With only 1 night in Sucre we showered and headed out to explore. At the end of our block was a plaza, one of the nicest I've ever seen. Again trees and plants landscaped all around. We walked around the streets to the market and then returned to find a restaurant. Trattoria was a modern Italian and more restaurant with fantastic food.
Mands and I decided to make the most of Sucre and head out on an early morning walk before hotel breakfast and our taxi to the airport. It's good to be down from such high altitudes, so we both had a good spring in our step (still not as much spring as trying to keep up with Mom's morning power walks). The market was just opening and Mands remembered Albert's recommendation for the fruit juice section. We arrived there with every type of fruit I can think of and more displayed at each of the fruit juice ladies stands. We selected one, or rather she selected us, and we starred up at the list of fruit on the board in Spanish. Some more usual fruits we could work out, others no clue. We selected our combinations and for BOL 6 (£1.20) you had enough fruit juice blend for 2 large glasses.
As we were leaving I saw 3 shoe polishing boys about 8 years old, order a small fruit juice each and counted out their coins and paid. When they had their juice, I asked how much it cost and seeing another boy join then ordered another juice and paid for the others drinks. no sooner had I done that when another 2 appeared. Everyone got their morning juice and I hurriedly headed off before the rest of the city's shoe cleaners heard.
Back to the hotel and off to the airport with Mands and I saying, this will be one of the regrets on out trip, not having longer in Sucre.
At the check in desk, that wish would be granted. The flight time was brought forward 2 hours and no one notified us. The airline counter rep then had a go saying we didn't supply a Bolivian phone number so they couldn't contact us - Mands then jumped down her throat as they have our email and no one asked for a Bolivian number. After this sparring went on for a while, I took over so we would be able to fly at some point with this Airline again. We were eventually re-booked for the following day. More time in Sucre granted.
Same instructions to the taxi and we arrived a second time without a booking at the Grand Hotel and again took their only remaining room (a different one this time).
We did some Sucre city attractions research on Trip Advisor over another favourite Picque Macho lunch, plotted our route on a map and headed off.
First was the view from the monestary. Finding the well disguised entrance, we were allowed in, signed the guest book , paid our nominal entrance fee and were given the keys to the roof. Up to the little door and we had reign on the roof. We could get good views of the city, but with the rain starting up, we took a few photos in the bell towers and headed down.
Next was the room of masks. En route, there was an unexpected parade through the streets - we've half come to expect one of these each day now. in the mask room, We couldn't take any photos, but there's an exhibition of their festival masks in dark rooms with only the masks and dress light making them seemingly float. The room is an erie place and you half expect the masks and arms to reach out at you.
Earlier we'd seen a flier for a bar with samba dancing and if you arrive an hour before it kicks off, you can get a free lesson. Mands was up for this, so we raced back to get ready and back at the bar for the lesson.
Only the manager and a few friends were there, so no lesson, so we sipped heavy handed happy hour cocktails and before we knew it people arrived and the samba started. Everyone danced in couples and Ben would ask the women. No age barriers here with the older guys picking off the younger blood first. We were a good few cocktails down and had drunk on our dancing shoes. Time to shake a hoof!
We took to the dance floor like a duck to ice, creating our own fusion of samba like foot kicking together with spins and turns learnt in the best sokkie halls in South Africa. Even if no one else did, the Pisco Sours did say we were great dancers!
Again we checked out the next morning and taxied to the airport. This time we were able to check in fine. We waited at the small restaurant area to board and I got a tap on my shoulder. It was the taxi. I had forgotten to hand in the hotel key! How the hotel had notified our specific taxi and how he'd found me again, we have no idea, but BOL 30 (£7) later the keys were on their way. And so were we, off to our last stop in Bolivia, Santa Cruz.
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