“An island surrounded by land” is how the novelist Roa Bastos once referred to his native Paraguay. Sitting with a group of fellow travelers at my hotel cafe in Posadas, Argentina I responded to the proverbial "where are you going next?" question by dryly stating "Paraguay I think." This was met with a group look of confusion. "What's there?" asked the studious looking Englishmen." "I am not exactly sure but I thought I'd have a look, you know, just in case" I replied. Next the akward lull in conversation rolled in like a fog. This place just wasn't on their radar. Technically it wasn't on my radar either. I knew a fair amount about the country's history which was intriguing enough but little else. So with the crumpled up Paraguay section of the 1998 Shoestring Guide I had found, I negotiated with a cab driver to take me to the frontier. It was a short trip to the other side of the Parana' River.
This wasn't actually my first time here but it was the first giving up my Argentine visa. Three days before I ventured into Ciudad Del Este which is a "soft" border of Paraguay shared with Brazil and Argentina. Ciudad Del Este is South America's answer to Hong Kong - a giant tax-free trade zone. The area is sketchy to say the least. Everything here is for sale, legal and illegal and openly at that. It is crowded and filthy and you likely wouldn't want to know exactly what business was being conducted in back rooms. This is not a place you want to find yourself after the sun sets. A border town always seems to embrace this wild west spirit though and I guess it stands to reason that a triple border town would be exactly three times that spirit. Not to be disheartened my assumption was that this could be in no way representative of the rest of the country. It turns out this assumption was correct.
Thirty minutes after leaving Argentina I found myself in Enarnacion at the bus station where both everything and nothing at all seemed to be going on. As the next bus north wasn't for an hour and change, I negotiated with a taxi driver for my passage. For 60 dollars we would be heading 260 Km north to San Juan Bautista(St. John the Baptist.) Momentarily my driver pulled up in a 4 year old Toyota Camary, tinted windows, rims and all. Since the standard Taxi here is a 20 year old yellow Fiat that had long since spent its crankshaft in some other country, this was first class.
It takes less than 10 minutes to get out of Encarnacion. Heading North on Ruta 1 everything appears to be upolstered in plush greenery. Long stretches of unspoiled land are puncutated by the occasional estancia, a Menonite farmer working his field, a guacho riding along the highway and the odd long-haul truck heading in the opposite direction. Tranquillo.
The driver wants to know why I am heading to San Juan Buatista. I explain to him that this is where the guitarista Augusto Barrios is from and I believe there is a museum there. This makes no impression on him, he has no idea who Barrios is. He then goes on to ask me why people that come to Paraguay must visit the Jesuit Missions. "I have no idea maybe because they're there." I reply. It is afterall a dark period of history. The missions were actually known as reduciones which is a cognate in English meaning of course "reduction." It was an encomienda type system. If the inidans could be reduced in their sprawl and centered around the Spanish pueblo, taxing them would be more efficient for the crown back in Spain. This was a quid pro quo though. In exchange for their labor and taxes the Jesuits gave the Guarani both religous and language training. Obviously that deal worked out better for one of the parties involved but as the saying goes "there's aint no such thing as a free evangelization." In all fairness the Baroque-Guarani architecture of the reducciones and some of the red sandstone church facades are quite beautiful and certainly worth a look.
San Juan Batista is a no stop light town tucked neatly off of Ruta 1. After a brief stop at the taxi stand in town my driver made arrangements for one of the locals to pick me up the following morning at 10:00AM at my hotel. Since there was only one hotel in town there was little in the way of details that needed to be worked out. As I was checking into the hotel it became apparent that I was the only guest in the hotel and possibly the only traveler in town. I set off to dinner at palatial place across from the hotel. It was no shock to discover that I was to be the only diner in the place. The owner asked me if I was Americano and after I nodded affirmatively she began speaking English. It turns out that she lived in Greenwich Connecticut for 25 years. Her husband was in politics and lived half the year in Paraguay and the other half in the US. We went on to talk about Connecticut, politics - the US presence up north here, the restaurant business, the weakening dollar and tourism in Paraguay. Sitting at a table outside I more or less let the waiter order for me. There is something infinitely satisfying about discovering a new fish. This particular fish is called Surubi is catfish that comes from the Parana' River. It was prepared lightly grilled with a squeeze of fresh orange proved to be simple perfection. This was rounded out with papas fritas which were not potato but rather mandioca(cassave), a simple green salad and an ice cold beer. This was followed by a dessert of mamon which is a local fruit with the consistency of papaya that was stewed in dulce sauce of some kind. Genius.
The following morning the taxi driver appeared promptly at 10:00AM and we headed off to Casa de Barrios Mangore. The house where Barrios grew up was a colonial weather worn place with no sign announcing its' cultural significance. The entrance was on the corner and as I entered there were six children sitting with nylon string guitars playing along to the minor scale that the teacher was humming. The kids seemed delighted that there was a visitor and were besides themselves at having their picture taken. There wasn't much of a museum to speak of. It was a gutted house with pictures and newspaper articles tacked to the walls. Gil the owner of the house informed me that is was being used as a cultural center and showed me the painting studio where local artists work. He was curious as to where I was from and how I knew about Augstine Barrios. I explained to him that our composer John Williams had declared him the greatest composer of all time and recorded some of his works. He nodded and produced some postcards which I purchased. I could sense that he wished there were more here to show me but as money is in short supply in Paraguay this was the reality. I thanked him for his time and told him I thought what he was doing at the museum/cultural center was a great undertaking.
I climbed back into the cab and my driver took me around San Juan Bautista and showed me the cathedral, pointed out the various monuments in the plaza and took me by the police station where dictator Stroesner's secret police tortured suspected subversives. It only takes about 15 minutes to have the grand tour of this mission town and before I knew it was back at my hotel waiting for the next bus to the capital of Asuncion.
Some Pics of Missiones Province can be found Here
Vive Hollywood, Vive Cinecanal.
CT
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