Recap pt.3: Cuenca, war zone

If you've made it through the first 2 recaps, I salute you. We've nearly reached the present moment, which certainly beats living in the past.

The ride to Cuenca from Alausi included the largest concentration of backpackers we've seen in one bus. Mostly Swiss and German, but with a couple of loud Americans as well. One of the Swiss guys we met, Larssen, who would go on to become my nemesis due to his drunken buffoonery and untz untz attitude, suggested that we go 'to a paarty hostel, ja' called El Cafecito. He then suggested we all split a cab to get there, because the 1.00 dollar fare was clearly too much for one man to bear. So to the Cafecito we went. There we met the first of two homosexuals named Andres, who took an immediate liking to Ben. He spoon fed us whiskey and wine until we were ready to discover what Cuenca had in store for the drunken tourist on the go. One of the Andres' suggested we check out a dance club in town, and so once again we piled into a cab with Larssen, a nice German kid called Peter and an American named Michael who shares my love for NBA basketball. The club was empty except for us for a good hour, and then reinforcements came. Mostly locals, mostly couples and then the Andres' came and hit the dance floor with an eye on our friend Ben.

Ben dodged their advances nimbly, escaping their tentatives with deft precision and well-timed trips to the bathroom, but we all knew that he couldn't defend himself forever. He was playing hard to get, but inevitably he would surrender himself to them in a tiny Ecuadorian hostel room. Kidding. Perhaps I'm just jealous because no one seems attracted to this pale gringo. No surprise really, given that I spend most of my time traveling the streets with a blue fishing cap, shorts that are too short, and my passports strapped to a shabby fanny pack. Anyhow, the club was followed by a rave party in another part of town where more hijinx ensued. Andres number two drove us there in his jeep, stopping to drop off a despondent Andres number one at his home, no doubt upset that Ben had managed to elude his advances.

At the entrance, Ben went to work, claiming that the Glish had sponsored the event, and that all of us should be allowed to enter for free and not the 10 dollars that was required. His claims were rebuffed by the bouncer, who did let the girls in for half price. Ben did not give up, and asked to speak with the host of the party, who was an acquaintance. When asked for the host's name, Ben suggested that it was 'Miguel', taking a wild stab in the dark. It turns out the party host was right in front of us. He wasn't named Miguel, and he didn't remember Ben. Still we managed to get in for half price, and partied fairly hardy for the next few hours. Good times.

We worked off our hangovers the next day by roaming the streets of Cuenca. By one o'clock I had been hit by two water balloons, one launched from a balcony, the other from a moving car full of laughing teenagers. Coupled with the fireworks exploding intermittently, the random power outages accompanied by loud pops and the low-flying planes going in and out of the local airport, I spent the rest of the day in fear that Cuenca was at war. Now I look over my shoulder for more drive-by balloonings and always seek cover while wandering the streets. Apparently the water balloons and fireworks are part of the pre-Carnaval celebration, so you can imagine how excited I am for the real thing, which starts next week.

Finally, we've found a non-party hostel and we've gotten back to work, which feels good. Also, we have a standing invitation for a guinea pig roast this evening... I'll keep you updated.