Sastre Desastre

Home Sweet..OH DEAR GOD!: First night in my new house.

2012-02-13T00:16:00.001-03:00

It is not uncommon on the first night in a new home to find yourself sleeping on the floor. If you haven't ever experienced this, trust me. I move a lot. Sleeping on the floor is like a right of passage. This sort of indoor camping is a fun way to break in a new house. A pizza box, an air mattress and empty space you get to fill often are the only items in the house, heightening the excitement surrounding your new adventure.

I moved into a new place on Friday. It kinda happened like what I described above. Ok not at all. Rather I found myself rocking back and forth in the fetal position trying to block out the terror that surrounded me.

Go to you're happy place!

Immediately upon returning from the states I moved from my old room to a full blown house. I was, and am so excited about a space of my own. While living at my last place, I had been borrowing many of my things from the woman I was living with. Most notably a bed. Having just traveled for the past 2 days straight with a minimal number of hours of sleep, I was so tired I couldn't have cared less about a bed. Collapse was imminent, and the floor looked fine.

I enter the bathroom for the usual pre-bed routine, but as I turn on the light, the walls appear to move. New Yorkers totally know what's coming next. After letting out a shriek that I would rather not describe in detail, for the sake of what little pride I have left, I look up and refocus my eyes. I wasn't mistaken. There they were. At least a dozen cockroaches in a full out assault on my bathroom.

You see them?


How about now?

Sorry about that. But I didn't think words could do it justice.

After a pretty pathetic phone call with a fellow volunteer that involved mostly whimpering on my part, I seriously contemplate getting back on a bus and returning to America. Then I start laughing. A twisted laughter keeping the tears at bay and ultimately reminding me that, Oh yeah, I'm in Peace Corps.

I don't know if you know this but I'm an incredibly good packer. To Paraguay I brought one checked piece of luggage that was under 50 pounds. (I'm telling you. I'm better than Mary Poppins.) In addition to clothes and climbing gear, I was able to fit my camping equipment! And what is a tent, if not a free standing mosquito/bug net? So after taking a few minutes to calm down, I set up my little shelter to prevent the creepy crawlies from advancing their campaign to my pillow. I still freaked out pretty hard anytime I felt the slightest twinge but this was better than my initial idea of wrapping myself in my mosquito net.

My nest.

I'm still sleeping the in the tent. It's serving me pretty good. A few blankets and a pillow have been added since, but I really can't complain.

Since that night, I have "Raid-ed" my house, probably to the detriment of my health, viciously trying to murder each and everyone of these suckers. While numbers have decreased, they have yet to be eliminated. I'm hoping my mother's wisdom of leaving out trails of baking soda will work. She's pretty smart and used to live in New York. Plus I've enjoyed using the stereotype that all NYC apartments have incredible roach problems in this post, so I'm going to continue to use that line of thinking and justification for her credibility. (PS: What doesn't baking soda fix? I mean really? )

Sorry I don't have a more joyous post. I really did have a great time in America and was fully intending on writing about that, but this was just too damn ridiculous not to jump on.

It's just so indicative on life here. Just as everything looks like it's going perfectly, something goes horrifically and comically wrong.

Thanks for hanging in there with me. I know those photos were kinda gross.

Safe and Sound!

The Ramblings of a Rambling Woman: 24 hours of Airports Documented.

2012-01-22T18:24:00.001-03:00

It's one a.m. Well past my bed time. I'm drinking coffee and typing at the computer. Only two things can be happening here, I've been transported back to Holy Grounds at Villanova, or I'm waiting to catch the red eye out of Asuncion.

The one place in PY with AC decides to use it as a human refrigeration device.

I look around. We're in the clear. Not a single popped collar nor ridiculous hair bow in sight. So I it's gotta be the later. Why the hell is the best coffee in Paraguay in the Airport?

The way this post is shaping up it's quite possible I've lost my mind. But not without reason. I got up at 4 a.m. after a terrible four hours of sleep to catch a 5:30 am bus that showed at 6:30 am and have yet to sleep again. As a person who has proudly never pulled an all night-er, I'm functioning about as well as the Paraguayan utilities systems. (So just barely.)

While I may be lamenting my current state, I am actually bouncing off the walls with excitement for my triumphant return to THE UNITED STATES OF 'MERICA! I can't wait to breath in all that freedom!

So bouncing off the walls may not be a good descriptor. Did you see that photo above? But if I had the energy to do anything other move my fingers just enough to peck out this blog post, I would be bouncing.

Oh shit! Gotta board the plane. Stream of conscienceness rambling to continue at next destination.

6:49 a.m local time.

IN PANAMA! Flight 1 of 3, Done.

I have no idea what time zone I'm in, nor am I even sure of how long my last flight was. I slept the whole time, waking up just in time for them to serve breakfast. I don't care how shitty the food is, that's a win.

The Panama Airport is beautiful. I recommend you all make a trip. Plus, I'm incredibly satisfied with my current cup of coffee. Couldn't tell you a damn thing about Panama though.

9:25 a.m. local time. Still don't know what time zone I'm in. Still waiting for flight number 2. Coffee is wearing off. Is it winter here?

I generally have good experiences with the airline staff I encounter during international travel. International staff as opposed to US domestic have to be bi-lingual and detailed oriented, so I suppose this explains why so many of them are competent and bright. However, I find it good to know that American Airline's commitment to shitty customer service is a global initiative. No other airline has repeatedly treated me with such disregard. I bite my thumb at you!* (*Wow, a Shakespeare reference. Didn't think I that in me.)

In order to be helpful here's a few tips for our folks at AA:

An ill-satisfied customer.

* Listen to the question before answering it. Maybe you would get less confused.
* Once you understand the question, answer it fully before sending your customer off. Then I won't have to come back.
* You're not doing me a huge favor by answering my questions. That's your job. You're being paid, in part, by my airfare.

*And oh yeah, shove it.

Getting on plane number two now. Check back in in Cancun.

12:49 Local time. Cancun, Mexico. I think I'm in the same time zone as Dallas but nothing is certain. Part of me feels like I got lost and found myself in the land of make-believe. Except with beer, and cheap pharmaceuticals.

I swear, they just handed me this as I entered the country.

I'm soaking up a lot of culture here in Mexico. Eating nachos, and drinking Coronas, I really feel like I could do some serious cultural integration here in the land of body shots and yard long drinks.

At this point I think I'm running on pure adrenalin.

I wonder if they sell that here?

I have slept less than 10 hours in the past 48 hours, and my nutrition has come in the form of airplane food and the nachos the guy next to me at the bar, Mark, decided to share with me.

Two hours to go until I'm in the air on the way to Dallas. I won't be checking in in DFW intl, because I will be getting my things and running as quickly as I can in to the arms of a very cute ginger waiting for me there. So I guess this is the end, Dear Reader. Thanks for hanging in there with me.

This is not how I anticipated my return to the blog-o-sphere. I thought it would be a little more exciting than the random accounts of a series of lay overs. But I've had fun, and this had made the time go faster. So until next time.

Stay Awesome my friend. (In the voice of the Dos Equis guy.)

Felices Fiestas!

2011-12-29T08:42:00.003-03:00

I hope everyone had a great holiday and are prepping for some major New Years action. I´ve been in the south of Paraguay with some friends taking a bit of a staycation for the past week. It was a great little trip filled with food and fun and friends! (You can tell I´m feeling peppy with that much aliteration.)

Right now I´m in a hostel in Asuncion on my way home to Campo 9. My computer is still dead and potentially falling into the black whole of ´enseguida´. Nonetheless I have hope and am currently praying to Steve Jobs that it may come back to me soon.

Again happy holidays and an awesome new year.

The 5 greatest things I've bought in Super Campo 9

2011-12-20T11:00:00.000-03:00

This is a post I wrote a while ago, but upon further reflection decided it wasn't particularly insightful, nor very funny. However, seeing as I have a few moments on an English computer and haven't posted in several weeks, I figure I'll post what I got. If anything is demonstrates how important the little things are, and how I find humor in some pretty urbane shit

According to stats I just made up, my town has the most super markets per capita than any other in Paraguay. The national average 0.23. I HAVE FOUR! Hell, there's even a chance that's true.

Not only do we have four supermarkets, we have the single greatest supermarket of all time. SUPER CAMPO 9.

Like the name says, it's super. It is my life line to awesome shit, not just from america, but around the world.

So without further ado, the five greatest things I've ever bought at Super Campo 9.

5) Natural Peanut Butter
I buy this by the Kilo. Smaller units are available, but I don't know why you would purchase them. It's better than JIF, and even that Organic crap you just spent twelve dollars on at Whole Foods. It's got one ingredient. Peanuts. When I went on my hunger strike during my home stay, -also known as just not eating because the food provided was less than appetizing- I sustained myself exclusively on gummie bears and this Peanut Butter. To whoever is making this and selling it at such a reasonable price, I would like to kiss you on the mouth. It's delicious.

4) Paraguayan Seasoning salt.
I don't know if this is widely available, but it should be. Don't know what to eat? Find heat source, coat food in seasoning salt, put food over, in, on, or near heat source untill food is cooked. It'll taste good. Both food and heat source are optional.

3) Dr. Pepper.
I just can't escape Texas. I live in the only town in Paraguay and maybe South America that regularly has Dr. Pepper. Now, If I can only find some Jack Daniels I'll be ready for Oliver to visit me.

2) Honey sold in a used Soda bottle.

I feel confident I'm buying locally with this purchase. I pretty much bought this because of the packaging. A used soda bottle (Niko no less), and no label. I prefer not to think too hard about where they find their soda bottles considering my site-mate made has built an entire green house out of bottles found on the street. Nor for that matter do I think about how well washed they may be.

The owner of the honey farm has to have worked with a Peace Corps Volunteer. It just sounds too much like us. Either way, I commend this man or woman and their family for their industriousness and resourcefulness. I will continue to purchase your product so long as it is available.

1) The vegetable peeler/ Bottle opener/ Cork Screw/ Garnish knife.

Not since page 47 of Kitchen Confidential has altered states of mind and food art been fused quite so well. You wanna get hammered while making a watermelon fruit basket? No problem. Getting the shakes and need to open a bottle of wine while in the middle of peeling carrot? I got you covered. Can't decide what type of booze you want to drink, but you know there are gonna be potatoes involved and they ain't gonna peel themselves? I have the tool for you.

This may be best purchase of my life. Right up there with the titanium spork. I just like owning it. It doesn't do any of it's individual tasks well, but what do you expect from such a Renaissance man? You can't be good at everything, but you can be sorta do the job at a lot of things. So to the Japanese guy that decided this specific combination of tools needed to be consolidated to a single unit, you are a man of unprecedented vision and valor. I salute you.

The Problem with Being Awesome

2011-12-06T15:14:00.001-03:00

I created a lot of expectations on a recent blog post, talking about how I was "Gone Awesoming" for a while. I was supposed to come back triumphantly with lively blog posts telling of adventure and travel. Since I set my self up for failure, this is where I follow through. No pictures, no little stories, no nuthin'.

See, I killed my computer. Well not killed, but severely injured. It had an unfortunate aquatic incident. I inadvertently spilled water on my computer, damaging my keyboard and "on" button. While not fatal to the computer, both elements are critical to writing regular blog posts..

Even though I don't have the resources to properly tell of all my adventures, there was a lot of awesome recently. Too much for one post but here are some highlights in bullet point form:

* An incredible Thanksgiving with incredible friends
* Got lice, got rid of lice, potentially have lice again.
* Hiked 13 miles to find JIF and tolberone. Was successful.
* Waited for 3 hours for a 4 hour bus ride.
(Result of a protest. Had something to do with people demanding their rights or whatever.)
* Puked out the window of a moving bus. Wasn't hungover, nor drunk.
* Killed a chicken then ate it.

There are pictures, and there are stories to be told. One day in the near future, I will actually return to tell these stories but for now I ask your patience. There is access to computers here, but one of the things I hate most in this world is a internet cafe with a computer and keyboard programmed in a language other than English. Yeah, I get that they don't speak English here, but an accent mark will never look like an apostrophe, and I have limited spelling abilities. In theory the computer will be fixed in a couple weeks, but I don't have money on it.

So until then, I say farewell again.

Six ways I've changed in the past six months.

2011-11-25T11:00:00.000-03:00

Today marks six months in Paraguay. I wanted to celebrate with a little reflection. I've changed in many ways, yet certainly still feel true to myself. However, here are six things that weren't so before I left for the Heart of America.

