Soooo.....
After the marathon day of traffic + marooned in Brazil + tour of the dam + a long walk (and some explaining at immigration) + an evening of asado (grilling) downstairs at Modesta’s house…we were pretty well ready to have a lazy Sunday and get our feet back under us. At 10am the next day we were just finishing making pancakes and lounging around for a leisurely morning of coffee on the back porch, when my cell goes off. It turns out that Lucia (my good friend here in Ciudad del Este) had committed us to going to another asado/housewarming/shindig with our mutual friends Luz and Juan (who own the bookstore downstairs from me and had known Lucia from back in the days when she used to work with Luz next door at the pharmacy). Grilling? At ten in the morning on a Sunday? I know that Paraguayans are fond of their barbeques, but this seemed excessively so. I hurried to find Lucia (who was still showering and waking up) and told Luz I’d give her a call when we had firmed up plans for the day. Hurry, she said, we’re already putting the coals on. Tim at this point was on the fence about going, after suffering through a pretty overwhelming day to top off a pretty overwhelming week; if it’s just a housewarming, I told him, why don’t you stay home and nap while I make an obligatory appearance? But by the time we had showered, had guzzled the rest of the coffee, and were semi-conscious (and the abandoned pancakes stored in the fridge for later consumption), it became clear that the party was in honor of Tim’s arrival in Paraguay, and it would be rather poor form for him (as the guest of honor) to stay home. I think we both dreaded a large crowd, overwhelming conversations in Spanish, and finding ourselves stranded at their house without transportation (the fusca still being parked in Brazil).
[Tim: I was frickin exhausted. Traveling and exploring a foreign country, without knowing the language, takes a lot out of personal mentally and physically. It’s hard to explain but it’s a huge adrenaline rush until you get used to it and I needed a slow morning. After the Fusca breaking down, watching the mechanic brake working parts while neglecting the one that needed attention, and sneaking back across the Brazil/Paraguay border I was running on fumes. I wanted a morning to slowly sip on a cup of coffee, eat some pancakes, and come back to life. When I found out that I had to dart off before all of that I was a little broken mentally, especially when I found out that the BBQ/Asado was in my honor. Since I was the guest of honor, I told myself I had to pull myself together for the day and enjoy wherever it took me]
So when Juan came to pick us up in his beat-up van with all the back seats removed, and we all piled into the front seat (with me squeezing onto Tim’s lap), the day looked off to a rocky start. My heart sank when Juan started teasing Tim (Juan: Spanish? Tim: huh? What did he say?) and I dreaded an awkward day of struggling to translate between parties that did not see eye to eye. But I should have known better—Tim is far superior at interpreting male culture than me (and that’s why I work with
“committees for women entrepreneurs” after all!), and after the conversation turned to beer (Juan: do you like it? Tim: delicious!) and sports (Juan: are you an Olimpia soccer fan? Tim: they sound like the White Sox, so sure!), it appeared as though they were becoming fast friends. [Tim’s note: From a guys perspective, it was clear from the moment Juan saw me that he was sizing me up. I was just out to have fun and get to know what life was like for a Parguayan in Cuidad del Este on the weekend, but somehow Juan and Luz made me feel very welcome. I was really tired and did my best to be myself…except with Carly doing all the translating back and forth. The day was just like visiting a friend that I haven’t seen since high school/college: sports, beer, wedding photo’s, BBQing, and grandma kicking around giving us all a hard time. I was sadly disappointed he didn’t pull out a baseball mitt or soccer ball for amusement while we were cooking ] This of course inspired Juan to expound on the deep cultural meaning of beer and soccer in order to enlighten the foreigners (viz., beer is euphemized as “milk” here because when it is illicitly sold at soccer games, the vendors yell out “Milk! Milk! Milk!...and when you come home drunk from the stadium you can tell your mom that you drank a lot of wholesome milk at the game...and Olimpia is hands down THE BEST SOCCER TEAM IN THE WORLD!!!!). Soon Juan was parading out all of his sports paraphernalia dedicated to his cherished Olimpia and Tim was encouraging him to paint the Olimpia crest on his soon-to-be-completed roof to announce his loyalty (especially if the rival team, Cerro Porteño, were to fly overhead). By the time they were passing around tereré and discussing building techniques for the house, Tim and Juan were inseparable friends.
Juan and Luz had just moved out of an apartment they had rented for years, and were so proud to build their own house. Luz’s mother bought the plot of land at the front of the lot and Juan and Luz were building on the back half. Grandma had a bit of cash tucked away, so her house was nearly completed (she happily gave us the grand tour, pointing out that the place was a wreak because the handyman had just been in that morning to put together her wardrobe!). Juan and Luz had built a temporary wood house along the side of the lot as they saved to buy expensive building supplies and pay for labor to start work on their house. But now that they had the wall up around the compound and the wood house built, they felt they should save money on rent and move out to their own property. They told me that when we come back in five years, we wouldn’t even recognize it; Luz gave us a detailed description of the floor plan while Juan explained the intricacies of pouring cement support columns and laying a foundation. [Tim: Seemed like a discussion my uncles used to have in the days before building permits were required] They seemed so happy. So much so, that Luz suddenly jabbed me in the ribs and asked if we would like to see their wedding pictures, “Of course you do!,” answering her own question and diving into the controlled chaos of their improvised living room in search of the photo album. Inside, the back seats of the van had been repurposed as sofas, piles of books and clothes, they certainly needed a bigger space to accommodate all of their stuff!
