The night is in diapers! Let´s play fireball!

The nightlife in Kansas pales in comparison to that of Asuncion. They are serious about the fun, and they never seem to need sleep. People generally stay out until 5am and then eat breakfast. There is a common expression for their late night tendancies, which translates to, "The night is in diapers." I am totally going to start saying that when I come home. At the first week or so I was tired from my trip and adjusting to the schedule here, so I didn´t really feel like ebracing the youthful incontinence of the night. But now it´s a different story...Here are some of my recent adventures:

Last night I went to a club called Cafe Bohemia to hear live jazz music and meet with some new friends. Last week we met two American musicians traveling through Paraguay. I know, I know... it seems strange that my activities in South America involve jazz and other Americans. It is shockingly easy to meet other Americans. So far I have randomly met three guys from Kansas, a guy from Boston, and a girl from Jersey. When people find out that you are an American they say, "I know an American! You should meet him!" Or "I met an American on the bus. Here´s his number. You should call him." That was one of my professors, and it turns out the American is actually from Pittsburgh, Kansas. It is nice to find familiar-ish people in this place, even if they are strangers at first. Anyways, the music was wonderful, and I got to meet some of Sofi´s friends. Sofi is my 23-year-old sister, and she is wonderful. She hangs out with me all the time and constantly makes an effort to talk to me. She naturally uses a lot of gestures and expressions, so she is easier for me to understand. She is considering coming to Kansas to study English, so you may even get to meet her.

On Sunday night I went to karaoke. That´s right. Karaoke. It´s really popular here, as are all forms of dancing. (I haven´t gone dancing yet, but I think we are going salsa dancing on Thursday.) Anyways, karaoke. We sang "Can you feel the love tonight" and the Spice Girl´s "Wanna be." Again, not what I expected in South America, but it is what they do. It was actually really fun, so I´ll be taking all of you to karaoke when I come back.

On Saturday night I went to a San Juan Festival at the church of Marlene´s family. I had read a bit about it, but it was still a very surreal experience. It started out just as I had expected it: traditional food, traditional dancing, a piñata, carnival style games for the kids...typical church function activities in the gymnasium area of the Catholic church. Marle´s family had graciously bought food for us to try, and we were all sitting eating when suddenly people began to shout and scatter. I turned around to see "El Toro en Fuego" heading right for us. This is pretty much exactly what it sounds like. A giant bull´s skull with balls of fire on both horns. Two men stand underneath it and run through the crowd, while the crowd runs away and stomps out the dozens of small fires left in its wake. It was honestly terrifying, especially since a couple of guys next to us kept pointing at us and shouting, "Gringas! Gringas!"

After the bull had left the building, things calmed down quickly. I happened to notice a small clump of young men with what looked like a giant ball of cotton socks. They put the ball on the ground and started to pour liquid on it. I pointed this out to Fran (Marlene´s brother), and he nonchalantly noted, "Oh, it must be time for fireball." Again, this is exactly what it sounds like: a ball of fire being kicked through a crowded auditorium. It was awesome, and something I can safely say would never happen at a church function in the states.

When the fireball fun came to an end, it was time for a giant dance party for all the young folks. Loud rap, latin, regatone, and dance music to rival any club in town. The night came to an end with the traditional burning of the effigy of Judas Iscariot. This is a scarecrow, filled with straw and fireworks, that they light up at the end of the evening. It is truly a vision to behold, although it kind of made me have an asthma attack. Even so, overall the evening was a biarre and wonderful cultural experience that I will attempt to replicate for you all when I return.

The Maka

Over the weekend I visited a Maka village with Jana and Katie. Jana had made contact with a missionary couple living near the village before our trip, so we were able to hear about their work and have a guided tour. Rosemary and Matthew are linguists, originally from Washington, but they have spent most of their lives living in Central and South America. They have already translated the entire Bible into two other indigenous languages. As you can imagine, they are quite old and quite lovely. We heard all sorts of inspiring stories about their unique life and work. My favorite moment was with Rosemary. She noticed that I had a nose ring and asked if we had any tattoos. We said no, but that we were interested in getting them if she had any good ideas. She considered it for a moment and proceeded to retrieve a recent copy of the paper. She tore out an article about tattooing for me and explained, "It says that tattoos are a form of self expression." It also recommends tattoo parlors, so it could be a pretty handy resource from the sweet old missionary lady.

