The White City
After twisting and turning through the dry,
brown hills, my taxi turned a corner and before me was a white wall with green
words that read, “Welcome to Sucre.” In
front of the sign were the skeletal remains of someone’s car. There was nothing left. I was beginning to wonder what I had gotten
in to. Was this the ruins of a once
great city, or something else?
The hills of Chuquisaca are beautiful, tan and brown, dry from lack of rain. From the plane, I saw a valley that made me think of the Grand Canyon; the valley scrapped by the Flood, thousands of years ago. There are houses on top of ridges, but I didn’t see roads. How did they get there? How do they live in such a remote place with so little water?
My first impression of Sucre was the brown adobe and brick houses that lined the highway entering the city. They were simple places of poverty. So much brown blending with the dry earth.
Then it happened!
We turn a corner and we were in the Plaza of the Recoleta, the original settlement of Sucre, about 480 years ago. I was looking down on the White City. So much white! Red tiled roofs. My taxi driver said the Spaniards arrived here in 1538. As we drive along, he points to buildings and tells me dates that predate Texas by 200 years. I am lost with the age of the city and so much white. I would think of bleached bones, except so many doors are open, revealing the traditional colonial courtyards and patios, lush with flowers.
My tour guide from the next day would tell
me it was not called the White City because there is so much white, but because
the original Spanish founders were from Andalusia, in Spain. I have been there and remember the white
cities of Ronda, Arco de la Frontera, and Medina Sidonia. They built this city to remind them of
home. And yes, it looks like Andalusia.
I stayed at the Hostal de Su Merced, two blocks from the Plaza. I gasped as I enter the place. It is what I have always dreamed of for my house. There is a patio in the center of the hotel with stairs going up in various directions, everything open to the central patio. Rooms open through French doors. Cascades of roses and bougainvillea greet my eyes. After settling in to my room, I climb the stairs to find roof top terraces that give me a stunning view of the White City.
I am hungry so I go searching for food. My pastor and his wife recommended the Joy
Ride Café, an eclectic little place. I
end up having three lunches there over my stay in Sucre. Matilde, another friend, texted me to try
another restaurant just doors away for dinner.
I ate well my three days in Sucre.
No comments:
Post a Comment