There are a few gestures here in Paraguay, some of which extend beyond its borders and are used regionally, which I had never seen before living here. Since there is nothing worse than the awkwardness that can fill a room after someone gets left hanging while waiting for a friend or colleague to give them five (especially when it is accompanied by a timorous “don’t leave me hanging”), I thought it prudent to explain some of these gestures. This way, when I get home and make a bird with my hand and point it at you, I won’t find myself in the uncomfortable position of having to explain what’s going on.

My personal favorite is what I like to call “The Finger-Five,” or the F5 for the sake of brevity here. This is the move that I alluded to when I described making a hand look like a bird’s beak. Once you learn the F5, the high-five suddenly seems primitive and unsophisticated, (or more so than it already was). The F5 is used in situations where you may be accustomed to seeing the high-five. It may also be implemented where you are used to seeing the American-classic “finger guns,” a move wherein the subject, probably a guy with a bushy mustache who likes to call people around the office “sport” or “tiger,” makes a gun with his index finger and shoots an imaginary bullet at you. The F5 is performed by touching the tips of all the fingers on your hand together to form a bulb shape, and then making contact with someone else’s hand who has been made into the same shape. To help you picture what this looks like, imagine two birds kissing, (but don’t worry guys, even the manliest men do this gesture). There are a few variations. The first I call the “doggy bag,” and it involves the recipient putting his hand into his pocket after contact, as if to say that whatever just happened is so awesome that he is going to save that for a second helping later on when he’s bored. The second, which we’ll call the “Finger-Five-Fakeout,” is also done by the recipient and is used to mock the F5 initiator by blowing up the fingers after contact. This sends the same sarcastic message as pretending to give someone a high five, then pulling your hand away at the last minute.

The gesture that garners the most controversy, and easily wins the award for Most Inappropriate at a Dinner Party, is what we will call “The Rev.” The hand is made into a fist and placed in front of the body, as if it were holding the throttle of a motorcycle. It is then rotated, as if to rev said motorcycle, (making a rumbling engine sound is optional, though encouraged if you want to rack up the style-points). This gesture is used among men to express attraction to a woman, and to seek confirmation from other males in the group that they agree with you. It is generally used discreetly and behind the woman’s back, since that is way classier than just asking if the woman needs a “ride” and then giggling.

Parents don’t seem to hit their kids more than you may see back in the states in this day and age. However, that doesn’t mean there isn’t a gesture than can be used to remind kids that the threat still exists. The next gesture we will refer to as “The Hors D’oeuvres Platter Karate Threat,” (I am still working on a name). Parents generally use this with a sarcastic “Te voy a pegar!” (”I’m gonna hit you!”). The hand is placed palm up, as if it were holding a platter full of hors d’oeuvres, then it is rotated from side to side like a karate chop. It can also be used when speaking about a child that is getting on your nerves. For example, “Who drew on the wall?!?” ::Does the Hors D’oeuvres Platter Karate Threat:: “Erg! Jasmine!”

The wink is used almost the same way that you are accustomed to seeing it, except for one notable difference: They use both eyes. Whether that is done on purpose or the result of some physiological limitation, I have yet to determine.

Thumbs-up are used more frequently than Siskel or Ebert ever did, and are seen as a response here to just about any question that seeks a yes or no answer.

Handshakes are an important part of saying hello to anyone, but if one of the people involved has been working and their hands are dirty, they will offer their forearm to you to shake.

Wagging the index finger carries with it, I think, a somewhat different tone here than in the states. If I saw that after I asked a question, I would assume I crossed some line and was asking about something that was off limits. Here, it is used interchangeably with a simple, no-underlying-messages “no,” as in “Hey, does this bus drive pass the stadium?” ::Driver wags finger:: “Ok, thanks.”

Lastly, there is the “come here” gesture. Elsewhere in the world I have always seen it as a palm-up, fingers closing into a fist motion, (or as a palm-up, slow curling of the index finger for a little attitude and/or seductiveness). Here, its done upside down. Picture someone putting his hand on some keys on the table, then pulling and closing his hand at the same time. Its kind of like a digging motion in the air. Its the subtlest difference in gestures, yet to me, the most noticeable.

Read more about Paraguayan culture in the “Culture Bag” series.

