on our last night together I took off my socks and the paraguayans discovered I have no blood

Nanderuvyveima.

^Guarani.

I have looked back at my Paraguay posts and have seen many typos and thought that maybe I should fix them. But I will not. Such was the state of my brain and fingers and the keyboards. The typos will remain a testament of something. Until this blog dissolves into straight-up zeros and ones.

In Pedro Juan Caballero there were a few hours of everyday that felt sloggy. It was hard to move or decide what to do. This usually took place from three to five in the afternoon, after we´d spent the morning reviewing footage, filming, and exploring Pedro/Ponta Pora; the coldness settled in too deep. It drank up our bones and we could no longer maintain motivation and usually ended up burried in our sleeping bags hoping that marrow would thaw.

Mostly, that week I did not get too down (only low enough to be considered human) because my curiosity is just too uncontainable. Who could stay in bed when the cold was a temporary inconvenience? We would not be in there forever.


Friday was too much, though. Winter had hit on Monday and had never left. There at our colegio in Pedro (a name for which I now roll my r´s) we were staying in a classroom where the windows and doors didn´t really close. After our first night the Pilarians taped newspaper over the open windows. The third night it started raining. The next night (at least I think I´m counting things right but one never knows with all of the travel and translation that has been going on) the wind started blowing. We fastened a deflated air mattress over one bank of windows. Over another, some plastic and a garment bag. We tied the door shut with a rope made out of plastic bags. This is the setting I woke up to Friday morning. Friday, the day when I started losing circulation in my fingers and my toes.


This circulation thing happens when I reach a certain point of coldness. Conditions were met, point was reached. As we were filming I had to keep switching the hand el microfono was in so I could massage and breathe life onto the the other one. After our usual morning/early afternoon routine, I choked on a bit of depression, got into my sleeping bag and wasn't sure if I´d ever agree to come out again. This was just too overwhelming and I was too under circulated. I took a little siesta and woke up completely disoriented. Where was I? What was I doing? What time was it? I stared at the women sitting in desks across the room from me until I remembered. And then I remained dejected in my sleeping bag unable to make another move.

Then the quietest mother paraguaya asked us if we would like some tea. Oh sweet angel! Yes! Yes, we would! This is manna! You are heaven sent!

Since this afternoon, upon recounting my miracle, people always ask me what kind of tea were they giving me. Magic tea, I tell them. That is all I know, for even if they had told me, I would not have understood.


With the first warm sip my heart started beating again and I smiled. With the second my toes revived and could wiggle. With the third normal brain activity was restored. I tried to explain to quiet Mother Paraguaya that her tea was magic but she looked at me strangely and said I could make myself tea anytime I wanted.


Muchas gracias, senora.

Muchas gracias, the words I said more than any others as I traveled through Paraguay.