This weekend we went in small groups to do a “tech-overnight” which meant for me that my group built two fogóns (brick ovens) at a current volunteers site. As we were driving there through the Paraguayan countryside, I was looking at the infinite greenness of the trees and plants that I have come to appreciate so much more than when I first came here, contrasted with the bright red dirt that lines the road. I saw signs flash by, not in my first language, but in a language that I am slowly beginning to understand more. As the scenery flashed by, I all of a sudden had this crazy thought: I’m living in Paraguay, in South America… for two years! It’s actually happening now and I know one day I will look back on the years I spent in this country, probably missing it in many ways, but the thing is, it’s happening in this moment.
I know I’ve already been here for a month, but it has only been recently that I have started to feel at home in this strange, green, sub-tropical country. Recently, I have not felt so strange waking up to hearing roosters crowing and cows mooing and seeing my clothes piled on a chair next to my suitcases (both function as my dresser). I’ve gotten comfortable walking into strange people’s houses and having them immediately jump up to get me a chair and offer me tereré. Today I peed in a hole in the ground that the family uses as a latrine and it didn’t freak me out at all. I took a bucket bath while I was at the volunteer’s site this weekend, and I actually felt like I knew exactly what I was doing. I have also had spiders half the size of my palm crawl into my room and somehow I killed them without totally freaking out and for any of you who have heard of my past stories with spiders, you understand what an accomplishment this was for me. It no longer weirds me out that my sisters interrogate me about my outfit when I go to any special event and for the most part, I humor them and let them tell me what I can and can’t wear to those events. I am also no longer having minor panic attacks when I see my mom start a fire with a plastic bag and just tell myself that people in the states are making more carbon footprints with their cars and electricity than my host mom is by using her plastic trash to start her fire. Although I still don’t like the feeling, I have gotten used to being stared at almost everywhere I go, particularly when I’m doing something they haven’t seen before and I am able to resist the urge of staring back. This weekend I helped build a fogón for a real Paraguayan family and whether I use my now perfected brick-laying skills in my two years of service, there is now tangible evidence that I did something in this country. Sometime this week I had a breakthrough in Spanish and I really can’t give you an exact moment, but I realized I wasn’t working so hard to communicate certain things and I could say others without even thinking.
Of course, I have a language interview again in a few days to test where my language skills are at and I could walk out of there feeling like I couldn’t say anything I wanted to in Spanish, but I think I’m going to hit many of those moments over the next two years. Just when I feel like I’ve begun to master one thing like Spanish, I will have to start all over on something else, like starting to learn Guarani. I also have not yet encountered a tarantula, and might possibly scream and run if I see one, but at least I’ve mastered the art of killing the “medium” sized spiders. In two months, I will have to move into a new community and go through all the feelings of being the stranger all over again. Maybe next week I’ll be frustrated with not being able to speak Guarani and might run away from a spider, but this week for the first time since I’ve been here, I feel like I have really and truly arrived.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Bucket bathing in the campo
Last weekend all volunteers in training had to go visit a current volunteer at their site to see what the life of a volunteer is like. The trip in and of itself was quite entertaining as it ended with another trainee and me getting a ride from a Paraguayan guy (don’t worry, our volunteer was friends with him and had called in a favor) 40 minutes up the mountain through muddy, roads filled with pot-holes and ruts because the campo bus does not go through the campo when it rains. Oh, and did I mention this was a two-seater, stick-shift truck and somehow we fit the driver, two of us trainees, and two extremely large backpacks inside. I ended up sitting kind of sideways facing the steering wheel with one arm around the other trainee and the other arm falling asleep while the driver kept hitting my leg every time he switched gears. I found the whole thing quite entertaining.
When we finally arrived and went inside I felt like we had arrived in a sanctuary. Both me and the other trainee had gotten up at 5:30, walked half an hour, taken two busses after having waited over an hour for one of them, and stood for over 2 and a half hours on the second bus, not to mention the uncomfortable car ride up the mountain. Our volunteer had comfortable beds for both of us and told us she would cook us American food while we were there. I think I stopped mid-sentence when she pulled out the peanut butter jar and came close to jumping up and hugging her when she told me she had American coffee and a coffee maker. That night we had tacos with cheddar cheese she had brought back from the states and amazing guacamole and I remembered again how much I love real cheddar cheese (which by the way you can not buy in Paraguay).