The good life.

6) I think wearing running tights or spandex in general around the house and even to the grocery store is not only socially acceptable but totally normal.

5) I truly appreciate how much polka sucks.

4) Sharing straws isn't a health concern. Really, sharing almost anything thing is normal. Napkins, forks, cups, pieces of pie are all to be used and then passed along to the next person.

3) The things I need are few, but they do include an i-pod, a notebook, and a pen.

2) I consider good cheese a legitimate form of currency.

1) Success is measured not in inches but in millimeters. Millimeters are more accurate, an actual approximation of my progress, and the metric system is way fucking better.

Gone Awesome-ing, be back later

2011-11-18T09:00:00.000-03:00

If war in 90% boredom, 10% pure adrenalin, then Peace Corps is 70% boredom, 30% the craziest shit that's ever happened to you.

With that in mind, I bring you the 70%.

Probably listening to Lady Gaga.

That's me, drinking my coffee and reading the paper or facebook. Knowing that I look like this every morning makes me feel better when I get sucked into comparing myself to other people, because they probably do too. (An unproductive habit, I know.)

Life is becoming routine here, which is pretty awesome, but it's time to shake shit up. The next two weeks are crazy. There is a three day training session, THANKSGIVING, and some climbing. Essentially, I am out living awesome, so I can report back on awesome. This is all to say that blogging will be at a minimum.

I might have a few "ZOMG! I JUST HAVE TO POST THIS" updates, but right now I'm pretty focused on diving head first into a plate of pumpkin pie, and doing inappropriate things with jellied cranberry sauce.

To start off the giving of the thanks, I want to give a huge thank you to all of you who visit the blog. I think I now have 1 or 2 readers that I don't personally know, WOOT! So to all of you who have visited my humble corner of the interweb, thanks. I hope you all have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. I'll be back in a couple a weeks, hopefully with some epic-ness in hand.

So until next time:
Stay awesome world,

Taylor

More Adventures in Vegetarianism: Baked Eggplant Chips

2011-11-17T11:00:00.001-03:00

My most recent veggie creation, baked eggplant chips!

Normally I frown upon anything that has the word 'baked', where the word 'fried' is supposed be. Generally speaking this switcheroo happens when some near anorexic "health guru" is trying to pretend that "they taste the same if not better than french fries!" No they don't, and neither do these. My eggplant chips aren't gonna replace a good potato chip, but they are yummy independent of any comparison.

They are crispy, and salty. I dip them in tzaziki, and enjoy the flavor explosion. I will eat two eggplants' worth for dinner. Don't judge me. It's less sad than when I was just spooning peanut butter into my mouth for several hours and called that a meal.

What you'll need: Tzaziki Sauce
1 cup Yogurt
1/2 a Cucumber grated
Some Dill chopped
A little Lemon juice (I used red wine vinegar because it was what I had on hand)

I grated the cucumber because I don't like big chunks of it in the sauce, and I think it better distributes the cucumber flavor. The dill is kinda optional since it's not widely available in Paraguay. I also put my Cavender's season salt in, but that was a care package item, so use was you can to make it yummy. The cucumber, the yogurt, and the acid are the important part.
Mix together ingredients to taste.

What you'll need: Chips
A couple medium sized Eggplants sliced THIN
Cavender's Greak Seasoning salt
4 glugs of Olive oil
Salt
A baking sheet or two.

Slice the eggplant into round disks as thin as you can. Not paper thin, a little more than that, but thin. This would be a great job for a mandolin if I had one. Salt the eggplant and set aside for 1 hour to overnight. Drain the liquid that the eggplant release, and dry well.

As thin as that bitch who thinks these taste like pringles.

Pre heat oven to 400 degrees, or whatever temp looks right on your Celsius oven. Pretty hot but not broiling. How 'bout that? Those are the only two setting on my oven anyways

Coat Eggplant with Olive oil and Sprinkle with Cavender's seasoning salt. You could use regular salt or a mixture of seasoning. Eggplant is a flavor sponge so just use what you think will taste good. I wonder what a red wine marniade might do. Salt and Vinegar eggplant chips? Worth investigating.

Place disks on the baking sheet in single layer. NO OVERLAP. You want each disk to touch the pan. You might have to cook this in batches.

Place in oven for 13-15 minutes. Take out and flip each disk. The side touching the pan should be golden brown. Place back in oven for another 7-10 minutes. Keep a good nose out, because these go from golden brown to burnt quickly.

Remove from oven and enjoy! They should be crispy but not crunchy, unless you burnt them. I cut these by hand so the thicker ones I cut are still tender in the middle, but they are also yummy. The flavor is on point, and the juxtaposition of textures is fun. I really hope eggplants have some nutritional value considering the number I ate last night. Hell with it, I've never cared before, right?

This Is What They Mean by Cultural Context

2011-11-15T10:33:00.000-03:00

Anyone who has ever lived alone will tell you that it has it's perks. Not only do you not have to deal with others, but others don't have to deal with you. Your little chamber of solitude shelters you and your quirks from judgment. You can have that out loud conversation with your cat, or eat Doritos for breakfast. Who's gonna say anything? But sometimes our little worlds are exposed.

Suddenly, in the harsh light of the grocery store check out counter, we see our lives as others might see them. It happens simply enough. You pick some up some stuff on your way home, and as you present your items to the cashier, you realize this particular combination has completely betrayed you. It screams, "I live alone, have no one to take care of me, and some potentially unhealthy habits."

This has happened to me enough that I now find these combinations hysterical. In America, the classic was somewhere along the lines of a six pack of beer, a jar of tomato sauce, and the wrapper of the bag of gummy bears I ate while shopping that I now need to pay for.

This phenomenon is inescapable, even in Paraguay. Except, as with all things in Peace Corps, we must put this in cultural context. So last night's purchase?

A box of chocolate milk, matches, a liter of beer, and a miniature pineapple.

"Eso, no mas?" has never sounded so judgmental.

To be fair I preceded to drink the entire liter of beer, and eat the pineapple like a turkey leg. So maybe judgment was in order.

Smiling because even I know just how ridiculous this is.

Garden update!

2011-11-12T11:00:00.000-03:00

Things are a growin'!

Pot Sticker Post: FOR THE WIN!

2011-11-10T14:33:00.001-03:00

May Bourdain smite me as I say this: I like vegetables! In fact, I love them so much I've stopped eating meat. Please don't look at me that way. I know what you're thinking. "Oh, the horror she's become a VEGETARIAN!"

Well, not really. Meat is expensive here, and I don't think it tastes good. Furthermore, Paraguay and I have different definitions of "butchering." While I won't refuse meat, I don't purchase it myself. So rest assured, I won't be feeding you tempe or vegan-aise next time we meet. I still love to eat God's good creatures.

It really is a shame that vegetarians are soul-less, terrible people. You would think that people who sustain themselves, in fact, define themselves by vegetables would treat them better. I've been looking on vegetarian food blogs and I'm finding that most any recipe that begins with "vegetarian" is horrifying. This is all without mentioning their fetish-esque relationship with tofu. It's all very sad.

So what's a girl to do? As with all things in Peace Corps, make it up as I go along. So here is my first "vegetarian" recipe.

Vegetarian Pot Stickers!

They were awesome.

By "vegetarian" I mean converting something that traditionally has meat, to a meatless version without hating myself for eating it. I want to concede that there are a whole plethora of dishes that don't need meat nor even consider it and are still scrumptiliuptious. It's just when people start trying to pretend substitutions are or taste like meat, that's when things go wrong. Like Hindenburg wrong.

Veggie Potstickers

This whole post is essentially lifted from here at userealbutter.com.
The dough recipe is lifted exactly. If you plan on making the dough, I 100% reccomend you go to that site. She has lovely step by step pictures. As you'll see my pleating isn't so sexy.

The filling recipe I tweaked to make it without meat and still have a decent texture and flavor now that I can't rely of the wonders of pork. I've put the recipe of what I did. I might try tweaking the filling again for next time, but this turned out pretty good.

A few things I would recommend off the bat. CUT EVERYTHING SUPER SMALL. I got my veg as small as my shitty knife and shittier knife skills would let me, but you should cut them smaller. I was hoping for a more solid filling that wouldn't fall apart on the first bite. That's why I added an egg to bind it. It worked with varying results. I had more success with more finely cut veggie bits. Also, If you look at the original recipe you'll see she has mushrooms in the filling too. I totally would have put mushrooms in this if I could have found them. I would have also used napa cabbage and not the regular white cabbage had it been available. Finally, I should have added more siracha for a zing. When will I learn? When in doubt, add a little more siracha!

I whipped up the dipping sauce from what I had around the house. If you live in America, you should use the recipe that URB offers, also listed below. For Peace Corps folks, mine get's you pretty close.

dough:
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup warm water
flour for worksurface

A large bowl for mixing
A surface to roll out dough
A rolling pin. (Wine or cana bottle is just fine)

Make the dough, Method 1: Place the flour in the work bowl of a food processor with the dough blade. Run the processor and pour the warm water in until incorporated. Pour the contents into a sturdy bowl or onto a work surface and knead until uniform and smooth. The dough should be firm and silky to the touch and not sticky.[Note: it’s better to have a moist dough and have to incorporate more flour than to have a dry and pilling dough and have to incorporate more water).
Make the dough, Method 2: In a large bowl mix flour with 1/4 cup of water and stir until water is absorbed. Continue adding water one teaspoon at a time and mixing thoroughly until dough pulls away from sides of bowl. We want a firm dough that is barely sticky to the touch.

Preferred PC rolling pin? Used Cana bottle.

Both dough methods: Knead the dough about twenty strokes then cover with a damp towel for 15 minutes. Take the dough and form a flattened dome. Cut into strips about 1 1/2 to 2 inches wide. Shape the strips into rounded long cylinders. On a floured surface, cut the strips into 3/4 inch pieces. Press palm down on each piece to form a flat circle (you can shape the corners in with your fingers). With a rolling pin, roll out a circular wrapper from each flat disc. Take care not to roll out too thin or the dumplings will break during cooking. Leave the centers slightly thicker than the edges. Place a tablespoon of filling in the center of each wrapper and fold the dough in half, pleating the edges along one side.

Filling: My version
A couple glugs of oils for sauteing
1/4 head cabbage minced or chopped as small as you can.
2 medium onions small dice
1/2 cup ginger root, minced (Go to your Yuyo lady and ask for Cana Brava)
1/2 cup carrots minced
4 cloves garlic minced
2 egg (Eggs in my town are small. So maybe you only need 1)
3 tbsp soy sauce plus potentially more to taste.
2 tbsp honey
2 tsp siracha

A pan
A strainer

Yeah, that's the knife I used.

Filling method

This tasted good by itself.

Cut all the veg as small as possible. Heat up a pan on medium heat with oil and caramelize the onions. After they've begin to sweat (5 minutes) add honey and soy sauce. Let them get cooked and sweet (10-ish more min) then add the carrots, ginger, garlic and cabbage. Take off the heat when the cabbage is just wilted. We don't want to cook it all the way through. Remember this is all gonna cook again. Taste this. You should want to eat it as is for the most part. Now is the time to add more S&P, soy, hot sauce, or honey to get the taste just right. If you want to add some Thai flair you could add basil, clantro and lime juice or any acidity to the mix too. Take off the heat put into strainer and drain off the liquid. Let cool. This is a good time to make the dough.

Once cool and you're ready to assemble, wipe the pan dry, put the mixture back in the pan and crack an egg in the mixture. (It may seem obvious, but don't crack the egg into the mixture while it's still in the strainer.) The egg is too bind it together. You want it wet but not soupy. Maybe mix in one egg and judge if you need the second. If you wanted more protein I imagine you could mince up some hard boiled eggs and put that in the mix. Assemble according to dough instructions.

Those could look prettier.

To pan fry (potstickers): Place dumplings in a frying pan with 2-3 tbsp of oil. Heat on high and fry for a few minutes until bottoms are golden. Add 1/2 cup water and cover. Cook until the water has boiled away and then uncover and reduce heat to medium or medium low. Let the dumplings cook for another 2 minutes then remove from heat and serve. They should release themselves from the pan. DON'T FIGHT THEM.

dipping sauce (Real version)
2 parts soy sauce
1 part vinegar (red wine or black)
a few drops of sesame oil
chili garlic paste (optional)
minced ginger (optional)
minced garlic (optional)
minced green onion (optional)
sugar (optional)
Combine all filling ingredients in a large mixing bowl and mix thoroughly (I mix by clean hand). Cover and refrigerate until ready to use.
dipping sauce (My version)
A good amount of Soy Sauce. (I dunno 1/4 cup)
A little bit of honey or sugar
A couple glugs red wine vinegar or the fake red wine vinegar they have here.
Garlic powder
A little hot sauce. Of course I used Siracha.