Sharing Meals

One day at lunch during training, I mentioned how great it was that everyone here sits down with their whole family everyday to eat together. They didn’t understand this appreciation until I explained to them that when I was still working in San Diego I just brought a sandwich and a piece of fruit, which I ate in my office. They thought that was both strange and sad, but I explained that I really only had about half an hour to eat, and would never have been able to drop what I was doing and go home for a two-hour lunch.

Generally, Paraguayans eat a single, giant meal each day, which is shared with family. Breakfast is just coffee or Maté, and dinner is something simple like a sandwich, an empanada, or whatever is leftover from lunch. But the giant lunch is where all of their cooking efforts go each day.

Common Dishes

Any discussion about common Paraguayan food has to start with Mandioca. I had never seen, or even heard of, this odd-looking vegetable, but now I don’t go a single meal without seeing it on the table. Its shape resembles a squash, and its taste vaguely echoes the flavor or a potato that has been boiled to a point of tastelessness. It grows in the ground like a potato, and has a tough skin like a potato, (though it is peeled off and rarely eaten). It usually gets boiled, and is served as a side with lunch and dinner the way Americans would serve bread. It is such a bland taste that I have not met any other volunteer that has a strong opinion one way or the other about it, but Paraguayans absolutely love the stuff.

Chipa is a yellowish bread-like treat that is often sold on the street. It comes in several shapes, but the most common is that of a doughnut. Originally, it was invented as a way to use up extra ingredients that people had laying around their kitchen before they went bad. The recipe is quite simple: mix up eggs, milk, corn flour, Yuca starch, cheese, butter or lard, salt and anise seeds, and bake. Despite being such a simple recipe, there is a great deal of diversity in the quality of the Chipa you will find here. The best Chipa is fresh from the oven, but after it gets more than a day or two old it turns into a rock. Chipa is commonly prepared by families during Semana Santa, (the week before Easter), since it fulfills that ever-so-painful no-meat rule prior to Easter.

Contrary to its name, Sopa Paraguaya is not actually a soup but a bread that closely resembles American corn bread. Like Chipa, it is cooked in a tatakua, (Guarani word meaning “fire hole,” which is a large, outdoor clay oven). Its ingredients are simple and include milk, flour, pork fat, eggs, cheese, and sliced onions. It is served as one of the few non-meat items at traditional asados.

Mbeju is a starchy cake made of corn flour, milk, cheese, pork fat and starch, (see a pattern emerging?). Its cooked in a small pan outside with coal, and requires less than five minutes. Mbeju, along with Sopa Paraguaya and Chipa, is a common snack with coffee or Maté Cocido. Maté Cocido is a hot beverage which uses boiled yerba mate, and is served here in Paraguay with milk and sugar.

Vori Vori is a common soup made with little balls made of corn flour and cheese. If you are looking to try out a Paraguayan recipe, I recommend you start with Vori Vori. It is a simple recipe which requires only the corn flour, cheese, garlic, onion, and rice. Pumpkin can be added if you can find a fresh one, (it makes for a great addition). Since this is Paraguay, either chicken or beef is generally added as well.

Milanesa is a piece of fried meat, often served in a sandwich. Enough said.

There are lots of other common dishes here, but you can see the pattern of ingredients. Rice and beans are often served as sides, along with somewhat bland salads consisting of lettuce and tomatoes without salad dressing. A lime is as common as salt and pepper shakers on tables, and used on just about everything. You can find hot sauce, but in general, Paraguayans have no taste for anything hotter than a mild pepper.

With regard to drinks, there is not really anything special here. For as common as Tereré and Maté are, you never serve them with a meal. Paraguayans are very fond of sodas, Coke in particular, and are about as fancy as you get with a meal. I rarely see anyone drinking wine here, and when they do, its just boxed wine mixed with Coke. Some volunteers have told me stories about trips to Chile and Argentina, where they brought nice wines for their host families, only to watch in disappointment as they crack open the bottles and mix in a hefty dose of Coke. After the meal, those with an affinity for a stronger drink will often turn to caña, which is a liquor made from sugar cane.

Final Notes

There are notable habits that you immediately notice the first time you sit down to share a meal here in Paraguay. The most surprising to me at my first meal was the absence of napkins. You use the tablecloth, that’s what its for! This is very common, and not considered rude at all in most households. I’m going to have to try very hard to break this habit when I get back to the states, because something tells me this is not something that people will appreciate, even under the pretext of “cultural exchange.”

