#54 Living like Bolivians - Sucre and around

While not slaving away on the grass plantation we were partaking in local customs, playing football, and trying local delicacies - generally being one with the Bolivian people. Or something like that.
A number of evenings we headed down to the tiendas (kiosks) at Totocoa. The town of Totocoa contained a handful of kiosks selling no more than you would expect to find in a dairy back home, though they also sold liquor. Outside one the proprietor had set up some basic chairs and tables to serve drinks and food cooked in an outside gas oven about two by one metres in size. Our local's specialty was fried chicken and chips. Stray dogs tended to hang around for any leftovers from the 'bar' or from women selling lunches on the street. 


This was also where our lunch was sourced everyday. The quality of the food, served out of deep pots brought from the women's homes, varied depending on the chef but without fail consisted of soup with potato and pasta or rice, followed by meat accompanied with potato and pasta or rice. Pretty tough to return to walk after such a carb-overloaded meal. 

One evening we headed down to find Carnaval celebrations in full swing. The area had been cleared and replaced with a 12 foot tall stand containing offerings to Pacha Mama (mother earth) which one lucky local would win later that night. We were offered free food and various drinks of unknown concoctions (many of which we politely turned down) while dancing along to the music which sounded not too far off karaoke. Each time we followed tradition in offering a small pour to Pacha Mama before taking our own sip. 


During the weekends we headed into Sucre using the local micro-buses which weren't buses at all but vans. Although there was only space for around 12 people, it was not unusual for at least 20 to be squished in. On our first ride Reece was planted between a old man offering him some milky drink, a kid who sneezed on him at one point, while another sitting behind him touched his hair.

Another time with Canadian Keenan and Colorado Nick we headed to Carnaval in Yotalla, our intention not to watch any of the festivities but to take a stand for our fellow gringos and water bomb as many locals as we could. As the only whites there and with the two men of our group towering over the naturally-small Bolivianos there was no possibility of staying conspicuous and dry. But though we were cornered a couple of times, and often caught out by armed snipers on the rooftops above us, we gave as we good as we got.

Reece and I visited the famous Tarabuco markets where we were shown the statue pictured to the left - if you can't tell, it graphically depicts an indigenous man ripping out (and presumably eating given the blood around his mouth) the heart of Spanish conquistador. Charming. The centre of the market is where tourists hop from stall to stall bargaining down already ridiculously well-priced llama and alpaca wares (the starting price for a handmade jumper is 100 bolivianos - $14, and that is considered expensive as Tarabuco is gringo-central).


Rather than stay an additional week at the hacienda we opted to take a week of Spanish lessons and stay with a local family. Every day after our three hours of private lessons (separate as there is something of a divide between us) we returned home for lunch with Miriam and her husband Edgar to be treated to a two-course Bolivian meal of soup and a full meal, which always included Bolivian standard - a variety of potatoes - but also other specialties such as spicy chicken and peanut sauce. 
Such a treat in comparison to the food we were eating in Totocoa while working. 

The school also organised activities like salsa lessons, Bolivian cooking classes, and walleyball. This latter was the most fun. Cooking really just involved putting meat or cheese (never mixed) in the middle of either dough or potato then deep frying it, nothing too fancy. Walleyball is a mix between volleyball and football played on a squash court, but with a net in the middle and two teams on either side. The difference to volleyball is that the sides of the court and the roof can be used to hit the ball and you can also kick it (the football aspect), not that many we ended up kicking it many times.

Otherwise our time in Sucre playing football with our homestay kids, watching them swim at the local pool, and listening to them play their instruments. One night Reece made the mistake of telling the family he had played the saxophone. Next thing we know someone is bringing a case down the stairs which to Reece's dread looked like it might just contain a saxophone. He was summoned to play but could not get one note out. Yes, the reed was torn and the instrument was in need of a clean but everyone was still pretty bemused given his earlier claim. 


We could never remember any of their names. In one household, spread out of five floors was three generations of a family with us in a small room at the top. Edgar and Miriam's two sons took a floor each for their families. In addition there were numerous other relatives and friends always visiting - we never knew who we had met and who we hadn't. It was a really lovely experience spending time with a local family, but after four weeks off the bike we were missing the rides and ready for our next adventure.