The DC Metro

Descending into a Washington, DC metro station is an arresting experience. A steeply inclined escalator inexorably carries passengers down, what feels like several stories, into the bowels of the earth through a large concrete tunnel. Visually, the experience is dominated by perspective. Every thing worth talking about is constructed of parallel lines, the wiring on the walls, the sequence of lights, the rubber belts that power the escalator. All these things converge at a single point, down beneath you. It simultaneously inspires vertigo and claustrophobia.

A New Start

I have decided to re-start my blog. It fell into disrepair after I returned from Paraguay, but I have decided that life at Princeton is just as bizarre as life in the jungles of Canindeyu. Of course, the name is a bit of a misnomer now; I sold my bike in June of 2007 for 800 dollars when I moved back to America. But I really miss it, and I feel that the name is appropriately nostalgic.

Butterflies

Large flocks of tiny yellow butterflies have occupied sections of the road in between here and Mbaracayu. They huddle together, in what looks from afar like a yellow spot on the road, about the size of a shoe. When I get near them they fly up suddenly in a colorful little whirlwind, diving for my face and eyes like uncannily accurate little yellow kamikaze pilots. (Reading over this I realize there are a couple ways the phrase ‘little yellow kamikaze pilots’ could be interpreted).

Welcome to the Jungle

I saw a giant, hairy spider crossing the road one day as I was slowing down to try and navigate a muddy patch. It was the kind that is so big that one is reluctant to step on it, because it’s not certain whether that would kill it or just make it mad. Naturally I ran it over on principle, but that doesn’t make me feel any better: what if there are more? On the same ride I caught a glimpse of snake slithering away into the underbrush. With such a huge beautiful sky over head, and the long picturesque jungle views, it’s easy to forget just how many truly gross little creatures live out here.

Arrival

Curuguaty is where the asphalt gives way to dust. About 20 kilometers more and the large fields give way to unkempt individual plots surrounding single-family wooden huts. Ten more kilometers and all one can see are low rolling hills covered in verdant tropical forests. Another ten kilometers and, on top of one of these hills, one finds Villa Ygatimi.
(Just ‘Villa’ for short. I know calling it that sounds like a pretension of a foreigner trying to sound like a local, but in the local language ‘Y’ is an irritating guttural sound).
The main road would be about wide enough to allow two cars to pass each other in the opposite direction, but since there has never been much of a call for that, and since it is impossible to paint lane divisions on sand, the two lane system devolved long ago into a one, rather wide, lane, which is also a sidewalk, depending on traffic, system. The sides of the road are occupied by corner shops, butchers, a gas station, a few tiny motor bike workshops and two stores that call themselves ‘Supermercados,’ which should never be confused with actual supermarkets. Since Villa is on a hill, there are huge, graceful topical vistas to be seen just around the buildings of main street.
One or two blocks out from the main road are houses with mowed lawns and maybe the occasional satellite dish, the high school, another gas station, and a beauty salon.
After that there is nothing. One day I picked a random road that was perpendicular to the main street and started walking. After three blocks I found myself surrounded by waist high grass, banana plants and trees, the road having half heartedly petered out.

Marzo Paraguayo

For five days in March of 1999 the citizens of Asuncion occupied the Plaza outside the Capitol building here to defend against the plotters of a military coup. They occupied the plaza in the face of sniper fire, mounted police, and the threat of tanks.
The protesters fought pitched battles with police and supporters of the coup plotters. They used ball bearings to cause the mounted police to slip and fall, they used fireworks, pretty in the sky, dangerous at close range, they blocked the street with a burning truck, then pushed it with a tractor down Av. 14th de Mayo to stop the advance of the Olviedistas.
It sounds like a mix of Prague Spring and the forest moon of Endor, but this is real, and they won.
To an American the question “would you risk your life to defend Democracy?” is like the question “would you risk your life to defend t-shirts?” While the first is more common (being used by some of our more unscrupulous politicians to defend some of our more unscrupulous wars) they both fall on American ears they same way. Democracy is such a part of our life that the idea that we would actually have to defend it is unthinkable. We go to work, we hang out with our friends, and we exercise our First Amendment freedoms in the same way. Democracy is so deeply ingrained in us we don’t even notice it.

Where Paraguay's government goes to work

Paraguay’s Capitol is startlingly ugly, but unimposing, much like Paraguay’s congress. A foreigner walking through the streets of down town Asuncion might notice it for its outlandish architecture, but would probably think nothing more of it; there are no soldiers guarding it, the few desultory plantings are poorly maintained, and its location is out of the way.
(This is a stark contrast to the Presidential Palace, which looks like the home of a Bond villain. The romantic, tropical architecture combined with the fact the place is surrounded by surly, poorly uniformed guys with guns makes it very easy to imagine Scaramanga holding court inside. The truth, unfortunately, is not that far off).
The building faces the river; so, as walking along the river is completely out of the question (get to that in a minute), the dominant image of the Capitol is the side. Of course, to say ‘dominant’ would imply that this side image is somehow imposing or interesting, which would be a lie. There is a double glass door that faces a small park that is alternately over run with children in dirty clothes or protesters.
In one corner of the park is a statue of Mariscal Lopez looking over the river dumped on top of a uninspiring rectangular block. Two large cannons that were used in the War of the Triple Alliance are also part of this monument, but they face the opposite way from Mariscal, aimed directly at the Capitol.
Between the park and the river the land slopes away so dramatically that it is only from the edge of the park closest to the river that one can see the intervening land. And it’s quite a shock. Nestled between the symbol of Paraguay’s legislative branch and its historic main artery of commerce is a barrio of complete abject poverty. Temporary buildings of corrugated iron huddle together and lean on each other; free-range chickens peck in the dirt. As my friend and I walked along the side of the Legislative Palace that faced the river, we encountered what was supposed to be the front. The effect of the large steps and gold lettering was somewhat marred by the fact that two piglets were rutting in the dust at the foot of the entrance. It was here we got jacked. There was no one around, not one senator nor policeman.
I bought a new watch the other day. It’s a fake Tommy Hilfiger, and when I hold it upside down the face looks like the Paraguayan flag.