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.

san juan dice que si

Over the last month, communities all over Paraguay celebrated the annual festival of San Juan - an incredibly interesting and fiery event, the history of which I have had some difficulty researching. Neither the saint nor the holiday are mentioned in much detail under Wikipedia's 'Paraguay' entry (I even checked Wiki en espanol), although it seems to be a very prominent holiday here. When I conducted a google search, the first two hits mentioned non-Paraguayan San Juan festivals, and the third hit was the Amigos website reporting that the volunteers were celebrating the festival with their host families. Yup.

As it turns out, however, the festival of San Juan is not unique to Paraguay. It has its origin in southern Spain, where it is still celebrated in a similar fashion. Namely, in honor of the summer solstice, people come out in droves to set fire to effigies of politicians, light fireworks, and burn anything else they can think of. One of the favorite games at a Paraguayan San Juan party is the "pelota tata", which is basically a normal game of soccer except that the ball is on fire (tata is the Guarani word for fire). The volunteers had a great time with this one. Here's a random picture I found of someone playing pelota-tata.
Other notable celebratory activities:
- A game Ari and Drew described to me as a "ring of tata" that they jumped through for a thrill. I wasn't pleased.
- A comical re-enactment of a wedding in which Julia and Katie participated. Katie was the bride and Julia was a policeman. The other characters were a priest, the groom, and a pregnant woman who interrupted the ceremony to announce that the groom was her baby's father. Neither of the girls completely understood the tradition, but they were told it was enacted to recall the period in Paraguayan history after the War of the Triple Alliance. This war took a huge toll on the population of Paraguay, reducing the number of living males to 10% of what it had been. I would have felt a bit nervous laughing at such a scene, but I suppose its one way to deal with the painful history of that war.

looking ahead

So it starting to be that time... when I need to decide what I'm doing after Amigos is over. I have narrowed it down to a few more concrete ideas.

Plan A is industrious and would be very wise as far as career preparation goes. I just have to get the job. If not, there's Plan B - I have wanted to learn Portuguese for a while now, and I could also take some Samba classes. What's not to love about Plan B?

Anyone have other suggestions or recommendations?

achievement

Over ten days, from July 9 to 18, Amigos invited fifteen local Paraguayan youth volunteers to stay in a few Amigos volunteer towns and collaborate on their projects. The youth were nominated through an international organization called Junior Achievement, which teaches entrepreneurship and community development. I supervised three of these volunteers – two girls (Lilian and Fatima) were placed in San José Obrero along with Daisy and Alex, and another boy (Salomon) joined up with Ari and Drew in Las Mercedes.

(Salomon is the one making the 'hang loose' sign in the back left)

During their orientation, two returning Junior Achievement volunteers told the rest of the group a bit about their experience the previous year. Both had an “espectaculár” time which, no doubt, was the reason they were returning. They described construction projects, mural painting, and the kindly community members who worked with them. I was impressed, and actually a bit intimidated – I was going to have to put together something super cool for my Junior Achievement volunteers to do, and quickly.

On the 9^th, I sat down with Lilian, Fatima, and Salomon once we had arrived in Alfonso Tranquera and provided them with some ideas on some activities they could coordinate during their 10-day project. I suggested running a winter vacation camp (the students in Paraguay had their winter recess from July 9 through the 20^th), planning a fundraiser, setting up community meetings to plan a CBI (community-based initiative, or mini-project), and tracking the latrines – all in cooperation with the Amigos volunteers, of course. I thought I had given them some good stuff to run with; I introduced Lilian and Fatima to their host families and set off on the 5km walk to Las Mercedes with Salomon, then continued on route to Jhugua Guazú and Mariscal Estigarríbia.

When I checked in with Lilian and Fatima later in the week, I was met with shoulder-shrugging and no news of any project progress. With a little butt-kicking, Mercedes Willamayor and I got the girls to go out and invite people to a community meeting, but there was something about their attitude that annoyed me. They were only here for 10 days, why weren’t they doing anything?

