Missions

From the border, the highway rolls out over rich red tropical earth. Deep green fields stretch to the horizon in every direction over gentle hills. I signal the driver and climb out of the bus and with pack on back I head across the highway and up a narrow roadway paved with fragments of stone. The heat drips all around me and the going is tough. I walk about a half hour and finally arrive at Trinidad, a Jesuit mission out in what was once the Paraguayan jungle.

As I stand there and look over the grass, I imagine the black robes walking stone corridors in the damp jungle heat. The complex contains a couple of dozen stone buildings, and centres on a ruined cathedral of epic proportions, a massive stone edifice, the likes of which that world had never seen. Christ in the jungle, carved by Guarani hands. World heritage or not, these are strange structures to find out here.

I try to imagine the ruins full of Guarani tribespeople – kids running around and dogs playing as the priests give lessons and save souls. The houses are all smashed now, but rows of arches survive to suggest the splendour of what lay here before. Intricate carvings once covered the walls with foreign saints staring down to grant their divine benevolence to the natives who were only just invited to the pious party that had controlled Europe for over a millennium. And many took up the invitation, underwent the education and the baptism, and as a result gained the legal protection of the king of spain. The places also made prime targets for slave raiders and many were marched off in bondage, bound to poles on a long march out to the markets in the east.

I sat for a while looking out at the surrounding vegetation, now mostly green farmer's fields. I can only imagine the impression created by these massive stone leviathans for the indigenous who lived around campfires in small villages.

I headed back down the road, everything I have strapped to my back, and stood on the tarmac waving at passing cars as the heat seemed to rise through the soles of my shoes. Finally I got a hitch and an hour later I rolled into Encarnacion, the great city in the south of the country.

I was amazed at the how different it was from Ciudad del Este, hard to believe it was the same country. This place seemed downright pleasant. I walked around a bit in the afternoon heat but that pretty much wasted me so I found a place out by the bus terminal and had a siesta for a couple of hours. The breeze in the warm evening air provided some relief from the heat and I was able to stroll around a bit. There were many options for dinner including sushi, chinese, korean, italian, and the typical street stalls that pop up all over this country.

The following morning I headed to Asuncion, the “City of God” according to the signs. It is a modern city, founded centuries ago by conquistadors and was a major site of missionary activity throughout its history. After finding a place I went for a walk in the old part of town. The buildings show faded glimmers of decadence in their crumbling balconies, each ornately carved with care in an era gone by. Now there is a modern shopping street and I stop in a cafe, sipping coffee while I watch a midget do headstands for cash.

On my way back, I walk through the Plaza Uruguaya and I am amazed to see that it has been converted into a squatters camp full of Guarani. The place is a hive of activity and the whole plaza smells like shit. Men string their garbage bag tents on ropes tied to palms, women wash clothes and hang them in the trees to dry, and naked kids run around playing games. I sit and watch the scene for a while as teenage boys wrestle violently with the girls, and young women use scoops of water to wash the filth from their limber bodies. There are trash piles burning on all the corners, I begin to feel sad to see what these people have been reduced to. Some of the kids have dystended bellies, and it doesn't look like anyone has much.

So much has changed since those missions were built all those years ago. I can hardly imagine how these people used to live. The only thing that remains of the jungle is the overpowering shrill of the cigarra up in the trees. That and the heat.