Sucked into Sucre
By Anthony PolicanoIt’s the New Year, and all my excuses for remaining here in Sucre have been fulfilled.
Bolivia is one of those places that just consumes you. Why I haven’t written much here is beyond me… but I can tell that my experiences here will be burned in my soul for quite some. I won’t say it’s been easy or even entirely pleasant either, although in a way I am sort of cruising through (6 weeks already!) and what have I done? And where am I going? Even better question.
Upon arriving two weeks ago, I relaxed a bit from my ass-kicking bike ride here from Potosí, taking up an easy schedule of museum and church-going, cemetery meandering, market-browsing, visiting the many chocolate shops, becoming a regular of the vegetarian restaurant (and their 4-course, $2 lunches), and passing hours in the town Plaza, the center of my world here, where I can see everyone I know and make new ones too. Socializing with my lovely hosts and various others has been a nice change of pace, as have been the holiday dinner parties and occasional nights out. Although after four days here I still wasn’t convinced that I should carry-out my intended mission: to find a Spanish school. The little voice inside me insisted I take a look. I’m pretty sure I was hesitant to get sucked-in, which is exactly what happened.
I collected some fliers, did my homework, and checked-out the two non-profit schools (meaning the foreigners’ Spanish classes pay for Bolivians’ English classes.) The first school didn’t give me any warm-n-fuzzies, but at the fledgling Fenix, however, I felt the family vibe immediately, and despite it being significantly farther from the center of town, I signed-up to take a class the following morning. In fact, I signed-up for the whole day: first my class, then I’d return (after siesta) to give-out hundreds of holiday gift bags to some needy/deserving campesinos, and in the evening we’d have a pot-luck dinner with all the staff and students of the school. What an Orientation day!
My awesome Belgian hosts Kim and Dries took me out to a festival in a distant village, which was a nice contrast to the Colonial/Republican, somewhat European vibe here in Sucre. On Christmas Eve their roommates came home, and were also awesome, and I somehow felt adopted instead of moved-out, and happy to acquire a bigger family here in Sucre. I stayed in town for Christmas, continued with my classes, made a few more local friends, and the Holidays flew by. By the time I felt like I really should leave, the roommates made more travel plans, and welcomed me to stay in “my room” again through the New Year. I sheepishly asked Kim and Dries if I they’d mind (cool Belgians!), and they said they like having me around.
I took nine classes with Lu Lu, got some excellent notes for continued reference, and said good-bye at the end of our final, Dec. 31 session. New Years came and went, as did much merry-making with my peeps. I saw virtually everyone I know here in the Plaza at midnight, and in a lapse of good judgement I sold my damned tie for a good-luck $100 bill (to a dude I saw again today, who shortly thereafter gave it to a French guy!) Kim, Dries & I spent the next days in pajama-therapy, recovering with movie marathons and pizza.
Today I went out, to regain my sea legs and make my move. First to the bus station for schedules. Then, as I’ve done before, I hopped a random micro to a random edge of town (to walk back:) Under big grey clouds which suddenly rolled-in and brought with it uncharacteristic cold, I felt a bit sad. I found refuge in my favorite of the many churches, La Iglesia San Francisco. Shortly after I sat in a pew right in front, a (Christian) rock-band, full-on with electric guitars, drum-kit and two singers, started playing a set to a decent audience which appeared out of nowhere. Somehow, I felt right again!
I hope that, in the absence of my new friends, I will again confide in my wee journal, to fill-in the many back-stories which have brought me across Southern Bolivia to where I am now. It’s horrible good stuff. Like the hallucinatory Salt Flats, the Devil inside Potosí (PS: that wasn’t The Tío in my last post), President Evo Morales, the dancing, karaoke, prostitutes, masks, costumes, weavings, colors, Cholitas, witches, heart-eating heroes, child laborers, transit strikes, stretching the goat… I need some discipline again, Ha!
Bolivia is one of those places that just consumes you. Why I haven’t written much here is beyond me… but I can tell that my experiences here will be burned in my soul for quite some. I won’t say it’s been easy or even entirely pleasant either, although in a way I am sort of cruising through (6 weeks already!) and what have I done? And where am I going? Even better question.