I saw Salomon and the boys that Friday, and they had good news – they had started up the camp and they had a few faithful kids coming every day. The previous day they had run a contest to see which group of children could pick up the most trash around the school and the church. Unfortunately, the winners were rewarded with candy which they immediately unwrapped, threw the wrappers on the ground and ran off to play. The following day, the only kids at camp were young relatives of the boys’ host family.

Late in the first week, the construction materials for the latrines finally arrived in my volunteers’ communities, so all the volunteers had another task on their plate. I went back to Asunción hopeful that the girls would run their community meeting over the weekend, and the boys would be able to get their hands dirty and lay some brick.

When I saw the girls on Monday, they informed me that they had tried to run the meeting twice, and hardly anyone who said they were going to come actually showed. The weather had been cold over the weekend, and folks often do not leave their houses when the temperature drops. On Tuesday night, I met with a very frustrated Salomon. It was his last night in the community and he was leaving things the same way he had found them. No one was allowing the boys to help construct the brick houses, the committee leader who had hoped the boys would build a playground for the community had been out of town for nearly a week and the project never got off the ground, and the kids camp attendance had diminished every day as opposed to growing. All three of my Junior Achievement volunteers’ experiences were far from “espectaculár”; I felt terrible.

The following day we brought the volunteers to Itauguá for a morning of de-briefing. Claudia, the Junior Achievement program coordinator, started out by asking the kids to shout out what they thought they learned from the experience as she jotted down their thoughts on poster board. At first, everyone sounded like they’d had a great time – “community organizing”, “working as a group”, “living with a new family”, “lesson planning” were some of the things they mentioned. When the voices died down, Claudia asked another question: did anyone learn any tough lessons over these last ten days? Did anyone learn first-hand that things don’t always turn out the way you had hoped? Didn’t anyone feel frustrated? Some of the students who had been quieter at the beginning (including Salomon, Lilian, and Fatima) nodded emphatically. Claudia added “frustration” to the poster board.

Ten days is almost no-time. And in the long run, two months really isn’t much either. One of the toughest lessons the volunteers will learn first-hand this summer is that organization has to come from within. In communities where the people are already organized, volunteers have found strong support for their small projects and great ideas for new projects that are truly feasible. The energy feeds off itself and the volunteers have been having a wonderful, and totally productive seven weeks.

In other towns, though – like Las Mercedes and Barrio Libertad – the only thing the volunteers can really do is plant a seed of energy, provide some ideas and some tools for running community projects, and take their leave. There’s nothing more difficult that working your hardest on a cool project, knowing all along that the initiative is entirely unsustainable. But if you let that tiny bit of frustration and doubt enter into your thoughts it can ultimately bring a whole community down with it. What matters is whether there are people who will follow your example; these are the people who will ultimately organize the community in your absence.

I think Salomon, Fatima, and Lilian got something out of that seminar last Wednesday, and I hope they keep hanging in there. Fortunately, they live here and they will be working in Paraguay as adults. The seed is in their hands and they have the power to keep planting it.

waiting

I didn't catch all of them this week, but here are two of my bus stops. I got my backpack in there, too, just so you know I was there.

Here is Mariscal Estigarribia: And here's Alfonso Tranquera (on a beautiful, clear day):

little reminders

My bus passes this place every week - between Caacupe and Asuncion, and I finally managed to snap a picture:Its just funny because there's a bar across the street from The Old Town School of Folk Music called Bad Dog Tavern.

a typical bus ride

When certain activities become part of a regular routine, sometimes we forget how remarkable the experience itself can be. This week I took two of my volunteers with me on the bus (a.k.a. colectivo) to Alfonso Tranquera, and realized - seeing the whole experience through their eyes and listening to their giggling comments afterward - just how fascinating a bus-ride in a foreign country can be.

I thought I would share a bit of the Paraguayan colectivo with the rest of the world.

