Holiday's

On either sides of the world summers pass by way too fast.  The difference is that here that means the holiday season comes, goes, and next thing you know it's a week into February.  That being said there are many things that have happened since I last wrote, like new years, and Christmas.  

The holiday season actually snuck up on me.  I was walking to my Belgian friends house one hot December afternoon the first time I realized it was near Christmas.  I was walking on my way like I had time and again when suddenly I noticed something strange, a group of men were erecting a gigantic green metal cone with coca-cola decorations all over it.  At night it looked more like the Christmas tree it was supposed to be.

Our house did have a Christmas tree, but it was outside, and a foot tall.  It was the nice background piece to the nativity scene my mother placed out front.  It was a beautiful set carved from wood.  I had seen them being sold on the street before but never looked closely at them.  The craftsmanship really was good.  The paint was dulled from time giving the set an antique feel.  

Christmas day it's self wasn't actually that different.  We sat around and watched movies, ate sweets and other foods.  The difference was Christmas Eve.  The day was spent going back and forth from church to go to all of the Navidad masses.  Then at night we set up a table outside and relaxed as people on all sides of us shot off fireworks from their backyards.  The shows were better than some 4th of July celebrations.  

A week came and passed quickly and soon it was New Years.  Which was a surprisingly calm night.  We went to the fishing club and grilled on a patio overlooking the water as fireworks shot off across the river at 11 and on our side at 12, one of the few upsides of the time change between Brazil and Paraguay.

We had a conversation on Christmas that struck me odd.  My host brother Alan was still living in Arizona at the time.  He was video chatting with his dad and he commented that he felt that Christmas in the US was all about presents and not the family time like it is in Paraguay.  I didn't say anything at the time.  I didn't want to waste Alan's half hour of talk time on an argument with me, but later during dinner it came up again.  My host dad told the rest of the family what Alan said.  I told them that I didn't think that was true.  Obviously there are some families in the US that care more about the presents at Christmas time than anything else, but not everyone is like that.  My family here agreed that I was probably right and we went on our way, the whole situation made me think.  So much of the exchange going good or bad for the student is dependent on the family they get.  If you get a great family you'll have a great time.  If you don't, you probably won't.  I'm glad that I got lucky and got a good one.

It's a little late, but...

Happy Holidays,

Paz y amor

A November to Remember

I know that someone may be looking at my blog thinking “man, he really is lazy at blogging” which is kind of true, but the reason for my lack of blogging for the last month is actually a good one, as you will see once you read this post...well except for the last week, that was just laziness, but come on. I'm living in Paraguay. I got stuff to do.

Iguassu

I usually like to start my blogs by painting a picture for the reader. I try to give them a look through my eyes. Unfortunately I don't have the words to describe the otherworldly majesty of the Iguassu Falls. Eleanor Roosevelt's quote after seeing them was “Poor Niagara.” The conquistador that discovered them, Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca, used words that our tour guide didn't feel comfortable saying over the intercom to us. The natives that lived near the falls called them the Devil's throat, in Guarani of coarse, because only the Devil himself could make the sounds that came from the great walls of water. The Iguassu Falls are comprised of many falls with multiple tears. They create a picaresque scene that one might recognize from films such as “The Mission” with Robert DeNiro or “Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull.” The Falls are located within the Iguassu National Park in Argentina and Brazil. The rest of the park is greatly overshadowed by the falls, one of the 7 Natural Wonders of the World. but nonetheless it is incredibly beautiful and amazing in it's own respect. The park holds 550 sq km (212 sq mi) of subtropic rainforest, and is home to many plants and animals that aren't found anywhere else in the world.

I was able to visit this exceptional place with new friends from all around the world. The excursion was part of Rotary district 4845's Inbound weekend. All of the exchange students got together for the weekend at a resort in the city of Puerto Iguassu, Argentina. The first day was spent in meetings where we all bonded over boredom, and finished with a tour of the city and a trip into Brazil to visit the largest duty free shop in the world. The next day we got to go to the falls, unfortunately a huge rainstorm decided to go the same day. The park was still spectacular when we were cold and wet, plus it brought us all closer together...physically and emotionally. As it turned out we would have been wet on the ride home no matter what. We ended the day with a boat ride that put us as close to two of the falls that we possible could. We left the boat shivering and laughing as a group of 50 people from different countries, and different backgrounds, that hardly had a language we could all speak, but each and everyone of us were friends nonetheless.

