Hello sir, my American friends would find your apparent, abject poverty artistic. May I take your photo?

Every South America travel book I've read has a section on photography. The book here at my desk has one called "at the photographic shop." It lists vocabulary like:

Camera - Camara
Lens - Objetivo
Filter - Filtro
Diaphragm - Diafragma

I cannot tell you how often "diafragma" has saved my neck. And not just at the photographic shop. So, emboldened by my knowledge of Spanish photo lingo, I hit the streets.

My early photos were pretty benign. I got the house, my room, the street I live on, the park nearby etc. But I know what you blood-suckers came to see. Paraguay is a third world country and you want see some poverty. We Americans hunger for close-up photos of broken gold-teeth, six-year-old cigarette salesmen and their three-legged dogs. We cannot wait to make them the artistic desktop background of a $3000 computer.

So, I can go up to these people and rattle off friendly phrases from helpful guide books. "Hola amigo, como estas? Bien, bien. Si, soy Americano. Estaria bien si saque unas photos?"

But we both know the truth. We are not "amigos." My actual words are not condescending but he understands what I'm getting at. I'm saying "Hello sir, my American friends would find your apparent, abject poverty artistic. May I take your photo?"

Join me next Saturday for "I will fight you over 3800 guaranies."

I am betrayed by my own poop

When planning a trip to Paraguay, I knew that life here would be dramatically different from that in Seattle. More than an expectation about the country, that fact was my motivation for coming.

The biggest and most routine-altering changes (language, climate, currency etc.) I had been preparing for. And I have really enjoyed discovering some of the differences that I had not expected.

For instance, in Asuncion, you do not have to be homeless to drink right on the street. Also parking, it seems, is dictated not by any paint marks, roadsigns or laws (which are not followed whether or not the car is in motion) but rather by where there is shade enough to protect a car. Another one I enjoy is the way the bus system works. There is no posted route and no schedule. Everybody just knows which buses go where (and no one knows when). The part about it that's really fun is that there are no set stops; you just flag the bus down anywhere along its route and ask to be let off at some point.

What I did not comprehend though, was that even the things I brought with me would be altered by their relocation. The big changes again are obvious: my phone and computer now present themselves in Spanish, my hair is curlier etc. Many of these mutations though, were a surprise.

My clothes, for example, which are now hand-washed and air-dried, smell and feel different. My shaving cream is runnier. My deodorant has taken on an entirely new consistency. And amid all this subtle metamorphosis, I suppose my digestive system could not help but get on board.

So yes, I did come here for a change. And yes, I have truly enjoyed the dissimilarity between life in the U. S. and life here. Still, call me sentimental, but I thought, perhaps, that my bowel movements might hold out as constant, a sacred testament to notion that some things never change. And so, despite my reasons for coming here, I cannot help but feel a little betrayed by my own poop.

Join me next Saturday for "Hello sir, my American friends would find your apparent, abject poverty artistic. May I take your photo?"

I am surprised by the rapid deterioration of my health

When I wrote the title of this post, I meant it as a joke. I wish it still were.

The day I got to Asuncion I spent about five hours in good spirits. I swam in the pool, I ate a little dinner, I enjoyed struggling with Spanish and then I went to bed. Ten minutes after I'd gotten in bed I had to get up. I HAD to get up. During the following eight hours I visited the bathroom at least ten times. I went mostly to throw up, but sometimes to excrete some watery stool. Sometimes both. I spent the next two days sleeping and sweating off a fever.

But, I recovered. Now I spend my days exploring the city of Asuncion, getting stared at and burning my skin until my work with 'Habitat Para la Humanidad Paraguay' begins, which should be next week. It is a wonderful and relaxing existence, which is certainly worth the physical price I paid in those first two days. Still, I hope the times in my life are few when I am so surprised by the rapid deterioration of my health.

Join me next Saturday for "I am betrayed by my own poop."

As Surprised As You Are

At first, I said I was leaving in mid-September. Then late October. Then After Christmas. And finally, the last week of January. I’ve given people good reason to assume that I would never make it to Paraguay. But none of that matters right now, because I am high as a kite. Higher. I am flying above the Pacific Ocean and soon enough I’ll be baked. Baked by the hot climate of Asuncion, Paraguay, where I’ll get drunk. Drunk on beer. I actually made it. I am as surprised as you are.

Join me next time for "I am surprised by the rapid deterioration of my health."