10am comes pretty early when you have to get out of a hotel room. Rucksacks seem to be getting heavier, not lighter, although that may be a combination of 40degree heat and poor circulation. Settling our bill at reception is a unexpected pleasure as we are only charged for our steak sandwiches on Christmas Day, and not our last night in the suite. Big gold star for Hotel Cecilia.
If it was hard to leave Asuncion, Asuncion made it hard for us to leave. Our taxi drops us at the bus station, and we rock up to our chosen bus company's kiosk, only to find we are cutting it a mite fine to catch the 11am to Encarnacion. We grab our reasonably priced tickets and reach the platform to the beckoning hands of our driver and assistant, who turf our bags in the boot and usher us to our seats. Except that we can't find our seats. By the time we locate them from seats 40 and 41, seats 35 and 36 are taken. Still, at least we're seated; plenty of folk get on at stops before the city limits and there are some left standing.
Everyone is quick to point out there are both good and bad bus companies operating these long distance domestic routes, and they fairly uniformly comply with expectations about price and quality. Our bus suffered a lack of air conditioning, which is not great in the baking Paraguay heat, but throw in a rather unpleasant toilet too and the environment took a distinct turn for the worst.
For seven hours.
No amount of delicious fresh baked chipa can help with that. We wait for the Paraguay countryside to fly by, but Ruta 1 seems to go on forever. Its a different sort of landscape than we saw on our journey to Asuncion; this time it is very flat, very exotic, and it goes on ad infinitum to the horizon. An occasional orange dirt track breaks up the vista. Nothing else occurs except the odd downpour.
For seven hours.
The Argentine town of Posadas rears its skyline at us as we round the corner, and it looks like a mini-New York across the Rio Paraná. Suddenly we feel more positive, and Encarnacion itself appears moments later, a funny little resort town in the middle of the continent.
The hotel itself is five minutes from the bus station, which is a pleasant change, and we are back to bunk beds after the luxury king size in Asuncion. Still, we have AC which ought to make everything ok. Kerana Hostel is clean and friendly, our receptionist studied English at Canterbury, and the hostel is named after a figure from Guaraní folklore. We anticipated a slight drop in temperature by coming here. We did not expect it to be about half a degree.
Not much to do but pay our room bill in advance and try to find a bank machine. Turns out I have run out of money in my free-transaction account. Oh dear. Sarah gets some readies and we seek out dinner in a nice little eatery which our waiter is delighted to serve us Paraguayan beer (Bavarian) but declines to write down my half of our order, so we only receive Sarah's large Latin Wrap. Truth be told, it nearly did us anyway. My appetite has vanished down here, we eat one or twice a day, barely more. We are, however, quite thirsty most of the time.
Nothing else to do but wander down to some sort of free concert at the artificial beach. The heat is still sticky at 9pm, and the noise is fierce. It seems tonight consecrates the beginning of Encarnacion's Carnaval, the epicentre of Paraguay's version of every tourist's Brazilian favourite. We sneak through the milieu of happy families to find a small gap at the bottom of the bleachers, where we watch teenage girls with very pert bums and lots of feathers shake their stuff on stage to a pounding samba beat. Then we watch a couple of five year old girls beside us imitate their dancing. It is either very fun and innocent or it is a different sort of sexism than you normally see. No one seemed to have any sort of a problem with it. Maybe no one cares if it is sexist or not, and pretty but dumb girls need something to do too.
We last for a while, long enough to watch Paraguayans dressed as cowboys dance in a sexy way to Cotton Eyed Joe, then slip out, back along the emptied streets of Encarnacion's dubious downtown, where crowds of kids sit outside Empanada Antonio, Saturday night the same the world over.