Patagonia

For most of us the friendship formed in Iguassu continued to grow stronger and stronger the next week during our 3 week trip to the Patagonia territory of Argentina. This southern providence is the home to many incomparable sights, and for me, unforgettable memories.

Our trip began with the longest bus ride of my life (besides the ride home which was somehow longer) After 2 days in uncomfortable seats and cramped leg room, we awoke to a view that struck glee in each of our hearts. The clear outline of mountains on the horizon. In hindsight these were really just hills in comparison for what we were in store for, but what excited us was what they symbolized. We had made it to Patagonia.

We soon met up with the kids from the other Argentinian district that would be joining us on this adventure, and new friends began to form almost instantly. They were from all over, just like us, and we were all giddy to spend time together seeing beautiful sights, and getting to know one another.

We stopped in many cities on the way through Patagonia, but in my mind it is really split into two main sections; the trail to the end of the earth, and the journey back. The end of the earth referring to Ushuaia, the southern most city in the world. A fantastic port city legendary for being started as a Prison, and having many of it's buildings built by the prisoners. On the way down we saw many incredible animals, such as; Whales, Hump back and Orcas, in Puerto Madryn, Penguins in a park on the road to El Cafate, but the real wonder on the way down was a son of Mother Nature herself.

His name, Perito Moreno. Perito Moreno is a large glacier located in Glacier National Park (original name I know). It is one of three in the park that is actually growing. It is 250 sq km (91 sq mi) in total and stands a spectacular 74 m (240 ft) out of the water. It is well known for creating ice dams, where it splits the Argentina lake into two parts, that form into tunnels and eventually collapse in indescribable eruptions of sound and ice. We were not present during one of these collapses, or even to see on of the dams. We still got the amazing opportunity to walk on top of this massive glacier. Wearing spikes on our shoes, hats on our heads, and adventure in our hearts, we ventured for about an hour on this mass of ice, seeing countless new things. Although I know that what we saw was only the tip of the iceberg! Man I'm punny.

After the glacier we had a day to relax before we continued on towards Ushuaia. We passed over the Straight of Magellan. That boat ride was Chile! Sooooo punny. We had better luck than Magellan and all made it back home. During this crossing, for those of us that dared to stand out in the unforgiving winds, we had the chance to see Commerson Dolphins.

We finally made it to Ushuaia where we stayed for 3 days. We visited another national park. Went to a museum in the old prison. Went on a boat tour through the waters south of South America, during which we saw, among other things, the light house of Ushuaia (which isn't actually the Southern most light house in the world). We also had lots of time to walk around the city, shop, and see spectacular views of the mountains. The short hours of night gave us the chance to see the sun rise over the city. A view that no picture could do justice to.

We turned our journey around and headed north, back through the Straight of Magellan. Up to another national park. This one seemed oddly familiar to any of us that were children of Disney, because it was Walt's inspiration for the scenery of the classic Bambi. We then headed to Bariloche for some amazing views of the sea and some fantastic chocolate. Suddenly we all realized our time together was drawing to an end, giving the last city of the trip San Martin de los Andes, an strange bitter sweet feeling. Bitter because we knew in a few short days we may never see each other again. Sweet because we knew we didn't have much time together, so sleeping became an after thought (not that we had done it THAT much before hand) giving us even more time to hang out, and do Shenanigans.

Finally a somber tone overtook the group as we parted our separate ways. Starting with three, then the entire other district got off together at one stop. The rest of us ventured on in our bus, enjoying movies together such as Happy Feet and Back to the Future. We also enjoyed the extra space we had. The space that slowly grew and grew as people got off the bus at stops and didn't get back on. They were home. The four of us from Paraguay were the last ones on the bus. We settled down and reminisced about the trip we had just had. We talked about good memories, friends we had, and mostly made plans of things we wanted to do since classes were over and we had three months of vacation in front of us.

