Whip it!

Friday 14.09.07

My Spanish school played host to a party at night, kicking off with the usual drinking and socialising, and typically for Latin America, the meat took centre stage, but Sopa Paraguaya (not a soup at all) featured as a traditional side dish. Within a short space of time the party cranked up a couple of octaves as the harp player came out and the Paraguayan folkloric dancing began. In a flurry of whip-cracking, toe tapping and whirling, the dancers mesmerised the audience, as the harp player strummed his instrument like a lead guitarist at a rock concert. Soon came the grand finale , a female dancer balancing imitation bottles on her head - ten to be exact - while all the while spinning and stepping with the greatest poise.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sopa_paraguaya

I ambled downhill toward the river to play football in a park with one of my fellow students, Isabel and Gerardo her surrogate brother. I found myself staring at the Palacio de Gobierno, an imposing white building guarded by soldiers carrying assault rifles, and poignantly noted this action could have had one shot during the reign of José Gaspar Rodríguez de Francia, El Supremo from 1814-1840. We soon discovered the football field, while not on palace turf, was perhaps a little too close for the soldiers' comfort and we were told to vacate. We couldn't help but feel we were being picked on, because some suspicious-looking children frolicking on a playground the same distance away were still there when we departed.

On the other side, practically in the shadow of the huge edifice and hidden amongst trees was a cluster of low buildings. It was almost like a tiny village, down an embankment at water level, with a dilapidated fishing boat moored out the back. What a poignant portrayal of Paraguay lay here, the Governor's palace, complete with trimmed grass, immaculate garden, parade ground and its naval frigate parked on the river, and the exact opposite parodied next door.

After the obligatory morning/afternoon/evening Tereré session(s), we took a prowl around the inner south western suburbs near Isabel and Gerardo's house at night. We snuck into the local cemetery - an activity which I always enjoy; and while creeping around the graves, discovered that despite some being lavishly decorated with bathroom tiles and glass windows, all were nameless. Plenty of final resting places were that no more as many open graves attested, the former occupants having apparently been exhumed to be used for medical studies in Universities.

On Sunday afternoon, Marite and Juan Carlos took me and another student to Cerro Lambaré, a hill not far from the cemetery, towering over a marshland/floodplain next to the river. From the vantage point of the monument atop the volcanic mound, i noted with a little shock and interest at the amount of people that had set up their homes in this place out of necessity, possibly aware that at any moment the meagre amount they do have could be washed away. Towering over this too, was a stepped pyramid of rubbish, and we could see people sifting through the choice bits on top. Over the millennia, many ancient cultures world-wide have chosen the stepped pyramid as their ultimate show of affection for their God(s). It's difficult to say whether discarded food waste, polystyrene and a million other nasties would have quite the same effect on these deities as gold, jade or sacrifice might, but who am I to comment on the fickle whims of such beings?

It was a complete reversal of fortunes (quite literally) when we arrived at the Yacht & Golf Club, slightly south of Cerro Lambaré. The most exclusive and expensive club in Asunción was playing host to a powerboat regatta (of all incredulous things one never expects to see in the second poorest country in South America). Not long after we arrived one of the races began, accompanied by a high-pitched roar from the highly-tuned outboards. Within a short space of time, their hulls were lifting almost completely out of the water, and what followed was a dozen or so laps of the facing section of the river. The chequered flag was waved, and after a number of minutes, the boats lined up and it started all over again. Once finished, everyone began to pack up and leave to return to their palatial residences, safe in the knowledge their actions had all but confirmed the Grand Canyon-like divide between rich and poor in this country.