A Personal Pilgrimage

35 kilometers, or about 21 miles, that seemed like an attainable goal from the balcony our group stood on while posing for our pre-pilgrimage photo.  At about mile 13 I started to question my sanity and wonder if the fresh mango I picked off the tree for breakfast or the water I had drank that morning had altered my judgement.

Pre-Pilgrimage Enthusiasm

We hit the road at five in the afternoon, just as the sun started to dip, with plans to arrive at the Cathedral of Caacupe by midnight. As we marched along in good spirits the unrelenting rays of the sun stung our faces and we sweated our way into the night.  As soon as dusk fell we were joined on the trail by more and more pilgrims.  Thousands were making their way to either give thanks for a miracle that had occurred in the past year or ask for one.  I spoke with several Paraguayans who were walking for the health of a family member or to thank the virgin for the miraculous recovery of their sick infant or mother who was diagnosed with cancer.  Some walked for hours, others for days in converse and flip-flops with nothing more than a thermos for ice-cold terere and perhaps a baby in their arms.  Amazed by the asceticism of these light travelers, I did not regret wearing my hiking shoes and carrying a backpack full of provisions as we grew weary after several hours in.

Sunset along the Pilgrimage

Eight hours later we crested the hill leading down to the cathedral and witnessed the fireworks exploding in the distance to mark the stroke of midnight.  We missed our goal but hobbled down the hill into the crowed about half an hour later.

The sea of people was hardly navigable in our large group and we tried not to lose each other as we snaked through the crowded streets filled with vendors of all kinds.  T-shirts, crafts, wood carvings, fans, and figurines of all sizes of the virgin of Caacupe anointed the streets.  Mothers with children, grandparents and teenagers slept on the sidewalks, some with bamboo mats and a sheet, others with nothing but the clothes they wore and their shoes still on, undisturbed by the flow of activity and clearly exhausted by the long trek from their unknown starting points.  We made it to the cathedral to witness the last part of the midnight mass, where the sea of tightly packed people insisted on shaking each of our hands and offered welcoming benedictions as we stood on tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the ceremony.

The Basilica of Caacupe

Just two streets over there was a huge festival with make-shift restaurants and bars in the streets, carnival rides and betting games of all times.  Smells and sounds drifted through the hot humid air from all directions.  Men gathered around big roulette tables placed their bets with gregarious gestures and threw back bottles of beer.  Children dodged in and out of the crowds, running to see the next diversion.

Litter Along the Pilgrimage

The dualities of the holiday were compelling.  On one side a devout religious ceremony on the other a heathen ruckus.  Along the path people spoke of the reverence they felt for the miracles the virgin had provided while they carelessly tossed plastic cups from the water stations into the ditch leaving piles of trash in their wake.  It made me reflect on the Thanksgiving party that I had attended only a week before with about 60 other volunteers, which resembled something more like spring break Cancun than a day of giving thanks.

View from the Thanskgiving Party at Hotel Triol 

Thanksgiving Ads in Encarnacion

Pondering these contradictions and the past few busy work weeks have delayed me from posting this experience in a timely manner.  As Christmas and the New Year approach I look forward to participating in other holiday traditions here in Paraguay, keeping in mind that the tendency to vacillate between opposing ideas, beliefs and worlds is a human reality and is a place I find myself in from time to time. While I will be thinking about my family and friends in the states I will be sharing the holidays with my Paraguayan host family, hoping that my presence is felt in both places.

We made it!

Justice

I should have known, at least that's what I keep telling myself.

I should have known to bribe the police to actually do something with the police report that I had to file regarding my stolen bicycle.  I also should have known that a luxurious mountain bike in a third world country is a huge liability, and I should have know it wouldn't be safe sitting inside a government building out of my sight, (without cameras, a guard or locked doors), only 10 feet away from where I was sitting.

We all make mistakes, "sigh," and in retrospect everything is much clearer. But the lesson learned here is not only about my personal frivolity and carelessness but really about how things are here in Paraguay.

Clearly someone saw an easy opportunity and took it, and how can I blame them?  Sometimes one small opportunity is all you get, and here you take it, whether or not it's "the right thing to do."

However, I have been touched by the shared embarrassment that all of my colleagues expressed after my bike was stolen from under our noses.  And then, I just have to smile as the sentiment immediately fades and they all crack jokes about how tired my feet must be after walking so many kilometers to the office, ("maybe that will help you loose weight, Emily").

Thanks to my colleagues' goodwill, yesterday, I found myself on an exhilarating stake out, with two old Paraguayan guys, patrolling a rough neighborhood outside of the city.  In between sips of terere we discussed the hot tip I received on facebook from someone who thought they saw a bike like mine, refinished in matte black, cruising around this shady part of town.

Our driver was slow and deliberate, and so was his accomplice who explained to me the master plan of recuperating my bike, if we did indeed catch a glance of it.  "I will promise a couple kids a reward if they tip me off about anything suspicious in the neighborhood, then we will visit the house where the suspected bike is, pretend we are looking for a place to rent, identify it quickly and discreetly, and then finally bring in the police in to investigate."

"Yes, genius," I mumbled, distracted not by my low-profile backseat search for the bike but by the rows and rows of shacks that served as cramped, inadequate living quarters for entire families. This was my first glance of the shanties outside of the buffer of wealth and the touristy facade that envelops the city center where I spend the majority of my time.   The exhilaration of the search faded into a scene of abandonment, where both the people and their neighborhood seem to have been cast away to the fringes.  The sun was shining, but the wind had a chill in it and it rustled the garbage piles in the ditches and sent plastic bags rolling across the road like tumbleweeds.  No one would be cruising around on their new bike this afternoon.  We turned up a rocky hill littered with potholes, waved at the old men on their stoops and drove back to the city.

