Sucre is our first stop in the Andes. About 250km (atcf) south west of Santa Cruz, it took us all night because the roads are so windy and not sealed. Sucre is about 2700m above sea level making it the highest place we’ve visited so far.Sucre has a rich colonial heritage having been founded in 1538 as the Spanish capital of the Charcas. It’s a thoroughfare for tourists but a stand-alone attraction in itself. It has colorful indigenous markets, bright white-washed buildings, decorative archways, quaint doorways, rooftops of Spanish terracotta tiles and many churches.
We were both feeling sick Bolivian-style (bus weary, sleep deprived, gastro affected, fluey and possibly a wee altitude sick) and desperate to catch up on sleep. After an awkward (no Espanio, no Ingles) hotel check-in involving much sign language, some drawing of hieroglyphics, and eventually consulting our Spanish phrase book – ‘bano privado’ and ‘habitacion matrimony’ – we bunked down for the rest of the morning.
Post siesta we at late lunch at Joyride café – gringo café owned by a Dutchman – and headed to ‘Museo de arte Indigena’, a gallery showcasing the best of indigenous art, costume, musical instruments and handicrafts (probably much like Indigenous art galleries in Australia though I´ve never been). It had displays of Candelaria, Potelo and Tarabuco weaving. We saw weavers in action and learnt it takes them +/- 3 months to complete a single ½ Sq meter weave – thrilling stuff! Weaving has changed very little in the past 500-1000 years until the early 1990s. Since then they have had multiple ‘weaver’s revolutions’ each with distinct changes in subject matter and style. We didn’t hear much about those who instigated the ‘weaver’s revolutions’ but have to say we both much preferred the contemporary-post-revolutions-weaves (Escher type designs) than those prior (rainbows etc).
Also of note was more Catholic/Indigenous-beliefs and customs hybrid. To attempt an explanation; many of the local indigenous populace have alters called ‘Pachamamas’, special stones (random rocks) called ‘virgin stones’ that they ordain with gifts of alcohol, coca leaves and lama fetuses. Somehow a bastardization of Catholic mass figures into this spectacle also, purpose being to bring good luck to the weaving and no doubt hopefully inspire the next weaver’s revolution. Tempted but too confused to buy any weavings or virgin rocks, we called it a day and headed back to ‘Joyride’ to sample a little more western cuisine.Saturday started with a visit to ‘de la Liberatad’ (liberation museum), an ornate house-cum-museum where the Bolivian declaration of independence was signed in 1825. The highlight of this visit was escaping unhindered a pack of feral 10-year-old boys who were following us around the entire museum looking very suspicious. We became distrustful of their intentions firstly by them just being there (10-year-old boys visiting museums on their own?!?); and secondly by their loitering around particularly mundane exhibits (pretending to look interested very badly) whenever they noticed us being aware of them. Karyn growled at them in English but they seemed to understand well enough.
Energized by the enthralling ‘de la Liberatad’ we took a very slow walk up the hill from central Sucre to get a good city view from ‘Iglesia de la Recoletta’. Climbing up hills to get a better view was becoming a little routine this holiday, hence we were pleased by the extra challenge introduced by altitude (though it may still be the aftereffects of Argentinean steak).
In the afternoon we took a tour (the tour group consisted of Karyn and myself) to the Indigenous village of ‘Jatua Yampara’, about a ½ hour drive from Sucre. ‘Jatua Yampara’ is a village consisting of 10-20 families all living in mud brick houses. 1st stop was calling in on an 89-year-old widow (who looks 300+++) called Christina. Perchance we had called during her bath-time and caught her topless and on her knees, washing her hair, head in a trough in the middle of the court-yard. Karyn and I were more embarrassed than she was and regretfully declined to take a photo despite our tour-guide’s encouragement. Christina lives alone with her dog, cat and several chickens. She has no running water or power. Her community helps her grow corn and potatoes in the wet-season, enough to get her through the dry winter – her living room floor is covered with piles of potatoes and grain.
Most of the homes are like Christina’s, having a central dusty courtyard surrounded by a few small rooms – a very small kitchen (2x1meter dirt floored room with a fire in the corner) and a living room (not sure of the local word) used for everything else – sleeping, eating, and storing all food, farming produce and clothes. 
We stopped by another old chap and then met the village chief after feeding the village lamas. The chief had a number of enterprises including four small guest houses (in case he can convince any visiting tourists to stay a while – 14 Dutch tourists are staying next month), a ‘chicheria’ or native bar serving no alcohol but instead a corn-brew called ‘chicha’ (reluctantly accepted for tasting – sweet with a bitter bite), lamas for wool and some women weaving their wears (all photo-shy). The chief also has a museum; a few huts dedicated to exhibiting different grains, musical instruments and common gifts to the ‘Pachamamas’ (including lama fetuses). Finally the chief showed us his catholic chapel that is on special occasion visited by a priest, no doubt quite a coup for the chief.
1 comment:
Jon did you get the urge in their little kitchens to pick up the little kids, sit them on your knee and sing English sunday school songs to them? If you took video recordig you could send it to that organisation you loved so much in January!
Post a Comment