Baños is nestled in a picturesque valley with the currently erupting Volcan Tungurahua looming above, although all views of this mountain were obscured by clouds during our stay. We boarded a bus on the morning of the 22nd of Feb to head to Cuenca. The bus climbed and dipped as all the mountain buses have and after intially standing I found the middle rear seat free. I looked out the rear window and saw a huge mountain, almost double taking as I realised that it might be Tungurahua. There didn´t seem to be any fireworks and so my gaze drifted further left, where a much larger mountain stood, it´s dark shape just visible among some clouds. Above it loomed a sinister grey mushroom cloud, obviously of different provenance to the fluffy white clouds nearby. I seemed to be the only interested party on the bus.
The bus took longer than expected and stretched into the night. As darkness fell we were entertained by a Spanish-dubbed Jim Carrey marathon on the TV, but the scenery provided a welcome distraction (The Mask was still funny without dialogue, and Liar Liar was okay). The bus followed roads cut into steep mountains, with a sheer cliff face on one side and an equally sheer drop on the other. Cars were protected from the precipice by piles of dirt presumably left there when the road was built or by nothing at all. With the moonlight we could see the sharp edge but not the contents of the valley below, as it was hidden beneath a white blanket of cloud. Distant mountains and lights glowing in towns were sometimes visible but mostly everything was completely hidden by white. It is hard to imagine it being any more beautiful on a clear night.
We arrived late in Cuenca, a city neither of us had heard of until flipping through a Lonely Planet Best Travel 2010 book in Melbourne Airport the day we left. It is a lovely city, with cobblestoned streets and numerous old churches, including the first built by the Spanish in Ecuador in the 16th century. Upon arrival we were assaulted with friendliness by the proprietors of La Casa Cuencana, a "hostel" where backpackers basically just stayed in the owners' spare rooms. They gave us the check-in spiel in Spanish, so that we knew which key opened which door but that was all that was understood.
The bus took longer than expected and stretched into the night. As darkness fell we were entertained by a Spanish-dubbed Jim Carrey marathon on the TV, but the scenery provided a welcome distraction (The Mask was still funny without dialogue, and Liar Liar was okay). The bus followed roads cut into steep mountains, with a sheer cliff face on one side and an equally sheer drop on the other. Cars were protected from the precipice by piles of dirt presumably left there when the road was built or by nothing at all. With the moonlight we could see the sharp edge but not the contents of the valley below, as it was hidden beneath a white blanket of cloud. Distant mountains and lights glowing in towns were sometimes visible but mostly everything was completely hidden by white. It is hard to imagine it being any more beautiful on a clear night.
We arrived late in Cuenca, a city neither of us had heard of until flipping through a Lonely Planet Best Travel 2010 book in Melbourne Airport the day we left. It is a lovely city, with cobblestoned streets and numerous old churches, including the first built by the Spanish in Ecuador in the 16th century. Upon arrival we were assaulted with friendliness by the proprietors of La Casa Cuencana, a "hostel" where backpackers basically just stayed in the owners' spare rooms. They gave us the check-in spiel in Spanish, so that we knew which key opened which door but that was all that was understood.
So, a la seis, we found ourselves at the stadium to see Deportivo Cuenca play Universidad Catolica. When the opposition took the field they were hilariously greeted with a chorus of wolf whistles, while Cuenca came on to the tune of their theme song, with riff lifted straight from Gary Numan's "Cars". Early in the first half we were distracted from the sport by a pink and orange sunset behind the mountains around Cuenca, but once we started watching the game it seemed to be of high quality to our inexperienced eyes. Every minor Catolica mistake was greeted with more wolf whistles and I soon joined in as long neck beers were only $2 (what was I ssupposed to do?). Even valiant defensive efforts by the opposition were jeered if the ball went out of play or not directly to a teammate. I didn´t see any Catolica fans either, perhaps the very large number of riot police and many lengths of barbed wire put them off?
Cuenca scored at the end of the first half and I was informed by the nice chap (Alfredo) beside me that the crosser and scorer were both from Argentina. They held this lead to the final whistle and happy Cuenca fans spilled into the street, presumably to vigorously patronise the zillion fast food outlets outside the stadium. We returned tothe stage being constructed earlier and stood chewing meat on sticks and drinking warm Zhumijr (The Latin Spirit) while an experienced bard charmed the crowd with all their old favourites. Everyone (well, Spanish speakers) knew the words and one track featuring the words ¨Comandante Che Guevara¨ in the chorus was particularly well received. Mel and I were flagging and returned to th hostel for bed, only to be woken by a sequence of extremely loud fireworks explosions that were just as unexpected among the local population if the sounds of car alarms, dogs barking, and people running and exclaiming in the streets were anything to go by. It is embarrassing to admit that the fireworks went off at 11:30pm, and we had already been asleep for and hour and a half.
Cuenca scored at the end of the first half and I was informed by the nice chap (Alfredo) beside me that the crosser and scorer were both from Argentina. They held this lead to the final whistle and happy Cuenca fans spilled into the street, presumably to vigorously patronise the zillion fast food outlets outside the stadium. We returned tothe stage being constructed earlier and stood chewing meat on sticks and drinking warm Zhumijr (The Latin Spirit) while an experienced bard charmed the crowd with all their old favourites. Everyone (well, Spanish speakers) knew the words and one track featuring the words ¨Comandante Che Guevara¨ in the chorus was particularly well received. Mel and I were flagging and returned to th hostel for bed, only to be woken by a sequence of extremely loud fireworks explosions that were just as unexpected among the local population if the sounds of car alarms, dogs barking, and people running and exclaiming in the streets were anything to go by. It is embarrassing to admit that the fireworks went off at 11:30pm, and we had already been asleep for and hour and a half.
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