdom but it struck a chord in me and made me think back to a life lesson learned from a former teacher (thanks Mr. Naslund!). The lesson concerned our schema, and the way I remember it was something like this:  He began by drawing a small circle on the board and told us that everything we had ever experienced or learned about the world was contained within that small space and represented how we understood the world.  Next, he drew another circle, but this one with a wavy line.  He explained that when we try new things or encounter new experiences, it disrupts what we know like a stone sending ripples across the surface of a pond.  It might give you a pleasant tingle but it can cause chaos or even panic if we're unable to embrace the newness of the unknown and absorb it. Finally, a third circle, this one a bit larger than the others to represent what we know after the waves settle and stillness returns.  This, he explained, is how we grow and he encouraged us all to seek out experiences that challenged us even if they might be uncomfortable or scary.  We could choose to always remain within the comfortable confines of our own small circle, but who wants to do that?  It is with this lesson in mind that I begin this adventure.

Arroyo Moroti, Paraguay

The sky here is....Bigger somehow.  Vast.  Expansive.  Limitless.  Perhaps even infinite.  It evokes a similar feeling within my soul and I feel more alive each time I allow it to grab my attention.  I find myself gazing skyward often.  Emily told me this was the case before we got here but I dismissed it without much thought; the idea seemed ridiculous at the time.  I can't figure out how it's possible, nor can I put my finger on the cause, but the phenomenon is undoubtedly real and can only be understood in the flesh.  A picture truly does no justice.

The soil here is a most brilliant shade of red.  Along with the bright greens of sugar cane, mandioca and yerba mate that stop only where they meet the deep blue of endless sky, the soil is so vibrant and alive it seems to dance.  It instantly melts and takes shape as beautiful buildings, garden walls, and sculptures in my mind.  Excitedly, I spent days trying to devise a way to bring enough home to build with and daydreaming about all the things I could create with it.  I can't wait to return and get my hands dirty building something.

Terere: National drink of Paraguay

I seem to float somewhere between admiration and antipathy for the people here.  Of the former, I envy them for their simple lives, their relaxed pace and how quick they are to smile and laugh among the constant company of friends and neighbors throughout their day.  It is an energy I hope to create in abundance upon returning home.  The afternoon ritual of passing terere around a circle of smiling souls to escape the afternoon heat quickly became something I looked forward to sharing with them each new day.  They exude a contagious contentment that makes me forget about everything beyond the bounds of this small village and it feels good.  I feel whole.  I wish I could somehow bottle this spell and share it with people back home locked in the routine of the daily grind, always trying to make it to the end of their shift or to the weekend, or even a career only to find the bliss they seek always seems to be just out of reach. Before the lull of this new feeling takes full hold though I recognize the presence of something else that undermines its power.  Most, save a special few, seem to be as pacified and indifferent as they are content, and this contradiction is the cause of my antipathy toward them.  There seems to be little desire to grab anything else from life, no ambition and no drive.

My thoughts drift back to a conversation I had one of our first nights in Paraguay.  Emily and I had the privilege of couchsurfing in Asuncion with Fernando: an energetic and entrepreneurial young Paraguayan and one of those special few I mentioned above.  I'm proud to call him a friend.  The two of us talked late into the night on his balcony overlooking the capital city with lights twinkling as brightly in the firmament above as the streets below.  As we got to know each other better, he asked me about what things I liked and didn't like about living in the states.  Without taking time to think, I quickly launched into a diatribe about all the things I'm frustrated with:  The way greed and fear envelope our country in a fog that has left many of us disoriented and discontent with pockets and bellies full but our inner-selves empty and alone...the ever-widening gap between our souls and the natural environment that cradles us, created by ever-advancing technology and a need to be "connected" to everyone and everything except what lies plainly before us...the epidemic of convenience at all costs and the value placed on anything bigger, faster or stronger that has us so caught up in the future and unable to return to the present moment...the way the interests of a select few dictate the policies that grant freedom to destroy our beautiful planet in the name of economic growth to some while stripping others of the freedoms to build a cob home or a composting toilet or even to know what's really in the food they buy...so disconnected have we become from what truly matters.  Those that know me well know that I have a tendency to ramble, and if my memory serves me correctly that evening was no exception so I'll spare you the rest.  Obviously I had quite a bit to say about it but what has stuck with me since that conversation is that I drew a total blank on the things I like about the privilege and blessing of life in the United States.  I laid in bed for quite some time that evening, unable to sleep and feeling guilty about being so lopsided and unappreciative, especially in one of the poorest countries in South America.  For days, each time I think fondly of home I'm paid a visit by the guilt of things left unsaid.  Though my activist self has trouble sharing the stage, I suspected a viewpoint balanced with more appreciation and less animosity is a lesson I needed to travel to another continent to learn.  It would remain in my thoughts throughout our trip. 

