¡Hola a todos!

My journey continued north then, to Cuenca. At the bus station in Vilcabamba I ran into an Irish couple that Seb and I had met and befriended during our bus ride into Ecuador from Peru. We had gone our separate ways in Vilcabamba, they wanting something a little more central than our mountain-lodge retreat offered. I was glad to see them again and even happier when it transpired that we had chosen the same bus to take us to Cuenca. We settled into a long, scenic journey, busy extending upon our prior acquaintanceship.

Arriving in Cuenca towards the evening, we selected a hostel recommended in the Irish couple's, Ronan and Jean's, guidebook, where it turned out that there was only a three-bed room available. I joked about my nocturnal penchant for sleep-talking, walking and all manner else but, this did not put my new-found friends off, happily. We had lost much of the day but, the scenery on display through my bus window was ample compensation for this. I have decided to travel by day on buses in Ecuador wherever I can: the country is small and manageable and the state of the roads does not promote much enthusiasm as to riding in the dark! We settled in before heading out to see what Cuenca had to offer by night, spurred on once more by the guidebook, which promised a "ladies night" at one particularly highly recommended cafe. We settled down to a tasty meal - I chose Thai green curry; not very spicy but, very nice all the same - and the promise of live music later in the evening but, alas, no sign of any "ladies"-themed night. In fact, Cuenca by night appeared something of a let down. There was little by way of live music streaming from any of the cafes, bars or restaurants that crowded the narrow, cobbled streets and the one band I saw playing in the main square was attended by only a handful of subdued, under-enthusiastic audience members.

Cuenca by day was little more inspirational. Perhaps I have simply grown fatigued by so many pretty, picturesque colonial centres: I certainly hope that this is not the case. Cuenca had its numerous redeeming features, of course: beautiful churches crowded multiple plazas dotted around the city; bustling markets thrived with the sounds of vendors parading their wares; there was even a small complex of ruins located in the south-eastern sector of the city. The streets were clean and charming, the traffic peaceful and thoughtful towards each other and we lowly pedestrians. In fact, the feel of Cuenca was incredibly appealing and I certainly enjoyed my brief sojourn there. Nonetheless, brief my stay remained, quite inconsiderable compared to my large chunks of time invested in similar places like Arequipa and Cusco but, rushing as I was to make my way north and on into Colombia, I was comfortable with merely skirting over the city, which seemed so similar to previous sights I had seen, in order to make time for the more unique places that I still wanted to visit. I did still find time for another breathless early morning run, which took me down some quaint side-streets and alongside a delightful, gurgling brook. I saw also the aforementioned ruins through a wire fence and even finished up with a brief sprint ascending five flights of stairs: not bad for a run in a city standing just a few meters shy of 2,500!

I spent that afternoon exploring further and had gone mere meters down the street outside my hostel when, who should I meet but 'ole snap-happy himself. Yes, Sebastiaan had decided to spend some time in Cuenca after all, charmed by the place from his bus window on the way into the city before connecting to continue up to Riobamba. I just happened to poke my head in an internet cafe to check the tariff and there he was, bent over a screen deep in thought. A joyful reunion occurred in which I learnt that Seb had left a 'Facebook' message for me the previous day, after waiting in vain for me to appear at the bus station - in fact, he had displayed typical impatience and left after half an hour, still a good hour before I was to arrive… We rendezvoused for lunch and then Seb guided me around the churches that he had visited the previous afternoon. The centre of Cuenca is certainly impressive: wonderful colonial buildings crowd the main plaza, including two mightily composed cathedrals, both very tasteful and great examples of their architectural time periods, the sixteenth and nineteenth centuries respectively. The central space in this plaza was crammed with trees and flowers, creating a quite lovely area in which to sit and watch the world go by: Cuenca was growing upon me. After visiting a couple more inspirational religious edifices, Seb and I stumbled upon a plaza full of dancers and live music. The dancers were traditionally dressed and promoting their indigenous dance forms in some sort of regional competition. We stopped briefly to admire their artistic skill before continuing on our way to the bus stop: we wanted to catch a local bus up to a viewing point from which we could look out over the entire city. This was achieved with minimal fuss (we feeling every part the acclimatized Latin travellers) and we were soon snapping away from the observation post. Again, the scene was nice without being particularly inspiring, little different from those panoramas we had so enjoyed in Arequipa and Cusco. Still, to continuously compare these three cities does none of them any favours and is quite the disservice. If I had visited Cuenca first, I have no doubt that I would have fallen in love with the place every bit as much as Arequipa and perhaps stayed for a similar length of time. As it was, we soon tired of the view and thumbed a lift back into town aboard an open-bed truck, a thrilling experience: indeed, the flat-bed of a truck, open to the wind blowing through one's hair and the warming glow from the sun, is perhaps my favoured method of travelling short distances on this continent.

Once back in the centre of the city, Seb and I took ourselves back to the internet cafe for a spot of blogging and photograph uploading. Afterwards, we rendezvoused back at my hostel, where we met Ronan and Jean for a cost-saving meal of home-cooked vegetable soup, cooked by Jean, washed up by yours truly. The meal was tasty and filling, accompanied by that healthful, comforting glow after ingesting an array of nutritious vegetables. We opened a few cans of beer and sat around making light conversation and wondering how best we could spend the evening. Eventually, we settled upon visiting Seb's hostel, where there was a reasonable bar. Here we met up with a few more characters and were tipped off to a place a few doors further down the street, where live music was being played. We headed down in time to here the full version of Pink Floyd's 'Wish You Were Here', followed by a break and then a more locally-inspired second track-list. By this time I was once again feeling a little rough and decided to call it a night and try to get a good night's sleep. I bid my fellow table-mates adieu and headed back to the hostel. The others continued into the small hours and Seb a little beyond: he was certainly unimpressed by my early morning breakfast call the next day, having enjoyed a paltry two hours sleep before I came knocking. I should add that this early morning call was Seb's own suggestion, eager as we both were to travel on north, to Baños. After some coercion, I succeeded in finally rousing him fully and we trooped out to a waiting taxi, which whisked us away to the bus terminal and transportation on up to Baños.

I spent a deal of the ride, certainly the early stages, placating a still rather drunk Seb and my fellow passengers, some of whom seemed rather bemused by my travel companion's befuddled state. Actually, Seb was a little annoying, speaking loudly and a little disrespectfully of our transportation and some of the meaner locals he had met the previous evening. Meaner eventually transpired to simply mean those people he had not particularly warmed to. His raised, disparaging comments were punctuated by the occasional punch to my arm, whenever he thought my interest was sliding away; in reality I was feeling worse with every sweeping bend in the road and simply trying to concentrate on not adding to my friend's head-pounding discomfort. Somehow we arrived safely in Baños, bags and heads intact and even having managed to befriend the Americans sat on the seats in front of us: I have no idea how they warmed to us in our brutish states, Seb drunk from the night before, I feeling the need for yet another enforced day-long fast.

We departed the bus station with a friendly wave to our acquaintances from Chicago and jumped in a taxi to our chosen hostel, which had space and at the weekend - a good omen indeed. We settled in and I headed directly to my bed - Baños could wait.

¡Saludos a todos!

David xxx