First: the bus schedule. Each day, there are roughly 3 buses that get as far as Mariscal Estigarribia and return into Asuncion. They leave the town at "6am, 11am, and 2pm" but this can really mean any time during the 6:00, 11:00, and 2:00 hour provided it is not raining and has not been raining for roughly 16-24 hours. When the weather is questionable, people somehow know - without consulting any authority on the subject - whether the bus will be coming or not. For example, I say I'm taking the 6am bus in the morning and I get several nods of approval; then, several hours later, having not spoken to anyone or received any phone calls on the subject, one of these folks will tell me quite matter-of-factly that the bus is sure not to come in the morning. Somehow their information is always accurate.

But let's say the bus does come. When it arrives, you can't miss it. If you don't hear the rumbling engine shifting gears noisily as it bumps over the rough terrain, you will hear the horn. Bus drivers announce the arrival of the bus by leaning on it roughly a quarter-mile before arriving in each town, and holding it for a good 30 seconds or more. Before I understood the reason for this, however, I actually believed something was wrong with the vehicle itself - ny first thought was the VW bus in 'Little Miss Sunshine' which honks uncontrollably because of some sort of electrical malfunction. Fortunately, the wiring is just fine on these buses - but it is certainly jarring when the horn blares you out of your daydreams during the ride.

It is necessary to hold an arm out to flag the bus down and to board quickly, as it only barely stops (slows down) to allow you aboard. It is also necessary to find a seat promptly so the bumpy road doesn't throw you into another passenger's lap. On the buses from Mariscal Estigarribia, there is an assistant whose job it is to a) tell you to board quickly and move to the center of the bus when it gets crowded, b) find a place for large bags on the floor in the back of the bus, c) keep track of who has gotten on and off and take appropriate payment from each person (this is actually quite amazing), and d) keep the driver's guampa filled with terere'.

Each bus originates in Asuncion and terminates in a community out in the campo. The name painted on the side of the bus corresponds to its destination point, where a cooperative maintains the buses in running condition - filling them with gas, cleaning them each day, and doing periodic repairs. One result of this set-up is that the buses often have to stop for maintenance while passengers are aboard. From Mariscal Estigarribia, the buses make a regular stop in Primero de Marzo (where the bus company is based) for about 30 minutes. All of the passengers are asked to disembark in front of the gas station, and the bus is taken to another site to be sprayed down - inside and out - while the bus driver and his attendant drink terere'. I was happy to oblige the "cleaning time" last week, when the dusty dry air made the inside of the bus somewhat miserable. A half hour later, the colectivo returns to pick up its passengers, shiny and clean (although the seats are usually somewhat clammy).

Ocassionally, the bus will need to stop for gas. In this case, passengers are not asked to get off, nor does the driver turn off the ignition. Just this morning, I sat patiently in my seat - along with 20 other passengers - as the gas tank was filled while the bus was running. Pretty safe.

A bus ride is never boring. There is always entertainment of some sort or another, and there is always food for purchase. I have made it a habit to skip breakfast on Friday mornings before my 4-hour trip back to Asuncion, choosing to wait until the town of Eusebio Ayala where I can always count on the girls from Chiperia 'El Indio' to board the bus with a full basket of fresh chipa. Chipa is the Paraguayan equivalent of the hot pretzel, in terms of snack food. Essentially, it is a cheesy cornbread twist with a crunchy crust all around - like the best part of a cornbread muffin. The inside is chewy and salty and delicious. The chipa girls are amazing at what they do - somehow they make their way up and down the aisle on a bumpy crowded bus, taking money and passing out chipa without dropping anything or ever missing a single customer.

