The nicest little country no one goes to

What would you do if you stumbled into an unknown South American country? Let’s say this country is completely devoid of tourists but full of culture and beautiful scenery. I would want to stay forever. Well, that’s not quite true. Paraguay is just too damn hot.

I crossed the border from Argentina three days ago and immediately felt like I was entering a different world. I can’t count how many times I’ve been told, in just three days here, that “time does not pass in Paraguay.” And in a way, that’s true. While the rest of South America modernizes and integrates into the world economy, Paraguay continues to just let things be. This little nation (population around five million) has been ruled by the same political party for over fifty years. Corruption is part of life. The most important industry (unofficially) is the black market. Beautiful statues of Stroessner, the country’s dictator for 35 years, still stand, even though he’s been gone for 18 years.

Elections are scheduled for April. I’ve asked many people what will happen... the answer always is “nothing will change.” And if the opposition party wins? (That might happen: this election will be fairer than previous ones.) “Nothing will change.” Paraguayans seem to believe that their country will remain as it is now for the rest of eternity. They might be right.

But that would be okay with me. I love Paraguay. Admittedly, this is an odd country. There is nothing to do except look at nice old churches and try not to die of heat stroke, but I don’t mind. I just walk around and talk with the exceptionally friendly Paraguayans. I eat lots of empenadas. I drink lots of Coke.

After three days here, I have to admit that I agree with the Paraguayans: time does not pass here. Spanish is the official language, but life is conducted in Guaraní--the indigenous language that predates and outlasted the Spaniards. (But almost everyone speaks Spanish, so I do just fine. Curiously, even the European immigrants speak and prefer Guaraní--everywhere else I’ve been, white and mestizo South Americans refuse to speak indigenous languages. Guaraní is an important part of the Paraguayan identity.) People idle on porches, drinking terere, a cold tea. Towns are small and friendly. People know their neighbors invite them over for drinks in the afternoon. Mennonite settlers from Germany have colonized small patches of land to grown watermelon and other crops: it is surprising to see very white people (whiter than me!) selling fruit out of horse-drawn buggies. And they don’t speak Spanish, so one simply points. If it weren’t for the internet cafes and cars, Paraguay could slip back to 1920 and no one would notice.

I am an oddity here: a tourist in Paraguay? “Are you sure, rubio, that you aren’t a Mormon missionary? And you are not from your government?” After I answer those two questions correctly, people are beyond friendly... I am an honored guest. Hotel owners chop prices in half. Waiters sit down to have a beer with me. I am invited to a birthday party tonight: I haven’t met the birthday girl but her uncle insists that this won’t be a problem. 250 people are coming.

Above-mentioned uncle and I met yesterday on a bus: he cried out, “‘¡Extranjero! Ven aca.” (Foreigner! Come here.) Anywhere else in South America, I would be wary of anyone calling me “extranjero,” because it is usually followed by a rhetorical barrage of worlds like “imperialist.” But not in Paraguay. Silvio just wanted to talk. After the obligatory two questions (Mormon? Spy?), we had a wonderful conversation that ended with an invitation to stay the night at his house and to attend the birthday party. I said yes.

Another invitation came my way later that day: a nice old woman invited me to the Baptist church for Sunday evening services. I’ve learned to never turn down and invitation (unless it includes drug smuggling or gun running, and even then, I’ll consider it), so off to the cute little blue church we went. Fascinating experience. I did not feel very close to God, just trapped by a bunch of people waving their hands about and talking to Señor Jesus. But hey, it was an experience.

After escaping from God’s House, I headed to the town’s weekly folklore festival. There was lots of poetry and even more dancing. If I were a cynic, I would describe Paraguayan folk dance as nothing more than balancing a bottle of wine on one’s head while walking around on a stage. But I’m not a cynic, so I’ll say Paraguayan folk dance is an inspired swirl of skirts, the slap of horse whips on the ground, and the rythmic stomp of gauco boots. I know nothing about dancing, but it was pretty cool. And the carefully positioned bottles of wine added... something.

In the middle of this festival, the region’s most famous celebrity showed up. She is about 15 years old, and based on what I understood (most was in Guaraní), is the reigning South American champion in the 3000 meter run for her age group. That is pretty much the biggest thing to happen in Misiones Province since the Spaniards arrived 450 years ago.

As I was sitting there, in the second row, and I realized that I was the only tourist there. And now you say, “‘For good reason. That sounds way boring.” But it wasn’t! It was magical and totally blew my mind. There were little kids doing “A homage to our teacher,” and 300 people watching. Again, this happens every week. At first glance, there isn’t much to see in Paraguay, but if you’re looking, there’s plenty.