Encarnación, Paraguay - Trinidad and Jesus

It takes about an hour to get from Encarnación to Trinidad (more formally known as La Santisima Trinidad de Paraná), and it's one of those things where you just have to go out there confidently and trust that you'll be able to find a way back. But the Jesuit Reductions at Trinidad and Jesus were high on our list of places to visit in Paraguay and we had plenty of confidence. The plan was to take a bus to Trinidad in the morning, visit the site, take another bus to Jesus, visit that site, and then take a bus back to Encarnación in the evening.

The bus out to Trinidad was great. It was the most rickety bus we've seen in months, but in a cheerful "lets bounce around together like friendly popcorn" way. Michael and I sat in the very back row with some giggly kids. The kids kept staring at Michael, but whenever he'd look at them they'd hide their faces. When he asked them "Como te llamas?" they really fell apart and wouldn't answer. But every time he turned away, they'd be back staring and giggling and making noises to get his attention.

The mother of one of them helped us get off at the right place for the "ruinas Jesuiticas." (Michael and I liked the sound of that so much that we repeated it to each other all day.) The stop was at the end of the road in a small, quiet town. We found the ruins, but they were surrounded by a fence with a locked gate. Eventually we thought to follow the fence around and we found the entrance. Admission was 5,000 guaranies.

The site, a UNESCO World Heritage Site as of 1993, was nice, the only drawback being the noise from the crew busy preparing the red dirt road out front for paving. The Jesuits had built Trinidad in 1706, as a mission and a self-sufficent city for conversion and other meddlings with the Guarani. But they seemed to have gone about it in a nice way and actually ended up saving the Guarani from far worse fates before the Spanish and Portugese empires kicked them out in 1767.

It was baking hot, and I sat down in the shade every chance I could get. But that's how I best enjoy ruins, just sitting and waiting for a quiet moment and absorbing what's around me. I didn't have to wait much for quiet moments at Trinidad; there was hardly anyone there. The soft red bricks that made up the ruined structures were criss-crossed with carvings of names that were hundreds of years newer than the bricks themselves but still gentle and faded and old. Further away from the gate, the clatter of road-building machinery faded to a smooth hum that one could pretend was the sound of day-to-day life in a Reduction.

Afterwards Michael and I went to the only place in the area where one could buy refreshments, the Hotel León across the road. A German woman sold us sodas and a sandwich for Michael and told us how to get to the place where we could catch a bus to Jesus. It was a fairly long walk through a sleepy little dirt road town, and we ended up having to ask directions again. But eventually we found the main road and the gas station where we were to wait for the bus.

A tiny bus with a handmade "Jesus" sign turned off the road in our direction at about 3:30. We boarded, but soon learned that the bus would not be going anywhere until 4:00. No matter. The driver and the ayudante were settled in to chill, and they were happy to chat with us. We got out of the way where we were from and how much we liked Paraguay, and then they asked us to join them in terreré.

Of course we said yes, but I was terribly nervous. This was my first time doing terreré with real live Paraguayans. Luckily I knew what to do so I played it cool. The ayudante was apparently the youngest, because he was doing the pouring. He took the thermos of cold water and filled the wooden cup, which already contained a soggy mass of mate leaves and the metal bombilla. He drank first, draining the whole cup, then poured again and passed the cup to Michael.

Michael drank the whole thing and passed it back to the ayudante, who filled the cup again and passed to me. I sipped from the straw and the thick wooden cup emptied in just a couple of gulps. The terrere was cold and tasted pleasantly herby, like green tea. I did not draw up a single leaf or noticeable fragment through the bombilla. I passed the cup back to the ayudante and he filled it for the driver.

The cycle was repeated until I began to relax about it all. (That is, until I started wondering if there was a point when the polite person starts saying "no thanks.") Eventually another passenger boarded. She seemed to know the driver and his assistant, and she was included in the rounds of terreré. But later as the bus started to fill, the terreré circle did not expand any further.

A woman with a cute little apple-cheeked baby sat behind Michael and me. The baby took a great interest in patting at our shoulders. Michael asked if he could take a photo of the baby, and the woman proudly consented - something that would never happen in Peru or Bolivia (unless you paid) or the United States (unless you could produce some kind of proof that you were a non-pedophile or other variety of maniac or kidnapper).

Jesus was only twelve kilometers away, but the stone road made for slow going, and we didn't get there until 4:30. Michael and I were the last passengers on the bus, the others having gotten off at various points in the small town we passed through. The driver told us that his was the only bus back, and that he left at 5:00. This gave us only half an hour to see the ruins, but it was our only chance, so we took it.

It was a smaller site and mostly reconstructed, whereas Trinidad is authentic. There were only a couple of other people there, and the sun was low in the sky, making the red bricks glow. It would have been a great place to linger. But we had to be mindful of the clock, so we ran around to see all the various parts and then took a few minutes to sit on a bench in back of the site and watch the sun sink over the fields.

We fast-walked out of the site at 4:59, and the guys were standing around the bus smoking and waiting for us. As soon as we boarded, they hopped back in and we took off. But then as we followed the fence along the outside of the site, headed back to the main highway, the driver stopped and told Michael that he could take more pictures from here if he wanted. It was a bad angle and bad light, but the gesture was very thoughtful and kind, and Michael leaned out the open door and took a few pictures.

The bus was nearly empty on the way back and I sat by the window watching the quiet town roll by in the dusk. A woman stood in the doorway of a little green house and I imagined being her. The wind blew over me gently and I was perfectly comfortable, just this side of being cold, and thinking good thoughts about the friendly driver and the friendliness of Paraguayans in general.

Back at the gas station, we walked to the bus stop to wait. As it got dark it got cold, and we waited an hour for a bus back to Encarnación. The waiting itself was not so bad, especially since there was somewhere to sit, but not knowing if there would be a bus or not was hard. Mostly it was hard for Michael, but it was not the most pleasant for me either. Still, except for the Bethel debacle, our theory has proved true - there is always a way to get from A to B if you are willing to wait.