Recollections of Sucre

Orange roofs and white walls were enough. A week was not enough.

Sucre was gorgeous and peaceful and just right. I stayed in a little hotel called Hostal de Su Merced and drank fresh orange and carrot juice every morning at breakfast. I worked from my hotel room and from cafes. I wandered the lovely city and met two new friends from New York City.

I ate well in Sucre. El Huerto offered a peaceful courtyard dining experience and perfect renditions of typical Bolivian dishes—I had Picante de Pollo. La Taverne was a welcome dining contrast, being the restaurant run by l'Alliance Française. For 42 Bs ($6), I was nearly defeated by a veritable tower of filet mignon wrapped in bacon, with mushroom and wine sauce.

At the other end of the spectrum, at least by price standards in Bolivia, were Pension el Marfil and Siete Lunares. I happened upon the pension one day when I was quite hungry and yearning a bit for the Cochabamba family lunches of soup and segundo. For 12 Bs, I received soup and a drink, then rice, potato, beet salad, steak and a fried egg. Naturally.

Still, one of my favorite lunches in Sucre was even simpler. Chorizo. Sausage... and some bread and salad and a passion fruit soda. So greasy, so authentic, so good. Siete Lunares is particularly well known for their chorizo and they did not disappoint at all. Furthermore, they sit just outside the market, so I completed the meal with a fresh chirimoya juice from within. Yum.

Sucre has an interesting balance of culture and people. Founded by Spain in 1538, Ciudad de la Plata de la Nueva Plata was the original home of the rich and educated who moved away from the mines in Potosí. The city was eventually renamed for revolutionary hero Antonio José de Sucre and served as the home of Bolivian independence. In fact, Sucre is the constitutional capital of Bolivia, although no significant business is done there now. Still, the combination of universities, historical significance, natural and architectural beauty, and Bolivian prices draws in a fair number of foreign students and travelers. Having lived only in Santa Cruz and Cochabamba prior, I was surprised by the volume of gringos.

But no doubt existed that I was still in Bolivia. To wit, I was lucky to be in Sucre when the entire youth population turned out to celebrate the arrival of Don Bosco's remains—he is venerated for having revolutionized the education system in South America. People go NUTS.

Yes, that is a glass coffin. And, no, I have never seen so many people in a church.

I visited La Casa de la Libertad and was offended by (1) the guide's repetition of everything in Spanish and English and (2) his tendency to touch, repeatedly and consistently, all the historical artifacts. Still, here was the the birth of the nation!

I worked well in Sucre, whether in my hotel room or on Joyride Cafe's ("No solo para gringos") faster connection... or with no connection at all, above the city at Cafe Gourmet La Mirador, off La Recoleta. I sat outside in an uncomfortable wooden folding chair at a thick slab of rock (also known as a table) and ordered espresso and licuados and eventually beer. I considered the city and I pecked away at code on my laptop.

I won at life. Ahhh...