Paraguay by Daniele Somenzi

Paraguay This is a Central American state, a bit ambiguous, little talked about, and, from a tourism point of view, truly snubbed, and I immediately understand why. Like many other poor countries, crime is rampant, and tourists are the most targeted — at least that's what the bus driver told us. We enter Paraguay by coach from Brazil; the big bridge over the Paraná river acts as the border, but customs is so run-down that I can see that many people cross on foot without being checked; they're certainly the so-called cross-border workers who go from Paraguay to work in the more prosperous Brazil. Here, among other things, we're right next to the great Itaipu dam, the largest in the world after the Chinese one, built recently. I imagine some Paraguayan works there.

The name Paraguay means water that goes towards the water; the language is naturally Spanish, and the faces seen around the border town are typical of the Indios, with reddish skin. The capital Asunción is far away, but I don't even care to go there; as I've noted, chaotic cities are indigestible to me. I get off the bus, and walk through the streets of Encarnación, being very careful not to show the camcorder while I film. They'd put fear into me, as if we were in a terrible place. There may be something true to it, but terrorising people means that then there's no follow-up for tourism in that country. I bought an instrument like a flute with trombone-like pipes of different sizes that's played with the lips, a typical instrument of the Andean Peruvians; I'll put it in my display cabinet in Massa, along with all the other souvenirs I've collected during all my travels.

Anyway, I repeat, for the little time I was in Paraguay I was on edge and attentive to every passer-by who went past me, with high tension for a possible theft, so I couldn't enjoy it calmly. Evidently the bus driver hates this people, who knows for what reason, since he's a Brazilian. I suppose that if he'd been Paraguayan he wouldn't have spoken so badly of this border people. We get on the bus and there I let myself go with the camcorder, filming every interesting little scene from the window, and at that point there are many: the mother with the child by the hand, the ragged beggar, the street vendor, and much more. Then we set off again for the so-called customs, where we don't even stop, we just slow down to let the driver be recognised. If we'd been stuffed with a tonne of drugs, it would have passed through easily. bye bye