#2418: More impressions of Cuenca

Post 2418

- 9 years and 38 days since I started this blog -

  

At El Mercado, one of Cuenca's best restaurants. Behind me is Cuenca south of El Centro (downtown). In front of me is sopa de mariscos, incorrectly described on the menu as 'arroz Criollo' which made me think it was some kind of etouffee. No matter, it was excellent. Langoustine, prawns, shrimp, pike, clams, mussels, in a delicious broth with vegetables and rice. While this was an expensive dish by Ecuadorean standards, it was cheap compared to what a dish similarly well-prepared in a beautiful restaurant with excellent service would be anywhere in the US.

Journal
(written about Feb 4-Feb 7, 2020)

Read this once (it won't change for the rest of the trip(s): I'll be linking this post to Facebook. If that's how you got here, here's some background: About 9 years ago I started this blog as a food journal. I had a medical situation and needed to lose weight. Initially, that's all I did here: Journal my food intake and my weight. It contributed to helping me lose 20+% of my body weight in 6 months, and continuing has kept me on track since then. I started adding commentary after a while, but lately it has become infrequent. 

While I'm traveling, I let go of the weight-tracking and food journaling, except for the occasional food shot when I've eaten something interesting. And that's where we find ourselves now.

I still find myself responding positively to the touchy-feely, close personal space manner of Cuencanos (people of Cuenca). I love seeing people walking down the street holding hands, or with arms around each other, carrying infants and toddlers (instead of strollers). In my mind, it has become quite symbolic of the vibe in Cuenca. Very warm. Only one cab driver, frustrated by our lack of communication as to my desired destination, so far, has been anything less than very friendly in our interactions - including all the other taxi drivers I've dealt with.

My first week in Cuenca has been mostly pleasant. What wasn't? Getting used to the altitude. I've learned a few things, since I've been here, but I had a few days where altitude sickness - in my case, very mild - kept me from getting around as much as I would have liked. mostly a feeling of fatigue and heaviness the first days. On my third day here, when I thought I was over it, I had a beer. Next day, it was back in a new form - a very mild case of vertigo. Not enough to keep me from walking around a little bit, or from going out to my first jam session here, just enough to remind me that I didn't really know what was good for me. Yet.

I ate only one meal a day for my first four whole days in Cuenca. Not because I wasn't feeling well, but because the meals I ate were filling, and when it came time to eat again, I simply wasn't hungry. This might also be due to a big decrease in the amount of raw and cooked green vegetables in many meals. Veggies other than corn and potatoes, aren't really featured in the places I've been eating, although the good quality of the food I've had has masked a big increase in the starch content of my diet.

I am also having difficulty getting the rhythm of this town. By decades-long habit, I stay up late. I did this even when I was still working my nine-to-five. Probably greatly to my detriment in some areas of my life, but that's a story for another day. With alcohol involved

This is the opposite, it seems, from the typical resident, including expats. Theirs is a typical schedule around the workweek. Most, not all, places for recreation,  as in, restaurants and bars, are done at ten. I'm already collecting data on the exceptions, and have been to a few places that went to midnight, or, informally, later. 

So, Cuenca is a morning-oriented town, and I am quite the opposite of a morning-oriented person. Also, many businesses, especially restaurants, close at 3pm. Siesta, I guess, although nobody and nowhere have I read anything about a siesta tradition here. Some places reopen at five or six, but for some, that's the end of the day.

Me, on the other hand, three is a moderately early starting point for my day. 

But I digress. Not having the rhythm of this place - actually, not having the rhythm in any situation - is a bit frustrating. I hate being out of time, always. 

In fact, I've made good use of my time in my first week. To whit: 

I went to my first open mic. It was at a friendly restaurant, Kamaq Gastro Arte y Cultura, that had an actual stage - not elevated much, but big enough. When I walked in (late, because cab-hailing here is as random as it is seemingly everywhere), there was a guitar player and a cajon player (who, it turned out, also plays guitar, keys and sings - and runs this jam) on-stage. The room had a nice crowd.

Not knowing the format, I walked far to the side of the stage to put down my bass as inconspicuously as I could, with the rest of the instruments/cases, but was immediately beckoned to join in.

I got a good response from the other players and the audience, and was asked to stay up for another set. Here's a video taken by the lead singer's girlfriend or wife (I never ask): Cover: People Get Ready.

I introduced myself to all the players, and now I know some residents and also some part-timers. More importantly, I got to hear something a little different than my usual fare, including one excellent guitarist who played a lot of different songs from all over South America.

I was very happy with the night.

The next day I woke up feeling great! First day that's happened since arriving in Ecuador.

I walked a lot - even my arthritis wasn't bothering me at all. Deliberately, I found myself at those steps leading down to the river (pic in the last post #2417). I walked those stairs down and, after walking around a bit, back up to no ill effect - neither fatigue nor knee pain. 

After more wandering around and being too late for lunch (by then, it was 3pm), at two places I went to, I stopped for some coffee.

The place, which I chose based on it's nearness and clean looks, was the El Mercado coffee shop, at the front of a restaurant I didn't know was there. 

Why wasn't I aware of the restaurant? It's the Spanish colonial architecture. The front of most houses typically opens out into a courtyard, around which is the main living area. All the places I've been inside have been, tardis-like, bigger on the inside than what was hinted at out front.

At this coffee shop, I met the barista, Byron, and he turned out to be such a consummate, knowledgable (and English-speaking) pro, I put him through his paces, having him make an Aeropress, French press, and espresso. Every step of the way, he explained what beans he was using and why.

When I was at the French press portion, A gringa came and sat at the next table. I ended up having a 3-hour conversation with Susan, a very active retirement-age woman who is not at all retired, living and teaching in Cuenca. It was fun, and very, very informative. 

