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?"
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?"
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