I witnessed an extreme example of chipa-girl dexterity earlier this week, on my trip from Itagua to Alfonso Tranquera. One of the passengers on the bus was transporting several industrial plastic tubes, roughly 5 inches in diameter. The tubes were laying in the aisle of the bus and ran the entire length from front to back (I wasn't sure how they managed to get them aboard, but I didn't ask). When I boarded, the bus was already packed with people, and I was smashed against the back of the driver's seat for the first few minutes. When he insisted I remove my backpack and place it on the floor next to him (where it remained, knocking against the gear-shift intermittently for the remainder of the ride), I decided to push my way through to the middle of the bus where there appeared to be some more comfortable standing room. This was when I realized that the tubes were quite long and the "standing room" was actually being occupied by several children lounging atop the tubes in the middle of the aisle. I straddled the tubes as one of the children clung to my leg, and I situated myself for the remaining 2-hour ride with one hand on each of the ceiling rails. Behind me grocery bags and duffle bags lined the aisle, in front of me people squished together and stood precariously on the tubes, below me the children snacked on candy and soda and giggled. It was amid this chaos that an adept chiperia girl made some fantastic sales that afternoon. As she passed me, I switched both hands to the left-side ceiling rail and swung myself over someone's lap careful to not let my shoulder bag clomp them in the face. She tiptoed between the children and over my legs, continuing her route to the back exit. Incredible.

The other colorful details - roosters crowing from inside a passenger's bag, folk musicians boarding the bus to entertain the masses, and those moments when you realize that everyone on the bus knows each other - are all worthy of much further description, but I believe I've covered a lot for one entry. Hasta la proxima.

walking on down the road / i am a snail

This week was one of the more tiring weeks thus far. Due to cold and rain, several of my regular buses were not running (this is commonplace in the campo, where the dirt roads become completely impassable when muddy). This forced me to walk - first, from San Jose Obrero to visit the boys in Las Mercedes; the return walk the next day, followed by my usual one-hour trek to see Katie and Julia; then another hike the next morning from Jhugua Guazu to Isla Pucu to catch a different bus that was sure to be running in order to make it to Mariscal Estigarribia for Jasmine's birthday. It all worked out, and so did I.

The walks were pleasant, actually. After a fresh rain, the air was cool but not cold and the scenery was lush. Everyone greeted me along my way - I think at this point most of the people living in the area have some idea of who I am.

I had a funny realization - as I was unrolling my sleeping bag in Mariscal Estigarribia - that my current life-style somewhat closely resembles that of a snail. That is, I travel from place to place (quite slowly) with all my belongings on my back, curling up to rest each night in my sleeping bag, then packing up and moving on the next day. The pace of things is slow and methodic, but always industrious.

plans

Its good to have a plan. Its good, also, to be open to a change in plans. Or to an altogether new plan. This week I have been discussing plans with everyone.

With the volunteers, it was the construction plan for the latrines. The original model had to be modified when we found that the price of bricks had nearly doubled since we did the price estimate. Now, with only 250 bricks per latrine, we had to get creative to ensure that the house around the latrine would actually conceal the latrine-user. The new plan calls for 5 layers of bricks laid in normal fashion, and the subsequent layers laid on their sides, so as to take up more vertical space. The final product looks pretty good, I must say.

With my fellow supervisors, it was our travel plan for the few free days we have once the volunteers leave. I have been toying with the idea of traveling to Colombia to visit a former Amigos project director who is running his own non-profit in Medellin. Stephanie, Bess, and Kara are urging me, however, to go with them to Filadelfia - a small city in the heart of the Paraguayan desert (a.k.a. The Chaco). Although it sounds unappealing, they make a valid point: when else will I ever have the chance to make the 9 hour trip to the middle of the Chaco? Afterward, we would return to Asuncion and head from there to Iguazzu falls, which is certainly a trip worth making. Colombia could theoretically wait until afterwards.

Then there's my own plan. During those quiet moments waiting for the bus out in the middle of the campo, I find myself wondering what the future is going to look like for me. Perhaps I will work for Stephanie's non-profit start-up, writing grants for community projects all over the South American countryside. Maybe I will start that e-zine that I've been talking about, networking with travelers and artists from all over the world. I could set a grand goal of learning as many types of folk dance as I can, working my way around the world from studio to studio. Or I could mooch off one of my siblings, take a few months to write and relax or apply for school.