Sunday would have started better had we had a decent night's sleep. Sadly we had the company of two eejits who came in late, turned all the lights on, then snored like chainsaws, woke to their alarms a few hours later, and made a bloody racket in the process. I also had the pleasure of the air conditioning blasting cold air at me all night. I should be feeling grumpier than I do, but good coffee for breakfast always helps. We watch as a family ladle sugar into their coffees, and remark how sweet everything is here. Dulce De Leche (sweetened thickened milk thing for spreading on toast, though Im not sure how you could really compare it to anything else), all the buns and cakes, dessert in every restaurant, so many sweet soft drinks, and lots of ice cream; Paraguay loves things sugary.
Have I explained Tereré? There is no tea in the Chinese sense in Latin America, or rather there is, but its a distant third to Maté and Coffee; here you have Yerba, a leaf dried and drunk in a similar manner to tea, though very much rich in nutrients and caffeine. In the Southern Cone countries of Uruguay and Argentina, it is mostly consumed warm, in a small gourd nearly filled with the leaves, to which is added hot water which is drunk instantly through a metal straw with a perforated end called a bombilla. The leaves are not steeped, as the taste is rather bitter, though not unpleasant.
However in Paraguay instead of Maté (hot) you have Tereré (cold). For all nations it is a sociable drink, one where the host fills the cup and you drain it before passing it back. This is more easily achieved with Tereré, where the cold water has picked up a little of the taste of the leaves, and is very refreshing. All Paraguayans carry a large flask of icy cold water, often just a big lump of melting ice, and a small gourd filled with leaves with them. You can buy the Yerba Maté leaves anywhere, they are very cheap in the supermarket and you can buy them by the 5kg bag for a couple of quid. I believe the drink goes someway to explain why Paraguay, with its horrendous poverty, still offers a decent life expectancy for this continent.
I am torn about purchasing myself a flask and gourd. On one hand I then have my own delicious cold refreshing drink. On the other hand, I have to carry the bloody thing around all the time. Some choice.
Leaving breakfast behind, today falls into that mysterious category of days where we need to catch up on blogs, photographs, reviews of hostels, the whole shebang. A fair auld amount of keyboard banging ensues as we try and work out our chronology of events. Hopefully not much has been forgotten. The blog is easier to write when something significant has happened, however not every day is significant!
Take a trip to the supermarket to buy washing liquid. Everywhere is closed as it is the siesta and they are more rigid about enforcing it here. End up down on the artificial beach again, this time with a clear view of Posadas in the midday heat. Neither of us had seen an artificial beach before, and they are a strange sight. Very popular however on a Sunday afternoon.
We stop at a little beach bar and get some lunch, which consists of the staple 'meat and bap'. Speculation arises as to the differences between farming between Paraguay and Ireland; how can two countries produce such radically different quality meats, which in this country can be as good as this steak sandwich, a fillet steak, costing a pittance? I am genuinely confused as to this.
Eventually the clock strikes 4pm and we rise dutifully and head back to the supermarket to collect our supplies. My plans to do my laundry are interrupted by a English accent, and I spend an instructive hour speaking with a couple, he from Buenos Aires, she from Cork, who now live in Asuncion. Glean some useful titbits (rent is a little more expensive than expected, the town is safe, jobs are there for English speakers who want them, Norwich is quiet, drivers here are crazy, and they reaffirm that Nuestra Señora de Asuncion is the best bus company in the country) and we swap a few details about Asuncion. They are as amused that we are here and we are of they. This is a country everyone wants to keep hidden so no one comes here and ruins it for everyone.
Dinner is panettone and fizzy orange juice with rum and big chunks of lime. Im not casting any illusions that this is anything but pure pleasure.
If it was hard to leave Asuncion, Asuncion made it hard for us to leave. Our taxi drops us at the bus station, and we rock up to our chosen bus company's kiosk, only to find we are cutting it a mite fine to catch the 11am to Encarnacion. We grab our reasonably priced tickets and reach the platform to the beckoning hands of our driver and assistant, who turf our bags in the boot and usher us to our seats. Except that we can't find our seats. By the time we locate them from seats 40 and 41, seats 35 and 36 are taken. Still, at least we're seated; plenty of folk get on at stops before the city limits and there are some left standing.
