When leaving home people would ask about our “big holiday”. I’d gently correct them. “It’s not so much a holiday as travel,” I’d say. Part of my reaction was to limit the implication of self-indulgence. Who goes on holiday for a year? But part of it reflects our view that what we’re doing is more about learning than relaxing and that relaxing is undermined by the kind of roughing it we’re inclined towards.
But right now, we’re on holiday. We’re taking a long weekend in Sucre. We’re staying at a nice bed and breakfastish place which costs about $30NZD/night. Though insanely chepa by New Zealand standards itcounts as splashing out for us.
A particular treat is access to a kitchen with a beautiful view across the city and sunshine pouring through the windows. We haven’t been able to cook for ourselves since Santa Marta. Now eggs have been poached. Spaghetti has been bolognesed. Local spicy peppers have been experimented with. Wine and beer has been drunken at leisure. Grapefruit have been juiced.
Tomorrow we’re back to the travel thing – a day trip to a famous market and an overnight bus to Cochabamba. But today we’re not even sure we’ll make it to the museum.