Now before you go thinking she lives in some snazzy place let me tell you a little bit about her site. She lives in a campo that is 10k away from the nearest city and the bus only comes through her site 3 times a week, unless of course it rains, in which case it’s less than 3 times a week as we had the pleasure of experiencing. She’s also about 6-8k away from any other English speaking people and she lives on a mountain (or at least a mountain in Paraguay terms). No one in her site has running water, so she gets all her water from her well, uses a latrine, and bathes in a bucket. That means that every drop of water from drinking water to water she washes her dishes in and water she uses to brush her teeth has to get pulled up from a bucket in the well. Her latrine was built with the intention of having running water in the next few years, so it is an actual toilet seat and after you go to the bathroom you just pour water down to flush, which makes it pretty close to a normal toilet. The bucket bath was the fun part and after experiencing that, the possibility of not having running water doesn’t freak me out at all anymore. You basically have to squat down on the ground to wash yourself off and the only hard part is making sure you got all the shampoo out of your hair. While this whole daily ritual probably seems insane, it’s really quite simple, and I found it well worth the prize of a constant supply of peanut butter, coffee, and cheddar cheese for the weekend.
When we finally arrived and went inside I felt like we had arrived in a sanctuary. Both me and the other trainee had gotten up at 5:30, walked half an hour, taken two busses after having waited over an hour for one of them, and stood for over 2 and a half hours on the second bus, not to mention the uncomfortable car ride up the mountain. Our volunteer had comfortable beds for both of us and told us she would cook us American food while we were there. I think I stopped mid-sentence when she pulled out the peanut butter jar and came close to jumping up and hugging her when she told me she had American coffee and a coffee maker. That night we had tacos with cheddar cheese she had brought back from the states and amazing guacamole and I remembered again how much I love real cheddar cheese (which by the way you can not buy in Paraguay).
Now before you go thinking she lives in some snazzy place let me tell you a little bit about her site. She lives in a campo that is 10k away from the nearest city and the bus only comes through her site 3 times a week, unless of course it rains, in which case it’s less than 3 times a week as we had the pleasure of experiencing. She’s also about 6-8k away from any other English speaking people and she lives on a mountain (or at least a mountain in Paraguay terms). No one in her site has running water, so she gets all her water from her well, uses a latrine, and bathes in a bucket. That means that every drop of water from drinking water to water she washes her dishes in and water she uses to brush her teeth has to get pulled up from a bucket in the well. Her latrine was built with the intention of having running water in the next few years, so it is an actual toilet seat and after you go to the bathroom you just pour water down to flush, which makes it pretty close to a normal toilet. The bucket bath was the fun part and after experiencing that, the possibility of not having running water doesn’t freak me out at all anymore. You basically have to squat down on the ground to wash yourself off and the only hard part is making sure you got all the shampoo out of your hair. While this whole daily ritual probably seems insane, it’s really quite simple, and I found it well worth the prize of a constant supply of peanut butter, coffee, and cheddar cheese for the weekend.
That tasted like cow brain
A day or two ago my neighbors killed a cow, a very common, typical event in Paraguay. Then they decided to roast the head for a few hours because Paraguayans tend to be quite resourceful. Although eating the cow head isn’t always very popular, it isn’t totally unusual to cook and head the whole cow head. Since one of the volunteers lives with the family, several of us were invited over to enjoy the spoils, aka roasted cow head. I knew that I at least wanted to see the remains of the cow and watch other people poke around and eat random parts the head of some dead cow, but I really wasn’t sure I wanted to try it. After watching a few people rip off pieces of meat, I decided that as gross as it might be, I might not ever get this opportunity again and how many people get to say they ate a cow head?
I must say, cow tongue actually tastes pretty good and I think that was my favorite part. While a couple of the guys were viciously digging in, I timidly poked around eating a few small bites of meat trying to convince myself not to be completely grossed out. When they started pulling out the eye, I was pretty disgusted, but you know cow eye really doesn’t taste all that bad. For those of you with weak stomachs I won’t go into more detail, but once you get over what it looks like and the rather squishy texture, you can almost convince yourself that you’re eating regular meat. Yes, I’m telling the truth, I ate cow eye and I have pictures to prove it. At that’s not even the end of the story; I also tasted the brain and cow brain tastes like fish. Although the whole experience really wasn’t all that bad, I have no intentions of repeating it, I don’t even typically eat regular cow meat, much less unidentifiable parts that come from it’s head. However, the next time someone asks me, “what’s the strangest thing you’ve ever eaten?” I think I’ll have them beat.
