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Published: December 27th 2006
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Remnants of another time
Almost as much a part of the landscape as the flowers and grass, the ruins rise from the hilltop as a testament to times past. A break from the pouring rain was all I wanted for Christmas...And today I was granted a few hours of sunshine with puffy clouds and blue skies, the best backdrop for the immense ruins that stretch over a hilltop in Trinidad, Paraguay. Even as the storm clouds came rolling back in, they served to just increase the dramatic nature of the scene, and leave me enough time to wave down a bus from the road, to head back to Encarnacion.
The day started strangely, as any day would when you arrive in a new city at 6 AM, its residents still asleep and you ready to get going. After the night's bus ride, I quickly checked into a hotel across from the bus terminal (waking the owner), took a shower, and had a short nap. After a few necessary errands, I wandered back to the bus station, which was packed with families waiting to get aboard to see their loved ones for Christmas. There was no place to stand on the sidewalk, everyone was spilling into the streets, and the rickety old men selling chipa had to weave among them just as I did. After I finally found someone who
The wind and me
Because this is not exactly tourist time here in Paraguay, I had the ruins to myself, which may have added an extra eerieness, a sense that this history was still alive. knew exactly which bus could take me to Trinidad, I paid too much (the trip back was half the price, so I know this first guy took advantage of me. Well, it was 2 dollars instead of 1 dollar, I will forgive him!) and grabbed a seat. The 28 kilometer trip took longer than expected as the heaving bus, weighed down with passengers, lumbered along and stopped a million times to pick up more. Then the bus driver stopped at a dirt road and announced (for my benefit) that this was Trinidad.
I sat down to have a mini-banana (de oro, I think it's called...gold banana) and a little boy climbing the signpost was watching me, so I gave him one, too. A I walked away towards the supposed direction of the ruins, his friends came running up and I heard them talking about how he got a banana from a tourist. They tried to yell after me, asking if I was going to see the ruins, I think, but I was well on the way already. Down a skinny dirt track, I started to see some looming structures on the horizon but the boxy little houses, with fenced-in
yards and colorful laundry on the line, were more interesting for the moment. Horses wandered, chewing on overgrown grass, and teenagers sped around on motos. A few minutes later, I arrived at the ruins and had them pretty much to myself.
Trinidad has one of the biggest offerings when it comes to the remains of the Jesuit influence in this tri-country crossing. In Brazil, Argentina, and Paraguay, the Jesuits arrived in various influxes during the 16 and 1700s, before the jealous Spanish royalty kicked them all out in 1767 for their despicably prosperous economic ventures into agriculture and livestock. The Jesuits founded 50 or so missions, where the local indigenous populations came to join the Jesuit priests for an organized and pious life. After the expulsion of the Jesuits, most of the missions crumbled into almost nothing but Trinidad, and a few others in the area, still stand as a testimony to this important cultural development.
What I saw as I wove through the cemetery grounds, the main plaza, the Indians' quarters, and the old school, was an impressive accomplishment: an architectural feat touched by aesthetically pleasing, significant adornments. The Jesuits had built lasting structures but managed to
Artistically done
The Jesuits went beyond functional, they made their reduccion (as the missions were called) eye-pleasing, too, even now after much of it is gone. incorporate their symbolism, their rigid organization, their needs, into a settlement perfectly fitted for their lifestyle and their goals. Shuffling through the long grass, I couldn't help but imagine the life they and their indigenous converts had in their time. I imagine the whole population would awaken early, each to so his own assigned chores, then gather centrally in the plaza before starting the day. The children sat inside the stone walls to receive a religious and practical education, the adults carried on their duties around the grounds. This is all speculation on my part and I will have to find out more...But I was struck by the feeling that whatever did happen in this place, centuries ago, still holds a permanence in the air. The place still feels like theirs, like it is still dedicated to the success of their efforts and the connection of cultures that occurred there. The big church, most impressively massive of all, towers over a central pulpit and a crypt, around which now headless or otherwise weatherworn statues guard the remains. A place like this makes me feel like a speck, in terms of time and space.
In this dreamy state of mind,
The Big Church
From the top, distant views of the green countryside. Underneath, the cool air of the crypt (no more bodies these days). Behind the facade is a grand area for religious processions. I returned to Encarnacion, to the rain, and started wondering what to do on Christmas Eve.
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Elvira
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Lost Utopia
The words “Lost Utopia” come to mind reading your story that’s how the author of an article about Jesuit missions in South America described them (travel section of The New York Times, about a month ago). You had a great advantage of not sharing these sleepy ruins with hordes of tourists. It adds mystery and lets your imagination go wild