(January 29 - February 1, 2009)
Farewell Portuguese, hello familiar Spanish.
Having crossed over from Brazil (one of the continent's richest countries) into Paraguay (the second-poorest country), we could notice a difference as soon as we arrived at the Asunción bus terminal. The contrast was even more emphasized once we ventured out into the city and guided ourselves to a walking tour of the capital's historical sector. Even more interesting than the few museums and buildings we visited was something between and beyond the landmarks - that it to say, the stark contrast of social disparities. We had been told this about Asunción, but to actually see it was quite a shock. The Palacio Gobernio and Palacio Legislativo (government buildings) are prestigious and extravagant structures, one resembling a smaller version of the White House and the other a modern museum.
And then, merely meters away to their sides are the tin roofs and crudely-built houses cramming the streets of a shantytown. It was inconceivable and gut-wrenching to see. We had witnessed social-class disparities in other countries before, but such contrasts are usually more evident in city suburbs or rural sectors. Here, however, they exist side by side, seemingly as neighbours.
Having crossed over from Brazil (one of the continent's richest countries) into Paraguay (the second-poorest country), we could notice a difference as soon as we arrived at the Asunción bus terminal. The contrast was even more emphasized once we ventured out into the city and guided ourselves to a walking tour of the capital's historical sector. Even more interesting than the few museums and buildings we visited was something between and beyond the landmarks - that it to say, the stark contrast of social disparities. We had been told this about Asunción, but to actually see it was quite a shock. The Palacio Gobernio and Palacio Legislativo (government buildings) are prestigious and extravagant structures, one resembling a smaller version of the White House and the other a modern museum.
And then, merely meters away to their sides are the tin roofs and crudely-built houses cramming the streets of a shantytown. It was inconceivable and gut-wrenching to see. We had witnessed social-class disparities in other countries before, but such contrasts are usually more evident in city suburbs or rural sectors. Here, however, they exist side by side, seemingly as neighbours.
Otherwise, another thing that overcame us in Paraguay was the unbelievable, scorching heat. The temperatures easily reached 
40°C in mid-afternoon and fell to merely 25°C late in the evening. We had some hot humid days in Rio, but this was a kind of dry blistering heat we had never experienced before. It is no wonder why all Paraguayans carry cardboard heat shields in their cars.
40°C in mid-afternoon and fell to merely 25°C late in the evening. We had some hot humid days in Rio, but this was a kind of dry blistering heat we had never experienced before. It is no wonder why all Paraguayans carry cardboard heat shields in their cars. Aside from the heat and poverty, another thing we encountered in Paraguay were the cucarachas. Our first night in Asunción had us scrambling around our hostel room, trying to find ways to get rid of our unwelcomed roommates. At one point, there were four 
of them scurrying in the corners as we sang the Spanish folk song "La cucaracha, la cucaracha.." in hope of getting their attention. They didn't fall for it. And so Dominic went into full-out sandal attack mode. Dominic Turgeon, kind gentleman by day, cockroach hunter by night. Here's a picture of one of his victims.
of them scurrying in the corners as we sang the Spanish folk song "La cucaracha, la cucaracha.." in hope of getting their attention. They didn't fall for it. And so Dominic went into full-out sandal attack mode. Dominic Turgeon, kind gentleman by day, cockroach hunter by night. Here's a picture of one of his victims. And something not as disgusting as the cucarachas but that made us feel just as uneasy was the bus ride we took from Asunción to the village of Ybycuí. We had never seen a bus so old and so sketchy in our lives. It looked like something that had been put together in a scrapyard. But at least we had a good view of the road, since there were holes in the metal floor right by our feet. It was a bumpy, uncomfortable, and stuffy three-hour ride, but on the bright side, our run-down scrapyard bus somehow held together and made it to the village in one piece. Getting off the bus in Ybycuí, we were greeted by horses, goats, and chickens. The simplicities of a small, authentic village. The true insides of Paraguay. With its well-kept main street and its tiny shops selling everything from rakes to potatoes, it charmed us right away. It was our first taste of South America outside its big city lines and tourist attractions, and it tasted raw and refreshing.
