Cuenca bound!

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I woke up at my regular time, 6:30, and I could hear the rain on the roof, so I just rolled over and went back to sleep. Check out time was noon, and I knew that noon was the earliest bus leaving Milagro for Cuenca, so I was in no particular hurry. I finally roused myself up a couple of hours later and luxuriated in the first really hot shower in days. A word of caution to travelers. I don't know whether it's because it's south of the Ecuator (where water drains in the opposite direction than it does in the Northern Hemisphere) or just a flaunting of generally accepted building practices, but there doesn't seem to be rhyme or reason for which side to put the hot water on in Ecuador. I waited for like 15 minutes for the water to get hot after turning the left knob. In desperation I turned the right knob, and voila!, steaming hot water...and a deep tub for soaking as well. I was in for some serious relaxation.

Since I really hadn't unpacked much, all I really had to do was get dressed and I was ready to hit the road. Hailing a taxi right outside the hotel, I was back at the Milagro bus station with plenty of time to spare. It was just barely 11:00 am when I handed the taxi driver a one dollar bill and headed to the Cuenca bus line ticket office. At the ticket office, the lady behind the window announced that the bus would depart at 12:30, despite a posted departure time for Cuenca that clearly showed 12:00 sharp. The woman hand-wrote me a ticket, and then proceeded to get in a very loud and animated telephone conversation with someone telling them that believe it or not there was some fool at the station who wanted to go to the Cuenca and that the bus had to make a stop there regardless. I suppose had there not been a paying customer to Cuenca they wouldn't have stopped in Milagro at all

Once I confirmed what bus stand to be at, and what bus to look for, and the exact time of departure, I decided that I would succumb to my cravings for breakfast by at least having a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. I walked around to the other side of the ticket offices into a virtual maze of little food vendors. I went to the first juice vendor I saw, and ordered a cup of orange juice. I was immediately challenged by the lady in the next booth over that this was no way to start the day. She asked where I was going and when I told her Cuenca she shook her head and said I needed to eat something for such a long trip. Before I could even offer an objection she was preparing a plate of food and having her son come help me move my bags to one of her tables. She asked my name and then promptly introduced herself. She was Charita, and her son's name was Cesar. For the next 20 minutes she kept up a non-stop conversation in Spanish. She asked why I was traveling alone and how did I come to be in Milagro? Her older sister worked with her in the food stand, and she introduced me but I missed her name. Charita wanted to know all about my trip, and where I was from. I told her Florida and she said I must be from Miami. When I asked her why, she said that she knew I was from Miami because even though I didn't know much Espanol, my pronunciation was very good. Her sister said that when I first asked for orange juice they automatically assumed I was fluent in Spanish. Only later did they realize I was just another hapless gringo.

By the way, the food was delicious!

By noon I was back at the bus stand waiting for bus number 54. Sure enough, at exactly 12:30 a bus whipped into the parking space, unloaded a couple of parcels, took my bags, and I climbed aboard. It was still raining lightly when we pulled out of Milagro, and it didn't let up for the next five hours. I dozed off and on for the entire trip, sealing occasionally to confirm that it was still a mess outside and we were headed in the right general direction. It was almost 6 pm when I finally hooked up with Dano, the expat from Seattle from whom I was renting an apartment for the next three nights. After a quick tour of Cuenca, pointing out the general location of things, including the McDonalds and the SuperMaxi store, we were at the apartment and climbing up three flights of stairs to the apartment that I had arranged via Airbnb. Dano gave me a quick run-down of the apartment, said adios, and I was on my on in Cuenca. After a refreshing shower, and a change of clothes, I headed out to get a bite to eat and a quick look around the local area.

According to Dano, it had been raining off and on the past three days in Cuenca, and evidently non-stop in the Caja Mountains to the west of the city. As a result, the Tomebamba River, which flowed just across the street from the apartment building, was in an angry mood, rising high in its banks and rushing down thru the city at breakneck speed. Just across from the entrance to the apartment building, there was an arched bridge that crossed the river, offering an exhilirating view of the tumbling waters below. Just by the bridge was a series of steps that led up the streets of El Centro, the older Colonial part of the city of Cuenca. I say a series of steps...it actually was six different landings, comprised of 84 individual steps. What a daunting task to climb!

Dano had recommended the Inca Lounge as a place to get a good meal and have a beer, so I set off across the bridge and up the street just a little to find it. It began to mist rain again, and I pulled my hood over my head and headed up the steps to the restaurant. The restaurant was a cozy little place, with three television screens offering various sporting activities (after all, it was Saturday), but I was the only person in the place, except for the owner and a couple of employees. The raging river below attracted a lot of attention, and after I placed my order I join the a couple of the employees on the balcony overlooking the scene below. Within the short time that I had crossed the river and climbed up to the Inca Lounge, the water in the river had risen at least another foot, and it was continuing to rise as we stood there and watched it. The owner, who I believe was originally from Alaska, said that he hadn't seen the Tomebamba at this high a flood stage in at least 4 years, and that if rain continued in the mountains the river would continue to rise and houses downstream were sure to be flooded.

In addition to the constant murmur of the wind and rain in the trees and the roiling water below, one could also hear what sounded like pins in a bowling alley being continuously knocked down. I hadn't noticed it when I had crossed the bridge earlier, but it was definitely apparent from the vantage point of the balcony. The owner of the Inca Lounge said that it was the sound of the boulders in the bed of river being thrown against each other. All in all, it was an eerie sound.

By this time, other patrons had started to filter in, including two young gringo women who came in drenched to the bone, and eager for a warm place to sit and dry out. After I finished an excellent Chicken Parmesan sandwich, and while having a second Pilsener beer, I overhead one of the young women ask the owner/bartender if he could put an American college football game on. When he asked which on, she said she didn't care, her team had already played its game but she wanted to catch up on the scores. He asked her what her team was and she said Georgia! I instantly perked up at hearing this. She said she didn't know what the final score was, but Georgia was playing Missouri and she knew that at one time Georgia was ahead.

I looked up on my cellphone the score, and saw that the halftime score was being reported as 34-0 in Georgia's favor, so I went over and introduced myself and gave her the good news. When I explained that I was a Georgia grad, and had grown up in Athens, she instantly brightened up and said that not only was she a UGA grad also, but that she had graduated from Oconee High. She introduced herself as Kat Smith, and said she was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Machala, teaching English, and she had come to Cuenca for the long holiday weekend (either the anniversary of the founding of Guayaquil or Columbus Day...I never found out exactly which) with her friend Chelsea, another Peace Corps volunteer from California who was teaching English in Latacunga. We had a long discussion about Ecuador and its people, and they were very interested in my perceptions, as I was of theirs. When they were joined by three other young women from the States, I said my goodbyes and headed back down the hill and across the river to the apartment.

Though the rain had stopped, the river had continued to rise, and it appeared to be only a few feet below the base of the bridge. Fortunately, the bridge had a very prominent arch to it, so I felt secure that I could cross it without fear of being swept away. I let myself into the courtyard of the condominium complex, climbed back up the three flights of stairs, and was so glad to see the warm, dry apartment waiting for me. After a quick shower, I was in bed and fast asleep, secure in the knowledge that even though climbing those three floors had been a bitch, at least I was safe from the cold, swirling clutches of the angry Tomebamba.

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