I must say, cow tongue actually tastes pretty good and I think that was my favorite part. While a couple of the guys were viciously digging in, I timidly poked around eating a few small bites of meat trying to convince myself not to be completely grossed out. When they started pulling out the eye, I was pretty disgusted, but you know cow eye really doesn’t taste all that bad. For those of you with weak stomachs I won’t go into more detail, but once you get over what it looks like and the rather squishy texture, you can almost convince yourself that you’re eating regular meat. Yes, I’m telling the truth, I ate cow eye and I have pictures to prove it. At that’s not even the end of the story; I also tasted the brain and cow brain tastes like fish. Although the whole experience really wasn’t all that bad, I have no intentions of repeating it, I don’t even typically eat regular cow meat, much less unidentifiable parts that come from it’s head. However, the next time someone asks me, “what’s the strangest thing you’ve ever eaten?” I think I’ll have them beat.
Monday, March 1, 2010
I think our bus definitely almost just hit that moto
So I know a lot of people say that LA drivers are crazy. Let me correct you: LA drivers generally safe drivers who know how to get where they are going fast and follow the laws; Paraguayans are crazy drivers who tend to make their own rules as they drive. As a PCT and PCV, I am not allowed to operate a car or moto (in fact riding on a moto at any time will result in my return to the United States). Because of that, my main mode of transportation is taking the bus, and I used to think that taking the bus in the US sucked. I stand corrected.
First, there usually aren’t official bus stops and instead, you wait by the side of the road and when the right bus comes down the road, you raise your hand in the air to let them know you want on. If you’re lucky, you won’t have to wait long but I have waited for over 45 minutes more than once. If there’s a line of people getting on or off they have to come to a complete stop, but if you’re the only one it’s kind of more of a rolling stop as you step on and they are already stepping on the gas as you’re handing them change and making your way onto the bus. Again, if you’re lucky, there’s an open seat but more than likely, you will have to stand, particularly during “rush hour.”
There really is no “maximum capacity” and they will continue to pack on more people even in 95 degree heat plus humidity. One morning on our way to training 4 of us got on a bus and I honestly wasn’t sure the 4 of us would fit. I was definitely wrong because I think 10 more people got on before anyone else got off. The 4 of us were spooning standing up and one of the girls didn’t even have to hold onto anything it was so crammed. The whole bus experience is further complicated when you’re wearing a backpack not only because it takes up more space, but because you have to wear it on your front so nothing gets stolen in the chaotic mish-mosh of people. When there actually is a little room to breath and move, you have to hold on to rails on the ceiling or onto the seats to keep from falling over.
I thought I had good balance until I got onto a bus in Paraguay. I don’t know how they do it, but I’ve seen many Paraguayans make their way through a bus not holding onto anything and not even come close to falling. More than once, I’ve almost fallen over, even when I’m holding on for dear life because the bus drivers have lead feet and slam on the brakes faster than I used to in LA traffic. It is not uncommon for a bus to drive into the other lane (of oncoming traffic) to pass a car or moto that is driving too slow. Also most intersections don’t really have stop lights unless you’re in the city, so when there’s a lot of cars, it tends to be a race to see who can get across the intersection first. If there is a car coming from the left, you just keep pushing your way through the intersection and hope you block the car from going any further so you can be the first one across. I also think that lanes or more of a suggestion than an actual law. My first day on a bus I was positive we were going to hit a car and in fact we got so close you couldn’t even see the car anymore. It never fails to surprise and scare me when our bus come inches from running into a moto or other car on the road, but so far I haven’t been in any accidents so apparently these bus drivers have something going for them.