It is in Ybycuí that we fully understood why the days in Paraguay revolve around the afternoon siestas. All work and activity in the village came to a halt for most of the afternoon so that people could escape the heat and relax in the shade of their homes and balconies. It seems to be a national passtime to sit outside and do nothing but sip terreré. We soon found out that the inconvenience of the siestas, for foreigners like us, is that it is impossible to find a place to eat supper at a usual Canadian time. No restaurants open until 8-9 pm. Our first night there, we were wandering the streets in search of a place to eat, and we stopped at a small, empty restaurant. There was no one but us there but the owner kindly said she would make us some burgers and fries. That is where we ate the world's best papas fritas (french fries). They were so good, we returned for some more the next day. By the time we finished eating, it was nearing 10 pm, and people in the village were just stepping out to eat. Not just adults and teenagers, but everyone, young and old alike. The restaurant was full of parents taking their young kids out for ice cream at 10 pm. Motorcycles and scooters were roaring about everywhere in the village... the night was just beginning for the Paraguayans, while us two lone Canadians were heading to bed.
The reason that brought us to Ybycuí was its national park nearby, where we spent another sweltering-hot afternoon in some of the walking trails. Our first little hike of the trip. We walked up to small waterfalls and then through isolated woods, which unexpectedly led us to the historic site of La Rosada, an old iron casting foundry that was overtaken and destroyed during the War of the Triple Alliance from 1864-1870. Getting to the Ybycuí National Park was an adventure in itself (crammed in a tiny bus with a dozen people too many), but getting back from the park was another adventure altogether. Since there was no bus returning to the village from the park, we were told that the only way back was by means of hitchhiking, a safe and common thing in the area. So we sat nonchalantly waiting for what looked liked a decent ride, when a nice SUV stopped by the side of the road to let us in. In the middle of nowhere in Paraguay, where there are practically no tourists, we ended up hitching a ride back to the village with two Americans (stationed for work in Asunción). Both working for international organizations, they had lived and traveled everywhere. In the village, they stopped and treated us to beer and good cultural conversations before continuing on their way.
After Ybycuí, we left on a brutally-hot five-hour bus ride to Encarnación, a one-day stop on way to our next destination of Trinidad. So we didn't see much in Encarnación, but we did see water. And plenty of water. Upon arriving, we were walking to our hostel when a man we crossed on the street smiled at us and, out of nowhere, poured a big jug of water on Amy-Lou's head. He then raised his arms and yelled proudly, "Encarnación!". We laughed and didn't make much of it, since the man looked like the delirious and intoxicated type, and besides, the water was actually refreshing in the scorching heat. Dominic was almost jealous he didn't get a jug poured on his head too.
Unknown to us, that water jug was a sign of more watery adventures to come. After checking into our hostel, we thought we'd walk downtown in search of an internet café, but we had no idea we were about to become perfect targets for the happening Carnaval festivities. Arrived at the city's main square, we walked right into the middle of a zealous water-balloon war.
Arriving in Encarnación, we had noticed a few kids having fun with water balloons, even a few who tried throwing some at us (but missed) from their balconies. And so we thought throwing water balloons was probably just something people did to pass time on Sunday afternoons in Encarnación. But as we got closer to the main square, the sidewalks were literally covered with coloured pieces of busted water balloons, and we then figured it was celebration time in the city and the water balloons must surely be a Carnaval tradition. And then, little did we know, we turned a street corner where the water-balloon headquarters were stationed. A crowd of frenzied water-balloon soldiers started running after us, not letting up for a good three blocks before they stopped bombarding us with water missiles. It was an intense kind of water-balloon war we had never seen. The kind of adventure that wasn't exactly pleasant in the moment, but one that we definitely look back on now, and laugh.
