Ciao to the White City

Our four week stint in Sucre - 'La Ciudad Blanca' - is almost at a close and, to my surprise, we're itching to hit the road again. It's been great having somewhere to call home for a month and we've been so lucky with our hostel, La Dolce Vita. We had a huge room to ourselves - with the luxury of an ensuite and space to study - enjoyed many an afternoon sunning ourselves on the patio and even had a night of dancing (with benefit of quite a few beers) with the French/Swiss-German owners. In a way they've been like a surrogate family, helping us with frustrating Bolivian postal delays and conversing with us and other guests over many a bottle of wine. This family even comes complete with a seven year-old daughter, eager to play barbies and tell stories (in Spanish of course) who, unable to pronounce 'Claire', has affectionately renamed me 'Cleo'. She's a bag of laughs a minute and great for Spanish speaking practice. I'd recommend this hostel to anyone visiting Sucre, I'm sure we'll miss it.

However, like an impatient child, the travel bug is jumping up and down, busting to get moving again and, like all good travellers, we're dutifully obeying. Tomorrow we set off to Ecuador where we've signed up for two weeks volunteering with the Santa Martha animal sanctuary, an hour south of the Capital, Quito. Already this sanctuary is far more organised than Inti Wara Yassi, the Bolivian equivalent that we initially approached, and has already secured our place and accommodation. We're really looking forward to it.

But how can I sign off without one last ode to my favourite country thus far? I can only hope that fellow travellers, friends and family visit this interesting place. It's true that you will sometimes feel like you're on another planet in Bolivia, but at the same time, it oozes personality and vitality. One thing I've learnt a thing or two about is the value of hard work, and how hard some people have to work just to feed their kids a couple of times a week, something which I'm sure is inconceivable to many. There's also something beautiful about the ubiquitous juxtaposition of old and new, traditional and modern - traditionally clad dancers resting on a shiny hilux, or the unusual accessories that are so often coupled with time-old rural clothing: a 'North River Surgery Centre' jumper or an 'I love London' baseball cap. It's all part of Bolivia's character and charm and I'm sure this wont be my last visit.

Getting to know Bolivia

Today marked the end of our third week of Spanish lessons in Sucre. It's been intense scribbling down hundreds of new words each week, learning different language tenses while trying to read, write and speak it all correctly, every instruction and conversation in Spanish. I wont say there haven't been times when I've questioned the sanity behind my decision to voluntarily return to study.

But things are finally coming together on the language front, conversations are more complex and topics more interesting. The beauty of learning a new language in a classroom setting is that you can diverge from any lesson plan to chat about topics of interest. There's no risk of being told off because it's great speaking practice (as long as you speak every word in Spanish, which is sometimes quite difficult, and I've been known to have received a telling off for 'practicing' my English).

This week I've particularly enjoyed classes because the conversation has been more lively and interactive. We've spoken a lot about Bolivia - its regions, its politics, its President - things I think anyone living in a foreign country should know. Our conversations have been both interesting and eye-opening and make for a great game of 'Did you know?'.

Did you know?: Bolivia has nine 'departamentos' (like States) and an estimated 70% of the population is indigenous. Bolivia's landscape is diverse, contrary to popular belief that is a country of high altitudes. It's landscape ranges from high plateaus (the 'altiplano'), valleys ('valles') and tropical lowlands ('Oriente'). Guide books and internet sites will tell you that Bolivia has two capital cities: La Paz (the legislative and administrative capital and home to the Presidential residence), and Sucre (the judicial capital). However, according to my tutor, Sucre is Bolivia's historical and thus, official, capital city. The Country's President, Evo Morales, is of indigenous background and was born of a poverty-striken family in Oruro. Along the road to politics he farmed, among other things, coca leaves (great for sore stomachs, headaches, altitude sickness and also the main ingredient in cocaine), and he never attended University. Now that's a fairly different scenario to that of the multi-degree-holding pollies back home, hey?

So it's true, you learn something new every day, even in Spanish!

