A good meal, A good day.

*NOTE: I've received negative feedback in regards to this post. I would like to clarify that this is not meant to suggest that the food culture of the US is superior other than it is the food I grew up with. Food is a matter of taste and the food here isn't necessarily to mine. I don't shy away from the words that follow, but please know that I respect that Paraguayans love their food and may dislike mine. I have posted the negative feed back and my response in the comments section. I think it best illustrates the legitimate gripes with this posts, and maybe fills in some of the gaps I left out when writing the following.*

I often complain about Paraguayan food. It's not my favorite food culture in the world. To be honest, no matter the culture, unless Jamon Serrano is a staple in the diet, it's not my favorite.

Eaten at every meal.

A weird diet, heavily centered on meat and starch, I find Paraguayan food bland and greasy.  Chipa guazu and Sopa Paraguaya are the primary traditional breads. They're the same fucking thing! And who the hell calls bread "Paraguayan soup?" They have soup here. It contains giant hunks of meat that you must gnaw at, because cutting tough meat inside a bowl of soup is really fucking difficult. Also, the pasta is gummy, and how one can love mandioca as dearly as Paraguayans do is beside me.  And then there was the whole pig nose incident, among other offenses.

Chipa Guazu, I think

Sopa Paraguaya, Maybe

 Yet we return to that recurring theme in my Peace Corps Service. Just when I think I can't take it any more, Paraguay throws me a bone.

Bien Frio: My Terere Tutorial.

Spain has Jamon serrano; Ireland has Guinness; and since everything is bigger in Texas, I'll give the lone star state the whole category of Tex-mex. Everywhere in the world has that one thing. That food or drink not only typical but rather characterizes the place and the people living there. It holds a special place in our hearts, and it can sometimes be hard to imagine that elsewhere in the world wouldn't have the same.

There are few things more Paraguayan than that.

Paraguay is no exception.

National Geographic: My house

Happy Thursday!

The first thing you do in Peace Corps is what we call "staging." You and all the people with whom you'll be entering country meet up stateside to have the first introduction to what happens next, before taking that international flight.

During these two days we get some general safety and cultural guidelines, but it's also a time to share your concerns and fears. My fears included things like "This is going to be really freaking hard," "Two years is a long freaking time," and "Did you know Paraguay is a developing country?" My friends, however, had something else they all seemed to fear beyond reason.

Me thinking: Bugs, really? That's all you got?

Bugs.

Almost universally, my new friends shared their fears of creepy crawlies indigenous to Paraguay. Spiders, scorpions, and even jaguars we're brought up as potential threats. I disregarded their fears as almost childish.

Now I am ready to admit, they were right.

GARDEN! Ok, not yet but almost.

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.

A day in the City Part 3: Asuncion Street Art

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!

Asuncion: One place, Two worlds.

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?

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

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.

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

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

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.