Put all ingredients in an empty jar you have. You proabaly just drank vin-cola out of it. If that's the case, clean it first. Put the lid on and shake till combined. Adjust elements to taste.

Now plate it all up and enjoy. It was fairly easy although labor intensive. Take a rainy day or ya know any day that's kinda slow, so any day really, and make up a batch.

GET IN MY BELLY!

YOGURT REDUX: FROM SCRATCH

2011-11-09T20:30:00.000-03:00

I did a post on straining yogurt a week ago. While a huge improvement over the semen-esque sludge they try to pass for yogurt here, there were some drawbacks: Natural flavor was unavailable, high sugar content, low yield, and higher than necessary price. The solution, make yogurt from scratch.

Working with dairy frightens me a bit. Milk is temperamental, and if it scalds, generally there is no saving it. Yogurt, however, was pretty simple. I'm gonna give all the credit to Micheal Ruhlman, who had a great post on yogurt making, that guided me through the process. I couldn't do it step by step, but he gave enough reason behind the process so that I could improvise. I'm essentially reblogging his post, but translated for a less than ideal kitchen.

What you'll need:

A liter or more of milk
A small scrap of left-over yogurt for your "starter."
-You can also buy the smallest cheapest yogurt available at the super that has live culture. Most of the yogurt in Paraguay does have live culture. It says "Probiotico" on it. I would not use the one's with fruit in it. Go for the vanilla or maybe the coconut. It won't really have the flavor of the original yogurt since it'll be diluted so much.
A big pot.
A strainer and a cloth to line the strainer. (Maybe you have these from back when we were just draining yogurt.)

Bring the milk to a simmer. My gas stove only has two temperatures, Chernoble and surface of the sun. I have to elevated my pot over the burner using bricks to get a low enough tempurature to simmer. You DO NOT want to scald or boil the milk. When you see bubbles along the side of the pot, it's ready. This preps the milk protein for the bacteria.

Bubbles!

Take the pot off the stove. Let it cool a little bit. You want the milk about jacuzzi temperature. You can still put your finger in without being burned, but you don't want to keep it there too long. Remove any milk skin. Add your yogurt scrap. This is how you introduce the bacteria to the milk. Stir until yogurt is completely dissolved. If the milk is too hot it will kill your bacteria, and you won't get yogurt.

This should be enough.

This is where Mister Ruhlman likes to let his yogurt ferment for 24 hours in his immersion circulator at 104 degrees. That's cute. We ain't all big fancy chef's Mikey. Some of us got what they call "conditions of hardship."

I took my metal pot and put it in the sun all day. First time I did it for about 6 hours. This time I did it for closer to 10. The more you keep the mixture warm the longer the bacteria will eat, and the tangier more flavorful the yogurt will be.

Super Sophisticated

Check the weather before you do this. If it's a 104 degree day in Paraguay then maybe you don't need the pot in the sun. If it's raining, you can do this process in the oven. Put a bowl or pan of water in the bottom of the oven. Put your pot in the cold oven. Heat up the oven for a bit then turn it off. The water will keep the oven warm longer. After an hour or so turn the oven back on to re heat. To "measure" the temperature put your hand in the oven. It should be warm but not overly so. I know, these are really specific directions. (Put the italicized part in sarcastic font.) Again, try to let the bacteria ferment for about 6 -10 hours. I suppose up to 24 hours is ideal according to Mike, but I like to sleep.

Now you have Yogurt!

YUMMY!

You can totally eat this as is. It'll be tangy and delicious. Plus, it should already be thicker than what you get at the grocer. If you are like me and want it thicker still, use the draining technique we went over previously. Line a strainer with your cloth, and let the yogurt drain just a few hours.

So maybe it took you 24 hours to make. So maybe I'm crazy to go through all the effort, but ain't that a damn good looking breakfast? And what is Peace Corps life is not a little crazy.

Hope you all enjoyed. As always, I'd love to hear cooking successes from y'all. There is a lot of collective wisdom amongst volunteers lets try to get it in one place.

GARDEN! Ok, not yet but almost.

2011-11-07T20:42:00.000-03:00

This isn't the most exciting post, except it is for me. I just planted seeds!

Seeds, I tell you!

Who knew seeds were pink? I think they might lose me my "organic" status.

Welcome to my little seed colony. I've got tomato, radish, napa-ish cabbage, and eggplant working in there. This is another fun garbage project. All supplies except for the actual seeds were collected over time.

The three liquid food groups: Milk, Brahma and Dr. Pepper.

Ok, so I put dirt in cans and seeds in dirt. It really is pretty basic, but Julia and I had a lot of fun. We got to play in dirt and stuff. AWESOME!

While I'm trying to start small, I still want to get some herbs going. I really think they'll be the best bang for my buck on the cooking front. I couldn't find any in my town, so I'll just have to keep an eye out next time I leave site.

This is Julia. We like our job.

Since joining Peace Corps I've wanted to grow some of my own food. Partly because I am the person in this video, but also because I genuinely believe in the idea of food independence.

"Food Independence," what a hauty term! What I'm trying to get at is that we can all help ourselves, the environment, and our pocket books with a small garden. While we may never reach the level of growing everything we eat, I see no reason not to grow some basic or beloved stuff. Honestly, I don't want to grow everything I eat. There's this new hip thing. It's called the industrial revolution and I'm all about it.

This is all compounded by a dream that's been ruminating in my brain for a while. I can harp on the environmental and financial benefits of a vegetable garden, but really the goal is this: I want to one day make Marinara sauce and have grown all the ingredients. That all starts with tomatoes, so that's where I'm starting here. Everything else could die, but I'm gonna figure out those tomatoes.

HERE COMES JOHNNY! My New Canine Bud.

2011-11-05T10:28:00.001-03:00

Meet Johnny.

What you looking at?

Isn't he just a big blob of cute! No?

Ok, try this picture.

JUST KIDDING!

SO CUTE! I love that his tongue is never in his mouth, ever.

Johnny belongs to my live in landlord. He is a true Paraguayan dog. That is, he doesn't like intruders nor strangers and will let you know it. Paraguayan dogs are taught from a very early age to distrust humans with a proven technique of violence and limited food. I once tried to play fetch with Johnny and he ran around the corner and hid. He clearly had seen a human carrying a stick before, but had a different idea of what was supposed to happen next. But don't let all that ferociousness fool you, there's a heart of gold inside Johnny, and despite the challenges, Johnny and I have become buds.

When I moved into my new house the owner warned me of her dog, that he is kinda a ferocious beast the will rip your face off. Ok, maybe she didn't say that, but that's what I heard. As you might have noticed Johnny can look pretty scary. She told me that she would keep him tied up so that he doesn't attack me. This was not as comforting as I think she had hoped it would be. All was well until one morning, as I was leaving the house before dawn, I heard something. Oh shit, that's the sound of a leash being dragged. THE BEAST IS OUT!

I saw Johnny come galloping towards me, and I ran back into my room and closed the door. He ran right up to my door, and waited for me to come out. Was he waiting so that he could eat me? I crack the door open. He was wagging his tail and panting, almost smiling. As I opened the door a little more, he started running, and playing with me, hoping I would chase him. What the hell? This dog is nice? I played for a little and then went about my day, still not sure of what had happened. When I came back a couple hours later, Johnny was waiting for me at the gate.

RUB MY BELLY!

The following day was the same thing. I came home from a run, and there was Johnny waiting for me at the gate. This time, I went up and pet him, even though it scared the crap out of me. Have you seen his jaws? There are teeth in there. But Johnny bowed his head and showed me exactly where he would like to be pet. Johnny, now hangs out around my room whenever I'm home. He likes to see what I have cooking and take naps on my cool tile floor. He demands belly rubs, and loves pizza pockets.

I take a lot of care when playing or hanging out with him. At the end of the day he is still an abused dog, and that can make them difficult to predict. I've personally witnessed him get very angry at a friend of mine who tried to get too close too soon. It's disappointing that this is the case, because it's so easy to see what a big heart this dog has. He just wants love and lots of it.

Making Edible, Not Drinkable Yogurt in Paraguay

2011-11-03T22:00:00.000-03:00

As Peace Corps volunteers we agreed to work "under conditions of hardship." Usually this conjures up ideas of no electricity, pulling water up from a well or a stream, and cooking over fire. Yeah, none of that really applies to me. My condition of hardship?

Drinkable Yogurt.

Maybe I'm a yogurt snob, but I like me some full-fat, super-creamy, carve-able yogurt. In Paraguay they like yogurt that can be drank from a sippy cup. I hate it. I could explore the ways I hate it but I won't waste your time. I'm just glad there's a solution.

I've been wanting to put up tips and tricks for other volunteers, but haven't been cooking my own food until recently. It's not that Paraguayan food is bad, you'd just be surprised how much happiness a little taste of home can give. I've missed yogurt. To those who feel the same, this one's for you. State-siders, this is gonna be boring.

It's pretty simple to convert drinkable yogurt into thick creamy yogurt. You just drain out the water, a well documented technique that's supposed be part of the yogurt making process. I wonder if they just skip that step here.

You need: A large bowl (I use a pot), a strainer, a very clean cloth to line the strainer, and a liter of Yogurt.

Dairy products are sold in bags here. Weird.

Stack the strainer in the bowl and line with the cloth. In America you would use cheese cloth for this, but when you find cheese cloth in Paraguay you let me know. I like to use a cloth that's tightly woven and with no nap. AKA no terry cloth. Just be really meticulous about cleaning the cloth. Remember this is touching food you plan on eating.

Yogurt shouldn't pour like that.

Fill you cloth-strainer-bowl system with drinkable yogurt. Put the whole thing int the refrigerator and wait 6 to 24 hours depending on the thickness you desire. (That's what she said. BOOM!) The water will slowly drain into the bowl. If the bowl isn't much bigger than the strainer you might have to dump out the liquid half way through to make more space. The water won't drain if it has no where to go.

Delicious, spoon-worthy yogurt.

This is after about 20 hours in the fridge. Six hours will get you something about the consistency of Dannon back home. If you look at the side of the cloth in the above photo you'll notice just how far down the yogurt has drained. Since the yogurt here has so much water, you get a really low yield. One liter of yogurt purchased gets me around two servings. As a result I'm working on making my on yogurt. A liter of milk is cheaper, and I can get natural flavored yogurt. Plus less sugar. As we all know, Paraguay LOVES sugar.

Doesn't it look like heaven?

So there you go. A food technique that's not new nor exciting, but really makes my day. I top it off with some dulce de guayaba (guava jam), or some granola and those conditions of hardship get much easier.

I would like to continue to put up food posts, and invite other volunteers to share what they've come up. I can put it up as a guest post, or link to your blog. Ideally all ingredients would be available in Paraguay, but if you've got a stash of Siracha or some other goody, I understand.

A Return On Investment: My first "Peace Corps Moment"

2011-10-31T22:00:00.000-03:00

I don't talk to much about my work here on my blog. I think it's difficult to properly illustrate the minutia that makes up what I call my job. Activities like "sitting" can be counted towards total work hours. Often times volunteers will start to teach classes or "charlas" just to stop from going insane. It may not be sustainable and who know how effectively you are reaching your goals, but God damn it feels good to have to prepare for something. It has that feeling of old school American productivity. You can write it in your planner!

My class? A thrice weekly Women's exercise class.

Yup, I'm an aerobics instructor. (Your tax dollars at work America.) I'm glad to help women take time out of their day to focus on themselves and health, but as far as "sustainable development" goes, it's not where I want it to be yet.

Since I'm mother's daughter and therefore a little intense, to keep my women motivated I constantly yell "YOU CAN DO IT! LET'S GO! YOU'RE AWESOME!" I even make my women yell encouragement at each other. They will, although begrudgingly. I'm sure they think I'm crazy and it strange that I would ask them to participate in my insanity.

