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Published: September 30th 2010
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San Ignacio
Red dirt roads sparsely populated by skipping children, sleeping dogs, tethered horses and an occasional horse and cart or scooter--my kind of town. It seemed far from the European-like bustle of Buenos Aires
and more like the rural, subtropical Latin America that I love--houses in a riot of colors, brilliant flowers everywhere, pink azaleas in this case, palms and flowering native trees lining the streets, tiny kiosks selling the same treats on every block, and a toucan perched in a loquat tree outside my dorm room window. The cacophony of barking dogs, unfettered by human chastisement, was the only sound punctuating the nights.
I spent a lazy week reading, walking to the Parana River, exploring trails (where I saw my first capybara--a cute, furry, roly-poly rodent the size of portly retriever), visiting the jungle homes of Uruguayan-born, Argentine-dwelling writer Horacio Quiroga, and listening to the birds and my breath--why not? This is my life as a slow traveler, not a whirlwind holiday of packing and unpacking and quickly seeing sights, though I may need to live like that in expensive Brazil.
Here in San Ignacio, a tiny, sub-tropical town of about 6,000, the peace, nature and
trails reminded me of my Santa Barbara canyon home. People smiled at me and returned my greeting in the streets--I love this of small towns.
Mission San Ignacio Miini
The town and Adventure Hostel cater to the few travelers who spend the night to visit the ruins of Mission San Ignacio Mini, a World Heritage Site, and one of the best preserved of the 30 missions established by the Jesuits in this area of Argentina, Paraguay, and Brazil.
These are the missions featured in the 1986 film, "The Mission," with Robert De Niro and Jeremy Irons, which I’d recently seen in preparation of my journey. However, it was so much more powerful seeing it here after my visit to the mission and to an indigenous village.
San Ignacio Mini was partially restored in the 1940s after being reclaimed by the jungle for 200 years. With the huge central plaza, large red sandstone church and rows of Guarani houses, you can easily sense how the mission was big enough to house thousands. The entrance to the church retains beautiful, ornate carvings of the Guaranti Baroque, a mixture of native and European designs.
Here, the relationship between
the indigenous people and the missions was different than that I knew and criticized in California. While the Jesuits similarly sought to convert the natives, beginning in 1609, they more importantly worked to save them from the predations of the Portuguese slave traders and Spanish mercenaries who combed the jungle to enslave them for work on Brazil’s sugarcane plantations.
An innovative evening sound and light show at the mission related the history through music, story and projected images on walls of water mist and of the buildings. The mission was called"mini" in reference to its predecessor which had to be abandoned due to raids by the Brazilian slave traders. The mission had had 2 Jesuits and about 4,000 indigenous Guarani in a somewhat self-governing, agricultural community where decisions were made jointly by the Jesuits and the Guarani caciques, or leaders.
The Guarani weren’t forced to learn and speak Spanish, kept their traditional names, and had their traditions recorded and somewhat respected by the Jesuits. Of course, they lost most of their traditional religion, spirituality, community organization and knowledge of their hunting and gathering way of life.
When the Jesuits were expelled from the new world by the
Spanish crown in 1767, the missions fell into disuse and were ruined in 19th century wars. The indigenous people were enslaved, moved to the edges of cities or melted back into the jungle, but without many of their previous survival skills, most turned to agriculture. As in all countries, the indigenous people remain the poorest to this day. It was them I wanted to meet, but would need a guide.
Beatriz, a transplant from BA, had abandoned the city for a saner, slower pace of life. She and her husband, like many connected to the hostel, were entrepreneurs--offering all sorts of tours and services to the tourists passing through and helping to revitalized the town with their energy. She agreed to guide me to an aldea, a small community of Guarani.
As we walked the powdery red dirt road, Beatriz taught me the Spanish names of plants and history of the area. In huge plantations, foreign companies had replaced indigenous trees with fast-growing pines for lumber and paper. The companies poisoned the land with pesticides; moreover, none of the alkaline-loving natives would grow under the acid pine needles. Yet on another ranch, large ponds were home to native
fish being raised for food and for release back into mountain streams. Some steps forward; others back.
The indigenous Guarani
After a couple of hours, we turned off the track onto a narrow path through a bamboo forest to the several bamboo-sided, thatched- or tin-roofed houses of the village of 40 inhabitants. A couple of giggling adolescent girls brought us a rough bench to sit on and squatted in front of us. Soon, the cacique, about 40 years old and wearing a headband, tee shirt and jeans, came to greet us, bringing carved animals and seed necklaces for me to buy--a condition of the visit. I was happy to buy a necklace and carved coati and armadillo and encourage their artistry.
Yet here I was to learn another reality of the “aid” to the indigenous people. When I asked where their garden was, he replied that he’d been too sick to garden for the past 3 years. Beatriz said the reality was that the government has been giving them money for food, so they no longer bother to grow their own, tastier and more nutritious veggies and get the attendant exercise of gardening.
The cacique was
excited about the tin roofs the government had given them. Yet these will turn their huts into ovens in the roasting tropical summer. The roofs would last longer than the six years of the thatched ones, but when they die, they will be eyesores forever as opposed to offering mulch to the land.
Moreover, the tin roofs won’t let as much smoke from the cooking fires escape, thus adding to the children’s respiratory problems. Aid that does not promote independence and does not consider the consequences to the seventh generation (as a native American once said), is little aid at all.
Beatriz, like many of the enterprising, small scale entrepreneurs in town disliked Cristina and Nestor Kirchner, the current and former Peronist presidents, and their aid programs. They said that instead of jobs, they are giving hand-outs that will dry up when they leave office.
Since this is an election year, and Nestor is running again, there will be lots of “distributions.” Indeed, while I was there, Cristina showed up for a speech in Posadas with 6,000 computers for the schools; the local newspaper sang her praises. Yet the right-wing governments don't even bother to give handouts
Happy Horno
hostel's oven or computers to the poor who really need help, giving only to their wealthy friends.
Curiously, many of the entrepreneurs, like business people back home, resented the government’s aid to single mothers, repeating that this just encourages women to have illegitimate children. Yet, they also told of the rural practice of men having children by many different women whom they then fail to support. I asked if the children should be punished for their father’s indiscretions, but the entrepreneurs seemed to have no answer to that. Politics is complicated everywhere.
Politics is scary back in m y California home right now. A conservative, former CEO from a huge company is seeking to unseat our fabulous senator, Barbara Boxer, and another wants to beat visionary Jerry Brown to the governor’s seat and take over where Arnie left off as terminator of programs of social services and education.
Here I am in South America, receiving email requests from my local Santa Barbara Democratic Party, to do my usual precinct walking. All I can do is send money, cross my fingers and continue my journey. Next, I’m sure the majestic Iguazu Falls will erase any worries of politics.
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Liz Padden
non-member comment
You go girl!
Dear Tara, It is a unspeakable trip ! No words are adequate..but with your pictures and words..I feel as if I am there..Keep on, Liz