It was nearly 2:00pm by the time we were making our way through photos of the nuptial ceremony and reception (Paraguayans know how to party!), and Juan thankfully saved us by pointing out that the meat needed tending to, and wouldn’t Tim like to see a real Paraguayan grill in action? My stomach rumbled: the pancakes had been summarily abandoned and we were still working on an empty stomach of coffee and tereré at that point. Mmmm…meat! As he opened up the parilla (oil drum split lengthwise and welded to legs, with two chimneys welded to the top half and a grill down the middle), we stood in awe of the carnivore’s cornucopia slowly roasting over low embers in front of us. And then test of manliness number two for Tim: the boy likes beer and soccer, but does he know how to grill? Juan thrusts the Olimpia “grilling hat” onto Tim’s head and the fork/cleaver into his hands, and looks on, ready to intervene if the meat appears to be imperiled. But nods in approval as Tim deftly turn the enormous slabs of ribs and pokes gingerly at the chorizo sausages. Excellent. They both hunch over the grill as Juan explains the intricacies of slow-roasting techniques (the grill should be 60cm above the coals, use only minimal coals for very low heat, &c). Test passed with flying colors, and the Tim/Juan bond cemented for good!
Over the course of eating a stunning quantity of meat and mandioca (yucca), and consuming the first three liters of Brahma beer—the Paraguayan platonic ideal Sunday—conversation wandered amicably between life in the USA, Grandma’s rockin’ days as a motoqueira (motogirl!...complete with photos), and more talk of sports. And just as the meal seemed to be winding down, Juan turned suddenly to us and asked with complete sincerity whether we wanted to play Uno. Checking quickly to make sure that I hadn’t misinterpreted the request, and he really had invited us to play a couple of hands of cards, I turned to Tim, ready to politely extricate us if needed. But Tim seemed enthusiastic (Uno only requires minimal vocabulary, viz., counting one through ten, and primary colors, and speaks the universal language of good-humored rivalry), so, with reservations, I agreed to sit through one or two hands of Uno. [Tim: Now was my chance to get back at Juan for testing me all day. I was prepared to sit right next to him and unless a fury of +2, +4’s, wild cards, and reverse cards all day long. Muhahhahaha!]
And out comes a deck of Uno cards emblazoned with Strawberry Shortcake (circa 1985), a couple more liters of Brahma (Paraguayan custom being to fill a glass halfway and share it with friends in order to keep it from sitting around getting warm in the tropical weather…which is great, but makes keeping track of how much Brahma you’ve ingested a bit tricky, especially after the first liter!). [Tim: Mmm, it was a warm day. A little bit of cheap beer tasted good, but at this point we had drank at least 3 liters of Brahma. Nobody was intoxicated with alcohol, Carly and I were just bloated from the beer and I couldn’t take another sip but the glass kept being refilled out of courtesy (a sign that I have passed the man tests for the day).] A few discussions of the rules (they started playing such that, if you don’t have a card to play, you pick one up…I seemed to remember the rule being that you had to keep picking them up until you drew a card that you can play…the game was much more fun and lasted much longer the second way!), and suddenly we are all laughing uproariously, Lucia is jumping on everybody for neglecting to announce “Uno!,” Tim and Juan passed +4 and “reverse” cards back and forth with a conciliatory pat on the back each time, and suddenly it’s 5pm and starting to get dark. Juan announces that he’d keep playing until 8pm, but at that point we are all yawning and sliding into a meat-and-beer-induced coma. So back in the van, bumping over the cobbled streets and back home to collapse on the back porch.
[Tim: I think we may have had some salad for dinner to clear out our GI tracts and then collapsed. Carly felt bad and was apologizing after spending so much time with Juan and Luz that day, but I was really grateful for getting to spend a day hanging out and making some new friends. I’m planning on sending Juan a Chicago white sox shirt , or White Sox Uno deck, to thank him for the Olympia fleece hat he sent me home with. Both team have the same colors (black and white) and play against rivals with the same colors (the Cubs, red &blue). I was also amazed by the coincidence that the club Olympia won the club tournament the same year that the White Sox won the World Series. I’m amazed that I was able to travel 5,000 miles and over come a language barrier to make a new friend. Additionally, it was also a huge test of the relationship between Carly and me. The two of us are a lot more comfortable around each other and we’ll always be able to pull out an UNO deck when things get tense between us! Carly: only if you can find a Strawberry Shortcake deck!]
And one of the best (and certainly the most memorable) days of the vacation!