Long conversations, when you find yourself one-on-one in a comfortable place for it, are the norm when I travel. 

For one thing, being (always, pretty much) the new kid in town, I'm someone who hasn't heard their stories. For another, I'm someone they can help without cost or inconvenience, not knowing the place the way they do. As for me, they haven't heard my stories either, and I have lots and lots of stories.

You find out what you have in common, and what you don't. If you keep an open mind, it's a learning experience that has a lot of emotional and sometimes spiritual depth.

It makes this kind of conversation very pleasant, fun, recreational. I love it. 

When Susan had to leave for her dinner plans, Byron suggested I would enjoy the restaurant (that I didn't know I was even in part of). Susan affirmed that it was a very good place. It was 6:30, all I'd had to eat was a Byron-supplied cinnamon bun so far that day - I was hungry. So I said, fine, I'll do that.

Byron had to point out the way to the restaurant at the back of the building.

Big surprise. The restaurant was beautiful, three flights up from the street at the rear of the building it was in, with floor-to-high-ceiling windows showcasing the view of the southern half of the city.

The view, just at dusk, from the El Mercado.

I ordered the Arroz Criolla, which I thought would be a seafood gumbo (criolla), but which turned out to be an outrageously good sopa de mariscos (seafood soup). The waiter took the photo at the top of the post after bringing it to me. You can read more details about the dish there. 

I was so hungry, I had eaten half the dish when I realized I hadn't gotten a picture of it, which is a shame, because it was as good-looking a presentation as it was great eating. That night, I went to see some music, but the tiny venue was full. 

So, I aimlessly wandered around for a bit. I ended up at the Inca, a famous gringo hangout - right next to the base of those same stairs (second time that day). This time, when I went down the six or eight flights, I was reminded that, irrespective of altitude sickness, which I wasn't feeling at all, my knees are arthritic, and I had some pain.

The bar was empty. Why? No idea. I had an excellent michelada, watched some old eighties rom-com that had some kind of cross-dressing motif going on, in Spanish, on the big screen above the bar, and decided to call it a night.

When I got back to the base of the steps, there were about a dozen-and-a-half teenagers, and they were preparing to start a wheel-barrow race (one person holding the other's ankles waist-high, the other walking on their hands) up the stairs.

I was more than impressed. First of all, they were obviously doing this for fun (as opposed to, I don't know, the anti-social behavior other 'gangs' of kids indulge in while they're immersed in their phones, or other media distractions), and secondly, how well-organized they were - everybody seemed to know what part they were playing. Lastly, only a couple of girls in the group had phones out, and it was obvious they just wanted to document the event.

The race started, and I followed, to one side, out of the way. Only one of the half-dozen teams collapsed on the first flight. One made it up three. The other four collapsed about two-thirds of the way to the top. Everybody was laughing. Everybody seemed happy. 

Seeing that made me happy.

Here are some pics of my meanderings, and more. Cuenca 2/4-7/2020 album.

Larry, the husband of a woman from Syracuse, Laura, who I met earlier in the week, had reached out to me and on Thursday we were going to meet and take a walking tour of Cuenca.

But, after yesterday's excursion, the dozens of flights of stairs I had walked up and down, and all the mileage I put on (no cabs!), my knees were... grumpy. I wasn't going to be doing a lot of walking this day.

We went to a coffee shop off Parque Calderón, very near. We talked for a good long spell, over cappucinos (him) and espressos and eggs (me, very good!), and then we walked to some other places nearby, as Larry wove his story in with the sights we passed.

We ended up at one of the smaller mercados near his and Laura's home. Again, I was impressed at how unimpressive street-facing buildings lead to large and pretty interior living spaces.

The conversation continued for the rest of the afternoon. As sometimes happens, I left feeling very much like I'd discovered a good friend who was meant to be my friend, waiting for me to encounter him. That's something that has happened, in my travels, more frequently than I would have guessed. But it is always a delight.

Laura had invited me to Common Grounds for karaoke night. I'll be honest (as I was with her), that isn't something I typically enjoy. I also resent karaoke because it is used as a replacement for live music. Laura suggested that it would be a good time and place to meet other musicians, who were fairly regular attendees.

All right. I had no better ideas.

I took a cab over, and found Laura, Larry, and Bert and Jerre (and a few others) from Wednesday's open mic at Kamaq.

I asked the open mic host if he had the JJ Cale version of 'After Midnight' in his machine, and he responded yes.

As I made my way back to the bar, I reached for my phone, just to check the time.

It wasn't in my pocket.

I looked around where I'd been sitting at the bar, went back to the table where I'd filled out my song request. Not there. Several of the other patrons formed a search crew (thank you!) but came up empty. I realized it must have come out of my pocket in the cab.

Larry called me. The cab driver picked up. Larry (who speaks good Spanish) told him (again) where we were, and promised him a reward if he returned it.

Other folks in the bar told me how common it was for people to lose their phones or have them stolen. I didn't need to hear that, and went out to the street to wait for the taxi's return. Larry hung out with me. Fifteen minutes later, the cabbie rolled up, handed me my phone. I thanked him as best I could (and passed him what I hope was a generous reward), Larry thanked him more profusely, in his better Spanish.

I remain the luckiest person I know. Tragedy (and I do meant tragedy) averted. Also, everybody in the bar was talking about me like I had just done something amazing, when I had just done something careless and stupid, and totally gotten away with it. All right, maybe that's amazing.


How could I not be grateful for my life and my luck? Believe me, I take nothing for granted. I live in a world of gratitude, because I live in a world with plenty of people and experiences to be grateful for.

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