The Tarabuco Market

The day dawned cold and Col and I behaved in our typical fashion. Col dressed warmly for a walk around the town and I snuggled further under my 5 blankets plus quilt. Already there was the noise of hand pulled carts and busy people outside the window though the sun had barely risen. So off he went – and back he came. Turns out sweet Irma, the young girl left to look after us had locked us in the hostel compound – barrel bolts, locks and wire. Guess she thought she was performing a community service – wouldn’t you lock up someone who looked like this?

Finally, upon release, we were able to get out and get amongst it. The colours, the people, the produce – all were a delight. We had managed to get to the market before the gringo buses arrived so were able to peruse at a leisurely pace. Not a lot of the ridgy didge weaving on display but the rainbow of wraps, scarves, hats and jumpers more than compensated. Amongst the used clothes, potable alcohol (no we didn’t buy any) and coca leaves we discovered some really unrecognisable herbs, spices and contraptions. Loved the tin can/bottle top kero lamps.

Inside a big courtyard was mostly fruit, veg and meat. The fruit and veg were arranged in colourful pyramids that were guarded by indigenous women, mostly crocheting or knitting (nasty acrylic again).

The meat was less attractive, with offal and cows’ heads featuring strongly – at least the lack of refrigeration wasn’t really a problem as it was still pretty bloody cold!
Wandered into a big auditorium that was also fruit and veg dominated.

Came across a little old lady dressed in traditional costume buying a cabbage. I had a conversation with her in my best Spanish, complementing her on her choice of cabbage and beautifully embroidered hat. Finally I asked her if I could take her photo. We negotiated that I would buy her the cabbage (1 Boliviano = about 15c) as payment for the photo. I bought the cabbage and gave her 2Bs as well. All good til now. Then, photo safely in camera, she turned feral. Wanted 5Bs more and chased me out of the building, shouting at me and drawing quite a crowd. She grabbed the strap of my camera bag and wouldn’t let go. Many times I tried to unwind those gnarled brown old fingers from the strap, to no avail – her grip was like a vice. A larger crowd gathered. I couldn’t stop laughing as she played the crowd. Finally, as she was entertaining the masses, her concentration slipped and I was able to separate us. As I got away, she grabbed Col’s bag of mandarins – a bad move, as he lost it! With no Spanish at all, his meaning was eminently clear. We left the area and the crowd dispersed – their entertainment for the morning over.

Made a few small purchases (more of the delicious mandarins) and wound our way back to the square and the fierce warrior woman to find a bus back to Sucre. As usual, a local bus with lots of decorative tassels, small children and bags of corn. We purchased only three seats this time (much to the disgust of the locals) and travelled in relative comfort back down the hill to our Sucre home, the Grand Hotel. Pack, pack, unpack, pack...all in preparation for the new day.