The poet Jean Paul said, "Memory is the only paradise from which we cannot be expelled."
Traveling is not only an inexhaustible source, it is a volcano, a geyser of memories. Every day offers new impressions, never seen images, encounters, faces. And just when you think you've seen it all, experienced it all, something new occurs, something surprising, something that turns an ordinary day into a special one.
That's why I'm traveling.
And it's not just the sensations that count, not just the waterfalls of Iguaçu, the high mountains in Nepal, the chaos in Old Delhi, no, it's the everyday, at first glance mundane events that stick in your mind. And contribute a little bit to the understanding of the world.
Sucre, with its rich past, its beguiling beauty, also offers more than meets the eye. Of course, it is a truly unique city, surrounded by hills and mountains and desert-like plains. Red roofs and walls add to the surreal impression of being in a fairy tale town. One is reminded of Game of Thrones, of the red roofs of King's Landing, but it is so much more. Time and patience and an open eye are the necessary ingredients here.
Let's see whether this day also contributes to understanding the world. If not, tomorrow is also a day ...
Donald Trump and the weather in Sucre
The weather or rather the climate (otherwise I will be suspected like Donald Trump of not being able to distinguish weather from climate ) shows its Janus face.
It' s as hot in the sun as it is in our country in midsummer, but in the shade you immediately start to freeze. It reminds me of course of Leh in Ladakh. Just perfect for a beautiful cold. The night is a tough one: just after midnight a nasty cold creeps beneath my blanket and not even my ultra-warm Odlo shirt can help. So half asleep I start looking for a warm blanket and indeed, in the closet I find a wool blanket weighing about a hundred kilos, providing the necessary warmth within a short time.
I don't want to know which fauna might hide in it.
"8 de Marzo, no es una fiesta, es una protesta!"
A statue stands in the center of the square, an ideal place to hold meetings. A number of women dressed in blue have gathered there to lend weight to their demands. Indigenous ethnic groups, in particular, face daily disadvantages despite the support of their indigenous president, Evo Morales. Women are doubly discriminated, first by their ethnicity and second by their gender. Inevitably, any protest has little immediate effect, but constant dripping wears away the stone, as the saying goes.
El Dia international de la Mujer
"Si nuestras vidas no valen, producan sin nosotros!"
If our lives have no value, just produce without us! And similar messages to the male people. Now I understand. El Dia international de la Mujer or International Women's Day.
A native, by appearance an Indio, is standing next to me and asks me after some time what all this means. I explain it to him, but his expression shows merely a lack of understanding.
El dia de la mujer? No comprendo.
As long as that remains unchanged, everything stays the same. Or does it? I wish the women all the luck in the world.
Panoramic view of Sucre
According to the guide, one has a perfect panoramic view of the entire city from the church tower of San Felipe Neri.
The church is empty, cracks crisscross the floor, the benches are covered with dust, and although the gold-ornamented altar still shimmers in its old splendor through the semi-darkness, it is no longer in use (except for weddings, as the lady collecting the entrance fee explains to me). Yet it is the oldest church in the city, a beautiful monument to long-gone architectural art.
The promised panoramic view from the roof is by no means exaggerated. You first have to master the dark narrow ascent for the purpose of the view. The lady has turned on the light, but it may not be more than an 5-watt bulb. So I carefully stumble up the much too high steps before standing in amazement at the sight that presents itself to the eye.
There is something soft in the air, something floating, weightless. It seems as if the city had put on its most beautiful face on this day. In the light streaming in lavish abundance from the sky, it shimmers like a jewel in the midst of the wasteland.
Church steeples protrude from the sea of houses, white monuments amid red roofs. Streets and alleys stretch cobweb-like between the houses, full of honking vehicles, disappear along the hills, in the dark caverns along the rows of houses.
In these moments you just feel a strange happiness, even if it might be the last day in your life.
The city is spreading out on all sides, and will in the next few years probably cover much farmland with the blessings of civilization. On the opposite side stands a second church, the tower of which can be climbed. A few Asians wave at me vigorously, shoot photos incessantly, hold their arms up in triumph as if they had climbed the north face of the Eiger Northface.
Apple pie and zippers
In a coffee shop, run by two young ladies, I actually detect a piece of applepie. Applepie? Is it a fantasy of the mind, a mirage in this culinary desert? No, it's true, and it tastes better than any one at home.
Ah, these small wonderful moments, so few can trigger them ...
Around evening I have much to do. Pick up laundry and especially, pay a visit to my tailor (!). He has solved the problem of my pants. The zipper of my second pair of trekking pants has to be fixed. And indeed, he perfectly repaired it. 15 Bolivianos. Are you sure? That's the equivalent to nearly nothing. Always amazing, these differences, and again I feel like a colonist.
Barca vs Paris Saint Germain
Looking for a bar for the aperitif, I can hear loud commotion through a window. The TV is on full blast, the place is packed, most of the visitors are tourists. Of course, Champions League, Barca against Paris St. Germain. 0:4 in the first leg, now the last chance for Barca to turn the match around.
I don't want to miss this match, although the 70th minute is already running and it is 3:1 for Barca. This is going to be difficult. A young man, Alan from England, invites me to his table and now we watch the last minutes of a match that will go down in history.
My years as a football fan are long gone. Corruption, too much money, idiots on and off the field have thoroughly spoiled my enthusiasm, but what's going on today (despite obvious referee errors) makes me feel the old euphoria again.
The 6:1 just before the end triggers an explosion in the bar that I haven't experienced in a long time. Wow! With the exception of the sad expressions of some French guests, you see only happy faces in the knowledge that they have witnessed an extraordinary moment in international football.
Mileage: 2960
Matching Song: Gillian Welch - I'm not afraid to die
And here the trip continues ...