Everyone is quick to point out there are both good and bad bus companies operating these long distance domestic routes, and they fairly uniformly comply with expectations about price and quality. Our bus suffered a lack of air conditioning, which is not great in the baking Paraguay heat, but throw in a rather unpleasant toilet too and the environment took a distinct turn for the worst.
For seven hours.
No amount of delicious fresh baked chipa can help with that. We wait for the Paraguay countryside to fly by, but Ruta 1 seems to go on forever. Its a different sort of landscape than we saw on our journey to Asuncion; this time it is very flat, very exotic, and it goes on ad infinitum to the horizon. An occasional orange dirt track breaks up the vista. Nothing else occurs except the odd downpour.
For seven hours.
The Argentine town of Posadas rears its skyline at us as we round the corner, and it looks like a mini-New York across the Rio Paraná. Suddenly we feel more positive, and Encarnacion itself appears moments later, a funny little resort town in the middle of the continent.
The hotel itself is five minutes from the bus station, which is a pleasant change, and we are back to bunk beds after the luxury king size in Asuncion. Still, we have AC which ought to make everything ok. Kerana Hostel is clean and friendly, our receptionist studied English at Canterbury, and the hostel is named after a figure from Guaraní folklore. We anticipated a slight drop in temperature by coming here. We did not expect it to be about half a degree.
Not much to do but pay our room bill in advance and try to find a bank machine. Turns out I have run out of money in my free-transaction account. Oh dear. Sarah gets some readies and we seek out dinner in a nice little eatery which our waiter is delighted to serve us Paraguayan beer (Bavarian) but declines to write down my half of our order, so we only receive Sarah's large Latin Wrap. Truth be told, it nearly did us anyway. My appetite has vanished down here, we eat one or twice a day, barely more. We are, however, quite thirsty most of the time.
Nothing else to do but wander down to some sort of free concert at the artificial beach. The heat is still sticky at 9pm, and the noise is fierce. It seems tonight consecrates the beginning of Encarnacion's Carnaval, the epicentre of Paraguay's version of every tourist's Brazilian favourite. We sneak through the milieu of happy families to find a small gap at the bottom of the bleachers, where we watch teenage girls with very pert bums and lots of feathers shake their stuff on stage to a pounding samba beat. Then we watch a couple of five year old girls beside us imitate their dancing. It is either very fun and innocent or it is a different sort of sexism than you normally see. No one seemed to have any sort of a problem with it. Maybe no one cares if it is sexist or not, and pretty but dumb girls need something to do too.
We last for a while, long enough to watch Paraguayans dressed as cowboys dance in a sexy way to Cotton Eyed Joe, then slip out, back along the emptied streets of Encarnacion's dubious downtown, where crowds of kids sit outside Empanada Antonio, Saturday night the same the world over.
Sunday would have started better had we had a decent night's sleep. Sadly we had the company of two eejits who came in late, turned all the lights on, then snored like chainsaws, woke to their alarms a few hours later, and made a bloody racket in the process. I also had the pleasure of the air conditioning blasting cold air at me all night. I should be feeling grumpier than I do, but good coffee for breakfast always helps. We watch as a family ladle sugar into their coffees, and remark how sweet everything is here. Dulce De Leche (sweetened thickened milk thing for spreading on toast, though Im not sure how you could really compare it to anything else), all the buns and cakes, dessert in every restaurant, so many sweet soft drinks, and lots of ice cream; Paraguay loves things sugary.
Have I explained Tereré? There is no tea in the Chinese sense in Latin America, or rather there is, but its a distant third to Maté and Coffee; here you have Yerba, a leaf dried and drunk in a similar manner to tea, though very much rich in nutrients and caffeine. In the Southern Cone countries of Uruguay and Argentina, it is mostly consumed warm, in a small gourd nearly filled with the leaves, to which is added hot water which is drunk instantly through a metal straw with a perforated end called a bombilla. The leaves are not steeped, as the taste is rather bitter, though not unpleasant.