It is very easy to find recipes to just about everything I have mentioned. I would definitely recommend the Vori Vori if you want to try something. Another favorite of mine here is a soup called Locro, which I didn’t go into since it isn’t unique to Paraguay, (although very popular as well).

Read more about Paraguayan culture in the “Culture Bag” series.

Tereré is essentially a green tea, served cold. When served hot, it is known as Maté. I had previously heard of Maté, a hot tea which is popular in certain Latin American countries, most notably in Argentina. Maté is consumed here as well, but only in the mornings, and during the winter when its colder outside.

Ingredients

There are two separate groups of ingredients used when drinking tereré. First is Yerba Maté, which is an herbal mix that is ground up into a somewhat fine mix. There are several brands to choose from, and lost of different styles. Some have mint or other flavors added, and some have ingredients which act like caffeine. Most people here have a particular brand which is their personal favorite. The second, much broader category of ingredients consists of “yuyos,” which are other herbs that are added for their medicinal benefits or for their flavor. Different yuyos supposedly help with different problems, whether its digestion, insomnia, etc. In markets where produce is sold, you will find a myriad of yuyos, but the most common tend to be Menta’i, Cedron, Poleo, Peperina, and Boldo. Whichever you choose, (you can always mix more than one), you generally must use a mortar to partially grind up the leaves.

Equipment

There are three main components to anyone’s set of tereré equipment: A “Termo” (or Jarra), a “Guampa,” and a “Bombilla.”

Termos are what hold your ice water. They are generally made of plastic, and sometimes are wrapped in leather. Termos are used as a sort of decorative accessory for some people, who use their termo to show off the colors of their favorite soccer club or show some pride in their country. You can have personalized things carved into the leather as well. Termos are, by far, the most common thing to be sold on the street and in stores. Most people carry the standard plastic termo, and only give the leather wrapped ones to friends and family as personalized gifts. Mine is a red and blue one, which happens to be the colors of one of the main soccer teams here – Cerro Porteño. My language professor is a fan of their main rival, and he lamented the fact I had chosen my thermo without consulting him on the “correct” colors. Your termo also holds the yuyos. When you are at home, it is acceptable to use a glass pitcher, or “Jarra.”

A guampa is a small cup, most traditionally carved out of a bull’s horn, which holds Yerba Maté. These, like the termo, can be customized and decorated, or sometimes sold as a set with the fancier termos. For the more utility-minded who are not concerned with aesthetics (like myself), it is common to simply use a small metal guampa.

Bombillas are special metal straws which are placed into the guampa. Since you don’t want to actually drink the Yerba Maté which resides in the cup, the end of the bombilla resembles a spoon that has a strainer wrapped around it. This way you get the water, which retains the flavor of the Yerba Maté, but without the pieces of the herbs.

Consumption

Guampas a designed to be small. After placing your Yerba Maté mix into it, there is a relatively small amount of water that will fit into it – You generally get about two gulps. Part of what makes tereré more of an activity than just a drink is that it is meant to be shared in groups. The fact that you only get a couple gulps per fill makes it possible for lots of people to get a turn.

Traditions and Beliefs

Traditionally, the youngest female in a tereré circle does the pouring. This is really not a custom I have seen followed very strictly, but whenever its just us volunteers sitting around drinking tereré, I usually invoke this rule to be lazy.

Some people take passing the guampa as an opportunity to do some flirting. When both people have their hands on the guampa as it is passing, the flirter will take his or her (usually his) index finger and do a brief little brush against the other person’s finger. Subtle, but an effective message.

A “turn” with the guampa is referred to by the Guarani word “ha,” as in, “Man! I left the circle for thirty seconds and I missed my ha.” A greedy pourer will occasionally double or triple ha, which means they just poured their turn, drank, poured again, and drank again. The “Super Ha” is an even greedier take on double ha-ing, which involves holding the guampa up to your face, putting the bombilla in your mouth, holding the termo above your head and doing a continuous pour / drink. I’ve done it when drinking tereré alone and have been super thirsty, but its a major faux pa to do the Super Ha in a social setting.

Almost all Paraguayans agree that yuyos belong in your termo during the morning. If you are drinking tereré in the afternoon, you are supposed to just use plain water. I have asked several people why this is, and I have not, as of yet, found someone who knew the answer. I guess its just tradition.

