Sucre — honey, honey

Posted by on 06/05/2012
Ruined ruins
One Escapee and Minecraft

A soft breeze passes by, making the trees wave at anyone watching. The empty plate of Calabrese sits cluelessly on the round stone table. The slab is pierced by a dead wooden log, but it fits perfectly through the hole and shows no signs of deterioration. In fact, it still appears to be alive.

The parasol casts horizontal bars across the surface, adding an extra dimension to the texture of the withered stone. Whereas the colours origin from the light and shadows in this arrangement, the quirky shapes are formed by the oil on the plate fighting against the brown vinegar. Traces of salt, pepper and oregano give a hint of what had been here before.

A guy with a guitar and a girl sits behind me up the wall on a plaza, playing variations of Wind of Change or Nothing else Matters. The notes pass by nearly unnoticed and blend in with the rest of the scene, similar to gasps of phrases like “It’s so hard to leave this place…” by nearby gringo tourists. One of them wonders why local people don’t understand him, when he says “baƱo”, but instead of a normal spanish “a”, he uses the american “a”. It’s not a banjo.

The tacky street band, consisting of a father with three of his children, dressed in bright clothes had been invited to sit in normal outfit at a table of a tourist couple, who had asked for an additional tune before. Happy for the free drinks, the kids jump up and off, smiling for the first time.

The hot lemonade was tasty and refreshing. It came in a teapot pouring three full cups for a mere price of less than 0.50 EUR, if you converted it.

When arriving in the white city, the time suddenly stood still. Nothing mattered anymore. The rush and stress during the last three weeks, it just evaporated like the glaciers upon Kilimanjaro.

The red bricks of the unfinished houses that could be found everywhere in Bolivia finally receded. From this viewpoint upon the hill you can still see them in the distance, but in the city centre, everything is white. Maybe the red incompleteness being so remote and the calm white present results in the increased peace of mind. Or it might also be the rigid and strong fortress of the mountains to the south that provide protection from any possible harm.

My heart beats calmly and regularily. My own breath goes unnoticed as if its omnipresent. Bumblebees pay quick visits to the blossoms of a nearby tree. Its petals are yellow fading to orange like an explosion frozen in time and space.

When looking up through the parasol, tiny particles of dust illuminate for a second in a beam of sunlight before continuing their dance and vanishing again in the shadows of the wind.

There is not much to do than to enjoy being here, being one-self and being content. Or even happy, for the simple reason of: Why not?

Ruined ruins
One Escapee and Minecraft

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