Farewell Cuenca

Chilling on the best balcony in South America.

I am sitting in a hostel room in Guayaquil, Ecuador. The air-con is running for the moment, taking some of the sultriness out of the thick air. It is warm, wet, and wonderful. After two weeks of breathing the rarified air at 8,300 feet above sea-level, the thick, moist air feels like a rich dessert. This is my last night in Ecuador. Tomorrow I fly from Guayquil to Bogota, Colombia, and from there to Madrid. From Madrid it is a Euro hop to Brussels, and then back to my home in Vienna and My Beloved in Vienna. Yes, it is time to once more pay the piper, rendering unto the travel gods that which is theirs. 

Cuenca is an odd place, and one of my home places in this wide world. In Cuenca I have my own room, courtesy of a great Hermano. I can roam at will, walking this most walkable of cities, and then retire to companionship and camaraderie on a balcony overlooking the Rio Tomebamba. Life here is good.

Cuenca is many things. It is a historic place, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and home to a vibrant ex-pat community. The ex-pats have what seems like a small village, albeit scattered amidst a larger city. This village is not unlike other small communities, complete with support for its memebers and a thourough knowledge of all of the village gossip. Cuenca is also a great town for doors. Some cities are, some are not. Lisboa, Portugal, is one of the great door towns of the world. So is Quito. I now have to rank Cuenca in that illustrious company.

While Ecuadorian food is not likely to cause foodies to swoon, the Mercado does supply an amazing variety of my favorite fruits and vegetables. Not only can one see to shopping needs, there is a dazzling array of food stalls to chose from. With any luck, a hungry shopper can share a small table with an ancient Otovalo couple who are amused by every single thing that one does. Such was one of my dining experiences. When I finished my entire plate of food, they assumed that I must still be hungry and offered me some of their food.

A typical Ecuadorain meal. Lentils, pollo, and rice.

If you are needing a spiritual tune-up, a cadre of Shaman women are standing by to beat you with a bunch of herbs and flowers, roll a raw egg over your body to suck out the bad things, and then aerosol you with an alcohol concoction that they spray out of their mouths. All-in-all, a most invigorating experience.  

Papaya still-life, and one of the things I will miss the most.

Possibly the best bananas in the world from one of the best balconies in the world.

Churches and clouds, Cuenca has both in abundance.

Dead guys, check. Cuenca has more than its share of bronze dead guys. Many of them died in a fervor of patriotism, or at least that is what we are led to believe. In the 1800's, there were plenty of chances for a good patriot to shed blood for honor and country, particularly in the many battles with neighboring Peru.

There are even statues to dead poets. This is one, a bust of Miguel Moreno, native Cuencan poet. One does not find these things by driving. Cuenca is a terrible town for driving. In the historic district, the narrow streets are often choked with traffic jams. Walking the city, however, is a joy.

A small street demonstration, all too common in this hands-on democracy, can snarl traffic in the old city to a standstill. On this day, folks in the outlying barrios were demanding better access to transportation.

Speaking of traffic, almost everyone dislikes the Transitos, the traffic cops. Hence the graffiti "Your Mama is a Traffic Cop."

Street sculpture, Cuenca.

Under the Broken Bridge.

Random view, Cuenca walkabout.

If you have a Dirty Gringo, you can drop him or her off here and come back in four hours. They will be squeaky clean when you pick them up.

The historic center is composed of block buildings that rise up from the sidewalk. This creates canyons of narrow cobbled streets and stone walls. But, venture inside one of the open doorways, and one will find hidden courtyards, the secret inner life behind the stone walls.

One of the smoke-belching diesel buses careening through a typical street in the historic district. 

Cuenca is mixed bag. It takes time to adjust to the thin air. It takes time to adjust to the juxtaposition of a modern South American city with a centuries-old historic center. There is the Cuenca of Belgian block streets, and the modern concrete-paved streets of trendy bars and cafes. Old and new blend together. The folks on the street are just as diverse. There are modern Ecuadorians, indigenous men and women wearing their felt fedoras, and the Gringo ex-pats with their ubiquitous Panama hats. As a side note, 'Panama' hats, as we call them, are made in Ecuador. The round straw hats make in Panama are a completely different style of headwear. 

It is a great walking city and a terrible driving city. The thin air will make it difficult to sleep, at least until one acclimatizes. It is hard to get a good steak here, but the papayas will cause one to swoon. Cuenca is diffcult to get to. Once you are here, it is diffcult to leave, but not because of transportation issues.

Tonight I am in Guayaquil, but there is more to the tale. It will have to wait until the next post. There will be the journey from the Andes down to the sultry coast, the paying of the Piper, the reunion with My Beloved. But this is the stuff of tomorrow. For tonight, from Guayaquil, Ecuador, travel well, travel often, and Ciao for Now!