A PECULIAR PARADISE

The author of At the Tomb of the Inflatable Pig: Travels in Paraguay reveals how one of Latin America’s most intriguing nations drew him in

I first went to Paraguay as a sort of refugee, in 1982. I’d been working on a ranch in Argentina when the Falklands War started. I had to hitch to the nearest border and got a li with some Paraguayan cigarette smugglers who had an empty truck. Back then, smuggling was a big part of the economy, so it was a fitting start. Even the army was involved, shiing stolen cars.

I loved Paraguay from day one. There was no immediate sign of Alfredo Stroessner’s [Paraguay’s president 1954-1989] cruelty, and the capital, Asunción, was drenched in blossom. But nothing was ever quite normal. I remember finding the main square littered with inflatable animals. In a country without swimming pools, this was pretty odd. The strangeness of it all kept nagging at me, and 20 years later I wrote the book, At the Tomb of the Inflatable Pig.

I suppose the key to Paraguay’s character is its isolation. It lies at the heart of South America but it’s not on the way to anywhere else. It’s surrounded by jungle and mighty rivers — the Paraná alone contains more water than all Europe’s rivers put together. Until the railway came in 1913, the only way in was a 90-day journey upriver. Even now, in a country twice the size of the UK, there are only two all-weather airports and a handful of border crossings.

Paraguay di–ers from the surrounding countries in every way, really. It has its own music, architecture and language

(90% of Paraguayans speak Guaraní). As for the people themselves, they’re generous and spirited (since 1865, they’ve fought all their neighbours). Although there are only 6.8 million of them, they punch well above their weight, excelling in football, tennis and golf. That’s not bad for a country in which one in 10 children gets no education at all.

The Jesuit ruins down in the south have to be Paraguay’s biggest draw. But those looking for animals and birds will love the Chaco desert. Once known as the ‘Green Hell’, it covers over 60% of the country and yet only 4% of Paraguayans live there. It’s also home to around 650 species of bird. But, for me, Asunción is the highlight. It’s hard to imagine an odder place. The centre looks like a miniaturised Paris, except that the public statues are not of heroes, but whippets and frogs. It’s not unusual to find soldiers dressed in the uniforms of Imperial Prussia. The rich are so rich that their maids have maids, and every year there’s a Caledonian ball, with 12 pipers flown in for a night of tropical reeling.

Cargo boat at sunset on the Paraguay River