The thing about having a plan is that it keeps you focused in the present, but ultimately it can always change. You have to face circumstances honestly - past, present, and future - and make some tough decisions.

paraguay 3, ee.uu. 1

Last night, two of my volunteers and I watched Paraguay defeat the United States in the Copa America. We were sharing a couch and a few thick blankets, alternately rooting for our fellow nationals and the country that we currently call home.

During the first half, the two teams appeared well-matched; at half-time the score was tied 1-1. I asked the girls if it seemed strange - Paraguay had just routed Colombia 5-0, and the U.S. played an embarrassing game against Argentina where they didn't even appear to be trying. Yet somehow, the U.S. stepped it up against Paraguay and was actually playing like they thought they could win.

The girls agreed - at times it seems almost like the U.S. team has a subconscious sense that they can't beat the big South American soccer powerhouses, but that it hasn't occurred to them that little old Paraguay might be just as good. We were happy when Paraguay scored two pretty goals in the second half and showed the U.S. who was boss. We'll be rooting for them from now on... go P-guay!

a taste of home

Upon cleaning out the volunteers' rooms after their orientation last week, Stephanie (another supervisor) discovered a large unopened bag of Trader Joe's dry-roasted almonds. Needless to say, she did not ask around as to who had left them behind. At staff house last night, we ate them by the handful, used them in a salad, and congratulated Stephanie on her awesome find. Yum.

things settle down... sort of

I'm back in the city and soaking in the oasis of internet accessibility. Aaaaah. The volunteers are doing really well, although they've given me a few scares already - a couple of girls are sick and have been calling the staff house every day, while another of my volunteers is rumored to have broken the "no amorous conduct" rule. I have some fun conversations in store for me next week (read: detailed descriptions of bowel movements and interrogating a strong-willed teen on late-night activities during orientation). But I wouldn't be here if I didn't love these kids :)

The first week on route started in Las Mercedes, with Drew and Ari. We arrived in the afternoon, headed over to the primary school to introduce ourselves, then took a nice long stroll through the banana fields looking for a good route for Ari to run his daily 5-6 miles. Along the way we picked some sweet mandarin oranges (they are absolutely everywhere here) and talked about plans for the week.

The following day I ran errands in Caraguatay then hopped an afternoon bus for Jhugua Guazu. After the hour-long walk from the main road I finally reached the house where Julia and Katie (a.k.a. Ana) were staying, only to find a note saying they'd gone out to meet with the latrine recipients at their respective homes. So I flipped on a telenovela and became engrossed.

I was actually on the verge of tears as Gabriela (one of the main characters) discovered who her real father was - incidentally, her real father's legitimate daughter was having an affair with Gabriela's husband, but when Gabriela discovered the truth, she got in her car and was promptly involved in a fatal car crash, which her husband then blamed on his illicit lover... but I digress. At the very moment that tears began to well, Ana and Julia appeared at the door with stories to tell of how far they'd gotten on their project. We sat down in their room and chatted, they gave me letters to mail and more errands to run, and discussed their next steps.

The other visits were similar: arriving to excited volunteers, laying out a plan for the week, talking over individual issues (which were mostly homesickness, discomfort with Spanish / Guarani, and a bit of stress over when the latrine materials would be arriving in communities), then spending the evening watching telenovelas or soccer (the Copa America just began this past week and there's a game on almost every night).

In Barrio Libertad, Sra Riquelme treated me to a home-made chocolate cake! The following day I took Daisy and Alexandra along with me to the Willamayor household to visit Amalio, Mercedes, and the kids. Mercedes had planned a cooking lesson for us, and we made un monton de gnocchis with chicken tomato sauce... probably one of the tastiest meals I have ever had hands down. She is an absolutely wonderful woman, and I've decided that they will be my surrogate host family. The kids are too cute for words.