Week two Sucre: some life lessons

 

Lesson one: if you value life, avoid taking local buses/collectivos, particularly between Sucre and Tarabuco, as an anxiety attack may be the least of your problems*.

* Ok, so I know I harp on about buses - especially Bolivian buses - but they are a constant source of memorable and/or unpleasant incidents. This particular incident was of the unpleasant variety and parental viewing of this section may not be recommended.

If you visit Sucre, you will hear all about the Sunday markets in Tarabucco, about 65km southeast of the city. They are well known for their textiles and also as a place Bolivians from more rural areas visit to stock up on weekly essentials. If you make the journey, you will see many of these people in unique traditional dress making the often kilometres long walk to the village along the roadside.
Having heard some rave reviews, Bec and I decided to make a day of it on our second Sunday in Sucre. We got up early and headed to the tourist office to book a place on the tourist bus. Having seen some of the maniac drivers here, we figured the tourist bus might be slightly more tame. When told there were no seats left, the guy in the office casually promised that it was 'no problem', there were plenty of 'collectivos' a short cab ride from the Plaza. Eager to see the markets, we decided to brave it, and courage it required.

To give you an idea, you wouldn't really call a collectivo a bus, it's more of a van and is not much bigger than a combie. With this in mind, the drivers wont leave the city until the collectivo is overflowing with people. Usually it is children who get the raw end of the deal, being shoved into a corner, laid across strange bodies or squashed under a leg. It took around fifteen minutes for the chicken-coup sensation to set in and we were on our way.

I will now write briefly of my observations of the general adherence to safety regualtions as to driving in Bolivia: there is none. In Bolivia, 72 people have died in bus crashes in 2010 alone! This is due to a number of factors. Speed limit signs are mere formalities and are observed by no one. This is particularly in the case of collectivo drivers making numerous trips to Tarabuco and wanting to make as much money as possible and, hence, as many trips as are possible. The most terrifying fact, however, and one I'm sure many tourists aren't aware of, is the incidence of and nonchalance that many drivers have towards driving while drunk. I've been told by a number of Bolivians that it's a serious problem here. In January this year, a drunk driver was at the wheel of a bus that killed five and injured 43. This accident was the impetus behind the government's introduction of a law that indefinitely suspends the licence of a driver caught driving drunk. It was also the cause of large-scale strikes by workers, bringing out riot police all over Sucre last week. They were protesting the new law. Finally, if you are an optimistic foreigner in search of a seatbelt there is fat chance you'll find one!

Take these factors (with the exception, I think, of the drinking one), put them together, and you can probably imagine that this made for a pretty uncomfortable and frightening trip, made worse by the fact that our driver managed to make the 1.5 hour journey in one hour there, and 45 minutes back. We held our breaths the whole way. When we were back on solid ground we told a friend of our experience. She said she'd passed an upturned collectivo only a week before on that same road. With a huge festival coming up in Tarabuco this weekend, we are thinking very carefully about our transport to and from the village.

It wasn't, however, all doom and gloom. We did get to the markets and they were great. Bec especially scored in the shopping department and the people watching was at its best, as you can see from some of the pics. You'll also be happy to know that we have decided to fly from Bolivia to Ecuador where we start the
next part of our trip.

Lesson two: being a good Samaritan is totally worth it but be prepared for unknowns.

Unknown languages. Unknown and/or unsanitary substances.

The two of us sat with our Swiss friend Barbara, waiting with anticipation for the collectivo to leave Tarabuco. There were already about three adults too many, not including the little boy identifiable only by half his torso and legs sticking out from behind two men. The driver opened the van door with the hope of stuffing one last person into the coup. An old, tiny lady, with beautiful wrinkles that I'm sure would tell a thousand stories. She would have been half my size - literally - and, abandoned by the driver, couldn't hoist her pint-sized body onto the bus without some assistance.