While I love my class, I hadn't thought it had too much impact just yet. I sometimes wonder if the women are enjoying themselves or getting anything out of it. (I'm sure you can see where this is going.) Then just the other day I'm waiting by the field before class, and one of my participants and her 5 year old daughter show up a few minutes early. We began to chat about the weather and the day, when the woman leans over and tells me the best story ever.

She says to me, "You know, my daughter listens to you. She is always saying to me now, 'no mom, I can do it.' Just yesterday she was carrying this huge thing of water and she wouldn't let me help her" Obviously, a huge smile crawls across my face. I must admit it felt great to hear. I can only hope that my attitude and actions show a small girl that she is capable. This is "A Peace Corps Moment."

Peace Corps loves to tell stories like this about all the small changes you'll make, and the tiny impacts you'll have. While totally valid, it's not always my idea of "accomplishment." If I'm being honest, who knows if this little girl really listens to me, or thinks I'm at all cool or inspiring. She could totally just be growing up and wanting to do more. It's so hard to tell what is actually a result of your actions. This part of the reason Peace Corps' effect is so hard to quantify, and often leaves volunteers frustrated, but hell with it, in this instance, I'm willing to take the credit.

Ultimately my job is not about me and my accomplishments, but about other people and theirs. I have to teach my class tonight. I'm glad to say that remembering this story has put a little more kick in my step to put together a good work out, and you better believe I'm gonna be shouting like a crazy women the whole time.

Cows Seem to Frighten You: A tale of Peace Corps Heroism

2011-10-28T13:57:00.000-03:00

This video has made the rounds of Peace Corps for a while now. I don't know if I put this on Facebook, but it's been a big hit amongst volunteers for it's resounding truthiness. Almost every day there is a line that is all too applicable.

Today's reference: Cow's seem to frighten you.

Today I visited my friend Julia's house. She is out of town and I was checking in on her cat. I'm walking through her field to her front door, minding my own business, when, like a ninja, a cow jumps out of no where, apparently not happy with the fact that I'm walkig in her direction. At least I think it was a cow. It had an utter but it also had horns, so maybe it was a hermaphrodite cow. I don't know. I just know that I don't like the idea of something with horns and several times my body weight mad at me.

It's not that I have any real beef with cows. (Pun intended or not? Undecided.) I think they're delicious. The problem is the only time I've had any interaction with a living cow was on a grade school trip to a local farm and that thing was properly penned up and probably sedated. Don't get me wrong, I see cows every day. They're like deer or squirrels here. Co-habitators if you will. You see them, keep walking, and don't bother one another. Clearly I had upset the delicate equilibrium, and this cow wanted to let me know about it.

So what did I do? I did the only sensible thing. I called my friend Julia so that as I walked by the cow to get to her front door, she would be able to hear if I got gored or not. Causing her both to feel guilty for sending me, and be able to call for help.

Obviously it all turned out ok. I called upon all my Peace Corps training - absolutely nothing to do with farm animals - and narrowly escaped to fight another day. (I think that's a mixed cliche. I've been away from America too long.)

I hope that we all learned a valuable lesson here today: You Tube knows all.

PCP CRIBS: My Paraguayan Home

2011-10-26T20:23:00.000-03:00

About every Peace Corps blog post starts with the sentence "Sorry I haven't posted in a while, but here's what I've been up to." They then precede to write a several thousand word paragraph using minimal punctuation and many references to their host country language.

I'm not a particularly gifted writer, nor have I ever had a good relationship with grammar, but I am shooting for some level of readability here. So if I ever throw up an atrocious post that tries to explain everything I have done in the past month in some pseudo stream of conscientiousness format, please inform me. I'll stop blogging that day and probably kill myself.

That being said, sorry I haven't posted in a while. Here's what I've been up to. ;-)

I've been putting together my apartment one fruit crate at a time. Fruit crate? YUP! The building blocks of Peace Corps engineering. I just sold everything I own not but six months ago, so I feel no inclination to buy a lot of things knowing they are all going to go away in 22 months. Therefore, I'm trying to use as much recycled/ re-purposed material as possible as I make my house into a home. What's one of the most plentiful resources in Paraguay? Old fruit crates no longer being used in the market.

It looks much less caddy-wompus in person.

Essentially, I stack them and lash them together with duct tape to make what I need. My closet/ desk really is my masterpiece. It's got a place for everything. A book shelf, shirts, pants, A closet rod to hang things. Despite the way it looks, it's pretty structurally sound.

I also mashed together a kitchen counter out of scrap wood found on the side of the road. I wish I had taken a picture of what I started with. It was a broken fruit stand that was much bigger, and with out a solid top. I sawed and rearanged the pieces of wood till it came together. Top it with two fruit crates and I call it a kitchen.

Next week I hope to start my small vegetable garden using recycled materials. I'll get some pics up to show you what I conjure up with that project. It's kinda incredible what you can make with garbage.

Check out the rest of my pics on facebook here.

A day in the City Part 3: Asuncion Street Art

2011-10-16T19:41:00.000-03:00

I know you've seen this one, but I still like it.

I've uploaded some photos of Asuncion to Facebook. This is from the same day with the hamburger incident and other realizations. While walking around the city, I enjoyed taking photos of the public art. Ranging from traditional public works, to more graffiti style street art there is a tradition of art for the masses here in Paraguay.

The new genre of "Street art" is still fledgling in Asuncion, but noticeable. Personally, I am drawn to street art that has little agenda other than to bring joy to a otherwise dreary city. However most street art has a slightly more political take on things. This stencil is satirizing the Cedula, the national ID card issued to every resident of Paraguay, by combining it with the word "Cerdo," the Spanish word for pig or pork and generally considered an insult. (Explaining jokes, puns, or a play on words in another language robs all eloquence there may of been and makes whoever is explaining it sound like an asshole. Don't you think?)

The tale of the Americas

Do you see the layers of different colors?

I love this series. They are commissioned public works, but powerful nonetheless. At first glance they look like they are paintings, but upon closer inspection you'll see that they have so much more dimension than an average mural. I think this is made with dyed cement, put together like a flat sculpture rather than a painting. There were about 5 different murals in a plaza near the waterfront.

It's so much more tactile than a mural.

The man himself, kinda.

This is my favorite statue in Paraguay, to date. It is in the Plaza de los Desparecidos, or Plaza of the missing. The plaza is dedicated to those who disappeared during the era of the Strossner dictatorship. This statue is the crushed remnants of a former statue of Strossner himself. General Strossner was the last in a long history of dictators in Paraguay, whose reign ended in 1989. As you can imagine this era is still affecting Paraguay today.

I don't know much about art. What's good art, what's bad art, what's not technically art. However, public art is so much better than something hidden away in a gallery or a museum. It's part of our neighborhoods, and our morning commutes. There is no pretense. Well, maybe less pretense anyways. I don't have to be quiet when appreciating street art, nor do I ever feel intimidated if I "don't get it." With street art, if you don't like it, at least it can become a good directional marker.

Three blocks and take a left at the statue with the hands sticking out of it. If you pass the stick figure dude crying on his knees you've gone too far.

What's not to love?

I took pictures of a few other pieces, So here are the rest. ENJOY!

Home is Where You Hang Your Mosquito Net.

2011-10-13T08:13:00.000-03:00

I'm sorry, I don't have pictures today, but for the non facebook crowd I wanted to let you know I've moved. I'm living in a semi-independent room in the house of a Senora a couple blocks away from where I was living. I have my own entrance, but am sharing a bathroom and fridge in the main section of the house. On the upside, I bought a stove and now am cooking my own meals. Also, no kids live here so the average decibel level is generally lower at any given moment. This all sumounts to a higher total happiness quotient.

I want to say that I adore the the family I was living with. They were more than generous and the kids are awesome. It was just time for me to move on.

Right now I'm in the process of turning an empty room into a home. I've been finding discarded items on the side of road, mostly fruit crates, and am in the process of fixing them up to be my dresser, or kitchen counter. I'll post photos once all the handy work is done. It's shaping up to be very Peace Corps Chic.

POW: No screen on my window leading to full out Mosquito vs. Taylor war.
WOW: MY OWN PLACE!
CHOW: Cabbage and carrot salad with Lime chili dressing topped with a fried egg and cup of instant coffee.

Asuncion: One place, Two worlds.

2011-10-10T07:53:00.003-03:00

The New World's first train station.

As I mentioned last week I spent an afternoon in Asuncion by myself. Walking alone, I felt greater liberty to snap some photos and slip into tourist mode. I looked at the city with fresh eyes, but I'm not sure how best to describe what I saw.

Asuncion is a city of stark contrast. As the Americas' first city, it's incredibly historic, but with few historical landmarks. It was home to the first train station in the Americas, but not a single working track remains. Perhaps most striking is the juxtopostion of wealth and abject poverty.

I've lived in cities where in order to see economic disparity, you merely have to cross the street. In Asuncion, you just turn your head in either direction. All afternoon I found myself standing in one place, taking pictures of either side of me. On one side, symbols of Paraguay's growing potential. On the other, squalor. Tent Cities next to banks and fancy hotels. Urban ruins with evidence of squatters next to political monuments. Beautiful architecture crumbling under weight of age and disrepair.

Iron work & decoration is common.

But it usually looks like this.

One side of where I ate lunch.


The other.

City Park.

The view from the park.

Presidential Palace

The Neighbors

I promise that each pair of photos were taken in the same place.

I live amongst and in what most Americans would call poverty. I know that's what I called my living conditions the first few days. Even now as I grow accustomed to my surroundings, during summer the water sometimes becomes contaminated, and I consider dirt roads to be normal. However, I no longer view my home as humble, nor the average Paraguayan as impoverished. While my idea of what is necessary to live is changing, what I came across in Asuncion is not a matter of simply "growing accustomed to."

But why am I so surprised by this? I knew that Paraguay was a poor country. I've been to the country-side and seen similar conditions. So why is the poverty in Asuncion so jarring?

I suspect my shock comes from America's incredible ability to hide their poor. Any major city with a tourist destination or even a down town has been scrubbed and polished to hide any trace of a less than ideal consumer bourgeois society. Time square, once the Gomorrah of the twentieth century, is practically sponsored by Disney now. Still, I should know better.

This is where I normally would sum up the post with some sort of reflection to put this all in context, but not today. There is no context. There is no summation. When considering these images, I have no desire to come to conclusions nor explanations. Any attempt would detract from the humanity of it all. I mean really, what could I possibly say that would be wise or insightful when presented with these realities?

Awesome is a Lifestyle

2011-10-05T18:30:00.000-03:00

When I am a corporate muckety muck, this will be the framed inspirational poster I hang in the coffee lounge.

It Wouldn't Be a Travel Blog Without a Post on Street Food.

2011-10-04T19:09:00.001-03:00

Street Art in Asuncion.

I was in Asuncion for about 24 hours this weekend. I was running a couple errands but I found myself free on sunday afternoon. I walked around and as I got hungry I indulged in the culinary epic-ness of, and world traveler badge of honor, the a street side food stand.

As all savvy travelers know, street food is where it’s at. Every stand is someone’s grandma working the wok, or some guy who is a master at what he does, but chooses not to pursue culinary greatness for the humble pride of his truck stand. At least it will be something so bizarre that it’s strangely delicious. I’ve read a million blog posts touting the superiority of street food, and how eating it makes you a better person. It shows that you actually care about the people whose home you’re invading. Rather than using their foreignness to make you feel better about your own vapid life. If memory serves me correct, somewhere it mentioned that eating street food proves you have a soul and guarantees you access to heaven. I had solid advice and I was gonna take it.

Plaza Uruguaya where I ate my lunch. Yes, that's a tent city.

I wander upon a plaza in downtown Asuncion and decide to get me a hamburger at the cart on the corner. It sets me back 5,000 Gs, which is a little over a dollar. It‘s sunday, so there’s not a lot open anyways. This is my best bet. Surprised to see the grill man actually grab a not pre-cooked patty land on the grill and a fresh egg cracked to top it off, this looks like the makings of a good street food experience. The burger is topped off with the usual and wrapped up to go for me. A coke to accompany and I was set.

Famished, I open my little package and shovel the burger into my face. As the pangs of hunger begin to wear off, I suddenly realize that something is very off. The patty is rubbery and certainly not juicy, but it’s not dry either. It’s watery? While I start to think about what I am actually tasting, I take a look at my patty. Cooked beef is not this color. Raw beef is not this color. This is not beef. This did not come from one of God’s creatures. If there was any meat, it was just enough to bind together the rehydrated soy stuff known as “carne de soja,” essentially dried out soy paste that some people like to pretend tastes just like meat. Usually these people are called vegetarians and have no soul. On this unfortunate occasion it’s my amigo with the stand trying to increase his profit margins because Paraguayans don’t tolerate price increases.