Finally, in Mariscal Estigarribia, the week was topped off by an in-house musical performance! The Don of the house plays a nylon-stringed harp in typical Paraguayan folk style, and was accompanied on classical guitar by a neighbor. It was a lively performance, which I was too elated to stop and photograph. On the coldest night so far, the house in Mariscal Estigarribia was warm with music and smiles. I spent the night cozied in Stephanie and Jasmine's bedroom, on one of their cots and we chatted until late at night. Then at 6:30 this morning, I hopped the Asuncion-bound bus for the 5-hour trip back.

A typical week, more or less, with plenty of time for introspection - while waiting for buses, and walking country roads. The big ideas keep floating around. More on those next time.

a long week in training

The summer has officially begun for the volunteers. Last Wednesday they arrived en masse at the Asuncion airport - all of them wearing their blue AMIGOS polo shirts, carrying lots of neon-colored American luggage, and behaving like rowdy teens behave.

We had an intense 5 days of training, which included individual interviews, partner pairings, and community assignments, as well as various small-group discussions on things like culture shock, sensitivity around the role of NGO workers, how to plan and give health-related seminars in their communities, and some basic language instruction in Guarani. The kids also had plenty of time to play soccer, relax in the hammocks, participate in massage circles, and stay up late. I, on the other hand, don´t think I stopped for a personal pause the whole time. My nerves were on edge from the beginning tolls of culture shock and the task of taming a wild group of 60 teenagers. Yesterday they all left for their communities, truckload by truckload, and this morning I am finally catching my breath. In a strange physical manifestation of the state of my mental health, I was literally gulping breaths of air last night as I tried to fall asleep...

Yesterday morning I was fascinated to watch the volunteers get ripped from their comfort zone and placed in living situations tougher than anything they´ve experienced or ever will find themselves in again. I saw, as my mother saw in me the day I left for AMIGOS in June of 2000, their jovial grins and goofy struts replaced with an introspective look in their eyes and a utterly serious set to their shoulders. This was it.

I said good-bye to Stephanie and Jasmine as they squeezed into the front cab of a tiny Toyota pick-up and left Caacupe for their community, Mariscal Estigarribia. I gave healthy hugs to Julia and Katie as they threw their packs in the back of SENASA´s dusty vehicle and left on the bumpy road to Jhugua Guazu. Then I literally jammed myself in between the mayor of Caacupe and Sr Amalio (the SENASA engineer helping out in two of my communities) on top of the emergency brake in the front seat of another truck, as my four remaining volunteers squeezed themselves into the backseat. We spent a painful hour on those famous rock-paved roads, watching the countryside, and taking it in. Daisy and Alex were dropped off in Barrio Libertad, and I finished the trip with Ari and Drew - then spent the afternoon helping them get to know the roads around their community and playing soccer with a few kids in the houses nearby.

Like I said, I saw something amazing yesterday. These kids are becoming adults. I am so excited to visit them this week and see how everything is coming along. And although I have only known them a few short days, I am already touched by their dedication and their strength, and proud of who they are going to become.

a note about mate'

For those who are unfamiliar (as I was when I first got here), mate' is a kind of tea that is commonly consumed in Paraguay. It is made by crushing dry yerba mate' in a long sort of mug (called a guampa, and usually made from the horn of a cow), then topping it with hot water from a thermos, and sipping it through a metal "straw" (called a bombilla) which has a filter on the bottom. Mate' is consumed at meetings, around the breakfast table, on the porch in the evening, really all the time. One person has the thermos by their side, fills the guampa with hot water, and passes it to another person. Once that person has finished off the mate' in the guampa, they pass it back to be refilled and offered to another person. Basically everyone takes turns, drinking about 3 gulps at a time, using the same guampa and bombilla, until they are satisfied. There is another form of mate', called terere, which is exactly the same except cold water is used, which usually contains leaves and plant-things that have certain healing qualities (also known as 'remedios').