I always figured in school that the exchange students became friends together because it was easier to talk to someone who was tying to learn the language just like you. I realize now that, although that is true, it's not the reason exchange students buddy up so easily. We are really all similar. No matter what we act like, or where we're from we all have something inside of us that made us want to leave everything we knew and loved and venture into the last truly unknown in our modern society, an unknown culture. We all have a bit of an adventurer in us that makes us all similar. We are also all going through the same thing, to some degree. Every exchange students experience is different and unique, but we also share many of the same challenges; making new friends, dealing with the frustration of not being able to say exactly what we want to, homesickness, just to name a few. Facing these difficulties make us all akin, and makes it easier for us to get along. We understand each other, we relate to each other, and without having to say anything, we connect with each other.

-Peace and Love

the view from Puerto Madryn

That's one big glacier

one REAL big glacier

having fun in Bariloche

A market of culture

The sound of chickens clucking could be heard ringing loudlyas mi madre and I approached.  The normally empty, clay red brick building in front of us was overflowing with people.  The parking lot was void of cars.  Instead the lot was occupied by poultry vendors showing their selection of live and dead birds to people passing by.  The few that had eggs to sell too were the ones that people crowded around.  The market expanded out into the street as well where men and women with fruit carts sell their pickings from earlier that day.

We waded our way through the sea of people outside and managed to push our way into the ocean inside.  On either side of the main room (which on any other day is a sheltered 2 lane road)  people were selling anything from jewelry to vegetables.  We walked past an old women selling popcorn, what looked like cotton candy and meat on a stick right before we entered what mi madre appropriately called the vegetable room. Row after row of tables covered with vegetables lined the walls of the room.  A boy wearing no shoes, a dirt stained shirt with some holes, and cut jean shorts came up to us offering bags of garlic for 5 mil guarani (about $1.50 USD) mi madre declined and we walked on.

We mosied from table to table looking at different things and sharing their name in English and Spanish.  Eventually we settled on a table and started picking out vegetables.  After purchasing we were approached by another boy selling garlic.  He offers smaller bags for 2 mil, so mi madre returned to the women we just purchased from to exchange a bigger bill for smaller ones.  The old dirt and son stained women smiles a grin with two teeth missing as she gave us the change.

We tried to navigate our way out as quickly as possible, but are still stopped by 2 more boys selling garlic and some other people selling seeds of some kinds.  We made it out into the main room and back out to the street.  The room on the other side had more bracelets and rugs my mother told me, but they weren't worth the prices.  As we drove away from the market I learn that this isn't a normal event.  The Indians (the native people) only have it twice a month, and they always have the freshest vegetables.

On our drive to our home we go a way I hadn't been before, near the homes of where many of the vendors from the market lived.  It was a tent town.  There were small naked children running around as elderly people lay motionless in their tents made of garbage bags and sticks.  It's a sad sight, a rare view, for me, into the truly poor of the country that I had been living in for 2 months.  Many of the kids running around the area didn't have any shoes.  I had seen the poor people begging near my school before, and I had seen them performing juggling acts or other types of shows at stop lights for whatever change people would give them.  I had never seen the places they actually lived though, never seen really what conditions those people called home.

Seeing something like that puts life into a new perspective for you.  It really opens your eyes to what's important and what isn't.  In high school I participated in charities to help the poor because I was raised to believe that it was the right thing to do.  I never really understood who the people were that I was trying to help.  I always felt good about the work I did, and thought that was reason enough to do it.  Now I have seen people that are truly hungry, people that don't have any possessions to call their own besides the clothes on their back, and even some that hardly have any of that.  The tent town may have only been a few blocks long, but it was something that won't, and shouldn't, be forgotten.