After we were done eating lunch and discussing permanent forms of self-expression, we went to the village. The Maka are a small indigenous group in Paraguay, distinct from the Guarani in language and culture. We tried to learn a few words in their language, but it contains dozens of sounds that don´t exist in English or Spanish. The village was actually in the middle of an ordinary town outside of the city. Well, ordinary for Paraguay. We turned a corner and were suddenly in another world. Simple, windowless houses smaller than my bedroom. Narrow dirt paths leading from house to house. No bathrooms or kitchens. Lots of kids. Women in sarong-style dress. Men with long hair and gauged ears. Red skin and stout faces. The primary source of income for the Maka is selling crafts to tourists, so we were immediately shown necklaces, figurines, flutes, purses, and other wares. The Maka make a harsh "Shush!" sound when they want you to come over, and it was a strange feeling to have this sound coming from about a dozen people at once. A completely unique people and experience. So naturally the majority of the Maka are Southern Baptists. Seriously.

my fan club

As I have mentioned before, my Spanish classes are held in a private, bi-lingual K-12 school in Asuncion. Jon and I are the biggest of the big kids, and we are also Americans. This means that we are pretty much celebrities. The kids are awesome--they all know our names and always want to talk to us. This does great things for a person´s self esteem, but it can also be overwhelming at times.

Last week Jon and I noticed the first graders signing a song after lunch. Head, shoulders, knees, and toes in Spanish. The teacher then started a game with the kids with instructions like "finger to nose, hand to hip". Jon and I had just been learning parts of the body in Spanish, so we decided to join in. We played along quietly in the back for about a minute while the kids giggled and smiled. In this class there is a boy named Evan. He is an adorable, grinning, gangly little thing, and he is missing both of his front teeth. He would be the president of my fan club if such a thing existed--I need to make sure this kid does not meet Marle. So anyways, Evan was standing in the very front of the crowd and didn´t notice us at first. When he did turn around and see us, he slowly began to chant my name. His peers joined in quickly until the whole cafeteria was reverberating with "Co-ri! Co-ri!" I was simultaneously shocked, touched, amused, and mortified. I didn´t know what to do--being able to touch my own nose hardly warrants that sort of enthusiasm. So I hid behind Jon and could not stop laughing. I think I should record the chanting to take home with me, for those especially trying days when I could use some reassurance.

the infamous daughter of little red riding hood and the big bad wolf

At this point in my adventure I would be remiss if I did not tell you about Marlene. Katie lives with Marle in a flat in the city center, and Marle works at the language institute where Katie and Jana are volunteering. She has welcomed us all like family and includes us in all of her social activities. After two weeks we all want to bring her back to the states with us. She has an acute sense of the ridiculous and has the tendency to make hilarously inappropriate comments in awkward situations; naturally we felt an immediate kinship with her. She took us all to an asado with her family--the Paraguayan version of a cook-out. Her family is gracious and just as colorful as Marlene. Her brother is studying to be a lawyer and loves to read classic literature. Her father is a lawyer with a mischevious smily and terrible jokes. Her mother is an adorable four-and-a-half foot tall dance instructor. At the barbeque we learned that her parents first met during a childhood production of various fairy tales. So Marlene is quite literally the daughter of little red riding hood and the big bad wolf. I cannot say that I am surprised. With such a beginning there can be no doubt that she was destined for greatness.

When Marle was thirteen years old, she was quite the little Ricky Martin fan. (She still is, in fact, and we have watched him on DVD to get some dance moves). When Marlene found out that Ricky was coming to Asuncion to perform, she became obsessed with one overarching goal: to meet Ricky Martin in person. She figured the best way to to this was to start a Ricky Martin fan club, just a few days before the show. Her mom was the secretary and the only other member. But this fact did not stop Marle from going to the news station and introducing herself as the presidend of the Ricky Martin Fan Club of Paraguay. The station immediatly put her on live national television, and she was interviewed on the Paraguayan equivalent of Good Morning America. While on the air Marle gave out her home phone number for the Fan Club headquarters, and her house had received more the 700 calls by the time she got home. The secretary was very busy taking messages. A few days later the same news station chartered a bus for the fan club, decorated especially for the event. Marle got to greet Ricky as he got off the plane and introduce herself as the president of his fan club, the first official fan club ever in Paraguay.

