What Bolsi Built

Thursday 27.09.07

The last couple of weeks of fine weather had brought a change in the atmosphere of Paraguay - spring had begun, and Paraguay's already strange trees were flowering in even more weird and wonderful ways. Yet another change was apparent as I visited Plaza Uruguaya. The indigenous people had left, leaving just a terrible mess of rubbish which teams were now cleaning up, and after making some inquiries found they had been moved to the grounds of a military barracks in Asunción. They now had better access to sanitation and care for their children (some of which had been born in the city park), but perhaps their plight will become all but forgotten by the majority.

I had moved to my friend Pedro's home midweek - a stylish, architecturally designed house, and its shape and attention to detail made it a very pleasant place to stay in. He lives with his father, now in a wheelchair after a stroke, and the house buzzes with an entourage of cleaners, therapists, nurses, four dogs, a cat and Maribel, a woman that lives there with her adult daughter and oversees the lot. Most of the week was spent sampling beverages, always the same ones and often repeatedly, but we were determined to make the most of Sunday, and left for another wakeboarding session on the Rio Paraguay. On the river, running a lot shallower thanks to the lack of rain, I was far more proficient on the board this time around, but my driving skills failed to please when I hit muddy bottom with the propeller on the inside of a bend whilst trying to steer clear of some waterskiing chump who had crashed.

On Monday morning, my last in Paraguay, we left for Asunción's produce market, the biggest of any kind in the country, large enough that a car is needed to manoeuvre between the sections. Of course by 9.30am when we arrived, all the best tomatoes had gone, so while prices for the remaining crates were being organised, I picked my way between pyramids of pumpkins, obelisks built of onions and cairns made of capsicums; while noting this large smelly section was just one tiny part of the market, and i didn't even get to see the mandioca (Cassava) or potatoes across the car park. I gathered my belongings back at Pedro's house, and with a little hesitation, boarded the bus heading in a southerly direction for Buenos Aires. After a time (and perhaps a nap) we were cruising past grey-green fields dotted with palms, their fronds streaming back in the breeze like a gathering of hippies standing in a wind tunnel. The sun had set long before we crossed the border, and once a few hours of agonising formalities were over and done with, we were on our way into the night towards the capital of Argentina.

When I drew the blinds open after daybreak, it was as if we had landed in a different part of the world. Dead-pan heavy stratus cloud blanketed the sky, dumping rain onto swamps sprawling where fields should have been. Having failed to check the prevailing weather in Buenos Aires previously, things looked ominous for my stay. At one point we passed a car that had fallen off the side of the road (though not a curve lay in sight), swarmed over by emergency response teams. What surprised me most though, was the people I was sharing the ride with. I seemed to be surrounded by Paraguayans, many with their families, leaving their country to work in regions of Argentina. Thankfully the rain eased, and after 21 hours, the bus finally reached the terminal.

I checked my emails to discover a friend from Melbourne, Adam had arrived the night before, so I made my way to the hostel where he was staying. After he returned from a tour in the afternoon, we took a twilight stroll around the historical centre. Buenos Aires has shades of Paris and the rest of Europe, mixed into something that is not distinctly South American. Certainly there are more than a few things in common between this huge, cultured city and my own, Melbourne. I found it well presented and stately, with an air of sophistication. We walked through Plaza de Mayo, a square looked over by some of the city's most important buildings, including the Casa Rosada (Pink House). It was from the balcony of this building, the President's palace, that famous figures such as Pope John Paul II and Eva Perón have addressed the nation.