-Peace and Love
Sam

San Pedro: a Town Stranded in Time

Imagine a town pulled between the present and the past.  Where the two main types of transportation are motorcycles and horse drawn pulleys.  Where bright colored houses pop out of the orange rock that makes up the ground and their roofs.  Where the residents with sheet metal roofs are the envy of their neighbors.  Where the rain reveals the roads to be nothing more than clay hardened by the sun.  Where people make their baked goods in stone kilns with hot embers while the radio plays behind them.  Where children learn Guarani, the language of the natives, before they learn Spanish.  Where they fill bottles from the well in the middle of their outdoor living room, then put them in their fridge to make them cold.  Where the town center is decorated by all four flags that Paraguay has had, not because they think it's good decoration, but because they never took down the old flags when the new ones were issued.  Where the afternoon siesta is not an option, but a requirement.  Where the walls are decorated with crocodile hides, snake skins, and puppy calendars.  Where one neighbor will give the other gallons of milk from their cows in exchange for fresh eggs from their chicken.  Where the women cook and clean everything except the meat, that's the mans work.  Where all of the inhabitants seem to either be above the age of 50 or below the age of 10.  This isn't the description of some strange movie setting.  No, this is the town of San Pedro.

San Pedro is located right next to the Paraguay River that splits the country into it's two different geographical areas.  It is one of the last towns before the deserted Chaco region.  The town is older than the country its self.  It has a strange aura of being old, but not run down.  As if all the people continued to fix builings as they decayed or broke, but didn't upgraded them.  Some modern conveniences do exist; running water, fridge and freezers, some houses even had computers with internet.  However these conveniences still share usage with their precursors such as wells, and cellars.  All of this give San Pedro a unique feel that couldn't be duplicated anywhere else.  A homely feel, where everyone is welcomed by the friendly inhabitants who can spot a stranger from a mile away because they know everyone that lives in the town with them.

I wish we could have visited this tranquil town on happier terms.  We went there to visit my host moms family after her mother passed away.  She was hit by a car when leaving a hospital in Ciudad del Este, the city I live in.  San Pedro was her home town so her body was taken there to be buried.  We returned a week later to take part in a traditional Paraguayan tradition after death.  After the death they take 10 days of morning, each of which has a special service in the sanctuary dedicated to the deceased.  On the tenth day all of the relatives, and friends gather together, say the rosary, and have a large feast together.  It is supposed to be the end of the morning and the beginning of celebrating that the loved one has made their journey into heaven.

After waking up at 4:30 in the morning and traveling for 5 hours we finally made in to San Pedro.  Upon arriving in the town I could tell it was going to be even more different than my family had told me about.  When are welcomed by a giant key, signifying the key to the kingdom of heaven that Saint Peter holds.  We could view the large church that is accompanied by what looks like a wood scaffolding, but in actuality is the bell tower put up by the Spanish in the late 1700's.  We went to a house where a group of women, my mom's aunts, were making Chipa, a traditional Paraguayan breakfast food.  They hand roll the dough as they waited for the fire in their stone kiln to die down to only embers.  We delivered some milk to a neighbor and then walk down the street to the house we will be sleeping at. We spent the next two days just hanging out and relaxing.  We would go to the sanctuary at night.  We went to the river to swim once.  It rained all day the second day, turning all of the ground into a clay substance that got on everything.  We didn't do anything other than relax and get to know my mom's side of the family more, taking in their slowed down lifestyle.
  

On the tenth day I got to take part in my first real Paraguayan feast.  Since I was now a member of the family of the person the feast was in honor of I was to help prepare the house and food for the guests arrival.  Being a man that really only meant that I helped with the meat and then stood around drinking mate with the other men.  After the meat had cooked for two hours it was time to begin eating.  The two large white tables we had set up were not even enough for all of the family friends, and the priest that had come to pay their respects.  We ate in two shifts, the very young and the elderly first.  The young adults and I second.  The feast was a meal that would rival anything my grandmother could make in both quantity and quality, which is a feat I had previously thought of as impossible, but as I started to fill the food continued to come, and come, and come.  After I was beyond full people kept bringing out more.  "I'm full,"  appeared to be a phrase they were unfamiliar with.  During the meal the group became more lively and energetic than I had seen them in all the time I had been there.  The time of morning had ended, the time of acceptance, and celebration of the death of a loved one had finally begun.

Paz y Amor
-Sam

Chipa before it's cooked

Chipa after (it's AWESOME warm)

This is someones next to their table where we ate

river photo

another river photo

a view down the street

inside the sanctuary

outside the sanctuary

the town center

more of the town center

The four flags of Paraguay

Bell tower

cooking some meat

a nice old man drinking mate

still cooking

the kids eating

me cutting some meat

the adults eating

I think this is overdue...

