Arriving in Sucre felt like arriving in Paris last summer. The air was perfect and cool, with a tiny breeze. Everything around me was beautiful. And I was very, very happy to be at the end of a long ride.

    When Liz and I walked into Hostal San Francisco, I was certain we couldnīt afford it. The small lobby was covered with marble and behind it was a courtyard and a garden with a fountain. A mahogany staircase led to the second floor. I longed for this luxury after Uyuni. I braved a glance at the price list. I couldnīt believe our luck - a double room here, complete with private bathroom, would cost a mere $6 per person. Our bedroom was huge and the walls were painted a cheery yellow. At one end was a cable TV. This room could easily have belonged in a Holiday Inn or a Best Western.

    This was only a small taste of the luxury to come. In Bolivia, I am rich. I budgeted $20/day for this trip, but I am hard-pressed to spend $15. Usually I spend $12. I can eat at whatever restaurant I want and buy whatever souvenirs I want. Looking at prices isnīt necessary. This kind of wealth is dizzying - here I am on a low-budget trip, living better than I do at home!

    Sucre is beautiful! From above, with its red roofs and rolling hills in the background, it might have been Tuscany. From ground level, it looks just like Spain, or rather, it looked just like Spain would have looked if none of its 15th and 16th century architecture had been torn down. Every building is gleaming white with a red roof. Church steeples and bell towers soar into their clear blue sky. Tiny cobbled streets beg for exploration.

    Itīs hard to account for the five days I spent in Sucre. I ate, I soaked up sun, and I marveled at the beauty around me. I went to a couple tourist sights, like the cathedral and the fossilized dinosaur tracks just outside of town (very cool!), but mostly I did nothing. I felt completely at peace there, except during our excursion to the market. Since the market food in Uyuni smelled so good, Liz and I decided to take a stab at us in Sucre. But as soon as we stepped in sight of the food stalls, we were surrounded by toothless old women shouting "chicken! peanut soup! bread bread bread!" We decided the Chinese restaurant next door was a better idea.

    At night, the city took on a different character. The quiet streets were bustling with shoppers and vendors. I continue to be amazed at the ingenuity of the Bolivian people. Privatization of government industries has resulted in massive unemployment, forcing thousands to make their living as street vendors and craftsmen. People sell whatever they can. During the day, men drag massive sewing machines onto the sidwalks to fix shoes. At night, they bring out portable ovens to cook frozen pizzas.

    On our last day in Sucre, Liz and I made our first attempt at haggling. We both wanted a Bolivian shopping bag. Theyīre made from the same fabric as lawnchairs and theyīre practically indestructible. I learned to negotiate in Cairo, where it was best to assume that the initial asking price was about 10 times too high. Thus, my opening offer was about 10% of whatever I was first quoted. Apparently it doesnīt work that way in Bolivia. When I offered 1 Boliviano for two shopping bags, the once-cheerful old woman snatched them back and told us to go away. Oops.

    I thought I would never want to leave Sucre, but as soon as I wrote "maybe Iīll stay here forever" in my journal, I felt a little twinge of wanderlust. Two days later, Liz and I were on a bus bound for Cochabamba.

~Meredith