Sucre 2,700m – Sweet Respite

From my last time backpacking Bolivia, I remembered Sucre (sugar in English, but named after revolutionary leader Antonio José de Sucre) to be a breath of fresh air. Looking at our itinerary a while back, we had decided that we should plan in some down-time, and Sucre seemed the ideal place. There’s not much to do here by way of tourism, it’s not at (extreme) altitude, it’s pretty modern, clean and not as crowded or chaotic as La Paz, Oruro or Potosi, it had some good apartment options, and it was still in Bolivia, so it was relatively cheap. We found a lovely flat just for us to do not very much. They also amazingly offered to let us check in super early at 8am, just after our bus was due to arrive, score.

Except we arrived to the bus terminal 3 hours early, at 4:30am, much to the surprise of most people on the bus. Despite the warnings of the journey between Cochabamba and Sucre to be “hellish”, we found nothing of the sort, perhaps they’ve made improvements along this part of the route too. Nevertheless, arriving anywhere at 4:30am is never a joy. However, it seems the only time a bus terminal isn’t a den of sensory overload of people yelling their destinations and offerings is this early in the morning. Some relative peace, at least, whilst we killed 3 more hours on the hard plastic chairs of Sucre bus station.

Our original arrival time finally met, we walk our way to our new abode, up the steepest incline we’ve ever seen:

Door unlocked, we instantly exploded our backpacks for the first time proper, and spread out over the wonderful 3 bed apartment. What then followed was excitement over the little things you miss when backpacking, such as being able to boil litres of water to put in the fridge and glug it out of a glass, instead of draw through our filter bottles. Also, proper toilet roll. And being able to watch Netflix on a screen larger than our phones! Bliss. Our days here have been full of not much, which is what we needed after 6 weeks on the go. Even the days not full of touristing were those waiting for night buses, which isn’t exactly recuperative, even if you aren’t actually doing anything.

The view from our new abode:

So, our time here has been broken up by:

• wandering around the city,
• stocking up on lush fresh fruit and veg from the local market,
• making real home-cooked meals,
• drinking copious amounts of lovely fridge-cold water,
• watching Netflix,
• reading,
• sunbathing,
• washing,
• sleeping,
• napping,
• going for all-you-can-drink-beer for 50Bs,
• watching football,
• watching rugby,
• catching up with family and friends,
• finding out the cinemas here only do dubbed films (next time!),
• eating amazing steak and chips,
• drinking surprisingly good 20Bs (£2-3) wine,
• feeling safe, at ease, and calm,
• bickering over nothing,
• getting over ourselves,
• doing a lot of planning for the next leg,
• going to an actual gym and working out,
• realising we were still at altitude and struggling to lift relatively low weights,
• dealing with DOMS for the first time in a long time, and
• watching immense storms roll through.

Upon looking back at my past travel blog to try and clarify a hazy memory, I read a line about how every (non-familial) local I had met across Peru and Bolivia seemed to treat me with disdain and instant dislike. It was a sad reminder, and one I’m glad to overwrite with my more recent interactions, including in Sucre. I don’t know whether it’s because tourism is now much more common-place/welcome, or because my Spanish is much better so I’m more comfortable talking, joking, making fun of myself not remembering a word, or I’m just less on edge having my partner by my side and acting as a barrier to the constant attention I would get when travelling as a lone, blonde, blue-eyed gringa. Maybe a combination of it all… either way I’m really glad my experience is totally different this time, for the better. And it serves as a reminder to me, to keep smiling, keep trying, keep joking, keep not taking myself or my Spanish too seriously, and to appreciate each time we interact with a smiley, friendly local. We can’t win ’em all.

Whilst this post may not serve much interest for those back home, it provides us a lovely memory of a break from the trials of backpacking. To recharge, reset, and re-energize for the next major stint. That involves finishing Bolivia through the Salt Flats, traversing Chile from deserts to snow-capped mountains (by plane thankfully) and Argentina’s hiking galore, money-changing challenges and our longest bus ride by more than double (less thankfully), before we fly up to Colombia.

Let’s go!