However in Paraguay instead of Maté (hot) you have Tereré (cold). For all nations it is a sociable drink, one where the host fills the cup and you drain it before passing it back. This is more easily achieved with Tereré, where the cold water has picked up a little of the taste of the leaves, and is very refreshing. All Paraguayans carry a large flask of icy cold water, often just a big lump of melting ice, and a small gourd filled with leaves with them. You can buy the Yerba Maté leaves anywhere, they are very cheap in the supermarket and you can buy them by the 5kg bag for a couple of quid. I believe the drink goes someway to explain why Paraguay, with its horrendous poverty, still offers a decent life expectancy for this continent.
I am torn about purchasing myself a flask and gourd. On one hand I then have my own delicious cold refreshing drink. On the other hand, I have to carry the bloody thing around all the time. Some choice.
Leaving breakfast behind, today falls into that mysterious category of days where we need to catch up on blogs, photographs, reviews of hostels, the whole shebang. A fair auld amount of keyboard banging ensues as we try and work out our chronology of events. Hopefully not much has been forgotten. The blog is easier to write when something significant has happened, however not every day is significant!
Take a trip to the supermarket to buy washing liquid. Everywhere is closed as it is the siesta and they are more rigid about enforcing it here. End up down on the artificial beach again, this time with a clear view of Posadas in the midday heat. Neither of us had seen an artificial beach before, and they are a strange sight. Very popular however on a Sunday afternoon.
37degrees and counting.
Monument to the great Ukranian poet, Taras Shevchenko
A question no one really wants to ask.
Una casita, a charming little cottage
It's bloody everywhere. No Nokia 3210s here! Everyone has a fancy phone, Sarah is very jealous and tempted to buy a Samsung Galaxy S3 almost every day.
Las Ramblas in Encarnacion, a little cloudy but the humidity doesn't let up at all. You can barely walk ten feet these days without sweating, which is much more difficult than the actual temperature.
The artificial beach.
We stop at a little beach bar and get some lunch, which consists of the staple 'meat and bap'. Speculation arises as to the differences between farming between Paraguay and Ireland; how can two countries produce such radically different quality meats, which in this country can be as good as this steak sandwich, a fillet steak, costing a pittance? I am genuinely confused as to this.
Definitely not an artificial smile :)
Artificial beach from the other end. Interesting things, river beaches. The sand is very orange. The water is incredibly shallow, although you can see the yellow buoys which no one is allowed to pass. Apparently it drops very quickly and there are strong currents, not to mention the piranhas which have swum upriver and been attacking people across in Posadas. This area is very child-friendly, like most things in Paraguay. There are lifeguards here all the time, and big security guys who were a bit rough with a drunkard. No messing around at all, but then thats quite nice to see, too.
Las Ramblas continues on for a good bit, very pleasant walk.
The view across the bay to Posadas, a mini New York skyline.
This is where the concert took place last night.
Eventually the clock strikes 4pm and we rise dutifully and head back to the supermarket to collect our supplies. My plans to do my laundry are interrupted by a English accent, and I spend an instructive hour speaking with a couple, he from Buenos Aires, she from Cork, who now live in Asuncion. Glean some useful titbits (rent is a little more expensive than expected, the town is safe, jobs are there for English speakers who want them, Norwich is quiet, drivers here are crazy, and they reaffirm that Nuestra Señora de Asuncion is the best bus company in the country) and we swap a few details about Asuncion. They are as amused that we are here and we are of they. This is a country everyone wants to keep hidden so no one comes here and ruins it for everyone.
Dinner is panettone and fizzy orange juice with rum and big chunks of lime. Im not casting any illusions that this is anything but pure pleasure.