It's hard to believe that it's already been two weeks since I came to this amazing country.  On the other hand it's hard to believe that only two weeks ago I was still in the United States.  Time is funny here.  The days seem long, because of all the things I learn and do in them, but the weeks seem short because there is never a dull moment for time to drag.  I have started to lose the immediate excitement of everyday tasks.  It has been replaced with a comfortable familiarity, as if this is a life that I used to know but had forgotten about until I arrived here.   I couldn't have gotten a more perfect family for myself if I had tried.  They have welcomed me since the moment I arrived and treated me as the lost member of their family since then.

I have realized that there are many things for me to see still in the city.  I have been to neither the central shopping area; filled with clothing, jewelry, and other accessories, or the black market shopping area that the city is famous for.  As far as I know they could very well be the same place.  I can still remember when my dad drove me around a different part of the city for the first time as we went to pick up the parts needed to fix the shower that broke.

I had been showering one night, like I usually do.  My hair was full of shampoo and the lukewarm water was splashing down on me.  As I ran my hands through my hair to wash out the product I suddenly felt a strange sort of tingling in my arm.  It didn't last long, but it was followed by a loud bang and a sudden rush of cold water on me.  I learned that the tingling had been me getting electrocuted followed by the shower head falling off, which had been responsible for the loud bang.

The next day my dad took me into the city to buy the parts needed to fix the shower.  The streets were full with a liveliness that I hadn't experienced on my trips to and from school.  The drivers seemed even crazier than normal on that day, which is pretty hard to believe.  All along the sides of the road street vendors were hanging up their selections of soccer jerseys for the game that was to take place that night.  the red and white stripes of Club Cerro Poreño blanketed the city, over powering the normally bright colors of the buildings and leaving a surreal uniformity to everything.  "The soccer match is one of the biggest all year."  My dad explained to me.  "Two of the most popular, and best, teams in Paraguay will be playing each other."  That is when I noticed the black and white jerseys of Club Olympia sprinkled throughout the hanging shirts.  There seemed to be an abundance of people walking both next to and in the streets.  Women with babies tied to them walked from car to car asking for spare change.  A man with a large coke bottle of water was offering to wash car windows for money.  Groups of fit people with Rastafarian hair styles and dull, but colorful, clothes juggled in the middle of the road.  This was the first time I noticed the large number of poor people in the city.

I had read before I came to Paraguay that the native people had assimilated into the culture better than in other countries.  Which is a fact I found to be somewhat true.  Not all of the native people were poor, but a majority of the poor people were of native.  The natives are easy to spot because of their darker skin complexion, and their lighter, sandy brown hair.  This is noticeably different from people of European descent that look like Spaniards.  However, most of the people are the product of years and years of the mixing of culture and are a look all of their own.

My dad parked the car in the middle of the street and ran into the small hardware store.  I waited in the car and took in this new part of the city.  The smells of blooming flowers intoxicated the street.  Motorcycles raced passed my door as they recklessly weaved in and out of cars, like someone in an action movie would.  I could see into the store directly to my right.  A man was inside making leather shoes that were on display in front of his small shop.  I wished I had brought my wallet so I could have purchased a pair, but no sooner had I finished my thought than my dad was back in the car.  We pulled a daring U-turn that I would come to expect from any Paraguayan driver who decided they didn't like the direction they were heading, and we headed back home.

I still feel as if I am observing the new culture more than taking it in, but I can tell that will change with time.  The way I eat has already become a strange mix of my two cultures.  I have grown a new fondness for bread, which has it's place at every meal.  I look forward to the new, and always delicious meals that my mom, or grandmother, place in front of me.  Since arriving here I have learned what fruit really is.  It is leaps and bounds sweeter and richer than anything I have had before.  That's what happens when it can be picked and brought to market in the same day.  Vegetarians be ware, Paraguay is not the country for you.  Meat is a staple everywhere I go, and for good reason too.  It is slow cooked to perfection.  They understand here the effect that time and care can have on a meal and they have no problem with putting them into everything we eat.