The drive is further entertaining depending on where you’re going and what kind of people you get on your bus. Any white person in Paraguay stands out like a sore thumb, so I get stares pretty much everywhere I go. Yesterday I was on a bus to Asuncion and this old guy behind me asked me where I was from so I told him I was from the United States. We got into a conversation and then he asked me if I was German or American. I’m not really sure which part of “I’m from the United States” he didn’t understand, but apparently he needed further clarification. Also, once you get into the city there are usually vendors that hop on the bus and walk through the bus trying to sell their product and hop off a block or two later. Most of the time it’s stuff like gum, nail clippers, or newspapers, but one guy got on my bus yesterday that was selling some sort of liquid that apparently cured every ailment from headaches and rashes to tiredness and ulcers. I wonder if it could make you immune to heat and humidity…
I think public transportation kinda sucks no matter where you are, you just have less personal space in certain places. I still haven’t gotten used to busses almost running people off the road, but like I said, I haven’t gotten in an accident yet. Once you kinda get used to the busses, it’s really not all that bad and it feels a little bit normal, but maybe that’s because it’s been too long since I’ve driven on a freeway.
First, there usually aren’t official bus stops and instead, you wait by the side of the road and when the right bus comes down the road, you raise your hand in the air to let them know you want on. If you’re lucky, you won’t have to wait long but I have waited for over 45 minutes more than once. If there’s a line of people getting on or off they have to come to a complete stop, but if you’re the only one it’s kind of more of a rolling stop as you step on and they are already stepping on the gas as you’re handing them change and making your way onto the bus. Again, if you’re lucky, there’s an open seat but more than likely, you will have to stand, particularly during “rush hour.”
There really is no “maximum capacity” and they will continue to pack on more people even in 95 degree heat plus humidity. One morning on our way to training 4 of us got on a bus and I honestly wasn’t sure the 4 of us would fit. I was definitely wrong because I think 10 more people got on before anyone else got off. The 4 of us were spooning standing up and one of the girls didn’t even have to hold onto anything it was so crammed. The whole bus experience is further complicated when you’re wearing a backpack not only because it takes up more space, but because you have to wear it on your front so nothing gets stolen in the chaotic mish-mosh of people. When there actually is a little room to breath and move, you have to hold on to rails on the ceiling or onto the seats to keep from falling over.
I thought I had good balance until I got onto a bus in Paraguay. I don’t know how they do it, but I’ve seen many Paraguayans make their way through a bus not holding onto anything and not even come close to falling. More than once, I’ve almost fallen over, even when I’m holding on for dear life because the bus drivers have lead feet and slam on the brakes faster than I used to in LA traffic. It is not uncommon for a bus to drive into the other lane (of oncoming traffic) to pass a car or moto that is driving too slow. Also most intersections don’t really have stop lights unless you’re in the city, so when there’s a lot of cars, it tends to be a race to see who can get across the intersection first. If there is a car coming from the left, you just keep pushing your way through the intersection and hope you block the car from going any further so you can be the first one across. I also think that lanes or more of a suggestion than an actual law. My first day on a bus I was positive we were going to hit a car and in fact we got so close you couldn’t even see the car anymore. It never fails to surprise and scare me when our bus come inches from running into a moto or other car on the road, but so far I haven’t been in any accidents so apparently these bus drivers have something going for them.
The drive is further entertaining depending on where you’re going and what kind of people you get on your bus. Any white person in Paraguay stands out like a sore thumb, so I get stares pretty much everywhere I go. Yesterday I was on a bus to Asuncion and this old guy behind me asked me where I was from so I told him I was from the United States. We got into a conversation and then he asked me if I was German or American. I’m not really sure which part of “I’m from the United States” he didn’t understand, but apparently he needed further clarification. Also, once you get into the city there are usually vendors that hop on the bus and walk through the bus trying to sell their product and hop off a block or two later. Most of the time it’s stuff like gum, nail clippers, or newspapers, but one guy got on my bus yesterday that was selling some sort of liquid that apparently cured every ailment from headaches and rashes to tiredness and ulcers. I wonder if it could make you immune to heat and humidity…
I think public transportation kinda sucks no matter where you are, you just have less personal space in certain places. I still haven’t gotten used to busses almost running people off the road, but like I said, I haven’t gotten in an accident yet. Once you kinda get used to the busses, it’s really not all that bad and it feels a little bit normal, but maybe that’s because it’s been too long since I’ve driven on a freeway.
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