With a kind gentleman pushing from behind I, being closest to the door, was in a position to hold her hand as she climbed in. No problem. This lady, however, had different ideas and took the on-the-knees, head-in-the-lap approach, coughing and wheezing the whole time - allllll over my bare legs. Nice. 'Bec', I inconspicuously whispered, 'Do you have any of that hand sanitiser that I can put on my legs?'....'No.' Ok. I'll just have a shower when I get home, no problem.

The bus spluttered to a start and we were off. Five minutes in we hit the same windy road we'd experienced on our way in, no seatbelt to hold us in place as we swayed from side to side into strange shoulders. At this point, my old friend, while clutching at an unsuspecting German guy's leg for support (his girlfriend in hysterics) started chatting away to us in Quechan, a language spoken mostly be rural dwellers of which I have no familiarity. Unfazed by my confused looks and futile 'no entiendo's, she chatted away for a good ten minutes while I, trying to be polite, nodded and smiled.

If the high speed and incomprehensible chitchat wasn't enough, I noticed something moist running down my leg which, being in a human straitjacket, I couldn't inspect. At first I thought my old friend may have been incontinent but, no, the substance was cold and was, I think, coming from the shopping bag resting on her lap. To be honest, I didn't really want to know what it was.
At that stage, a shower was looking very good.

In the background, our Quechan friend

Lesson three: Think twice before asking for two 'pechugas' (breasts), while pointing at a chicken in a chicken shop. This can be quite hilarious to patrons eating meals, and equally hilarious to the 12-year-old boy manning the shop counter who may take some time to compose himself.

Lesson four: children should be physically active and nothing should stand in the way of this.

Another short and sweet lesson. I guess there aren't many ovals in Sucre - I haven't seen one - but this didn't stop one school from holding their athletics carnival...in the street! I took this video. The kids are being told to run around the block, which had been cordoned off to facilitate the event. I guessed this was the 'long distance' event. I was concerned when I captured a couple of them falling over, expecting blood and tears from the hard asphalt, but that didn't stop these tiny tots from finishing the race. I was a fascinating sight but a pleasing one at that, a bunch of kids having a load of fun.

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Back to School

Some might call it madness, I know I have each morning this week while climbing out of bed at 7am to get ready for Spanish class. That's right, I've made the voluntary decision to go back to school, homework and all.

Having done a fair bit of travel in foreign countries one thing I find really frustrating is not being able to speak the local language. What is equally, if not more frustrating, is only knowing how to say: 'Do you speak English?' I feel presumptuous and rude. But in most cases, it can't be helped. You can't be expected to speak the language of every country you visit (especially in Europe), sometimes you just have to do your best. The good news for me is that, taking time out in Sucre has also posed as a good opportunity for Spanish lessons to alleviate my frustration. Considering I'm spending six months on a Spanish-speaking continent, I think it's a good idea.

Sucre is one of Bolivia's two capital cities and is the country's judicial centre (don't ask me why there are two). La Paz is Bolivia's administrative hub and home to its President. As it happens, Sucre is also our favourite Bolivian city. It's somewhat more laid back than the country's other big cities and is really beautiful (think big white colonial buildings and leafy green plazas). It is also swimming with Spanish schools and, as a result, 'gringos', or foreigners.

So this week, Bec and I jumped on the Spanish school bandwagon and we'll be on it for the next month, having signed up with the Academia Latinoamericana de Espanol and booked into the popular La Dolce Vita Hostel longterm. And the week one report? So far so good, the first coo being that, for whatever reason, I've been allocated my own tutor (having paid for group classes), so the intensive course I signed up for is just that. It's been fairly reminiscent of my highschool French days - learning lists of verbs and vocab - with a few extra 'practical activities' thrown in. For example, we took a trip to the local market to buy typical Bolivian fruit and also enjoyed a saltena at 'El Patio', the best saltena spot in town, the whole time speaking in Spanish of course.

I can't say I'm used to the homework sheets yet, but I am very much enjoying the stimulation after a few months of wandering - I think my brain is too. So bring on week two!

Our Spanish School - who wouldn't want to come here each day?