I am roaming through Sucre for the last time with a wistful feeling.
The city has grown on me within a short time. If it weren't for the stinking micro-buses, it might be a place where I can imagine living for a while. Those vehicles are the city's only means of public transport, completely dilapidated buses whose exhausts, reaching all the way up to the roof, emit thick clouds of smoke.
This is probably to prevent pedestrians from the worst exhaust fumes. As soon as someone at the roadside raises a hand, it stops. So it might stop every ten meters and drive off in an even thicker cloud of exhaust. A simple system, but still ...
Quiet streets
As soon as you leave the familiar areas, you occasionally come across hidden, shady squares, quiet alleys where, at best, a dog takes its afternoon nap. Here, tourists are a rarity.
I discover one of these squares quite by chance, it is located above the city, in the shadow of a church, with a magnificent panoramic view over the entire city and its surroundings. A sea of red tiled roofs seems to be surging against the hill, its waves breaking on steep ascents.
Market stalls and market women
There are market stalls on every corner, behind them, with serious faces, the ladies. They are the true masters of the street. Nothing escapes them, not even the curious glances of the tourist, and immediately wonderful dialogues develop.
The last tooth
The many beggars, including many old, fragile-looking women whose faces seem almost mummified, are as much a part of the city as the many statues of heroes, except that the old ladies are extremely much more sympathetic to me.
On a back street, a small old woman sitting on the sidewalk casts me a glance that melts my heart like butter in the sun. It is not plaintive or pleading or reproachful, but full of mischievousness and joie de vivre. At the same time, it is clear that she is simply poor, not possessing much more than this incredible smile.
Some inexplicable spark ignites, I can't help but stop, reach for my wallet and drop a few coins into the collection cup. At the last moment, I realize that it's not the collection cup at all, but the cup with her drinking water. What an idiot I am! I stammer a hundred apologies, but the little mother waves me off, just grins at me, and out of her open mouth peeps the last lonely tooth ...
And another Goodbye
So the last day in Sucre passes, very slowly, very attentively, because the probability that I will get here again is infinitesimally small. Tomorrow morning the bus leaves for Potosi. But that is a completely different story.
Mileage: 2960
Matching Song: Tony Joe White - Sweet Tooth
And here the trip continues ... to Potosi
