Sucre: the first capital of Bolivia, where the first “cry of independence” was cried out, and the first national congress was held. A colonial town like none other in Bolivia. Meandering the streets, appreciating the beautiful buildings, our first stop is the huge market. Fruit stores by the dozens, and ladies selling juices – whichever ones you want. I am pleasantly surprised that all my favourite fruit from Southern China exist here as well (thank you tropical weather of Northern Bolivia!). Chirimoya, Carambola, Maracuya 😍😍😍 Funny that I still only know the Mandarin and Spanish terms for them. I think I want to keep it as such.
We hike up to the view point. Craving coffee – but slightly too early for Latin America – we search around for any coffee shops. We finally find one in a hotel, which turns out to be where political figures are meeting. How do we find this out? The protests at the door. This is the first of many protests we will see in Bolivia, one of the most political societies I have ever encountered (yes, on par with France).
Elliot suddenly turns to me: “I really want to draw.” Elliot is an artist to the bone, and I could see a kind of “craving” to draw, as if his hands were searching for a pencil. It mirrored my “craving” to write. A sort of inexplicable need to put words to a page, or I guess, in his case, a pencil to a page. The white buildings of Sucre had inspired us both. Realising our similar “cravings” sparked a beautiful connection between us.
Revived by the coffee, and after visiting the folkloric art museum (highly recommend), we meet our walking tour guide, José. As some of you may know – I LOVE walking tours. Particularly in a place like Sucre, where each building has years of history.
The anecdote that touched me the most? This statue of Isabel La Catolica, whom I wrote about for my International Baccaleaureate thesis, was completely graffitied. According to Jose, most people no longer know who the statue is of, but use it to demonstrate their discontent at traditional authority.
However, the true highlight of the day was when Lea, two hours delayed with no more battery on her phone (and giving us a little fright, of course), arrived at our hostel. We go to a bar, have food and sangria – a throwback to Lisbon days where a jug of sangria per day was prerequisite. The three of us chat and chat, only just beginning what would be a 10-day catch up on the last four years. You know the feeling: that its-been-a-while, tell-me-everything, I-can’t-speak-fast-enough, wow-I-missed-you… THAT kind of feeling. Pure JOY.
We go dancing, but pretty shattered, and quickly go to bed.