That's not meat.

Honestly, I should have known better. Meat is expensive here and 5,000 Gs is cheap no matter how little overhead you’re woking with. But let’s be realistic here blogosphere, cheap food is often cheap for a reason. That maybe someone’s grandma working the wok, but she’s also a business women, and apparently with grandchildren to feed.

All in all, it wasn’t that bad. Ok, it was that bad. It was awful, but there was lettuce and tomato, not to mention the egg, a standard on Paraguayan burgers. This burger sucked but the cheese didn’t smell like cow, and that’s a first in months. Plus, I can pretend this affront to God and all things holy was healthy. I didn’t stuff myself with a hamburger. I ate a veggie burger!

But the friendly blogger people told me food stands always had great hidden gems. That was how a true traveler was supposed to sustain themselves. What am I to do now? I know, the truth is hard to accept.

I am not saying to avoid street food. Food carts are awesome. They do have hidden gems, and unexpected awesomeness. However, the newly minted street food travel snob needs to back the fuck off. I know you’re all Anthony Bourdain disciples as well, but I’ve read too many articles and blog posts that scoff at the idea of restaurants, claiming street food is the only way to know a people and it’s culture and just as good as anything in a restaurant. We’ll get back to that part about “knowing a people and their culture” in another post, but in regards to street food, sometimes it sucks. It’s cheap. It’s fast. What do you expect? You never know what you’re gonna get, but that's all part of the adventure. Maybe that’s what makes the good stuff that much better.

Rain Rain go away... or I might become a danger to myself or others.

2011-10-01T20:03:00.000-04:00

September Showers bring October Flowers?

Generally speaking, I don’t like rain. I’m not one of those people who wistfully sighs, “Oh, I love the rain!” because they think it makes them sound deep or interesting, or whatever. I’ve lived in the Pacific Northwest. I’ve had my fill.

In the most developed of countries rain can kill almost any plan. Day at the beach? Nope. Picnic? Sorry. Anything involving being outside and not hating your life? Try again tomorrow. It’s no different in Paraguay. Well, it is different. It’s worse. Imagine all the days that rain limited your activity, or made you change your plans, and add dirt roads.

Muddy roads suck. Yes, that's a cow in the background

So, I don’t do much here when it rains. The normally wonderful slow pace of life comes to a grinding halt at the first drop of precipitation. I don’t blame Paraguay for this tradition. Most people don’t have cars, and motos fling mud everywhere. There is no way to get anywhere without being covered in mud and soaked to the bone. I know this, because I once defiantly went out in the rain in order to make a meeting, I knew would be canceled, simply to prove a point. What that point was, I have no idea.

To be fair, there isn’t really such a thing as a drizzle here. When it rains, I consider that God may actually exist, because someone is clearly mad up there. This is not helped any by the reverberation of my tin roof with every drop that makes contact. It’s like the cast of STOMP is practicing up there. (Wow, STOMP. That’s an old reference.)

By now you’ve all come to the conclusion that it rained today, spurring this rant. Since all activity was canceled or un-imaginable, I spent most of the day in my room. However, I’m learning to pass the time and not lose my mind. I slept in to 8:00 am (super late for me now), studied Guarani a bit, read a Paraguayan newspaper, and watched a couple movies. Honestly, it could have been worse. One day it rained and I found myself down the internet rabbit hole researching Hydro-fracing for more time than I would like to admit. For all my lamenting, I’m sure upon my return to the states, I’ll be very sad each morning I wake up to the sound of rain and realize that yes Taylor, you still have to go to work today.

The rain may not be fun, but I still get to live here. That's pretty awesome.

Fingers crossed!

2011-09-29T17:23:00.003-04:00

I might have my very own place in about 10 days. This is provided the owners don't change their mind, up the price, or something goes horrifically wrong. It's small, dark, and probably over priced but it has it's own bathroom, tile floor and will be mine! So fingers crossed.

This might call for some sort of sacrifice to the apartment gods. Hmmm, anyone got a goat? Small child would work too.

Rock Bottom? Or a New Level of Awesome!

2011-09-25T12:13:00.000-04:00

Boxed wine and Chili. Lunch of Champions.

Drinking boxed wine laced with sprite and ice out of a reused yogurt container. Congratulations, you are one step closer to hitting rock bottom.

POW: Getting the stink eye from a stray cow in the yard all day.
WOW: House sitting for my site mate and taking care of her dog.
CHOW: Vegetarian Chili and Iced Wine.

I'm Submiting This For a VMA

2011-09-23T12:45:00.001-04:00

So in Paraguay, life is like almost anywhere else in the world. Some days are good. Some days are not so good. And every once in a while a simple afternoon turns into an awesome video dance party.

As I've told you, the kids love Photo Booth. Well, we discovered the video setting the other day.

Happy Birthday to ME!: A tale of first world problems.

2011-09-20T15:11:00.000-04:00

It’s my birthday and many of you have been asking if I have any plans or am doing anything special to celebrate. I can only respond that yes, I am. I am living in Paraguay. This is how I’ve planned to celebrate for a while now.

Birthday present to myself. Now if I could only find Jack Daniels.

I do not believe in New Years resolutions. I firmly believe that if you want to change your life you can start any day of the year. I even remember coming to this realization in my 6th grade Language Arts class with Mrs. Tipps. Assigned to write down our New Year’s resolutions, it became so clear to my 11 year old self that life need not wait for January. I then turned in a blank page. I swear that I was only half trying to get out of the assignment. Mrs. Tipps then made me write why I felt this way in leu of my resolutions. Stupid, quality teachers, but I digress.

So for the past 15 years I have practiced this belief and defiantly never made resolutions with the exception of this past year. December 31st 2010, I was at a swanky party where the music cranked and booze flowed freely. Everyone was dressed in their NYE finest, and I was wearing a polyester tie. I wasn’t a guest. I was the waiter. Instead of being surrounded by friends reveling in my youth, I was failing to keep up with orders at the bar and the re-fires of the stuffed mushrooms. What had gone wrong in my life? I, with a University degree in a double major no less, was scraping plates of people I considered intellectually inferior and no one cared. My boss didn’t care how smart I was, so long as I didn’t break any glasses. My co workers didn’t care where I came from so long as I could carry my share of plates. There was no great tragedy here. I wasn’t going through hard times. I was going through normal life. So I found myself at the humbling realization that the world owed me nothing, and that both happiness and success was in fact made, and not found. The highlight of the night was stealing a bottle of champagne with my compatriots and making a midnight toast. Shortly after I looked at my friend and said, “Next year’s gonna be different.”

The next morning I knew what I needed to do. I called my brother and declared that by the time I turn 26, I WILL be living in a Latin American country. Being an expat has been a dream of mine for years, but I always found reasons to stay stateside. It wasn’t going to be like that this time. The commitment was made.

I know that Oliver would let me off the hook, never mentioning my declaration had I failed, if he even remembered, but I wasn’t going to let myself of the hook. Had I celebrated my 26th in Dallas, no matter how great the event, I would have had a sinking feeling in my stomach. Unable to ignore the fact that I had once again made “the safe choice.” There were certainly other cross roads in my journey to Paraguay, but I look back at that night as the turning point.

So here I am at my deadline, and hell, I made it! A resolution that may appear brash, or made in a moment of depression was exactly what I needed. I am where I need and want to be. I don’t regret taking my sweet time to achieve this dream either. I don’t believe in destiny, but I do not know if I would have been strong enough to get here nor stay here if it had not been for my past experiences. So rather than dwell on the fact that I am now closer to thirty than twenty, I celebrate and give thanks. I am so lucky to even have the option to follow my dreams. I am most thankful for my family, friends and mentors who have all been incredibly supportive. I would not have accomplished anything without you all.

So I am going back into the business of not making resolutions. It feels good to be batting a thousand, and I still believe 100% that you can change your life any day of the week. Let’s just hope I never again need a gig at Maggiano’s to remind me of that.

You Can't Walk Any Further

2011-09-17T15:26:00.000-04:00

If Peace Corps told me today, that I was now only allowed to take one vacation my entire two years of service, I would have no doubt as to where.

Patagonia.

Patagonia Time Lapse Video from Adam Colton on Vimeo.

Perhaps you can see why.

POW WOW CHOW!

2011-09-14T15:06:00.003-04:00

So I learned a game from my Fellow PCV called POW! WOW! CHOW! Its allows share you day quickly with others in a way that's slightly reminiscent of a fight scene from the 1960's Batman series featuring Adam West.

POW is something not so good, like a punch in the face from Adam West.
WOW is something AWESOME!
CHOW is something you ate. Good or Bad.

So here goes mine for today:

POW: Still haven't found my own house.
WOW: Exercise class on Monday was awesome, and have a second class today.
CHOW: Soup Stew thing with pork and corn. Again.

I'm gonna try to put this up on a regular basis. I invite you to put your POW WOW CHOW in the comments. Let's see how it goes.

A Week's Worth of Nervous Break Downs

2011-09-11T10:11:00.000-04:00

While I know you all want to hear about all my awesome, fun, delightful, and pleasant adventures, sometimes the dice just don't land that way. I don't know if anyone mentioned this, but Peace Corps can be hard, even difficult. This is not for the reasons you think. Sure I yelled at my shower out loud the other day, but that was merely a symptom of a week's worth of suckitude. It's not that much went wrong this week. It's that nothing went right.

Last weekend was so incredible! I went rock climbing, and ate awesome food. Basically two of the top three things I love in this world. Then back in site, I wake up with a serious case of the Monday's that lasted all week. It rained this week, so I didn't do much. I really miss living alone, and the one place available right now has a dirt floor and no windows. The city hall office wants to work with me, but I'm not sure on what. And this week's food has been, well, greasy. The acne on my face should be a good indication of how much fried food I've consumed. My host family is so concerned about my face, they keep asking what bit me or if I'm having an allergic reaction. NO, IT'S A ZIT!

Acne, not bug bites. Now stop pointing them out!

This is all with out mentioning the cultural mine field I found myself in when I admitted to having lived in Boy's-Town during my time in Chicago. Paraguay has a predominately Catholic culture, and you can imagine how homosexuals are received here. It's tricky to not insult my gracious hosts opinions while at the same time showing my support for the LBGT community. FYI: Boy's-Town is what it sounds like. A predominately gay neighborhood in Chicago. SOOO much fun. Great Brunch. Halsted's! WHAT?!

A little cultural aside on the topic of diversity in general: America is by no means a bastion of cultural acceptance and equality. I don't want to address this topic with any level of depth, but there is one thing I have noticed. In general, Americans seem more used to diversity. We are accustomed to walking down the street and seeing multiple walks of life. Even the most redneck Texan (to use my favorite stereotype) probably knows a few words in Spanish and drinks Mexican beer. We are comfortable with difference, even differences we don't like. I'm learning this level of comfort is not universal, and it gets me in a little bit of trouble here. Nonetheless, it is becoming a secret point of pride for me. Perhaps that's all false and I'm romanticizing America. Either way, I'm speaking to my experience.

So there it is. A day in the life. It's not glamorous, nor exciting. I don't know why I'm always surprised at how normal life is everywhere. Some days are boring; people can be frustrating; and I don't do well living with others. This week will be better, and if it's not, we'll shoot for the one after that. American optimism comes in handy, even for this hardened cynic.

PS: Next time I go climbing I'll take pictures. It's way easier to tell that story with the visual. Plus the area is go gorgeous, I could never do it justice with just my words.

Phun with Photobooth

2011-09-04T22:30:00.002-04:00

Anyone who has a mac knows that Photo booth is everyone's favorite program. It is especially popular amongst Paraguayan children. I took some photos with Carlitos, Marley, and Monsey a while ago. Also Ginsey and I went crazy with it one day. Nonetheless here are some of the pics. Phun with photos!

Highlights Magazine....In real life!

2011-08-31T18:17:00.000-04:00

I just put another round of photos on facebook. This album is of my house and some the the other residents. (Link is at the bottom) But why don't we take some time to get to know my new family before you go all stalker on them?

I essentially live in a game of hidden pictures. It looks beautiful and idilic, but then you begin to look closer and you see things that are just a little off.

Yeah, and that’s not the only bicycle in a tree either.

