cuture shocking

The volunteers arrived home in the States early this week, and have been sending me emails to let me know they are safe and, of course, how they much they miss their family and home in Paraguay. Several want to come back, others are just out of sorts; all are experiencing culture shock in one form or another.

From experiencing travel adjustment in several different places at various stages in my life, I've found that the actual "shock" people describe is, more generally, a reaction to living a lifestyle that is relatively different than the one in which the individual previously found his/her self. So culture shock can occur when you move from one city to another, or even when you've just gone through a job change or a change in your living situation. Often the harshest shock comes when, after adjusting to a completely new place, one returns to their former lifestyle where everything is still "the same" (i.e. reverse culture shock).

The adjustment after Amigos is not just a spatial or cultural one, but largely it is a personal one. From my vantage point, I see the volunteers returning to the US as completely different people. They are adults who have managed community projects, found their way around the country-side in a foreign place, started conversations with complete strangers, and learned to speak two new languages. They are a thousand times more confident having been in the most uncomfortable of situations and found their way through them. It is to be expected, then, that going back to their parents' house and hanging out with friends who also still live at home, enjoy their summer air conditioning, drive themselves to school, and use washing machines and automatic dryers (to name only a few lifestyle differences) would be a difficult adjustment.

I, myself, am experiencing the first tinges of the painful adjustment process. This past weekend I attended a party hosted by a few Peace Corps volunteers in Asuncion. There were bands, a keg of light beer, and lots of 20-somethings chatting and standing around. In general a great party... but I found myself slinking into a corner. Its been a while since I was around people my age, let alone English-speaking Americans in numbers that large. It was actually quite daunting.

Earlier this week, I traveled to Puerto Iguazu, Argentina and was overwhelmed by the Argentinian accent, fashion, and restaurant menus. I felt like I was in Europe, and I honestly could not tell who were Euro/American tourists and who were native Argentinians. The town itself looked every bit like a typical Colorado ski village, it was insane.

At this moment I am sitting on a stool at the modern bar table in my hotel room in Asuncion.
The air conditioner is on, and a hot shower and foot soak await me when I finish this entry. But even as I write these words, a few tears come to my eyes. I haven't had a hotel room this luxurious, all to myself, since my Deloitte days, which were so long ago - in time and from where I feel I am as a person now. I think about going back to the States with this fear, wondering if I'll fall back into the creative rut I had finally left. My good friend, and travel mate, Bess had these words of consolation: "Don't think of [the States] as a rut, but as a wonderful shiny place with a rut in it somewhere. You just got stuck in it but you don't have to get stuck again." She's wise for a little 20-year-old.

I know the travel bug can carry a dangerous "disease" which one should avoid; that being the tendency to go somewhere different in order to be different. If you latch on to that way of thinking, it becomes very hard to be happy anywhere. Ideally, travel should inspire, not frustrate.

Well folks, Brazil - and a whole new adjustment experience - awaits. Its time for my telenovela.

all alone in asuncion

Today is Kara and Bess's last day in Paraguay. The three of us were the only remaining Amigos staff in the country (the girls stayed to visit Iguazu Falls in Argentina, then relax a bit in the city before the long trip home). This afternoon I will accompany them to the airport, then I'll be on my own!

I've got a little hotel room with a kitchen, and I've got lots of people to visit over the next few days. My main project is to write a proposal for the town of Alfonso Tranquera, where Mercedes and Amalio Willamayor live. Mercedes has been working with a group of moms to get funding for the construction of a 'salon cultural' (a theater space, essentially) at the elementary school. There is a large local foundation that provides assistance for community projects, but it can get political at times. They thought if I led the effort, the officials would be less likely to refuse, since I am a foreigner and not associated with any political party. We shall see.

I leave for Brazil on the 1st of September and, as of now, will be back in the States at the beginning of October. Its going to be extremely difficult to say good-bye to South America... but now is not the time to contemplate such things. I've got to help the girls pack up.

this is just too weird

Its hot in Paraguay today. I am about to get on a bus out to the campo to do my final visits and community close-out, then the program's over! Last night we said tearful good-byes to the volunteers in the airport, and then made straight for the Mexican restaurant for a celebratory dinner and our single alotted beverage before we sign ourselves out of Amigos on the 20th. That was an amazing margarita, let me tell you!

Anyway, what's weird (i.e., what I'm referencing in the title of this entry) is this:

On Monday, we took the vols on a little souvenir shopping outing to the town of Caacupe. In order to get there from the campsite where we were having de-briefing, our director rented two buses from the Loma Grande cooperative. We were all enjoying the breezy bus-ride and the driver's loud radio music, and commenting on the funny songs they play on Paraguayan radio when... suddenly I realized the song we were listening to was 'Jambalaya'! It was some rendition by what sounded like CCR.

Amazing. For so many reasons...

