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Published: March 27th 2008
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Tarabuco
A Señora making her way up the hill to the markets Sucre is a town as sweet as the name implies..... although the name has nothing do do with sugar in Spanish and everything to do with Mariscal Antonio Jose de Sucre, who was one of several men who fought for independence from the Spanish. We stayed in Sucre for about a week, in the hope of acclimatising to altitude before heading upwards to Potosí.
There isn't a huge amount to do in Sucre apart from enjoy the historical centre and eat great cheap food at the many foreign-run restaurants around the plaza. Sucre is about 2600m above sea level, high enough so that upon arrival you can feel a little puffed walking up the stairs or a small hill. We filled the first few days of our stay in Sucre with things like eating, checking out the museums and cathedrals and catching up on some reading and chilling out.
One of the highlights of Sucre, especially for two geologists, were the nearby dinosaur footprints. The local authorities have done an excellent job with preservation and the site is now awaiting approval as a world heritage site. It was discovered while they were mining for the adjacent cement plant, and
Cobbled Streets
A typical quiet street in Sucre mining continues while the site is preserved 1.2km away. Slowly however, layers of mudstone are peeling away, but palaeontologists aren't too concerned because new sets of footprints are being revealed below. It definitely puts Lark Quarry in Queensland to shame!
The food we at in Sucre measured in at both ends of the scale. On our first day in Sucre, Pete was keen to save some cash and eat at the markets, where the locals do. It's difficult to turn down a three-course meal (albeit simple) for about 80c. We ordered Picante de Pollo (spiced chicken) and as soon as I took a mouthful I knew I would regret it. Hygiene isn't a strong point of Bolivians, and there are many reasons why I may have become violently ill: cutlery washed in cold dirty water, food served lukewarm, dirty glasses for the drinks, unwashed hands and tea-towels.. the list goes on. Suffice to say I didn't really leave our room the next day. After that I refused to eat at the markets, no matter how cheap or expensive it was.
Some of the other meals in Sucre however were sensational. Early in our stay we discovered a fantastic
German-run restaurant called El Germen, which served fantastic
amuerzos (set lunches). We got to know the señora working in there during lunchtimes, and after eight or so good meals we were sad to say goodbye to such a great eatery. Other highlights included the Alliance Francaise-run restaurant, a Dutch-run trendy bar which served fantastic Dndonesian satays and the wonderful breakfasts we ate at the cafés on the plaza.
We also visited an Indigenous Art Museum, which was excellent. I had never realised just how beautiful and intricate indigenous weaving could be, and I made another trip back to the museum to buy one for myself. All proceeds from the museum are directed back into programs for the indigenous artists and their families, so it was much more satisfying to purchase one from the museum than from a middle-man at the markets.
Most of the souveneirs and artwork for sale in Sucre was very touristy and at times a bit daggy - Knitted llama patterns aren't so cool on the streets of Brisbane, I imagine. The Tarabuco Indigenous markets were slightly better, and we made the hour-long trip out there on a Saturday and found some interesting characters, delightful
photo opportunities, lukewarm overpriced tea and not much else. I suppose the rain didn't help, but we were a little disappointed at the end of the day.
After about a week in Sucre we figured we had sufficiently acclimatised to altitude and were ready to head up to Potosí, at 4060m above sea level. We caught a bus up and found a great place to stay, strangely enough where Pete had stayed twelve years ago! He remembered having an arguement with the owner but thought it best not to say too much. We had a pleasant vegetarian dinner with a beer each and went to bed relatively early, however neither of us slept much that night - Pete was in dreadful pain. He had a headache, a sore jaw, and burning in his chest. By the time dawn rolled around he could hardly stand up and I decided that we should get to the hospital quickly, as we both suspected altitude sickness. We waited around, paid 12 Bolivianos to see a doctor (about $1.80) and explained to the nurse what we thought was happening. She nodded and referred us to the doctor, a kindly but totally incompetent man who,
after ten minutes of poking and prodding, told Pete that he had a cold, and was to take some antibiotics (strange..) and have a rest. Pete now jokes that if he had listened to that doctor he would be 'taking a very long rest'. In fact he would probably be dead. We nodded, walked out of the hospital and were thankful that the ordeal had cost us less than $2. After some quick internet research, we decided that he definitely had accute mountain sickness and was probably on his way to a cerebral odaema.
It was a dreadful ordeal but it was only 8am and the day wasn't over yet. We packed the bags and caught an express taxi back to Sucre since it was the only way we could get back to a lower altitude to prevent Pete from taking his 'very long rest'. About half an hour into the trip, I noticed in the driver's eyes were bloodshot and slowly closing: my heart skipped a beat. Not wanting to be paranoid, I kept watching, and noticed him start to fidget: winding down the window and closing it again, and continually adjusting the radio. I nudged Pete, who
Hitchin' a Ride
Pete with soroche was barely conscious, and who was in the priveliged position of being able to see the speedo. We caught the driver doing 135km/h around a tight corner and saw his eyes droop while he was cornering. That coupled with the dreadful wheel alignment (or lack of) was enough for us! Pete asked the driver if he was OK, and he assured us he was and started driving
faster just to prove to us how alert he was. A few minutes later as we were passing a small village we asked him to stop. As he crossed the road to have a pee, we grabbed his keys from the ignition and took our bags our of the boot, to save any shenanigans he might have tried if we had asked him nicely. Luckily we did, because when we told him that we were getting out because he was driving dangerously, he tried all sorts of stunts. The first one was 'it was your fault I was falling asleep because you weren't talking to me to keep me awake'! That's a tough one since I don't speak Spanish and Pete was having trouble breathing, let alone feeling chatty. He then tried to
justify his excessive speed by stating that we had hired an
express taxi, not a regular one, and that he was driving fast because we had paid him to. Eventually after about half an hour of arguing, we paid him almost the full fare just to see the back of him. We both agreed that day that had we not stopped the car, he probably would have killed us.
We waited around on the side of the road trying to hitch a ride. Plenty of
collectivos went by but they were all full. Eventually we found one that wasn't and had some much more careful drivers behind the wheel. From what we could work out, the teenage son was learning to drive and he was doing his best to impress the older guys in the car with his newly-acquired skills. He did really well until we came to a steep downhill section when he cooked the brakes. He hadn't learned to drive using the gears so after some more discussion amongst the male occupants of the car, we headed off again to Sucre with a different driver.
Upon arrival back in Sucre we checked back into the same hostel, and received a warm welcome from the ladies behind the reception desk. We then went to our favourite restaurant, The Germ, for lunch and received an even warmer welcome from the señora working there. It almost felt like we had arrived home! So ended a very scary day for us: all jokes aside, Pete looked death in the face twice.
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