my pet jayhawk

On our second day of Spanish classes, Jon and I had our first session with Ruth. Ruth is young and spunky--one of my favorites. The sort of person I would like to hang out with, maybe have a cerveza or two. But the thing is she speaks no English at all, which means we are forced to rely on our feeble Spanish skills. We were doing a get-to-know-you session of sorts, with basic questions. After all the basic information was outof the way, she asked us, "¿Tienen mascotas?" Jon and I responded in excited (and very broken...) Spanish that KU has a mascot that is an imaginary bird that is red and blue, and the name is derived from the Civil War era term for a free-stater. Also, that there is a Big Jay and a Baby Jay. She seemed confused, but we figured out that it was just our poor Spanish and the fact that we were attempting to communicate abstract concepts.

The next day Ruth informed us that she was no longer going to be our teacher. She felt that she was not capable of communicating with us and instructing us properly. Jon and I tried to talk her down, but she was pretty adamant. A few days later, I was riding the bus to school when I noticed a sign with the word "mascota". The sign was above a veterinarian office. The term has two meanings in Spanish, and in Paraguay it is used to refer to pets. So Jon and I had descibed our pet imaginary bird. Two birds actually, a big one and a baby. Red and blue. From the Civil War. No wonder she didn´t want to be our teacher.

Our error pales in comparison, however, to a slip up made by one of my fellow travelers (who shall remain unnamed...). A group of youngish guys from our church here plays soccer every week. (S)he was trying to ask some of them where the field is. Turns out that the word for field in Spanish is only one letter away from and ugly word for female anatomy. Not the sort of thing a person usualy asks about in church.

Quinto Sueño

The fifth dream. This is a phrase in Paraguay (and perhaps in other South American countries too...) that refers to the deep sleep that results from being completely exhausted. It is basically how I feel every night. On Thursday I went to a bar/venue called la viola to hear some music. The band was supposed to start at 10pm, so of course the opening band played around 12:30. By that time I was so tired that I fell asleep sitting in my chair, in the middle of a crowded smokey club with loud music the whole time (basically an angsty Paraguayan man screaming into a microphone). I think I need to get into this whole siesta thing as soon as possible.

In other news, I did have my first offical kidnapping attempt. Sort of.... A man tried to get me into his car while I was walking from my school to the bus stop. At three in the afternoon. I think I was most surprised by the fact that he was driving a Mercedes. Anywho, it was a bit frightening, but everything is fine. I talked to my friend Marlene about it, and she said that just happens sometimes when women are walking alone, probably a little more often if you are white. (Also, if you happen to talk to my parents, your parents, or anyone else who tends to worry a lot, please don´t tell them this story.)

The kiddos

Jon and I attend classes at the Grace Educational Center, a Christian k-12 bilingual school that emphasizes English. The intensive Spanish program is new, and Jon and I are the only students. So it´s like 7 hours of private tutoring 4 days a week. The staff has welcomed us like family and the kids treat us like celebrities. The first day most of them were scared to talk to us. It was kind of shocking the first time I heard 30 2nd graders yell "Hola Cori!" Now they want to talk to us all the time, usually in Spanish because their teachers tell them that we are here to learn. Most of them speak English incredibly well, though, and want to practice with us. On Thursday Jon and I got pulled into the 2nd grade English class. They asked us questions in English for about twenty minutes, and I was very impressed. My favorite question came from a noisy fellow in the front row. He prefaced his question with "I don´t know if it is okay to ask...but..." That´s when the teacher started to look worried. "Well, are you two....you know....just friends...or...more?" I laughed so hard I was crying in front of all the 7 year olds.