1. I have never heard that song on the radio before
2. That is the first song I ever learned on guitar (along with every other student at OTS)
3. OTS just had their huge Guinness Book of Records 'Biggest Guitar Lesson' event - literally a few days ago - at which several hundred people played 'Jambalaya' in unison
4. I was in Paraguay

my paraguayan family

Here are Mercedes, Amalio, and little Victor Willamayor (Camila was in school, unfortunately). These folks have been like my family in Paraguay, and I am going to miss them dearly.

hello, readers

I just found out, via snail-mail correspondence, that Drew's family has been faithfully reading my blog this summer. Frankly, I am amazed that you found it, but also flattered that you've enjoyed my rants and raves. I thought I'd write an entry especially got you guys this time.

Drew is healthy and happy. This week, he and his partner accomplished something I did not think would be possible - they built a playground (parque infantil) for their town on a $50 budget. Not only that, but they did it in almost no-time. When I arrived on Tuesday afternoon, the boys met my bus and made me keep eyes on the ground because they "had a surprise for me". We walked toward the church as their host brother told me about all the "problems" they'd been having getting the right size wood and the right color paint for the playground - it was all a mess, he said, and they weren't sure they were going to finish. When they told me I could look up, this is what I saw:

The boys had spent three straight days working on constructing swingsets, planting trees, and painting murals. The park is an amazing success - look at all the kids on the swings! (Their host brother apologized later for tricking me.)

Here is a picture of Drew from the following morning, circa 10:00am. I think he was tired after the long work weekend, hehe.

the home-office divide

One thing I like about Paraguay (there are many things, of course) is the way that being "at home" and being "at work" are often indistinguishable. It might be due to the nature of the countryside economy - that is, subsistence or cooperative farming and a business sector that is devoid of any international corporate presence. Every store you stop at in the campo, from the bakeries to the tire shops, is based out of a family's home and attended by whichever member is present at the moment.

If you're buying milk, just knock on the Riquelme's kitchen door and they'll measure it out for you, fresh from the cow. If you're buying groceries, just look for any house that has a 'BRAHMA' beer ad hanging somewhere in the front - upon entering you will find a small refrigerated case with milk and yogurt along with a few shelves of rice, dulce de leche, bread, and other basic items. Yesterday, I was directed to the local wood-shop ("three houses down the road") and, when I arrived, was invited by the senora to come in and have a seat while her husband finished showering. When he came out - combing his hair - we discussed the dimensions of a few boards I needed for a swing-set and set a date for me to pick them up. The only thing missing was an invitation to share some mate', which is common courtesy but must have slipped his mind having just emerged from bathing.

This all sets quite a comfortable tone for all of our interactions with the SENASA engineers (a.k.a. the 'funcionarios'). Every Monday morning we get together with SENASA in Caacupe for a check-in meeting. If the meeting attendees are going to be few we gather at their small three-room regional office, squeeze between the desks of two employees, and keep it short. Should the regional director or other higher-level boss attend, however, we move the meeting a few blocks away to the home of one of the funcionarios, Senor Valbuena. His living room is more spacious than any of the rooms at the office building, and he has plenty of chairs. The only bothersome thing is that the front door is located directly in the center of the living room, and Senora Valbuena and their children often have to come and go during our meetings. But no one seems to mind.

***
This entry will, unfortunately, not be continued. As the summer comes to a close, I am manic-panicked with all the things I have to do. Once the volunteers have left, I have finished all Amigos paperwork, visited Iguacu falls, obtained my Brazilian visa, and changed countries, I will again try to be reflective about this past summer.

(...breathe...)

emigration

As an American in Paraguay, I often find myself lending an ear to folks whose sons, daughters, friends, and other relatives have emigrated to the US. They want to know if I'm familiar with the place where these family members live, or if I could get in touch with them somehow, bring them a care package when I go back, or just give them "a hug from their mother". They tell me the nice things their children have been able to provide for them (modern bathrooms, paved floors for their houses, electronics like stereos and TVs) as a result of their lucrative jobs abroad, but their eyes fill with tears when they tell me how long it has been since they last saw their oldest daughter, their youngest nephew, or how they've never met their grandchildren.

As an "immigrant" in Paraguay, I have a distinct advantage over most of my counter-parts in the US: I can go home whenever I want. My family always encouraged my siblings and me to travel. Each trip I have taken has been an adventure, a chance to improve my language skills and make some new friends. Each time I've left my country with the assurance that if my economic situation becomes unmanageable, I can always return to my country, pick up a job waiting tables or answering phones, and stay comfortably with family members - at least temporarily. I can always "go home".

For immigrants in the United States, the situation is quite different. As US citizens, we often make the assumption that foreigners come to our country "for a better life" and they stay because they enjoy the American lifestyle. What my experiences in Paraguay and elsewhere have taught me, however, is that there's no place like home - and I really think most people feel the same way. How difficult would it be to have to leave your family, your cozy home in the rich countryside of Paraguay where each morning you enjoy fresh goats milk in your steaming mug of cocido? How frustrating would it be to move from there to a small crowded apartment in New Jersey, wake up in the wee hours of the morning and travel into the city to clean houses or lift furniture all day, never knowing if or when you will see your family again?

The disparity of wealth in the Americas has led to a disparity in the availability of jobs, to be sure. But I wonder whether disallowing the free movement of undocumented immigrants across the US border - essentially "locking" them in once they arrive - is merely aggravating the situation.