I live with 10-ish other people depending if it’s the weekend or not. Five of whom are kids ranging from 4 to 14. We’re kinda like the Vontraps, but with less singing.

Meet Carlitos. (7)

He’s pretty high on the awesome scale. Carlos likes jumping out of trees, climbing barbed wire fences, and discussing the finer points of Machete use during a Zombie attack. (Go for the head, and if you make sure your machete is sharp enough you can get up to three zombies with one swing.)

Then we have Erica. (11)

Erica is quite, but once she starts to open up, she too climbs the ranks of awesome pretty quickly. She loves music, and plays the guitar. She generally spends her time getting the younger ones out or into trouble, depending.

Let’s meet Marley. (9)

Marley is goofy. She likes to make funny faces, and tell dirty jokes. (They start them young here in Paraguay.) Marley is really bright, and has aspirations to be a hairdresser. In general, girls aren’t encouraged to have life goals here. Honestly, I don’t know if boys are either. There’s a big push to get married and start making babies, even though it usually happens the other way around. So I commend Marley, and let her do funky things with my hair whenever she pleases. I’ll try to get ya’ll get some pics of her masterpieces.

Last, but certainly not least is Maria Ana. AKA Monsey.(4)

I once heard a comic describe children as “just like drunk midgets.” If the above photo doesn't confirm this analogy lets review some of Monsey's other habits.

She never has her shoes on the correct feet. Nor does she like to walk in straight lines, unless the most direct path to where she is going involves crawling over furniture or people. She has a freakish ability to puff out her stomach to something that looks like a scene in alien. It's weird. We all agree, so she'll chase her brother Carlitos around the yard with her impossibly huge belly. This is all with out even mentioning her ability to power down food. It makes no sense that something so small could consume so much. I have personally witnessed her take down over half a chicken, cabbage salad, and a couple pieces of mandioca. She really is very cute. Too cute. And unfortunately for all of us, she knows it.

Well that’s most the kids. I’ll write another blog about the adults. They’re awesome too, but mildly less ridiculous.

Here's the Link to the rest of the photos.

And At The Top There Is Summitt

2011-08-25T21:38:00.001-04:00

I know this is a few days late. Let's just say I'm acclimatizing to hora Paraguaya.

A few days ago I found out with the rest of the world about the diagnosis of Tennessee basketball coach, Pat Summitt, with early onset dementia. There are a million things that can be said: Tragic, Sad, Unfair, ect. I don't care to comment on her illness, nor my personal sadness of knowing that the era of Pat Summitt will end sooner than expected. I just want to take the time to talk about what a complete bad ass she is.

I remember as a small girl who loved basketball watching Tennessee play in the final four. I then thought I was going to go to Tennessee and play basketball. My Dad had taught we the fight song, and in fact he had a hat that would play Rocky Top when you pressed a button on the brim. A few years later I realized I wasn't very good at basketball and that dream ended. Nonetheless, I still have great affinity for Tennessee Basketball. I love that women's basketball at Tennessee is the marquee sport. I think it's safe to say it's perhaps the only women's marquee sport in the NCAA. That huge achievement is 100% attributable to Pat Summitt.

For those of less interested in college sports, Pat Summitt is the single winning-est coach in college basketball history. Not in women's basketball history, in NCAA basketball history. Men's or Women's programs. She's never had a losing season.

Pat Summitt's success can be summed up in her innumerable accolades, but all that misses a crucial element of her bad-assery. The woman has swagger. Leading the Lady Vols to 8 national championships in various brightly colored pant suits, she proves that women in male dominated fields don't need a boost, nor a handicap. There are no excuses. There are no short cuts. She doesn't pad her non-conference schedule, and her girls graduate. All of them graduate. She doesn't stop at being "good for a girl." She's just damned good. The Best.

So I want to say thanks to Pat Summitt. Thanks for showing me that excellence is achievable, and that girls are no exception to that. You are awesome.

Me? Bad Ass? Yeah, I know.

Only in Paraguay...

2011-08-24T12:51:00.003-04:00

A text conversation between me and My buddy Richard:

Me: The kids are fighting overhte Mate dulce. Apparently no one is drinking fast enough. You think I could just get them each their own cup?

Richard: Their own cups? DO YOU HATE PARAGUAY?!!!

Today's Adventure in Eating

2011-08-23T12:42:00.001-04:00

Wanna know how to freak out an American in Paraguay?
Feed them a dish of unidentifiable cow innards with rice.

Wanna know how to freak out a Paraguayan?
Put Siracha on unidentifiable cow innards with rice.

The long and the snort of it.

2011-08-16T22:37:00.000-04:00

There are few loves in this world that are pure and true. When you find one you have to hold on to it. I, myself, have found such a love. No, I'm not referring to my darling novio, Zack, but rather a love I discovered much earlier in life. PORK

My love for pig products started with a humble ham sandwich and has grown to a rich mature love, embracing many facets of pigginess. Notables have included Pork Chops at Las Brisas, and the Italian Hoagie, and the pinnacle of pork products, Jamon Serrano.

I, like most young people in love, thought never a moment would come that I would think twice about my commitment. But alas, as with all lasting relationships there are struggles and low times. Today, I stared it straight in the snout.

This evening my host family dined on pig face, and I was given the honor of receiving the snout. When first recieving this plate of what is essentially pig fat, I was not so alarmed. I love Pig fat! It smelled great, I assumed there was meat involved, somewhere. I was so very wrong.

I did not notice the nostril right away. I just was confused as to where on a pig is quite so cylindrical. Nonetheless, I cut off a piece and it was fatty and slimy, and worst of all it still has some hair on the skin. This was not succulent, sweet pork that I had known. It was rough. I turn the piece around looking for any spec of actual meat to carve out, and this hunk of fat's true origin reveals itself to me.

I was able to carve out enough meat to make a suitable dinner, and all together it wasn't that bad. I still love pork and all things piggy. But I guess nobody is perfect. This is just another chapter in a long love affair.

Photo Palooza!

2011-08-11T17:44:00.001-04:00

So I did a big photo drop on Facebook and wanted to share the link to my non-facebook readers. You know who you are. (Oliver.)

Most of these were taken at the end of training, and a couple before I left. If any of you were having doubts as to whether or not Peace Corps is a serious agency, I'm sorry but this might re-enforce those doubts. I promise we do more than have people dress in drag, and play with machetes.

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.778077519312.2261147.6101501&l=d21be222ab&type=1

I AM IN SITE!!! and can't do anything

2011-08-10T19:00:00.001-04:00

This will not be an interesting post. Just wanted to let everyone know I'm in my new home. I'll be living with a family for a while before I hopefully move into my own house.

There would be more enthusiasm and detail about arrival to site and my 5 days in Asuncion except for the fact I'm really sick right now, like mouth breather type sick. I haven't smelt anything for about 48 hours. I actually got permission to show up to site a day late because yesterday I was in no condition to do anything. If you need convincing look at his photo.

Like my awkward thumbs up. Very Paraguayan.

Pathetic, right? And tha'ts me feeling better!

My new "Host mom" Ema has been really kind. She's made me mate with special jujos to help me get better. (jujos = medicinal herbs.) I don't attest to effectiveness of natural medicine, but when a mother of a many insists on giving you jujos, you take them. *important update! They made me take a spoonful of carpincho fat. I googled it. Carpincho = worlds largest rodent. Now that was just unnecessary.*

Ok, time to sign off. The light of the computer feels like it's burning a whole into my brain.

I promise a big fancy post about the swear in ceremony and my night out in Asuncion. Much fun was had, and much fun was shared. Can we say awesome!?

The end of the beginning...

2011-08-06T23:42:00.001-04:00

Peace Corps Paraguay G36 Training from brittany boroian on Vimeo.

So I swore in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer yesterday. It's a little surreal. A lot of my buddies have been very caught up in the "Official-ness." Many times people would turn to each other and say something along the lines of, "OMG! We're VOLUNTEERS." People were really into the word, because until now we were just trainees. These terms become very important. This is after all government work.

I am almost embarrassed to be less enthusiastic about my official transition. I can relate to my peers joy over the semantics of it, but really I could care less what you call me, so long as I can start keeping my own schedule.

I don't want to be completely blase about this, but my dream wasn't to be a Peace Corps volunteer so much as to live and work abroad and to do work that improves the lives of others. I am over joyed to be given the opportunity to do that. I'm absolutely passionate about the journey I'm going to embark on, but it really hasn't started. I cannot wait for all the stories to come, and the challenges to be had. For me, that's when it'll be official.

The past two months have been crazy! to show you all some of it, above is a video my friend Brittany made. It's a photo montage of our training. I hope you all enjoy. The video is definitely more fun than the training itself.

I swear to God, good food could lead to world peace. A case study:

2011-08-04T17:06:00.000-04:00

Meet Ginsey. Besides being awesome and wicked smart, she shares my love for cooking. As all good cooks, she learned to cook from her mom, who in her case is from India, Meaning, Ginsey makes bomb Indian food.

Now, I know nothing about Indian food. I didn’t even think I liked Indian food, but Ginsey assured me that I did. (We’re becoming close friends. You know, the kind that make those sorts of decisions for each other.) So with a generous donation via care package from Mama and Papa Ginsey, her and I decide to plan a dinner for all our friends.

A dinner we originally thought would be for about 10 people quickly grew to 25, since our host families wanted in on this too. I think they just thought it odd that we could actually take care of something ourselves. We were pretty helpless when we got here and it’s been an uphill battle changing their minds since. I assumed the roll of sous chef, or as Gordy would say, Kitchen Bitch. I de-boned a gazillion chickens; peeled and chopped a quadrillion cucumbers; and all was well until I diced enough onions to make something big look small. (I couldn’t think of a good analogy. Recommendations are welcomed.) This was all done with one of the world’s dullest knives. I’m not sure if it’s some sort of law in Paraguay but I have yet to find a knife that isn’t approaching PlaySkool levels of dullness.

Ginsey took care of the real cooking. Although, I don’t totally recognize what she did as cooking. It was more like alchemy. She claims to start with a recipe but from there she conducts magic over her cauldron like a witches brew. Adding some of this, adding some of that, constantly tasting, and patiently getting through the phase where it doesn’t taste so good. Ok, maybe not patiently, she freaked out pretty hard during the “scary part.” Apparently that’s part of the process. Momentary melt downs aside, it was very impressive to watch her work. With each taste she knew exactly what element needed to added or balanced out, and she whittled her way to exactly what she wanted, not totally sure what she had done.

So with 2 huge pots of Chicken Tika, and enough rice to feed a good part of China, we sat down with our friends and family to break bread. Ginsey and I were nervous if people would like it, but quickly all worries were put aside. As the food was passed around the table, a silence came over the group. You know food is good when all you can hear is forks. Cue awesome night.

We stuffed our faces. We drank decent booze. We spoke three languages, and we told dirty jokes in all of them. There are few more loved traditions in Paraguay than telling inappropriate jokes, and making fun of people similarly. At one point the joke was that we were eating Tembo’i, which sounds remarkably close to tembi’u. (Tembi’u means Food in Guarani. Tembo’i means Small Penis. It’s a easy mistake to make and one that gets taken advantage of.) This joke went on for a long time, and was being lead by the women in attendance. These four middle aged women had every American in ear shot falling out of their chairs with laughter and blushing with embarrassment. I was literally hiding my face and covering my ears un able to take the discomfort anymore. Thus making it all the funnier.

I would like to take moment to commend our Paraguayan friends for trying Ginsey’s food. All of them were eager to try something new, even though spice and spices are not popular here. They enjoyed it as much as the rest of us, especially the non-hot version we made them. Throughout the night people would regularly get up and refill their plates until there was talk of taking turns licking the serving bowls. Ginsey and I looked at each other with pride and decided this was a really good decision. Four hours of cooking suddenly felt like nothing. It was incredible to look around the table and see what fantastic friends we had made.

In a lot of way we had just begin to hit our stride here in Ita. These first months while in training have been trying. The struggles were many and diverse, but the people I have met here have been nothing short of remarkable. Our group has become like a family, and to think I won’t see them every day starting next week is, well, sad. Not to mention, how much we appreciate our host families. They can only be described as generous and hospitable. Let’s add crazy to that too.

Saturday night was one of those perfect nights where that magical blend of good food and good people came together to make something meaningful and memorable. It’s hard to underestimate how much culture affects us, but there are some universals in this world. Sharing food as a way of sharing part of yourself is one of them. (I’m such a poor man’s Anthony Bourdain. Like a really poor man.)

