Cruzin' around Cuenca

We had only just recovered from the journey to Loja and then we set out for Cuenca on what seemed to be groundhog day. The rickety bus went 'round and 'round the Andes mountains like a merry-go-round on amphetamines. This time we were prepared with motion sickness tablets, although Jason questions whether they were placebos or simply sleeping pills, because Ricky slept for most of the journey. After a five-hour bus ride, without feeling ill, we arrived in the quaint, old city of Cuenca. The architecture and vibe of the city was different to many other South American cities, with more of a European flavour to it. This in part is due to the many colonial buildings that survive from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

Although the city of around 700,000 people was larger than some of the places we had passed through, there was more tranquillity in the air. The roads seemed much more civilised with traffic signs and lights to direct the flow of traffic instead of the Mexican standoff that was commonplace in Peru. The attitudes of people also seemed to be more liberal, as we immediately noticed the diversity. We stayed in the downtown area and there seemed to be a significant trans* community in Cuenca. Sexuality too seemed to be considered much more fluid than Western hetero-homo paradigms. We met a Canadian guy who had set up a foundation working with people affected by HIV and AIDS. From his perspective, he said that it was not uncommon for woman to have four children by the age of twenty and for wives to be unconcerned about whether their husbands were having sexual affairs with other women or men. Some of the statistics that he quoted about HIV infection rates in the city were concerning.

Originally, we had only planned to stay three days but this extended to ten. This gave us an opportunity to enrol in more Spanish classes and to get to know the city better. We met an American-born Ecuadorian, David, who had returned to his ancestral homeland two years previously. Immediately, Little Miss Pottymouth (a.k.a Jason) was at it, trying to brush-up on his las palabrotas (swearwords) with our new found friend. Ricky assured Little Miss Pottymouth that the priority was to understand the language so we could communicate more effectively, not to become a fishmonger and his wife.

Our first lesson at the Spanish School commenced with a general conversation in Spanish. We think this was to gauge our (poor) level of Spanish. The teaching method at this school was focussed on learning through conversation rather than hours of grammar (grammar lessons were saved for homework). It wasn't long before the conversation took a turn and the teacher started explaining some of the differences between Latin American Spanish. She told us a story about when she was in Central America ordering cake and how she used a word that was a slang word for vagina without realising. The story was intended to reassure us that even native speakers are not familiar with every word or every Spanish-speaking country. Little Miss Pottymouth looked at Ricky as if to say “did she just say vagina”. If it wasn't already clear that she was talking about vaginas, she started pointing to her nether regions, which made Little Miss Pottymouth squirm in his seat. The conversation then got diverted to Tinder and how to find a good gringo man. Five minutes earlier and we wanted to swipe right out of the conversation.

Over the week, we had two different teachers, both of whom found our accent intriguing. At times, both of the teachers tried to mimic us but didn't quite hit the mark. One of the teachers told us a story of another Australian student that when he spoke she had to ask him to speak English. The teachers probably learnt just as much about Australia and Australian culture as we did about the Spanish language.

The next seven days were spent immersing ourselves in the Spanish language, in between hunting and gathering amongst the streets of Cuenca for new delicacies to contribute to the ever-growing waistlines. And of course it wouldn't be a trip to South America without us running into a protest. This time all transport in the country was on strike. Fortunately, we had decided to extend our stay because we were due to travel on the day of the strike. Our Canadian friends, Dave and Terrie, formerly known as Team Canada but due to our Spanish immersion have been renamed los Canadienses, were not so lucky and had their bus cancelled. This meant that their arrival to Cuenca was delayed.

When los Canadienses arrived, we went in search of the best BBQ slow-cooked beef burger that we have ever tasted. But the illustrious burger alluded us for days as we wondered all over the streets like water diviners trying to find water. It wasn't until our final night, after some detective work using Google Maps, that we found the tasty burgers. The burgers couldn't escape our salivating mouths, like Pavlov’s dogs, as we devoured the food in nano-seconds. We've definitely noticed a correlation between the increase in food intake and the decrease in the number of steps each day and the increase of our waistlines. Soon, they will be rolling us out onto the tarmac to get us onto the plane.

While los Canadienses were in town, we headed to the artisanal markets to partake in one of Terrie and Little Miss Pottymouth’s favourite pastime: shopping. During the course of the day, we stumbled upon a shop that sold all kinds of products made from tagua nut, marketed as ecological, sustainable and cruelty-free ivory. It looks and is as strong as ivory but grown on a tree with no need to kill animals for their ivory. We got the low down (as well as the high down, side down and every other angle) about how it is made and all of the many different uses – and all in Spanish! We walked out the shop proud that we had a conversation and for the most part understood it, más o menos (more or less). We continued practising our Spanish outside of the shop and were overheard by another shopkeeper who just smiled and chuckled to herself. It was probably las palabrotas that were coming out of Little Miss Pottymouth.

We could have easily stayed longer in Cuenca and it was difficult to tear ourselves away but other adventures are still awaiting us further north. Loaded like pack mules, we headed to our next destination, accompanied by los Canadienses.

Next stop: Riobamba.Read more