Yesterday afternoon we flew to Sucre. Our procession through the Santa Cruz airport was as effortless as any imaginable. We showed our passport and were given tickets, paid for by our hosts. We paid a modest “airport fee” and went through security, where there were no lines. We sat for only a few minutes, then walked across a scorching tarmac and boarded our 737 jet.
The flight lasted only 25 minutes, but I was told it would have taken 12 hours to drive it, due to the difficult topography and poor quality roads. We took off to the south, then banked west and quickly were over rugged, lightly forested mountains. The further we went, the more rugged and dry the mountains became. At one point, there was a valley with a dry river in it, with the soil of the river basin a brick red. Another valley joined it, also with a dry river, but this basin was a slate grey. The two colors mixed at the junction, but downstream returned quickly to red.
Our airplane made a series of banking maneuvers to reach the Sucre airport, which was nothing more than a single strip. After the airplane landed, it retraced its path to the terminal on the same strip, as there was no taxi-way.
We were met by a smiling group of Rotarians, perhaps numbering around 8 people, with whom we quickly met. The standard greeting is a handshake between men and a handshake and a light kiss on the right cheek between men and women and between women. We seem to be greeted not as strangers but as old friends. Last time we forgot to do so, but with this new arrival we wrote the names and addresses of our hosts for each other, so we’d be able to contact one another should we need to. My hostess is Patricia, an attractive woman who would look at home in any town in America. She looks to be around 30 and has a husband and two children, 6 and 2. She and her husband are both civil engineers and they work on aqueducts for municipal water systems. As of now (the next morning) I am yet to meet him.
Sucre’s location is in a high depression between small peaks. The largest peak has a huge cross above it, which I later found was lit at night. Sucre is generally accepted as Bolivia’s most beautiful city and is rich in history and culture, which we will learn about in due course. The air is blissfully cool. We are at 9000 feet elevation. In my country, we don’t put cities that far into the sky.
My sense is that most American cities are strategically located for some commercial function. For example, Pittsburgh is at the junction of two navigable rivers. Atlanta is at the base of the Appalachians where many railroads met. In Bolivia, the landscape is overwhelming and unyielding. Santa Cruz has a river nearby, but it isn’t navigable and is thus useless for commerce. As far as I know, there are few if any railroads here in the Antiplano, the high country. So cities like Sucre seem to have little reason for being where they are. When I learn more, I’ll report.
We took a drive through the city, Patricia carrying her friend Carla along with Ann and me to our guest houses. Patricia’s house is on a slope (as are many in this hilly place), with several floors connected by short stairways. The room interiors are painted in bright oranges and yellows. The guest room I’ve been given is generally undecorated but comfortable.
Our team met again at a downtown hotel from where we did a walking tour of the center square, which was beautifully decorated by rows of manicured flowers. The square has its ubiquitous chapel, which is not as grand as was Santa Cruz’ but is intricate and beautiful. I hope we can tour the inside during our visit. On the down-side, there is much graffiti here and stray dogs roam the streets rooting through trash for food. Nevertheless, I could feel myself falling in love with Sucre.
We were told that we should all take it easy the first few days as we acclimate to the altitude. So our hosts took us dancing. I’m not making this up. Salsa. Tamsen was my partner. She’s a better dancer than me. “You need to lead, Michael.” Yikes.
We went to dinner in a crowded restaurant where we ate food mostly like what we would have eaten at Appleby’s at home: salads, French fries, steak, chicken. I had pesto spaghetti which was excellent. We quickly became acquainted with our new friends. Everyone had fun.
I’m soon to be whisked off somewhere for the day’s activities.
Michael
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