From my new, much more agreeable hotel base, I take a good look around Encarnacion, then head off for the second of three Jesuit missions. That involves a bus back upto yesterday's ticket office, then a motor-rickshaw over twelve kilometres of lush green Paraguyan countryside. Much of the route's track is made up of a very rudimentary cobbling. I find it perfectly amusing to be enjoying the views, whilst being shaken like a tin of paint. Halfway down the route, it occurs to me that I probably don't have my ticket, but it's too late to do anything about it now.
When the shaking and rattling finally subsides, I pay and hobble off. After a thorough search, I accept that don't have my ticket. I walk up to the guy at the gate with a smile and ''Tengo un problema." After some short conversation, he waves me in. I'm the only person here. It's about 1730, and that means the sun is about ready to shut up shop. As I'm wandering around the ruins, each of the big windows and doorways is framing the sunset. Today, the horizon is gold, rolling up into a light blue - I'd probably call it ''Azul'' or something, if had a Dulux colour chart to hand. There's wispy red clouds in the distance, and a few purple ones nearby. With the foreground of the old ruined structure and a line of pillars, this one is special. Dawn and Andy O would be have a field day here, hurrying to configure their kilo of camera to snap at this.
There's a cornfield behind the church. I see the perfect opportunity to reenact that asinine film where those kids are being chased through just such a field by a trucker that they pissed off. It's not as easy as it looks, but I guess you find a way to manage when there's a murderous truck chasing you about all about town.
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