The nicest city in Bolivia is how Sucre was described to us by our Colombian friends.

It is also readily mentioned as being the best city to learn Spanish and with these points taken into consideration we decided to head up to Sucre for an extended period.

From experience it is never a good idea to arrive in a new city at the weekend, as a lot of stuff tends to be closed.

So here we were flying in on a Friday evening, as per our usual, slightly poor planning.

That aside, our two, half hour flights and one hour stop over worked well and certainly were preferable to the alternative option of a 14hr bus ride.

First impressions of Sucre is that it certainly  is a beautiful city and secondly the increased altitiude is potentially a problem.

At 2810 metres above sea level, 9220 feet, the air is thin and when you chuck in a bit of air pollution from narrow, gridlocked streets, breathing is little more tricky.

To be honest, everything is a bit tricky, here.

Even the thought of doing something simple, like, getting up to go for a piss, seems to get the heart beating and you feel slightly out of breath.

As I said, our planning has let us down slightly as given that we want to study Spanish here, we have a 3 day wait until we can visit a school and try and book some lessons.

We put a bit of effort in though and managed to head to visit a couple museums, the usual stuff on display, mummified child sacrifices, elongated Inca skulls etc.  Also no trip to a new city is complete without a day 1 visit to the local laundrette.

Come the Monday we headed off to visit a Spanish school and considering we just turned up, off the cuff, we definitely landed on our feet.

Within about half an hour of our arrival we had booked private lessons, for the adults and separate lessons for the kids.

That wasn't all though, not only did the have accommodation in the building, the room they offered us was nicer than the one we were staying in a hotel, round the corner.

It wasn't nicer in a luxurious sense, however it was more airy and had pretty decent views, across the rooftops, over the city.

By four o clock we had moved in and by 10am the following morning, we were in our first class.

The classes went well, so much so that by the end of week 1 we decided to extend our 2 week booking to 3 weeks.

Our initial fears that the kids wouldn't enjoy their classes and may refuse to go, were unfounded and they quickly struck up a great relationship with their teachers.

As distracting as it was, it was nice hearing them laughing in the background from other classrooms.

The other students were all nice and there was a good atmosphere about the place.

I mentioned we landed on our feet a bit with this school, however I hadn't mentioned an additional facility that shared the premises.

The Red Lion, yup an English themed pub shared the premises and the schools courtyard.

I had never been in a Red Lion pub before and may never set foot in one again, however this was very convenient and we all visited a few times for food, bangers and mash with their own homemade sausages was a personal favourite.

I also visited a few times (probably more than I should) with some of the guys from the school and made some great friends. 

At night, with Jessica transfixed in a book and the kids sleeping, it had a drawing power. 

The landlord, Ian, from Southampton, married to a Bolivian women, whom he met on his travels was a good guy and had an abundance of local knowledge. 

As a Southampton supporter we were able to chat about their marquee signing of the summer of 2006, a certain Rudi Skácel.

It was easy to spend time there and at the weekend frecuentemente (that Spanish for frequently) in the morning I would find myself being asked "What time did you get in at last night?".

"Err, about half 11" would be my reply. 

Unfortunately, frecuentemente, this would be greeted with "that's bullshit, I was still up at half 11".

We/I weren't just hanging around an English themed pub though.

A few blocks away from the school was the Mercado Central.  That is the central market for those that couldn't guess.

Although not the biggest market we have visited, it had a certain charm to it.  Well in a crazy busy, hussle bussle sort of way.

It literally sold everything, from chicken feet, needles and thread, birthday cakes, spices, fruit that you don't know what it is, etc etc.

We didn't go to the market to buy stuff though, well that isn't technically, we did purchase, buttons (for the eyes to make sock puppets) and a couple of cuadernos  (that's Spanish for school jotters - check me!).

We went to the market to go local and eat in the food court upstairs.

By food courts, I don't mean like the ones back home.  

There wasn't a choice of; Baked Tattie Comp, Harry Ramsden, Maccie D's etc.

Coincidently, we did take the kids to the cinema, one day and it did have a food court, just like back home, it had an air of familiarity that even included being over priced in a similar fashion.

Back to the market.

The food court was jammed packed with various vendors all vying for your trade.  Each with there own small stall, a table, gas canister, pots and a long trestle table.

The decision on where to go is more based on where there is a seat, rather than choosing off the various menus.

You need to be prepared to sit with other people and also take a bit of a leap of faith on the cleanliness front and following our three visits we were all fine on the stomach front.

Although I tried a few different things the standout is Salchipapas.

Basically a slightly spicy sausage that comes with a bit salad, tatties and bit a fried bread that has been fried in the bright oil that was rendered from the sausage.

This is  a bit a signature dish of the area and really hits the spot.

Eating out in Bolivia is very cheap, so cheap that you can pretty much eat out for not much more than it costs to cook for yourself.

For about 3 or 4 pounds you can get a three course lunch.  The quality is good too.

On the whole, the standard of cooking in Bolivia is head over heals better than anything we have had in Uruguay, Chile and Argentina.

We did have one meal that stands out.  Not necessarily for the food. 

Cafe Parisian, or something like that.  Can't actually remember the name but it was French and it was something clichéd along those lines.

We had walked past one day, it was closed but having read the menu it seemed like somewhere a bit different. 

So one night we thought, let's give that French place a try.

When we got there it had a homely feel, homely in that it probably was their home.  We were greeted by a young girl who was about 9, had her right arm in a full plaster cast and was stroking a cat that was sitting on one of the tables.

As always we went with the flow and took a seat.  Within a couple minutes the girls mother arrived greeted us with a "Bonsoir" and gave us some menus.

The women was likely local and quite difficult to describe. She was about 50, was incredibly short and had quite a lot of makeup on.

The makeup was painted on, in quite an avante garde style that would look less out of place on the stage rather than in a restaurant.

She also had an incredibly short, crushed velvet, red skirt on.  Thankfully her lack of height made it easy not to look, as I had genuine fears that I was going to get an unwanted glimpse of her fanny.

We ordered our selection of food; fondue,  rostï and for me a cheeky wee llama steak.

Off she went, down a ladder to the kitchen/dungeon and that was the last we would see of her until she brought our food.

By this stage, a man, whom I assume was her husband had arrived on the scene and brought us the obligatory basket of bread and our drinks.

He was definitely a French national and if I was a betting man, would have put money on that he had had a pre-service aperitif.

There was something not very endearing about him, he was a bit unlikeable and came across as a bit of dick.

Rather surprisingly the restaurant quickly filled up and within about 20 minutes of our arrival was full.

Mainly with French backpackers, looking for a taste of home and a large group of crusty, alternative types.

Although he didn't have a lot to do and seemed to enjoy steering the conversations of his follow countrymen, not even the consumption of a good 4 or 5 fags, that never left his mouth as he chatted and patrolled the restaurant, could calm his nerves.

So it wasn't really of that much surprise when he headed of down the ladder and let off a bit of steam by shouting at his wife. 

I can only guess that she wasn't cooking all 15 meals, single handedly, quick enough.

The hairdryer treatment didn't last long though and seemed to do the trick, as, a couple of minutes later our food appeared and he had had the chance to light another fag and take up position at the end of the crusty's table.

The food was actually very good and llama is definitely something that I will eat more of when I get the chance and thankfully there was no cat hairs in our food either.

That aside, normally you don't have a sense of relief when you leave a restaurant.

Overall we had a great time in Sucre and it is a city that I would recommend is well worth a visit. 

It even has its own deathtrap, mini version of the Eiffel Tower in Parque Simon Bolivar with its missing steps and wobbly hand rails.

I wonder if there is a connection?