ISABM Journal Caracas still

Our Journal

Iguazu / Posada / Paraguay

After resting up in the resort-like Iguazu area we packeded and drove great highway toward Posada. We stopped for breakfast in a small town and entered a store café. A group of rowdy old men were circled around a bottle of whisky and immediately started heckling us over. It was 10 am. We took our sandwiches outside and watched farm trucks roll by.

Driving into Posada the streets were empty, siesta hour. Actually, we soon learned that generally things shut down in Argentina from around 1 to 5 and then by 6 there is an explosion of activity. We checked into an old hotel with an old two person box elevator with the doors that look like they could pinch your fingers off. A well traveled looking old Canadian woman on her way to Paraguay saw us in the hallway with our helmets and asked, “Are you all going to write the diaries like that other fella?” The police presence in Argentina is overwhelming and they were stationed on every corner around the town center. This is part of the tri-border area between Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay, supposedly an area of lawlessness, Al-Quaeda training camps, and smuggling rings. Posada, as far as we could see, is a nice town. It was Valentines Day and street cafes were packed. We ate at the nicest restaurant in town – salad, steak, bottle of wine, all about $7 a person. This, we could get used to. Billards and pool are big in Argentina and we happened across a 24 hour pool hall, the hardships of travel.

A few years ago we had both traveled from Asuncion to Ciudad del Oeste on the Brazilian border so this time we decided to enter through Encarnacion and drive toward Asuncion. At the border there was the usual confusion and we got shifted through a couple of offices until they put us in the only air conditioned room to wait for out papers to be processed. After a short wait our papers were ready without any complications and we were driving into Encarnacion. Leaving Argentina and entering Paraguay contrasted just as sharply as the Brazil – Argentinian border. Argentina may be in economic crisis but Paraguay competes with Bolivia for poorest country in South America title for a reason. Every Argentinian we had talked to warned us about the dangers of traveling through Paraguay, predicting that we would have a really difficult time, that the poverty would be intense, and that our bikes would be stolen.

After Encarnacion the landscape gets flat and featureless. We drove through a few small settlements, all farming communities and stopped for a drink. The store owner and his wife stared at us strangely, not many foreigners in these parts, but were quick to tell us a peace corps volunteer lived in the next town. We drove on and stopped in San Ignacio where a road stop was the only lodging. We soon learned that San Ignacio celebrates carnival after everyone else and their parade would be the following night so we camped out. We sat outside the hotel to eat at night and a guy walked over and invited us for a beer. He was the foreman for a ranch owned by the hotel owner. He invited us out to the ranch but then his mom appeared and ordered him over and we didn’t hear much more from him. Paraguay is a bilingual country and Guarani is more prevalent than Spanish. It was a strange sensation to be talking to people and they would switch in to Guarani amongst themselves.

The night of the parade everyone gathered on the main street that was blocked off for a mile. The crowd was calm but spray foam was being sold everywhere. Like some kind of mating ritual, girls sprayed guys that walked by and vice versa. Some little girls sprayed us so we retaliated and a foam battle ensued that lasted the hour. This stuff stings the eyes and momentarily blinds and things escalated up the point that I was spraying a ten-year-old in the face right in front of her laughing mother and relatives. The parade flowed by with costumes, drum groups pounding out samba rhythms, and dancing girls wearing almost nothing. The last group dissolved the border between spectator and performer and everyone poured into the street and collected together sort of waiting for something to happen. After waiting around for a while, we realized nothing was going to happen and we turned in for the night.

The next day we drove on with plans to seek out other small pueblos along our route. We passed through a flat, dry area that had black dirt whirlwinds scattered in every direction, like a doomsday scene of tornados destroying the world. Gusts of wind hit us so hard the bikes jolted to the side. At a police check the young cop scrutinized our paperwork looking for something but we countered with constant conversation and questions. It seems to be the best defense against corruption, just keep smiling and talking until the conversation takes priority over the paperwork. He let us go but he wanted to find something and looked irritated as we drove off.

A bridge took us over a white sand river beach where we stopped for a drink. We had meant to stop but ended up arriving at Asuncion. After finding the center we found a hotel, stored the bikes and walked around the center. The city is a furnace so we rested until night, but walking around at 9 pm, the hot air still burned our nostrils. Locals directed us to a part of town lined with restaurants and bars which was really a quiet, relaxed collection of street cafes. We sat down for a parrillada around 11 pm. After a meat stuffing, it was after midnight and families with children were just arriving to eat. We stayed on a couple of days walking around the city in the heat. Poverty and wealth mix everywhere. Modern shopping malls are right next to dilapidated buildings. Mod architecture of government buildings have shack housing right outside. Sculling boats glide over the river past poor fisherman housing.

We researched different places to travel in Paraguay but soon realized that to get anywhere takes days through mostly uninhabited northern regions. The population of Paraguay is under 6 million, to put in perspective, Mexico City has more than 20 million residents, or morbidly 1.3 million abortions are performed in the U.S. annually. It seems like a country time has passed by. They still talk of a war in the 1800’s when a megalomaniac president took on Argentina, Brazil, and Uraguay. Some 60% of the male population was killed and Paraguay never quite recovered. In earlier history, Cabeza de Vaca ended his career here. He was the conquistador who was shipwrecked in Galveston for ten years and lived among the natives as a shaman before being rescued. In more recent events, a couple of years ago the president fled the country after being implicated in the assassination of the vice president. The daughter of another ex-president was kidnapped last year and was found dead after they had collected the ransom. The group suspected has connections to the FARC in Colombia.

To compare events to Argentina, a supermarket on the outskirts of Ausuncion burned down last year killing over 450 people. The guards had blockaded the exits to prevent looting, trapping everyone inside. Nothing was done as far as blame and responsibility. This last New Years in Argentina a Buenos Aires club burned down killing about 140 people. Discos were immediately shut down in ALL of Argentina while fire codes were worked out. Petitions demanded the resignation of the mayor (?).

We found a restaurant with native dishes where I ordered some kind of shredded beef jerky with scrambled eggs (thinker position the next morning). A folkloric band played songs on guitar and flute for the crowd, meaning only us. When they stopped the woman singer started talking to us in good English. She was the daughter of a famous Paraguayan musician we had seen on exhibits in a museum that day. She spoke fluent French and Japanese after being raised in Switzerland and Japan. She mentioned that she was single several times.

The next day we decided to enter Argentina again. This border was not as easy as there were Paraguayan police checks on the way. The last check the police were aggressive, ordered us off the bikes, and demanded an insurance paper we didn’t have. We had specifically asked if this paper was needed upon entering the country and been told that it wasn’t. But there we were in a roadside office being told the bikes would be impounded and we would have to go before a judge. We stalled and talked while one of the cops hand wrote a full page report. It was all a ploy, we knew it, but it worked and we gave them $30 to get on our way. I hated doing it but feeding their corruption is the only way to keep moving sometimes.

The border was comical with lines all over the place, different windows and no one really wanting to take responsibility for us. Finally we found a guy, competent and efficient and he had us on our way to Argentina. I’m convinced most of Latin America is fueled by a handful of efficient people fed up and still hopeful for progress and change. They are the reason that many of these countries have not imploded in their own corruption and sloth.

un abrazo, Chris

Note: I mistakenly erased all the pictures from Paraguay making me think it wants to remain the way it is, frozen in time.