The city of Sucre was in the grips of celebrating the bicentenary of independence during the week we stayed we were treated to a plethora of actives. Our hostel was situated behind a school where the brass band would practice every day for a number of hours. At first it was novel, then annoying and then when we finally saw them march through the streets we were filled with warmth. The parades were long (extremely bloody long, too fucking long), consisting of school children marching down the main plaza. There were brass bands, pole bearers with amazing juggling and throwing techniques. The military brought out their guns and then their cadets, of whom looked particularly scary with their wooden guns marching in a perfect row along the banner draped streets.
Over our days we'd built up quite a posse comprising of Conspiracy Theory John, The Steve and Vicky from Samaipata, Big Ben, Iron Chef, Kicker, Cowboy, TV's Jon Bennett and myself. The streets were filled with life and the night time there was no difference. We all converged at the plaza once again for a street party where locals were drinking a bizar warm liquor that somewhat resembled urine... some of us actually commented that it might in fact be urine. Bolivians scared at our out there European style dancing showed us the more proper, correct bolivian way to dance. We mingled with locals, saw traditional singing and dancing, went to secret Hollywood "you kneed to know where it is to find it" kind of bars and gate crashed elaborate birthday parties (I swear it wasn't any of our crew that tipped the cake over), while the days were filled with parades, cemeteries, mummies, churches, coffee, the most delectable chocolate and shoe shines.
We had just finished off another round of fruit smoothies at the Mirador, a cafe perched at the top of Sucre. The sun was setting over the most amazing view of the White City of the Americas and I'd just lost another game of chess so it was time to leave. When we arrived there was an empty car park, but after we climbed the stairs it had been transformed into a carnival. Immediately Kicker and Cowboy and I launched ourselves into the fun fair. Tonight we were explorers of a different kind, searching for the perfect game.
Walking through rows and rows of Foosbal (of Footsal or Futbal or Kicker or Table Soccer) we finally found the lady selling the tokens and amazingly, a free table. Cowboy and I were destroyed by Kicker who obtained her name as ultimate champion of the game. Frustrated and worn out, we moved onto the other games surrounding the grand church, picking up some fairy floss along the way.
We tried our poor spanish to understand the rules of some games, commonsense for others, and total confusion for the rest. Bingo didn't go down too good as we had no idea of the numbers in Spanish. We knocked off the sacks in the shooting game, but only won a lollypop. Flipped coins onto glass tablets hoping to double or triple our money, but after a good start our luck ran out. There were light switch games, miniature pool tables, darts and more. The smoke from grills sizzled over our heads as we snacked on some chocolate coated cherries on a stick, but we drew the line at the glowing green and purple drinks made from god knows what.
Kicker really wanted to go on a small ferris wheel, but was extremely disappointed when we got closer and realized the seats were made for children and no matter of squeezing could ever fit an adult in. We noticed that the ferris wheels, carousels and all of the other rides had no motors, no electricity sockets, no power whatsoever. To operate them a man simply ran around the ride pushing it.
Just when we were about to depart we came across a mechanical bull. A few nervous glances were exchanged before Cowboy and I decided to have a go at it. There was a small girl fiddling with a play-station remote control to operate it and a large crowd to watch the fools that partook. I took off my shoes and straddled the bull. It started off slowly and I was beginning to get the hang of the thing. It's just like a strong physical exercise. I whipped off my hat and started waving it through the air and the crowd roared up in appreciation. Shortly afterwards I was bucked off and came crashing down. Determined not to let this bull get the best of me, I jumped right back on. My second attempt was going quite well until I started slapping my bulls backside, the crowd roared up again and the operator detecting my cockyness turned up the speed. After no more than two slaps I was down again.
When you stood along the arched corridor it was just a magical atmosphere. If you looked out one way there was the gentle sun setting over the city and the street lights coming alive. But cock your head in the opposite direction and you were faces with a carnival of lights, pings and laughter and a flurry of activity. It was simply the most enjoyable evening I'd had since arriving in Bolivia without a doubt.
JON'S NOTE:
Sucre was pretty good. It was sweet like sugar. I'm going to name my first born 'Sucre' in the city's honor. The child will play chess, love chocolate and know how to party. That said, I do not need to see any more marching ever again. Not even marching ants.
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