Oh, the light is bright in Sucre

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4:30am
Mark, of course, came in an hour later, and noticing that his bed (we had separate singles, which was what was available, so we were told until we found that Aaron had an absolute palace with a double and single bed in it - methinks some funny business just went on en espanol!) was covered in his crap, decided to pancake me on my little single bed and tell me that he was sleeping there. I pushed his drunk butt onto the floor. He then turned on the light ARGH! Blind!, and threw the Ritz crackers I was trying to feed him (so he wouldn’t be a puddle in the morning) onto the floor. Then all went dark again.


8:30am
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Bang!


Imagine my smugness when I thought about what a good idea it was not to have to get up for an 9am bike ride down a cliff. It was 8:30am.


“Mark, Aaron’s at the door” - me
“muh huh” - Mark


3 minutes passes. Bang! Bang! Bang!


“Mark, get the door” - me
“zzzzzzzzzzz” - Mark
“Mark! Aaron is at the door! Get the door!” - me
“huh” - Mark
“Argh, get the damn door!” - me

Mark finally gets out of bed, stumbling and spends the next three minutes finding and putting on pants. He finally opens the door, to which I can only imagine he saw Aaron there, but it seemed to surprise him nonetheless, and he said “Ut Oh”. And looked at his watch.

It took him at least 15 more minutes to complement the pants with a t shirt, and finally, they were off. Both, clearly, still drunk as skunks. Heh heh, girls = smart, boys = stupid. “Champions!”

Of course, after all this I was up, so I took a long leisurely shower and woke Hannah up. We had originally thought we might take a 9:30 am tour of some dinosaur footprints which were encased somewhere around here, but as that wasn't set in stone, it became apparent what we really wanted to do was eat a big americano breakfast. Which is exactly what we did, and it was excellent.

Our real plan had been to walk around the city and really check it out, which is something we really hadn't had time to do in Potosi. With our little map we set out wandering the center of the city. For the morning, the narrow streets were mainly empty, but at precisely noon, the streets were deluged with people of all types, businessmen, mothers, workers and children. The children were notable. The schools, most being Catholic, require uniforms. The little boys wear jackets that resemble white lab coats, and the little girls wear white dresses. En mass, it looks like a miniature hospital had been let out on lunch break, with hundreds of tiny nurses and doctors flooding the streets. People are everywhere. Its actually a little hard to move around.

As we wander I notice a few things, a little unexpected. The city is beautiful, particularly when taken from afar, but similar to NYC when you get a little closer to it, you notice the grit. There is real grit here, and though there is an element of wealth, it becomes clear that poverty is jumping at its heels every moment it gets. There are many beggars here. They are really filthy, sad and extraordinarily aggressive. Thus far in Bolivia we had not been approached by a single person asking for handouts. Here, there are children who shove their hands in your face and keep them there as long as possible, to the point where its necessary to physically move them out of way. I keep thinking it myself "do not give filthy children money, do not give sad little children money" to stop myself. Aaron is right, we do not want to create a culture of begging. Fortunately the rudeness at which they ask makes it much easier for me to say no, multiple times if necessary. The shoe shine boys were also quite annoying, asking constantly without leaving, to polish my cloth boots. Ah, we are back to normal for 3rd world travel!

One of the highlights of our day was a visit to the cemetary, about a 20 minute walk from the center of Sucre. It was such a haven of peace inside its walls. Large freestanding family tombs were placed artistically around, amongst the trees, flowers, grass and park benches. The walls are approximately 12 feet high and chock full of dead bodies, similar to what you'd see in a morgue. Each had a little door with fresh flowers in most. The graves from 1905 included. What a nice thought that people still remember their relatives who were buried a century ago. It makes you think about how our culture doesn't respect the past nearly enough. There are thousand of graves here amongs the beautiful gardening, though nobody is buried in the ground. The most gruesome thing would have to be the family tombs which have a few 'slots' all emptied out and ready to become an eternal home for somebody. Very creepy. I'm not sure I'd like to know exactly where my final resting place might be. As peaceful as this place is right now, at 1pm, I'm thinking it would be creep city once the sun has set.

Our other major stop, not including lunch which took forever (people here must grow the food after you order it), was the textile museum, located on the other side of town from the cemetary. The weavings of the native Jalq'a and the Tarabuco tribes, which have hailed from the area surrounding Sucre for more than a thousand years, are varied, complicated and very beautiful. In ancient times they were primarily woven by women, and generally for clothing and other household items, but even then they were highly decorative and the intricate figures tell a story, similar to the pictograph forms of Egypt and other ancient civilizations. If you have the slightest interest in native arts, this place is worth a stop.

We reunited with the men,about 4pm, who were recovering from both their danger cycling and the remains of hangovers. After the first run down, where they both nearly called it a day, it sounds like they bellied up to the experience and enjoyed themselves. However, the four of us were partied out and it was going to be a quiet night.

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