White, after wet after wild after white.

Sucre, the Athens of America, the City of Four Names, the Cradle of Liberty, the White City of the Americas, Sucre. Boy howdy, it sure is white! And the prettiness that everyone rattles on about is due, surely to this whitewashed city. The streets are fairly spotless, the gardens are exquisite and there's a lot of interesting achichechure to google at (see, I can use that word without any reference to the one with a capital "G" even though I just referenced it...)





I wonder however how much of this "whitewash", a typical phrase for nastiness swept under the carpet, is facading the reality. Afterall, T.I.B. (This Is Bolivia) and it's poverty can't just be non-existent just because the buildings are coloured white. In fact, poverty there is: our new amigos, Julio and Rodriegez - two cute little chewing gum sellers - wolfed down their meals we bought them yesterday, chicken bones sucked as white as Sucre, almost licking their plates while they chatted gaily and interestedly about Australia, their homes in the university grounds, our favourite Bolivian soccer teams, Pirates of the Carribean 3. And racism and classism runs clear and true here as in anywhere in Bolivia and indeed anywhere in the world - poor little 8 year old Rodregez couldn't eat his meal today because he was too scared of the very well-dressed arsehole who roared at them to get out of the dining room (an open market-style food court) when they were clearly sitting with us, and having a fine old conversation. We told him the boys were our friends and were here to dine with us, but I wish I had the Spanish to have been able to challenge HIS right to be there more than our friends. Makes me want to swear... *takes deep breath and it passes* Rod wolfed down when we got it out of him from Julio (12) why he was trying to surrepticiously hide under the table, and assured him that we could "take that jerk" and not to worry. Talking about the dinosaurs cheered them up somewhat.





And so Sucre - we've been here since Tuesday morning and its tranquilo pace (strange, since we're back in the Occident, where although we feel more at home is supposed to be much more stressfully busy and unfriendly) is giving us reason to stay a few more days, then visit Potosi's stark contrast, and then hotfoot it to Cbba for Luke's wedding.




Before landing in Whiteland, Fiona and I spent a specki 5 days cruising up the river, the Mamore River to be exact, from Trinidad to Guayaramarin. A variety of animals and the tranquility of the neverending scenery was only slightly interrupted by the nagging knowledge that we were towing tonnes of petrolium on our little tugboat. Oh well, nobody's perfect. Trinidad upwards we found an incredible habit of the younger portions of the population to ride interminably around and around the plaza on their motos (motorcycles). Fiona thought it was more amusing than I did, me being a killjoy and vilifying their disgusting waste of fossil fuels. They'd be much more comphy on a bicycle...



Guayaramerin (in the north of Bolivia just below the Pando region (I must take a horse to the Pando just for the sake of being in "The Pando!")) was hot, of course, being close to the Equator, low in the altitude and the jungle just across the river, as is Brazil. We could see Brazil from the water's edge and most of the day yesterday as we meandered down the border river watching Pink River Dolphins (by the hundreds!), monkeys, a plethora of beautiful birds and just the serenity and diversity of both countries' jungle edge.



Bloody glad on the other hand to be able to walk 10 steps in a straight line and have a beer and some ice cream and some fruit and some water and some chocolate and some more beer. Dry land with shops have a lot going for it.



Yesterday we went to the site of the largest collection of fossilised dinosour footprints in the world. Over 5000 tracks set in the wall (as it is now - techtonic plate movement giving the lake bed a nudge upward) of a concrete company's mining site. The tour operator told us that it was lucky they found magnesium in the rocks otherwise they'd have just blown up that wall as well. Anyhow, the place was incredibly high quality tourist development by Bolivian standards, and again, photos will ensue when we get back to Cochas and my camera photo transfer cable.

Oh, and the jesuit missionary circuit was a boon and a bore at various times. More about that another day.