Asuncion

Asuncion is the largest city in the country of Paraguay, home to about a third of the nation´s residents. The best words to describe life in the city are fast and lean. At first, the activities of the city, everything from driving to commerce to socializing, seemed sporadic, confusing, haphazard. Many intersections have no street signs because people "just know." A concert at 10pm doesn´t really start until 1am. Buses barrel down crowded streets, so close to one another that you expect to see sparks at any moment. A world of near-misses and chaos. But now that I have grown more accustomed to this place, I can detect a syncopation of sorts. A bizarre, rapid, ridiculous choreography, and Paraguayans seem to keep in step without any effort at all. For me, however, the dance that is Asuncion requires all of my attention. Watch my step because the sidewalks are uneven and full of gaping holes. Check for cars because they drive fast and never stop for pedestrians. Keep my bag clutched close to my side at all times. Maintain a "hard" demeanor and appear confident even when lost or confused. Watch for an open seat on the bus because the ride is jarring and long.

But I do enjoy all of the activity, and there is a sense of accomplishment in each day. The places and people that I know are spread out over the entire city, and I am gradually learning how to make my way to all of them. The colectivo is the bus system here, but there are no signs for bus stops. You just find a group of people standing around waiting for their ride. When you see your number approaching, raise your arm out and point to the street in front of you. While entering the bus, have your money ready and be sure to grab the railing since the bus will likely start moving again as soon as your foot leaves the curb. When you are getting close to your stop, make your way towards the back door and pull the cord to ring the bell. I always seem to almost miss my stop, and I´m still getting used to it. One thing I haven´t gotten used to is the staring. I don´t think I look all that different, but I know I must. People comment regularly on how white I am, or on my reddish hair. The population is fairly homogenous with some Eurpoean and Asian populations. I haven´t seen a single black person yet in the city.

My family lives just outside of the city proper, in a municipality called Lambare. It is tranquil and green with cobblestone streets and dusty sidewalks. Katie lives in the city center with Marlene, a hilarious Paraguayan girl who works at the English school where Katie and Jana are working. Jana lives in the city about two miles from my house with Jorge and Marta, a sweet Argentinian couple that works at a 7th Day Adventist health center. Jon lives in a posh neighborhood with Santiago´s family. Each of us seems to have landed in the best place possible circumstances for our personality and knowledge of the Spanish language. I am glad to be where I am. My house is a welcome respite from the noise and motion of the city.

No hablo español...

...is a very important sentence, and also my reality at the present time. Certainly, the inability to communicate it is beyond frustrating. The simplest things are so difficult. I think I am even starting to speak English a bit strangely because my brain is used to putting all of my thoughts through a different language filter. One good thing about my limited Spanish ability is that I have started to understand personality and hospitality differently. Since I couldn´t understand what my familia was saying, I paid more attention to their actions, their demeanor, the tone of their voices.

Here is what I have learned about them in the first few days. Estefi (19) is my sister, and she speaks English very well since she spent a year of high school as an exchange student in the US. She is very warm and understands what it is like to be in a different country. She loves American music like Keane (okay, that one is British actually, but anyway...) and read "Blue like Jazz" recently. Small world, eh? Ana is the 13 year old sister, the youngest in the family. Enthusiastic and full of energy. She speaks some English and has been my guide to the neighborhood. I can already tell that I will miss her a lot when I leave. Enri is the youngest son. He drove me here from the airport, and I was pretty sure that I was going to die. I think he is 18-ish...not sure. Sarcastic and hilarious. I can´t wait until I can understand him better. Fabri is the oldest son, maybe 23. He is a bit more sensible than Enri, and extremely helpful. He likes heavy metal music and is studying computer engineering. Sofi is the oldest sister. She is spunky and has a great laugh. David (19) is a cousin that lives here as well. He is shy, sweet, and hard-working. Bettina and Enrique are the parents, and they are extremely caring.

So I live with a big family, which means constant activity and noise. It´s actually comforting and makes me feel less conspicusous. Of course that also means seven or eight people speaking Spanish to me all at once, and consequently me looking profoundly confused most of the time. I am continually impressed with the kindness and hospitality of this family--it is such a blessing here. They tell me that I am learning Spanish so quickly, although it doesn´t feel that way to me. I am able to understand their Spanish more and more each day, which is also encouraging. I will feel very accomplished if by the end of my stay I am able to understand all of the conversations that happen at the dinner table.