Mi madre dijo que...

So my mom called me out. She says that she's still waiting to "smell" and "taste" and "know" Paraguay through my writing. She's right. I've been lazy. When I go to "Orange" (which is our nickname for the Internet place in Ita because the building is painted bright orange unlike no other) I am always stressed for time and money and usually just post something up and be done.

So, I figure I owe it to you all and to myself to really hunker down and try to invite you all into this crazy little country that I've begun to call home.

--There is a sugar cane factory along the Ruta on the way to Guarambare (where we train together once a week with the other group). Picture yourself on a micro (public bus) with a million other people. You got on and had a seat, but you got up to let an older woman sit down. Now you are holding on for dear life to the overhead bar while bracing your hip against the side of the bus, because the driver goes 50 mph and then slams on the breaks every 500 yards or so to pick someone up. There are no bus stops in Paraguay. You just stand on the street and stick out your hand and a bus will stop for you. Even if it just stopped less than 100 feet away to pick someone else up. Back on the bus: You are being stared at a lot, because your backpack or your jeans or your hair or something is giving you away as a "norte". The floor of the bus is thin metal and on some buses, some days, there are small holes and you can actually see the road pass by below your feet. There might be a chicken that joins you on the bus, or a small child toting a basket full of freshly baked chipas (bread with cheese and egg). When you begin to get close to the sugar cane factory, the smell permeates the air. Baby puke. That's all you can think of, and you hope that the wind is going AWAY from Guarambare, or else you'll have to smell this funky air all day while training.

--Awaking in the morning and opening the door to figure out the weather is always a challenge. Those who live in New England probably have some idea of what it is like to never know what the weather will be like, one day to the next, but even I have not experienced anything like this. 92 one day and 60 the next. In the morning, it might be "hace frio" (cold) so you put on jeans and socks and two layers. By 11:30 when you walk home from lunch, you have stripped off a layer and your socks and are still hot by the time you get home. And then when the sun goes down, it's chilly again. Sun and heat are often followed by rain and clouds and mist. Paraguayans take any sign of rain as a sign that they should definitely begin burning garbage. So, sometimes when the clouds begin to roll in, the smoke does too. Sometimes it's pleasant -- just leaves and orange rinds and the like. Other times it's toxic--plastic and bags and other man-made items. But, either way, no matter what the weatherman says, you probably know if it's going to rain based on the amount of smoke in the air and the smell.

--Mandioca is yucca. For those of you who aren't familiar with either, it's a root vegetable like a potato, only harder. And while it grows underground, it has a tree that grows up to about 4 or 5 feet in height. When they are harvested from the ground, they are covered with a dark brown bark that you have to peel before you boil them, inside is white. People eat them plain, just on a plate after being boiled. It would be like eating a slightly undercooked potato slice. Others mash it up and use them to make a pancake type thingy or use them for the dough for making empanadas. Empanadas are a half-circle shaped pastry that is filled with beef or chicken, along with egg and some veggies (sometimes). The dough is either made from mandioca or corn and then is either fried or baked. You can buy the dough circles at the store in a package and make your own. They are really easy. I've made soy-meat ones. Oh, let's talk about soy!

--Soy. There's tons here. They begin as beans. The ground is so fertile and soy so healthy, there is a national move to encourage people to eat it more. The process is that you have to soak the beans for 12 hours or so. Then you boil them for a long time, then you crush them up in a blender, and then push them through a strainer to separate the milk from the meat. Then you can use the milk to make a cake, use to make juice with fresh apples or oranges or mangos or whatever is growing on the tree in your yard. You can use the meat to make empanadas or cook with veggies and eat plain on with salad. It's really yummy and the protein equivelent is equal to like, a bunch of chicken or whatever. Lots of people in the campo don't know how to use it or prepare it and some consider beans a "poor people's food" and keep trying to eat meat exclusively, but it's getting better.

--Sunday mornings, the church bells ring out and then church music is piped out of the church and into the community. I live about a half-block from the church, so it's my morning greeting. This morning, the 8 a.m. mass was being broadcast out over the speakers as well. Many people here are very Catholic, but don't attend mass. The sounds of Sunday mornings are lovely though, especially since they are my only free day right now.

--Exhaust. Go outside and stand next to the nearest big truck you can find that is idling. Breathe in at the back of the truck two or three times. Ah, the smell of Paraguayan cities. :)

--Open hours. The stores open at the crack of dawn and there are people in the street early (around 6:30ish). But, they also close early. You can't buy anything after 6 or 6:30 at night. Well, okay, you might be able to find a dispensa (small store in someone's house) that is still open. But, you have to plan ahead to get what you need. Maggie (a woman in my group) lives where there is a dispensa, and her host mom gets up all night long on Fridays and Saturdays to sell stuff to mostly drunk people who want more beer and ring the bell.

--The sound of clapping hands. Here, when you come to someone's house and want them to let you in, you stand outside their door and clap. Seriously. If someone knocked on a door, I'm pretty sure they wouldn't know what it was. And I still haven't gotten used to it. Partially because half the time, when someone is in the street clapping, I have no idea if it's for us or another house nearby. It just sounds like clapping. But, my family always knows when it's for them. Our house also is two stories and the main living areas are upstairs. There's french doors that open to a balcony on the street, but if it's the slightest bit cold, those doors are closed and I can't hear anything. So, a few times, my friends have come by and clapped their little hearts out and I've never heard them. But, without fail, my family hears it when it's for them. Hee hee.

--The dog chorus. I've never been a fan of white-noise, especially to sleep with. I have one friend who can't sleep without it. But, I've been converted, and since the only white noise I'm able to produce is running the fan in my room (which, luckily, it turns out, is really loud). Thank god for it, because the damn dog chorus woulda killed me otherwise. There are about 100 dogs on my street. 3 live with Jim across the street. There are a couple on one side of me that live there and the others, I have no idea where they come from. But, the noise they make when they get started is astounding. One begins, woof, woof, woof. Another joins in, woofa, woofa, woofa. A bigger one gets started, arrrrwoof! arrrwoof! arrrwoof! And soon, the entire dog chorus is woofing away as if Arthur Fiedler was out on Calle Lopez in Barrio San Antonio in Ita, conducting the whole affair. One night, it went on for over an hour. One night, it was directly in front of Jim's door to his bedroom for an hour and he said it sounded like they'd invited a goat. Often, it sounds as though someone is being killed. This week, one of the dogs at Jim's is in heat, so it's even better! Viva la dog chorus, and thank f**k for the noisy fan my family gave me.

Next installment: people...but for now, Chau. I'm off for 5 days into the unpaved road yonder. I'll catch you on the flip side when I return. Luvvies.