There are many myths regarding mixing tereré with other foods and drinks. The one that always sounds hilarious to me is the warnings that come with what you cannot eat after. The most common warning is watermelon. A lot of the other warnings remind me of common beliefs in the US that have to do with having to wait a set amount of time before being allowed to swim after a meal.

Read more about Paraguayan culture in the “Culture Bag” series.

Who among us never heard a monster in the closet, saw that face outside the window, sensed that claw beneath the bed? I think for most Americans, these fears originate from scary movies, campfire stories, and older siblings just messing with you. I always convinced myself that I saw that monster that Dan Aykroyd turns into in The Twilight Zone movie. In the US, beyond the somewhat vague myth of a boogeyman, there aren’t really any monsters that large numbers of people have a shared belief in, (although the Tooth Fairy is a bit off-putting when you think about it). Most of our shared myths are for little kids, and are meant to be benevolent, like Santa. Since the people of this country have no cult classics or cruel camp counselors who are interested in scaring their campers, the original Guarani peoples seemed to have made up for this by inventing their own monsters.

Pombero – The most famous of all monsters here is known as the Pombero. He is a mischievous little fellow who likes to sneak around the neighborhood and commit crimes at night which you normally would blame on the children, like breaking things or leaving the lights on. Pombero manages to sneak around with great stealth because the bottoms of his feet are hairy, so he doesn’t make noise as he walks. When women here have particularly hairy children, it is assumed that she and the Pombero spent some intimate time together. The only way to keep the Pombero from messing up your garden, trashing your kitchen and spawing hairy Pombero Juniors with your wife, is to leave cigars, booze, and honey on a table outside the house. Its just like Santa with his milk and cookies, minus the whole Incubus/impregnation deal. Unless that song about mama kissing Santa has a racier sequel that I don’t know about.

Plata Yvyguy – Clearly the hardest of all Guarani mythology monsters to pronounce, he is their version of a Leprechaun. “Plata” means money in Spanish, and “Yvyguy” means underground or buried in Guarani. Unlike a wisecracking little Irish man whose legend has spawned marshmallow cereals and cheap horror movies, this myth is much more of a monster. It is a headless-dog who wanders the forest. Rather than follow a rainbow, you follow this dog, and he will show you the location of some buried treasure.

Luison – There is a lot of significance placed on the significance of numbers in other mythologies. One number that seems to have widespread significance across many of them is the number seven. Luison was the seventh child of a particular couple named Tau and Kerana, and was born as a hideous monster. I am told that some very rural Paraguayans actually have a subtle fear of their seventh child, because of Luison. His form varies depending on who you ask, but most agree that he is dog-like. Some people tell me that he is this country’s version of a werewolf. He likes to dwell near cemeteries and kill anyone who lingers there after dark. My family in Guarambare lived near a cemetery, and though they didn’t believe in most of these myths, they did believe in Luison. Consequently, I was reminded more than once to walk on the street that doesn’t pass the cemetery if I was going to come home after dark.

Kurupi – One day I saw a picture of a monster with what I thought was a really long belt that he had looped around his waist several times. When I asked a Paraguayan what the deal with that belt was, he laughed, and explained that it was not a belt. He is a spirit of fertility, (guess what that belt thing was). Kurupi is also a child of Tau and Kerana. Like Pombero, he is a short little hairy guy that is often blamed for pregnancies. “Kurupi” is also the name of one of the most popular brands of Yerba Mate here, though this brand does not impregnate anyone as far as I know.

There are several others, but these four are the ones I hear about most frequently. Other notables include Ao Ao, Jasy Jatere, and Teju Jagua. The word “Ao” in Guarani means “fresh” or “cool,” but in this case it only refers to the sound that the monster makes as it chases you through the woods. Jasy Jatere is a siesta-time monster, but I hear very little about that one. “Jagua” in Guarani means dog, and Teju Jagua is a half-lizard half-dog monster.

The extent to which families here believe in these myths varies depending on where they live. Most urban families, such as the family that I am currently living with, view them simply as myths, but those who live out in the campo believe quite strongly in most, if not all, of these monsters. Whether they believe in them or not, every Paraguayan knows these stories because their parents tell them, either for entertainment, or to get them to come home before dark.

Read more about Paraguayan culture in the “Culture Bag” series.