The Bolivian farmworker and the magical green purse.

Sucre Bolivia 2012

Hello dear friends from scorching southern Spain, 

I’m here at a  beautiful farmhouse  near Malaga editing and tweaking some of the  travel stories from my blog. Seven days have passed.  I'll be here for a  month.  Lucky me! It's paradise. There's even a salt water pool.

The stories will be interwoven with a few of the cancer adventures.   Inner and outer journeys, as it were, to share my trust in the bigger picture of our lives.  

I'm not religious as you know, but I so believe there is an amazing bigger picture at play for all of us. 

Lessons in Loving never end, do they?
Lessons in Compassion are ongoing.

I think it's all about learning and growing and sharing all along the way.

Here is a taster of the only true story I’m writing with hindsight. I've told it a few times but never written it down. 

It's an extraordinary story of  trust, and what happens when trust goes out of the window.  When the show was over, I just had to laugh.   Honestly! 

The whole story will be in the book.

I’d love any feedback !

Sucre,  Bolivia 2012.  

The distraught Bolivian farmworker and the magical green purse.

Street Corner Theatre.   9am – 12 noon-ish.

I’m on a real, fired up mission on my third morning in Sucre.

I’m wanting to learn Bolivian street Spanish.  Just the  most local kind of expressions.  No more text book learning.  I’ve done a lot of that.

So, I’m walking from my arty hostel called Casa Takubamba to The Beehive. It’s literally 500yds around the  corner.  

It feels a  safe kind of area.  There are slim leafy trees and  many windows  have well cared for geraniums behind bars. There’s an old church with an empty plaza in front.  A few  elderly fruit and vegetable  sellers sit under larger trees, their wares spread out beside them. It will soon be hot.

It’s a lovely fresh  sunny morning but I’m still dealing with altitude sickness. It’s like my body has arrived at this lower altitude but my head hasn’t.  It’s still arriving from La Paz.

So,  I’m not super alert.  I’m obviously not at my most observant. The following  story clearly demonstrates this!

I’m here in Sucre mainly to research their ancient, local, dancing shoes, and to visit the famous  once a year festival at Pujilay. There won’t be many white faces  there .  It’s not a tourist event. So I’m feeling it’s doubly important  to learn some local  expressions.

The owner of the Takubamba hostal is Jorge, soon to become a friend.  

The owner of The Beehive is Amanda, a beautiful young Asian American social entrepreneur from San Francisco. Both Jorge and Amanda are extremely street wise,  and young.  I am neither. 

The Beehive is a hostal, a café, a language learning centre, and a meeting place, all created by Amanda.

I’m on my way for my first ‘conversational’ Spanish lesson . I’ve signed up for two weeks. Classes will be with Veronica in the mornings, and Suzi in the afternoons.  They’re both Bolivian.

I’m tremendously motivated.  Really I am.  My Spanish, one way or another,  must improve.  Little do I know, very soon indeed, I will  be learning in leaps and bounds in a most unexpected way.  I've resolved  I'll talk to anybody to practice.

Sucre is at an altitude of 2,810 meters.  That’s 9200 feet.  That’s high. The population is said to be 193.000.  This morning it has increased by 2.  They arrived on an early morning bus from the country, apparently.

And so, on the corner of the street beside The Beehive,  pure street theatre commences. Amanda and Jorge play bit parts. 

The  story of The distraught Bolivian farmworker and the magical green purse is about to start.

Two experinced criminals are about to choreograph a very profitable day. The select me as the star of the show.

Would you want to read more ???