Within the cities of Paraguay, Spanish is the language of choice.  Knowing only the tiny bit I remember from two underachieving years in high school can make life more than an arms length from Emily pretty tough.  Venture a few kilometers beyond city limits though and you're in the campo, where you'll hear nothing but Guarani, the indigenous language of Paraguay.  Armed with only the simple salutations Emily taught me, I would have expected things to be even harder here.  People seemed to appreciate my effort to greet them but quickly discovered they could no more communicate with me than they could their cows or chickens.  Most of them seemed to enjoy that I was oblivious to anything they said about me and judging by the amount of laughter in my direction, they took full advantage!  Instead of constant frustration and helplessness though, I found an interesting sense of peace.  Free from the burdens of small talk, I was left to just sit.  I knew I wouldn't be bored since I had a good book and I seem to never tire of daydreaming about the piece of land Em and I hope to acquire upon our return and the dream home that we'll soon create there together.  What I didn't expect was to find the time to be a sort of meditation.  My gaze drifted from the chocolate colored cows with their lazy grazing to piglets proudly prancing past, from green grasses waving with the whispering wind to towering treetops swaying silently in the sunshine, and from an army of ants following in the footsteps of their friends to the masses of mangoes hanging heavy in the heat.  I don't often experience the feeling of being so present with so little effort.  My mind didn't wander and I didn't tire.  I just sat, and observed.  It was some of the most gratifying time spent thus far.  Ever.

Na Marina
 
Daisi and her man, Luis


Concepcion

I was quickly absorbed into the family that so generously opened their home to us.  Their gentle kindness and warm smiles made me feel at home from the start.  They seemed to be an enigma in the village, progressive in both thought and action in ways that surprised and impressed me constantly.  Mama Marina was always quick to invite me to share terere and dutifully served it for as long as we could stand to drink with her.  My mouth still waters for a hunk of mandi'o soaked in a salty, savory, soup she made that defies description.  For that experience alone I'll gladly book another ticket to Paraguay.  Daisi (28), eldest of the three daughters, took no time in earning my highest respect for her ambition and hard work; all performed effortlessly with an infectious smile and hair trigger laugh.  That girl could go anywhere, and do anything but instead she chooses to stay and be a rare example in the village for all to follow.  I look forward to seeing her again.  Concepcion, father to the household, was one of the most heartfelt men I've ever met.  With unmatched earnestness he said over and over how much he wished he could speak English just so he could talk to me.  We became great friends though few words were exchanged between us.  His teary send-off for us was a testament to his huge heart and touched me deeply.  Gustavo (15) and I also exchanged few words but he never failed to have a smile for me and the ease with which he displayed respect and humility were far beyond his years.  We had a fun dinner with Eli (24) and Karen (20) along with some newbie Peace Corps volunteers on our last night in Paraguay.  The two sisters were kind enough to let us stay at their apartment in Villarrica before heading off to Buenos Aires and not surprisingly, they insisted we take their bed while they slept on the floor.  As individuals, each of them are special to me in their own unique ways.  Together, they are one of the nicest families you'll find anywhere.  What a privilege it was to stay with them.   

Looking back, I will cherish the memories I made in Paraguay for a lifetime and I look forward to our inevitable return.  Special thanks to the woman I love, Emily.  Without her influence there's no way I would have experienced this special place or these beautiful people.  If you haven't already, you should check out her blog for a different perspective on our time spent in Paraguay.  You can find it here: The Long Way Home