I lowered my eyes and thought that if my bike was the one opportunity that some kid from this forgotten neighborhood saw and took, then I should have known...his need was greater than mine.

Getting to Work

Building a new routine, making new friends and basically building a new life from scratch, in a different culture and language is not an easy task.  In fact, it feels more normal to fall into the Paraguayan trap of being kaigue, or without energy to do much at all.  Fortunately this last week, I shook off the cultural roller coaster and had a break though week as a guapa, hardworking, Peace Corps volunteer. 

DAY 1

Inspiration appeared in the form of Paraguay's own Land-Fill Harmonic, a brilliant orchestra composed of instruments made entirely of garbage.  Carried by a refreshing river breeze the rusty, metallic twangs of junk reassembled itself  into music of various forms.  John Lennon, Metallica, Paraguayan folk and even a Pakistani tune were among the set list.  I stayed to thank the Maestro and a few of the musicians afterwards, who even after traveling to all corners of the globe, remained true to the humble origins of their recycled violins, guitars, violas, trombones, string bases, flutes, saxophones and accordions.

DAYS 2-5

The concert kicked off the ALEA, a week long South American architecture student convention, and with it a 5 day workshop with Encarnación Sustentable (my pet NGO, check them out! https://www.facebook.com/EncarnacionSustentable).  Our participants designed various prototypes for recycle bins made of recycled materials.

DAYS 2-5

Oh yeah, then I started a 20 hour a week course on teaching methodology for the employment office that I work at.  In order to give my future students super official SNPP certificates, I have to take this class with about 25 other instructors-in-training.  Although the four hour classes are a little tedious, this is a great opportunity to share time with Paraguayans and really analyze the learning style here. So far, it's painfully obvious that they love to share personal anecdotes about pretty much anything, no matter the relevance to the subject matter, haha!

DAY 6

And if that wasn't enough, I also held my sixth and final employability class, with a group of young people that I really enjoyed meeting with for the past six Saturdays.  They did great, and though our time was limited, they scooped up their certificados, (literally printed certificates saying they were in the course - a pretty big deal around these parts), and passed their final exams, a game of bingo, with flying colors.

DAY 7

So, did I rest on the seventh day?  Heck no, this week was too unstoppable.  I rode my sweet new bike to the bike shop around 6:30 am to meet up with the "team" for a morning ride.  Little did I know, 5 hours and 50 kilometers of beautiful Paraguayan countryside later, I would be sitting, rather uncomfortably because I didn't brink bike shorts to PY, at an asado (traditional Sunday BBQ), with a new group of biking buddies.  The lingering pain of muscles I forgot I had continue to remind me that for the first time my Paraguayan mission was accomplished, and that this was a week to remember.

Thunderstruck, The Musical

The first stanza of most Paraguayan conversations begin, of course, with the weather.  Then, a brief ceasura is taken for the important business of sipping terere, and the conversation returns da capo to, you guessed it, the weather.

The weather as of late has been nothing but a colossale display of mother nature's symphonic wrath.  For days now I have been jolted awake at night by the duet of thunder and lightening that produces a deep rumbling tenor with haunting vibrado, crecendoing to the deafing stacatto of biblical rains slapping my apartment's uninsulated tin roof.

As I sit here amused by the cacophony of thunder and raindrops that attempt to drown out Thunderstruck by AC/DC blasting on the Paraguayan radio, I wonder if I am witty or just sleep deprived.  Finally, the diminuendo from the forte to the coda of yet another score of nature's magnum opus begins.  The streets are converted into temporary rivers, the timpani drums resonate in the distance, I take a sip of terere and I think to myself, "at least I will have plenty to chat about at work tomorrow."

 -Fin-

The Peace Corps Games

Six actors stood frozen on stage, one pair in colonial dress, a woman in a psychedelic green seventies motif, a second couple in all white beach clothes and a third in a silver jumpsuit with futuristic LED lighting.  All were caste in gold-face and were shimming yet frozen in various poses on stage while the most important community figures spoke about a theme completely unrelated to the awkward living statues; the book fair that was taking place next door.

Fake blondes plastered with makeup and false eyelashes clapped madly as the speakers finished their self-congratulating speeches that hardly touched upon issues of literacy, reading or access to education but instead reveled in the accomplishment of putting on the tenth annual book fair, where one could buy a single book for the cost of what many people have to feed their families for the week.

It has been the running joke that I am Katniss living in the Capitol of a remote South American country.  As much as I love to hate the truth in a pop-culture reference, I couldn't help but smile at the irony when the grand finale of the book fair inauguration revealed eight carnival dancers on stage, scandalously embossed with strategically placed bling and ridiculously large feather headdresses who gyrated to blasting carnival music as a tribute to the great accomplishments of this machista city of the south.

As the room full of ‘somebodies’ gawked and applauded over-approvingly at the ‘performance’, I couldn't help but scream inside, “BUT WHAT ABOUT THE BOOKS???!!!” 

In my position, I've been repeatedly warned against negative blogging about specific people, events or places.  I mean no offense with my description of this night but can’t help but share the reality of living in a country that is rated by Transparency International as having the 27^th most corrupt public sector in the world (http://www.transparency.org/country#PRY).  Guarding information and impeding access to education is a celebrated fact when elites surround themselves with books and pervert the transformational and liberating potential of the written word into another show of affluence and decadence.

Signing off from the Capitol…