Apparently Saint John the Baptist was a pyro.

2011-07-09T11:13:00.000-04:00

As you look at the picture above you might ask yourself, “Why Taylor, is that a flaming bull skull you’re carrying?” Well yes faithful blog reader, it is indeed.

Welcome to the Festival of San Juan.

I am not sure how the course of events in my life lead me to having the opportunity to chase children with a flaming bull skull, but I can only thank the fates for allowing it.

San Juan is a festival that is held through out late June and early July. Various schools and organizations throw San Juan parties. It’s a time to celebrate traditional Paraguayan culture. There are games, traditional dance, and lots of food. While this goes on for about a month the actual San Juan day is the 24th of June. On this day, San Juan protects those who have faith, and to prove it, they use fire. Lots of fire.

The whole party surrounds a giant bon fire in the middle of a field. Things begin innocently enough by setting some soccer balls on fire for kids to play with. From there, they burn an effigy of Judas, who strangely enough often resembles one political leader or another. We then take a break to climb a 20 plus foot greased pole to retrieve candy and about 25 dollars located at the top. First one to successfully hump their way up to the top gets the prizes. If you are asking yourself if that safe, stop. San Juan protects us, so we do not need safety precautions. So while free climbing a slippery tree trunk is all well and fun, it’s time to get back to fire.

Enter flaming bull skull.

I wasn’t paying much attention, seeing as I was trying to fight off 30 kids to be able to kick a flaming soccer ball, when all of a sudden my friend pushes me. I look up and a foot away from my face is the heifer from hell. I have never ran so fast in my life. When I finally shake him, I return to find all my friends and their host families dying of laughter. Apparently, I was set up.

Now San Juan is a family holiday, so clearly the flaming bull skull is handed over to the kids at this point. The little ones take turns chasing each other. And by “take turns” I mean one kid gets to chase until another kid pulls him to the ground to take over. Seeing as I was clearly bigger than the creatures, I decided I needed in on this action. I commandeered the demon beauvine from an 8 year old, and began my mission. I am telling you: You have not lived until you have chased your friends and small children with a flaming bull skull. But as with all good things it had to come to an end. I too was taken over by kids who grabbed on to the frame and flung me to the ground.

While it would be easy to assume that chasing people with fiery carcasses is the climax of San Juan, you are underestimating the faith of the Paraguayan people.

At this point in the night the bonfire is dying down. A small fire on a heap of red hot coals is all that’s left. You might be able to guess where I’m going with this. We all surround the fire, and a man older than time spreads out the coals with a wooden stoke to create a nice even layer. The priest enters the circle to given a benediction over the coals, and asks San Juan to protect us. Then Grandfather Time takes off his shoes, and rolls up his pants. After a quick prayer and a deep breath, he proceeds stroll across the coals like it’s sunday afternoon. He doesn’t appear to have felt anything. To prove it, he turns around and does it again.

To the cynics, feel free to hypothesize all you want about how he did it. All I know is what I saw, and I saw a man walk across fire. It was truly incredible.

The rest of the night, music is played and children run wild until the coals are no longer warm enough to stand next to. I don’t know if I’ve ever had so much fun. And no, I will never attempt to walk across the coals.

In Paraguay, the Electric Boogaloo isn't how you get down, it's how you get clean.

2011-07-09T11:11:00.001-04:00

I apologize for the lack of posts, and that they have been boring, with terrible writing. My access to internet is more limited than I had expected. Mostly, my free time is less than expected. I spend all day in training, and by the time I get home it’s dark. We don’t go out much when it’s dark here in Paraguay. I’m not sure as to why, but I’ve theorized there are vampires here. It’s the only logical explanation to such an aversion to sunset.

I love Paraguay but I would like to introduce a recurring blog segment entitled “WTF Paraguay?” First on the list is the genius innovation known as the Electric Showerhead.

Think about those words next to each other. ELECTRIC, and SHOWER. To use the electric shower head, you flip on the power, and then turn on the water. The water completes the electrical current of the filament located inside the shower head. The filament then heats the water that falls onto your naked body. But don’t worry, we take precautions. You must make sure to turn off the electricity and be out of the shower before turning off the water as to prevent electrocution, and the device only explodes or lights on fire every once in a while. Also: NEVER TOUCH THE SHOWER HEAD. After all that, the worst part isn’t even the complete disregard for user safety. The thing doesn’t even work that well! Sometimes the water never gets hot. If it does, it is sure to turn off randomly leaving you freezing with a head full of shampoo. Peace Corps talks about how there will be things you never get used to. This will be one.

Creative plumbing solutions aside, it has been going well. The terrain is beautiful here. I almost think that’s what Oakland would look like if it went untouched: A lush green land scape dotted with Palms, in a non tropical climate. Unfortunately, not quite the same climbing options as Oakland, and no Cato’s. However, crime and poverty might be on a similar scale, and both have thriving gold resale markets.

I am currently with a group of 23 other trainees, that range from a guy who graduated college less than two weeks before arrival, to a woman who just turned 58. I feel very fortunate to be surrounded by such an incredible group of people. My peers are intelligent and motivated. We all get along very well, even after a month of seeing way too much of each other under intense conditions. Please feel free to be cynical and wait to ask me how much I still like these people in another month.

Donna Carmen in her natural habitat.

During training, I am living with a woman named Carmen and her 16 year old son. Carmen is a butcher and only a little bit crazy. For example: Carmen has come to the assumption that I must know karate, seeing as I will leave the house by myself at 7:00pm. I’m letting her continue to think that, for no other reason than it will be the closest I get to actually knowing Karate. Her and I have really come to be friends, over Maté sessions most evenings. (Maté is a hot tea shared among friends here. It’s difficult to explain, but it’s a big deal. Just google it.) During maté we talk about everything. Topics have included: the advantages of the Stroessner dictatorship; what snow is and how we function with it in the US: and finally my view of Barack Obama and if I’m nervous that his election may be an indication of the apocalypse as described in the Book of Revelations. Honestly, she’s awesome. We laugh often. She’s convinced I’m going to find a Paraguayan boyfriend, and is plotting as to how I can stay and live with her rather than move on to a new site to start my work. This is all after admitting to being afraid I was a spy for the first week. Like I said, only a little bit crazy.

I have more to come, but I don’t like gargantuan posts. But stay tuned for San Juan.

Warning: Kind of a boring post but it explains what I'm actually do here.

2011-07-02T13:35:00.000-04:00

So I've been in Paraguay a whole month. It doesn't feel that long, yet it also feels longer. For those of you not familiar with Peace Corps (AKA anyone not involved in PC, and even some of us who are.), I'll give you a general over view of what's going on here.

I currently am only a Trainee. I am not an official volunteer, and such have limited privileges. I don't get to travel on weekends with out permission, and certainly can't spend the night anywhere other than my host site. I don't have a cell phone, nor am I provided internet. So communication with the US is difficult to put it mildly. For the past month, and continuing on for another month, I'm training. Essentially learning how to be an effective volunteer. Also, language classes. Two language at that. Now that I have reached the required level for Spanish I have to start learning Guarani. Words in guarani: Jajotopata, jaha, y, moo gua, mbaejy. I promise I didn't just hit ramdom letters on the key board.

So in a month, I'll move to my actual site, where I'll be living and working the next two years with an absurd amount of freedom. But for now, I'm in school, and treated as such.

PC Has several sectors operating in Paraguay, including health, Ecudation, agriculture, youth development, and Education. My sector is called, Community and economic development. We have 4 focuses: Civic education, Information Technology, Familiy Finance, and Entrepreneurship. When I am assinged my site, I will also be assinge a primary project that Focuses on one of these pillars. I am hoping for entrepreneurship. I think helping people create jobs might be one of the most beneficial things I can do with my time here. I want to help the people of Paraguay but I'd rather teach them to help themselves.

In regards to where I'll be living, I still have no idea. I'm pulling for semi-rual with reasonable bus access. Semi rual allows me to do cool stuff, like milk my neighbors cow and cook with a wood burning stove, but also let me get the hell out of town if needed. Furthermore, In this setting there is enough work to stay busy, but also small enough to get to know your town really well. Even if you still don't get it, just go with me on it.

GOOD NEWS!! There is rock climbing in Paraguay and I have made friends who like to climb. Who knows how good it is, but I'll take what I can get.

This is a boring post, so I'll end it here and make a new more fun one.

Mbai´ chapa! - I swear that´s a real language

2011-05-31T17:18:00.000-04:00

I have a real blog post coming but to hose out there wonderig if I made it, by evidence of this post, I did.

I have all sorts of fun and exciting things to share, when on an english key board that actually functions properly. I think they snuck secret Pece Corps happy juice in the water, because I feel like i have otally drak the koolaid. Not a bad thing, but Ice breakers, camp style activities, and this general level of positivity is not allways my strength. Usually it makes me want to vomit.

On the topic of unfortunate disgetve incidents, all is well health wise. I have 2 years to get sick, but I´ve made it a week and that´s making thgs just that much easier. I otlly have been drinking the water, and trying all the food. Generally things advised against. But hell with it. If I get sick, I get sick. 6 million people drink this water.

I have a much better update to come that´s, well, not a first draft. And to anyone I don´t kow looking at my blog, trying to find out if I´m a spy or my coutry director checking in, HI!!!! Hope you had a good day.

(I swear they warn us about innapropriate jokes/ comments in regards to our blog, pretty regularly.)

I don´t have a ton of access to iternet and am enjoyig not being like in, so updtes might be infrequent

What happens when tomrrow is now today?

2011-05-23T10:30:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow I leave the comfort of my own home and Wednesday I leave America. Today I am running around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get everything done, but I have stopped to update ya'll.

Many of you have asked for my address, so here it is.

Taylor Schrang PCT
Cuerpo de Paz
162 Chaco Boreal C/Mcal. Lopez
Asuncion 1580 Paraguay
South America

Running water is for pansies.

2011-05-09T13:23:00.000-04:00

I need to get on an airplane.

Tired of the emotional roller coaster in anticipation of my departure, I would prefer the emotional roller coaster of actually being there. At a moment’s notice I go from anxious to melancholy and back to “Super stoked.” Right now, I’m numb. Having had every possible thought and emotion in regards to the next chapter of my life, it’s time I actually live the next chapter of my life.

I’m sure my new found ambivalence towards spending two years in poverty is a result of the past six months with little in the way of productivity. This is not to discount this period in my life. I have learned immensely about myself, and others. I fell in love; I learned the upside of being born into upper middle class bourgeois society; and I took the first real break in my young life. For the first time, I floundered. The joy of unemployment, work I once put my nose up at, and people I would have not otherwise met all had new value. Already my Peace Corps journey has opened my eyes to a bigger world and given me perspective on my own country. I reflect on this time with frustration and fondness. I wouldn’t trade it, but I am certainly over it.

There has been sufficient negative in the “break” to make me eager to get back to work. To be working in a way that is mentally challenging and more goal oriented than my daily effort to not simply walk out before my shift is over. Work has been arduous and mindless at the same time. I did not know I could work so hard at something I felt could do in my sleep. I rarely felt that I accomplished anything because, well, I didn’t. Taking solace in friends and climbing, I brought up Peace Corps to anyone who would listen as to remind myself why I chose this.

For all my bemoaning, I look over the past six months and a huge grin crawls across my face. I was in every definition of the term, a “Twenty-something,” i.e. A little lost, overly dependent on my parents, partied a little too much, and responsibility was not high on my list. You know what? IT WAS AWESOME! I ask my adult readers to think of the last time a group of friends broke into your house, drug you out of your bed to go do anything, and you got to respond to their request for adventure with “Let me get my pants!”? If that has happened to you in the last six months, you are very lucky.

So here I am, days before my departure. In these past months, I have wondered if I’m making a horrible mistake, overly romanticized what is going to happen, worried about what happens after, and covered all the intermittent grey area. I’m unsure how to best articulate what I am feeling now, but I never thought zen and apathy could resemble each other until tonight. So again:

I need to get on an airplane.

A wierd day.

2011-05-02T22:51:00.000-04:00

Last night I found out about the death of Osama Bin Laden probably how many of you did, via text. I didn't even turn on the news. A simple Google search on an Iphone to confirm, and I moved on. (This morning I watched the news and read the newpaper to catch up.)