I know there is more I could write about, more I could describe to you, but if I spend my whole day writing who knows what new thing I'll miss out on.  That's the most exciting part for me here.  Although there isn't a new excitement in everything I do there are still new things everyday.  I never know what they will be when I wake up, but that's what keeps it an adventure.

- Paz y amor mis amigos,
Samuel

Here are Some Pictures

Here are some pictures...

home sweet home

One on my TWO welcome signs!!

My room (: notice the other welcome sign :)

Kitchen, kitchen, the kitchen's where we eat our food

La Sala (the living room)

Our Backyard.  Summer might be tough

The music room

Me, just drumming. That's my favorite guitar in the house too!

My Closet  with the doors open

My sister Ale in my closet, she's a goof.

some of my new friends at school 

My classmates playing soccer.  They're REALLY good

Me in my class. We're working hard

Paz y amor!

A promising beginning

Out the window to my left I can see the grand river that runs between Paraguay and Brasil. Over time the river has created a vast canyon.  In time, man made a bridge to cross it and connect the neighboring cities.  All of that beauty is out the window on my left, but my attention is drawn to my right and the young, happy, face of my 8 year old exchange sister smiling at me.  I smile back and we share a bilingual laugh.  My exchange father drives us through the city and my exchange mother points out buildings of interest.  They're a nice family, they're a friendly family, they're my family, and i feel comfortable with them.

They take me to their, now our, house. It is a good size.  It's not big, but it fits the whole family with room to move.  Milici's brother is outside with the three dogs finishing the meat when we arrive.  His three daughters introduce themselves, and take my luggage to Alan's room.  Alan is their son who is doing the same program as me, just opposite.  He is in Arizona.    His walls are bare except three Beatles posters and a Bob Marley one.  I feel at home in there.  The room has a high vaulted ceiling and tile floor, just like the rest of the house.  The girls then take me to meet their mother and two Grandmothers.  After the introductions we sit down to eat a large lunch of assorted meats, salad, and potatoes.  The language hasn't been getting any easier for me, which I can tell makes things more difficult for them.  It's still the first day, Milci, my exchange dad, reminds me.  He's right, but that still doesn't make it any less of an inconvenience.

I still have lots of unanswered questions, but I don't really care anymore.  I'm here, things will work out as they will, whether I know how that is or not isn't going to change how it is.  I also don't care because I have a beautiful city in my backyard to distract me.

Describing the city in one word is easy...colorful.  It's colorful in look, smells, sounds, and people.  Fences, walls, roofs, doors,and  sidewalks are all bright colors that radiate in the Capricornian sun.  The age of the city can be told by the large trees that cover the fronts of buildings and shade intersections.  Many of the trees are flowering, adding to the brilliant array of colors all around.  The city smells like the river clashing with the smells that come with a cement jungle, and topped off with the fresh smell of live vegetation and pollen.  All of these smells are mixed and stirred by the cool wind and then settles in the open parks and fields of the city.  Cars and motorcycles can be heard driving around on the main streets creating a steady background for the sounds of squawking birds, barking dogs, laughing kids, and salsa music that fill the neighborhoods. Our house is filled with the sounds of Milici and I playing guitar and singing classic rock songs as Ale, my sister, keeps beat with the bongos. Even without all of these new excitements La Ciudad del Este would still be colorful, because of the people.   Kids play soccer, football, in the park. People kiss on either cheek when they say hello or goodbye.  A man carrying an opened 12 pack in one hand and the missing piece in his other walks down the street.  Two homeless men follow him and pick up his cans as he litters them behind him.  The neighbors to one of our sides has a junk heap for a yard.  The people on his other side are responsible for the salsa music, and they have dances to accompany it.

Where ever people are, there seems to be a liveliness to the air that won't go away.  No matter what their living conditions are people seem genuinely happy.  Happy to be together. Happy to be doing what they're doing.  Happy to be alive.  It's a trait I love in people, and it's a trait my new father excels in.

-Paz y Amor,
Samuel

P.S. My exchange dad has All Star as a ringtone.  Luckily everyone knew all the words so I didn't look completely ridiculous when I started screaming them out loud.  Old habits die hard right?