Death in the Afternoon: The making of a turkey dinner

Disclaimer: This post involves blood and guts and death. I think this is totally natural and even a little awesome, but I know others might not.  Read at your own risk. 

“About morals, I know only that what is moral is what you feel good after and what is immoral is what you feel bad after.”  - Ernest Hemingway, Death in the Afternoon 

 In America, every fall we come together for a mass genocide. Millions die while we enjoy the crisp autumn air, the changing of the leaves, and take in a football game. We celebrate this time of death, and even cherish it. It is a beloved tradition to be shared with family. We call it Thanksgiving.

HALF TIME: One year in Paraguay

Sometimes it's hard to consider what I do work. If I  made one friend here in Paraguay, and kept up with this blog, I would accomplish two thirds of the tasks I am asked to do as a Peace Corps Volunteer. But I'm kinda shitty at making friends so I end up doing work.

Paraguay's Donald Trump is some where in this pic.

For the past year I have dabbled in a variety of projects. From exercise to kindergarten, I've done my best to keep busy. Some projects succeeded; most failed. This is my life.

Teaching kids to glue pasta to a piece of paper is not a wasted project, but you gotta define "impact" and "developement" broader than Texas' interpretation of the second amendment to think that's why I came here. However, this past weekend the reasons as to why I picked up my life and moved to this tiny country in the heart of South America were abundantly clear.

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

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.

HERE COMES JOHNNY! My New Canine Bud.

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.

PCP CRIBS: My Paraguayan Home

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. ;-)

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?

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

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.

Phun with Photobooth

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!

Photo Palooza!

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.


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