Tombs look like ovens here.
lazin-around, siesta time
Upon arriving two weeks ago, I relaxed a bit from my ass-kicking bike ride here from Potosí, taking up an easy schedule of museum and church-going, cemetery meandering, market-browsing, visiting the many chocolate shops, becoming a regular of the vegetarian restaurant (and their 4-course, $2 lunches), and passing hours in the town Plaza, the center of my world here, where I can see everyone I know and make new ones too. Socializing with my lovely hosts and various others has been a nice change of pace, as have been the holiday dinner parties and occasional nights out. Although after four days here I still wasn’t convinced that I should carry-out my intended mission: to find a Spanish school. The little voice inside me insisted I take a look. I’m pretty sure I was hesitant to get sucked-in, which is exactly what happened.
I collected some fliers, did my homework, and checked-out the two non-profit schools (meaning the foreigners’ Spanish classes pay for Bolivians’ English classes.) The first school didn’t give me any warm-n-fuzzies, but at the fledgling Fenix, however, I felt the family vibe immediately, and despite it being significantly farther from the center of town, I signed-up to take a class the following morning. In fact, I signed-up for the whole day: first my class, then I’d return (after siesta) to give-out hundreds of holiday gift bags to some needy/deserving campesinos, and in the evening we’d have a pot-luck dinner with all the staff and students of the school. What an Orientation day!
a view from school
- Fenix holiday party, Lulu & kid (left)
My teacher, Lourdes (aka Lu Lu) is awesome, and after a few days of 2-hour classes which just whizzed-by – I was starving for some solid instruction! – I doubled my hours. I enjoyed my homework, my teacher, her cute daughter who was always popping-in (to her mother’s chagrin), and everyone at the school.
We got dinosaurs. (u can see fossil prints round here too)
My awesome Belgian hosts Kim and Dries took me out to a festival in a distant village, which was a nice contrast to the Colonial/Republican, somewhat European vibe here in Sucre. On Christmas Eve their roommates came home, and were also awesome, and I somehow felt adopted instead of moved-out, and happy to acquire a bigger family here in Sucre. I stayed in town for Christmas, continued with my classes, made a few more local friends, and the Holidays flew by. By the time I felt like I really should leave, the roommates made more travel plans, and welcomed me to stay in “my room” again through the New Year. I sheepishly asked Kim and Dries if I they’d mind (cool Belgians!), and they said they like having me around.
Kim & Dries took me to a festival in Tarabuco. A statue in town celebrates a bloody victory over the Spanish back in 1816.. culminating in killing them all and eating their hearts, letting only a little drummer boy alive to tell the tale. (They deserved it, taking all their food & raping all their women.) But eating their hearts?
More Tarabuco: Dries, Kim, Katy (owner of Samay Wasi restaurant/gallery) & Me (in gringo-friendly colorful alpaca cap)
I took nine classes with Lu Lu, got some excellent notes for continued reference, and said good-bye at the end of our final, Dec. 31 session. New Years came and went, as did much merry-making with my peeps. I saw virtually everyone I know here in the Plaza at midnight, and in a lapse of good judgement I sold my damned tie for a good-luck $100 bill (to a dude I saw again today, who shortly thereafter gave it to a French guy!) Kim, Dries & I spent the next days in pajama-therapy, recovering with movie marathons and pizza.
Today I went out, to regain my sea legs and make my move. First to the bus station for schedules. Then, as I’ve done before, I hopped a random micro to a random edge of town (to walk back:) Under big grey clouds which suddenly rolled-in and brought with it uncharacteristic cold, I felt a bit sad. I found refuge in my favorite of the many churches, La Iglesia San Francisco. Shortly after I sat in a pew right in front, a (Christian) rock-band, full-on with electric guitars, drum-kit and two singers, started playing a set to a decent audience which appeared out of nowhere. Somehow, I felt right again!
I hope that, in the absence of my new friends, I will again confide in my wee journal, to fill-in the many back-stories which have brought me across Southern Bolivia to where I am now. It’s horrible good stuff. Like the hallucinatory Salt Flats, the Devil inside Potosí (PS: that wasn’t The Tío in my last post), President Evo Morales, the dancing, karaoke, prostitutes, masks, costumes, weavings, colors, Cholitas, witches, heart-eating heroes, child laborers, transit strikes, stretching the goat… I need some discipline again, Ha!
Cholitas (all dressed-up, normally)