While I understand what this man is responsible for, I am uncomfortable celebrating death. This is not to suggest that President Obama, his administration, nor the Navy Seals who executed the mission are immoral in any way. I support them, and am really impressed by the reports I hear of the mission. And yes, I admit to taking joy in the news. I, as we all were, was deeply affected by September 11th and can't help but be glad that the one responsible for it is now gone. Nonetheless, I have struggled with the GO USA! status updates, and general jubilee surrounding the event since.

A few minutes after my first reaction of joy, I began to realize a man is dead. Osama Bin Laden was a son and a brother, a husband and a father. He was a bad man, but still a man. So I question, have we gotten justice or merely vengeance?

War is ugly and confusing. It is a quagmire of moral grey area. Immediate morality gives way to righteous causes. Right makes might, blends with might makes right, and soon god is on everybody's side.

I do not mourn the death of Bin Laden, but I'm not ready to dance in the street.

Cary Grant is the Coolest.

2011-04-29T17:21:00.000-04:00

Here's another fun little gem from the interweb. A letter, written by Cary Grant, expressing his appreciation to Levi Strauss for a set of shirts however, the shirts were not "swaggery" enough.

That brings me to the thought, when did swagger out of style? My sartorial decisions by no means are something to hang my hat on, but I long for a time when fedoras weren't ironic and people wore top siders to actually sail. I'm not a Sex and the City gal, nor do I advocate the metro-sexual male, but if Cary Grant can demand a shirt he can swagger in, then I maybe we can all add a little more fancy to our lives.

Cary Grant is the coolest.

He works in mysterious ways.

2011-04-17T22:40:00.000-04:00

I am a huge fan of the web tool Stumble Upon. For those of you unfamiliar, I highly recommend it. Essentially you hit the magic Stumble Upon button and it brings you a random page from the internet with an amazingly high rate of awesome. I've found recipes, gorgeous photos, funny videos, you name it. Well just this very night, my favorite interweb friend brought me to an article by the Clarke County Democrat, a local paper for Grove Hill, Alabama. What could possibly be so awesome as to merit a repost from Grove Hill, AL? Oh, this little gem below:

In a small Texas town, ( Mt. Vernon ) Drummond’s bar began construction on a new building to increase their business.. The local Baptist church started a campaign to block the bar from opening with petitions and prayers. Work progressed right up till the week before opening when lightning struck the bar and it burned to the ground.

The church folks were rather smug in their outlook after that, until the bar owner sued the church on the grounds that the church was ultimately responsible for the demise of his building, either through direct or indirect actions or means.
The church vehemently denied all responsibility or any connection to the building's demise in its reply to the court.
As the case made its way into court, the judge looked over the paperwork. At the hearing he commented, “I don't know how I’m going to decide this, but as it appears from the paperwork, we have a bar owner who believes in the power of prayer, and an entire church congregation that does not.”

Original Link

I guess prayer works right up until the point you can be held liable.

I have not followed up on this to see how the judge ruled. If he ruled in favor of the bar, could that then set precedent that praying for an A on a test, merits cheating? Just a thought.

When all else fails, read the manual

2011-04-15T01:18:00.000-04:00

The title references an oft used phrase in radio production. I'm sure other professions capitalize on the irony as well, but I encountered it for the first time and with great frequency during my time in radio. Bible sized books of information for thousands of dollars of equipment and hardly a spine broken among them. Clearly I don't need to waste anytime reading because I am young and brilliant. I grew up with technology, why should I bother to read the manual? In reality, this thought process applies to almost all parts of my life. Did you read the pamphlet for your 12 speed blender with slicing attachment? Didn't thinks so.

I found myself chuckling and thinking of this phrase during the past week. Turns out the Peace Corps isn't quite so elusive with the general facts about my upcoming life. Many of them are included in a neatly put together, 50 page, "Welcome Book," including a 45 book long recommended reading list. (I read less books in college, maybe ever.) It turns out two years in Paraguay isn't an MP3 player. I did not receive all necessary information by magical osmosis. I stumbled upon the welcome book underneath a back pack and began to read. Turns out this was sent with all my other initial information. So to review, when all else fails, read the manual.

Granted, lets not think that the next two years has now been carefully outlined for me. There are still a lot of fluff terms like "cultural differences" and "don't get arrested." But they have included incredibly useful information like, my address in Asuncion for the first three months; that I will, in fact, be in Asuncion for the first three months; and that since Americans are fat, we will all be issued bicycles upon arrival. There are also general behavioral outlines. Getting pregnant is frowned upon, and riding a motorcycle is strictly forbidden. Mostly, it seems that if I don't make an ass of myself, I'll be fine. Unfortunately, sometimes I struggle with this.

I'll be sure to post things like and address, a phone number and an email as we get closer.

Much love, and go Yanks.

27 months without Sports Center or Ketchup

2011-04-04T14:40:00.002-03:00

It's official! I'm leaving in May for the Peace Corps. I will be stationed in the only country I didn't fantasize about going to, Paraguay. Yeah, you didn't think about that one either.

I'm am overwhelmed with excitement, but also understandably terrified. There is still so much that is unknown about the next two years. I'm going work in "Economic Developement." Do you know what that means? I don't. When I tell people "Economic Development" they consistently ask, "So what does that entail?" I make up something fluffy about helping people help themselves, but honestly I have no idea. Peace Corps is kinda like a religion. They promise the most fantastic experience in the most fantastic place and in exchange I follow them blindly. At least I don't have to be dead to get the reward.

Since I have essentially no information about the next two years other than a country, whose population in smaller than New York City, I find myself looking at the two years after that. As much uncertainty is built into the Peace Corps, I know I'm covered. For the next two years, I'm in Paraguay helping, somehow. It's impossible to fathom but the certainty drops even further upon leaving Paraguay. I have this tentative plan in my head, about going back to grad school, but its difficult to imagine that things after PC will resemble anything I imagined before PC. I'm told how much these two years will affect my life. I'll be a different person with a new outlook. That sounds fantastic, but I like who I am now, and if someone could let me know how my outlook would be different that would be great. I have a life to plan. Trust me, I know how ridiculous that sounds. One would think that I, of all people, would learn to stop planning my life.

May 25th is the first official day of this journey. I'll try to write as much as possible, but access to internet is limited. Also, I reserve the right to put up random stuff on here. Not all posts are necessarily PC related. Plus please understand, the sarcasm I use in my daily life while speaking will be included in my writing. If you look at the post below, you'll understand what I'm talking about.

Much Love, and Go Yanks.

Tiberius never sounded so sexy

2011-02-27T16:53:00.002-03:00

Sastre EATS!

2011-02-14T02:31:00.001-03:00

I’m not a food blogger, but from time to time I dabble in eating. I find food more of a hobby than a nourishment. I like to cook, but perhaps, as we all do, I like to eat even more.
I found myself with nothing to do on a Friday night and a little extra cash burning a hole in my pocket. We’ll explore the sadness surrounding my isolation on a Friday later but for now please just ignore that small pathetic reality. While many women like to buy themselves clothes or have strangers pick at their feet and finger nails when treating themselves, I prefer gluttony over vanity.

My mother discovered this relic of a restaurant my first week in town. Adelmo’s, an Italian restaurant located in row house that is the last remaining in the series. Progress has seem to taken hold of everything surrounding Adelmo’s, yet it still stands strong. I suppose my mother thought that a restaurant that humble looking couldn’t serve bad food and still exist.

Inside the walls are an 80’s-ish peach with random prints in brass frames adorning them. The first floor has no more than 10 tables and almost a 1/4 of the space is consumed by the bar. Not that there’s a bar to sit at. That’s just how much space it takes to store the booze selection. Sure there are about 12 inches of “bar” space at which the owner once graciously let my brother and I drink Camparis while we waited for a table, but let’s not pretend this qualifies as a bar

I’ve eaten there about half a dozen times and the food is consistently good with sporadic dishes that soar. When I think of the top 5 things I’ve eaten as a adult, 2 are from Adelmo’s. One is from this past Friday night while visiting solo.

On this particular occasion I was feeling a little glum. Dallas was frozen over, the reality of the Peace Corps was setting in, and the boy I had a crush on hadn’t called me. Clearly I needed a night out. But this ain’t Sex in the City. I don’t have a gaggle of available single girlfriends to suite every mood. Somethings a girl has just got to do for herself.

I talk myself into going out alone. Partly because I think of the rations I’ll be limited to once I leave America for 27 months of poverty. Going to dinner solo is not the easiest thing in the world. The owner and the wait staff kept staring at me. They either felt sorry for me, or thought I as a food critic.
Nonetheless, I got great service.

I started with the baby clams in white wine with leeks. (This is one of the two.) The clams were tender and sweet, coated in a blanket of goodness, while the leeks danced amongst everything. As with any steamed clams dish, it’s all about the broth. The broth was briny and acidic with a subtle creamy finish. The onion flavor of the leeks complimented the clams, and quickly I found myself slopping up the broth with large hunks of bread and even using the serving spoon to shovel the blessed liquid in my mouth. The waiter saw me take a breath and tried to take my bowl away; he almost lost a finger.

There is this scene in an episode of Anothony Bourdain’s No Reservations, when while eating with a food critic friend, Anthony is going on and on about a meal using words like ‘etherial’ and ‘sublime.’ Finally, Anthony gets tired of narrating the scene and asks his food critic friend, “Hey! Mr. Food Writer, what do you have to say about the dish?” His food critic friend looks up and simply replies, “YUM.” During my pillage of Adelmo’s clam dish, my brain was both characters in that scene. I was thinking about how succulent the little nuggets of clam were, while simultaneously not able to think of a better adjective than “Mmmmmm.”

Despite my solitude, the money spent was well worth it. I felt satisfied and with spirits lifted the world was no longer so scary. I went home finished my night alone, but was not lonely.

Fit as a fiddle!...That binge drinks every night.

2011-01-11T15:36:00.001-03:00

The Peace Corps has officially medically cleared me, which is awesome. One step closer to blowing this pop stand! However, when placing me they are taking into account my allergies to Texas Cedar. #Facepalm.

You know what's gonna be helpful to my Texas cedar allergy? Getting the fuck out of Texas. So it seems to me, the Peace Corps need only to make sure they don't place me in a remote village in North Texas, and I'll be fine. While the people of Texas would benefit from English education, that's just going to have to be the work of someone else.

The funny thing about following your dreams...

2011-01-05T00:44:00.000-03:00

Ok, in my last post I confessed to running away with the circus. I lied. (Get over it. It's going to happen a lot.) I'm not joining the circus; I'm trying to join the Peace Corps. Although sometimes, they don't feel much different. Both involve a lot of shit, and putting yourself in stupid situations like stuffing your face into a lion's mouth, and being in the circus.

There are a lot of steps to get into the Peace Corps and lets remember it's run by the same people that thought a legal drinking age was a good idea. In short, it's not the smoothest process. Well today, I'm declining an offer to a very good job in order to pursue an uncertain opportunity where I live in poverty for 2 years, in some forgotten corner of the universe. I never said I had an above 100 IQ.

Yet, here I am. I wanted to make a bad decision bigger than my weekly Yeager fueled antics, and this might just qualify. I already don't have the support of my family and mentors, which is a great indicator that it's the best choice I could possibly make.

What I look forward most to in my Peace Corps service is not helping people, or feeling fulfilled, but rather the great shit I'll have to complain about on this blog. This whole depressed bourgeois thing is getting really fucking old.

Getting Started

2011-01-01T15:07:00.000-03:00

It's a New Year, and in the obnoxious spirit that is the "New Years Resolution," I give you my goal for 2011. From now on, my life is my own. No following the right path, nor making the "smart" choice. I am eliminating the words should, supposed to, have to, obligated and appropriate from my life. To be fair, I got rid of appropriate a long time ago.

People who make all the right moves, have already made the wrong move. I think it's time for some bad choices in my life. OK, all this obscurity and overly reflective babble is making want to vomit even as I write this. To cut to the chase: I'm running away with the circus. Yup, you read that right. I'm avoiding life's problems old school style. Now featuring the Bearded Lady SASTRE DESASTRE! Sounds good, right? I know I don't have a beard, but I'll figure it out.

This is going to be an interesting year, and I hope to provide my take in my brand new fancy blog. To start, I would like to punch the three people that had my first choice for URLs. I know where you are! You put your location on your blog. BIG fucking mistake.

Well my debut to the blogosphere has been fun. And I already hate myself more for it.