Poor old Paraguay. Not only has it had one of the most torrid histories of all the countries in Latin America, forever pushed and pulled around by bigger, richer and more popular neighbours to all sides, it seems to have garnered a reputation as the most boring country in South America, with latinos and gringos alike declaring that there's no point in going to Paraguay because there's nothing there. For that reason, being the contrarian that I am, I decided I simply had to check it out.
The decision was partially motivated by the fact that I had heard that there was the practically uninhabitable wasteland called the chaco in the west of the country (97% of the population live in the eastern half of the country) was home to a couple of strange German settlements, like finding a little suburb of Munich in the African savannah. Bring it on, I thought.
With a lack of tourists comes a lack of infrastructure, however. I found myself as one of very few people on a bus from that horrible border town to Concepción, and my plan was to arrive there and then jump on a bus into the badlands of the chaco. A slightly torturous journey later and I arrived in Concepción's bus station, which despite being the third most important city in the country was a small concrete structure with a few parking bays and horses grazing outside. No buses to chaco until the morning, so off into the town I went.
To be quite honest, Concepción isn't much to write home about. Aside from a huge statue of the 'María auxiliadora' of communist proportions on the bypass, your camera won't leave your pocket, and the main attraction is the laid back lifestyle and the very friendly locals, presumably astounded to see a European in their town.
The bus to the chaco was at 7am, so the next morning I stumbled through the same torrential thunderstorm that had been raging since 8pm the previous evening to find myself in a barely-serviceable minibus on my own staring at the horses through that thick film of rainwater on the windows. 40 minutes after scheduled departure and I asked why we weren't moving. 'The driver refuses to leave until the rain stops', was the response. Oh. I felt my sense of adventure slowly drain out of me with that statement. As the rain continued to clatter down, the prospect of that 7 hour journey in the wrong direction (I was actually heading east) lost a lot of its shine, and I bolted out of there and jumped on the first bus to Asunción, the capital.
Upon arriving there I noticed the people's fixation with terere, a herb tea drank cold out of a large container. It's not unusual to see ladies stagger onto the bus with a tiny handbag but this huge barrel of tea throwing them off balance. Our bus driver even seemed to have an assistant solely employed to keep him fuelled up with tea. I later learned that Uruguay and Argentina have a similar obsession with their maté, which is the same thing but drank hot. And I thought us Brits had a habit...
Asunción was overrun by backpackers in comparison to the rest of the country, containing as it did one actual (half full) hostel! On that first evening I took part in a free tango (or 'stylish walking', as the instructors referred to it) class and headed out for some tasty empanadas with some strange Germans before admitting defeat and heading to bed.
The next day I set out with one such German, whose prime objective was to visit the slums that sat at the bottom of the fine old steps from the elevated palaces of the colonial town. In South America you're never far from some sort of poverty, and the tangle of cables, makeshift tarpaulin roofs and dirty streams running through the paths of this slum was a good example. There is a fine line, though, between caring for these people's plight and wanting to know more, and getting too close. A few steps down and we'd already done just that, and were told in no uncertain terms to beat it. Personally, I was relieved.
I enjoyed walking around Asunción and taking in the facing colonial architecture, watching street vendors selling chipa (essentially cheese bread) and trying to piece together its history. Asunción was an important city for the Spanish as they saw it as a strategic city on the way to the city of gold in Peru. However, as I discovered, the chaco is a bit tricky to cross, and upon realising that they abandoned it, hence the feeling of faded glory that hangs heavy in the city air.
Recent history has been even less kind to Paraguay. After being the first south american country to gain independence, they've been through one military dictatorship after the other, fighting unwinnable wars with Brazil and Argentina where half the population were wiped out, and suffered 35 years of oppression under General Stroessner. After the end of this, a house where political opponents were tortured was discovered in central Asunción, now known as the Museo de las Memorias. Well worth a visit.
So maybe people should lay off Paraguay a bit, eh? It's got plenty going for it, such as 300 days of sun a year and the incredible Monte Cristo sandwich I acquired at 1am in the famous Asunción diner 'Bolsi' on my last night there. Five slices of ham, three slices of cheese, sandwiched in bread and waffles, deep fried, covered in icing sugar and served with jam. If that's not a reason to go to Paraguay, I don't know what is.
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