When I was last in the ‘La Ciudad Blanca,’ aka Sucre, I took no photos. I was so mad with myself when I left because it really is a beautiful city. Now that I’ve got a second chance, you’d be right in saying that I’ve gone a bit camera crazy. My camera comes everywhere, even to the supermercado…. that’s the magic of a digital camera – delete the poo photos later! ***Insert Claire here saying that I never delete them and have a hundred million photos***
This time round, we’ve had some really good photo opportunities of Sucre. For instance, we climbed back up to the top of the Mirador because it was so good last time. Though a very intense leg workout– see the photo of Claire puffing up the hill, *click* – when you get to the top you can relax in deck chairs and jugo or beer if you prefer in hand watch Sucre from above. **Click, click, click.***
Other amazing sites to click away at include the view from the San Felipe Neri Convent. On a recommendation from the owners of our hostel, we scaled the stairs to the top of the convent, which is now a girls school. On the roof, you get a spectacular view of Sucre, *click*. You would never know that you were allowed up there. We spent a good hour and a half wandering around the roof - the seats where the monks meditated remain. With the sun just about to set, the golden light splayed across the city and made for magnificent photos… *click, click.*
The view from the top
The local market – where we buy our chicken….
One of the local government buildings
Other trying to capture Sucre moments on film include:
(1) Trying sneakily to get a good photo of the traditionally dressed, aviator wearing, grandma street vendor (I think she is was onto us, but we will get the photo, she is awesome!); and
(2) Having a chili almost thrown at my head by a yelling vegetable vendor at the Tarabuco markets who did clearly not want her photo taken.
My next photo opportunity was Tarabuco. I complain a lot about Bolivian driving so I will spare you the details of our helish, and very rapid journey (which took 40 minutes, instead of the supposed 1.5 hours) to the town which is about 60kms from Sucre….but it was scary!!! – the week before, on her return journey, a girl in our Spanish class saw one of the mini buses we were travelling in upside down on the wrong side of the road. Uh-oh….
I also have to mention that Claire, firstly got slobbered on by a very elderly Quechan woman. The poor lady struggled to climb into the van, so she did so on her knees (cause she was so small she could not step in). Then, with head on Claire’s leg while having great difficulty now attempting to get to her feet and into her seat, she coughed and slimed Claire’s knee. Yuk. The icing on the cake had to be though when Claire thought she was being peed on by the same lady (who was now sitting opposite, knees intertwined with Claire’s, for we were sitting opposite her in a very small bus). Liquid, from who knows where, began to trickle down Claire’s leg. Turns out that it was coming from the lady’s bag, but it made for an interesting 10 minutes of immense concern.
An amusing observation – People don’t give up trying to talk to you even though you are staring back at them blankly. The Quechan lady included continued trying to talk to us even though we clearly had not even an inkling of what she was trying to say, regardless of how many hand gestures she made. This lady seemed fascinated with my aviators, pointing and chatting away about them (I think…), and then moving onto point at Claire’s sunnies when I didn’t understand. Whether she wanted to try them on, she wanted to have them or what I will never have any idea. Nor did anyone on the bus – we all sat there in absolute confusion and ended up just nodding and replying ‘si, si…’ in the hope that she would give up eventually (which she did, she fell asleep). But this happens all the time – we were trapped once by a lady in a haberdashery shop in Guaylagauychu (where we bought our Carnival accessories). She chatted to us for 5 minutes about the town, ignoring our blank looks and pleas of ‘no entiendo, no hablo espanol.’
Anyhoo, every Sunday people from surrounding villages all converge on Tarabuco, in their traditional attire, *click*, to sell their produce. Having caught onto the fact that tourists don’t really want fresh fruit and veg, locals also flog the usual alpaca jumpers, scarves and beanies. I may have gone a little nuts, and while momentarily forgetting the size of my bag, splurged on an hammock (which I will now have to ship back to Sydney) and a scarf that I wished I had bought last time we were in Bolivia.
Anyway, to cut a long story short, here are some more photos. Enjoy!
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