Friday, April 14, 2006

We are loving Cuenca. Michael has been here before, the last time he was in Ecuador, and he's been talking it up ever since. So far it's as good as he's always said. Clean, pretty, and the people are friendly. Also, I had a "NYC moment" and those pretty much cement my undying loyalty.

After strolling along the river yesterday afternoon, we wandered back up to the beautiful, leafy Parque Calderón in the city center. I was keeping watch while Michael visited the ATM. It was getting dark, that golden-brown streetlit dusk that makes me start thinking of dinner. The row of international flags lining our end of the park rippled in the October-chilly breeze, alternately hiding and revealing bits of the New Cathedral. The sweetly salty scent of roasting peanuts drifted past.

It was like Manhattan. Except not. It was the Parque Calderón instead of Rockefeller Center, and the New Cathedral instead of St. Patrick's Cathedral, and mani instead of peanuts. It was Cuenca and not New York. I was glad to be in Ecuador, with the exciting unknown around every corner. But that five seconds of precious familiarity made it seem like a familiar exciting unknown and it will take a lot to make me stop liking Cuenca now.

Last night we ate a merienda at a little local spot plastered with photos and posters and newspaper clippings of soccer teams. A thick, creamy soup, followed by fish for me, chicken for Michael, rice, salad and juice for $1 each. It's the cheapest food we've had yet, and it was really good, too. And afterwards we walked around the center through the crowds out celebrating Semana Santa. Besides the Old and New Cathedrals, we're also in sight of the Iglesia de San Francisco.

All three churches were doing a booming business. In what, we couldn't tell. But masses and masses of people were pouring in doors on one side and out on the other, nonstop. In the streets it was like a fair. There were red candy apples for sale, potato chips, plantain chips, salchipapas (hot dogs and fries), and grilled meats. Also candles of all sizes, for lighting in the churches.

For twenty-five cents, Michael and I bought what we thought was an ice cream cone, which turned out not to be ice cream at all. It was a thick, sweet whipped-cream type thing served in a cone with sprinkles and a tart-sweet red sauce on top. Michael hated it, I think because he felt so deceived by it. I won't buy another one; it was extremely sweet, but I ate the whole cone, savoring the cultural surprise.

We see new and different things every day, but we haven't been smacked in the face with something "weird" in a long time. I've been seeing this stuff around since Baños, this not-ice cream. Vendors carry mounds of it around in little tubs, with the upside-down cones decorating the top, ready to be filled. I wondered how they kept it from melting, but I figured they had some special way, some indigenous secret, or some kind of space-age thermos lining or something.

Our mistake might be dumb, but it's not so dumb. Plenty of the vendors who pile onto busses with snacks and drinks sell pre-made ice cream cones. They hop onto the bus yelling about the ice cream and then rush off and place any unsold cones back into their waiting freezer cart. But yeah, this stuff was not ice cream at all.

While I was finishing our cone, Michael joined the flow of people going into the New Cathedral to see what the deal was. I didn't want to go in. Church makes me nervous when I don't know what's going on. When he came back out, he said people were just filing up the aisle from one door and coming out the other. He said the doorways were packed, but it was roomy and empty inside. So I guess I should have just gone in. Oh well.

Today we went back to our merienda spot for an almuerzo. The same food as last night was being served, and we learned that the soup we'd enjoyed so much last night was a special Semana Santa soup called fanesca. It's made with dried fish, because we're not supposed to be eating meat right now, and twelve kinds of grains to represent the twelve apostles. I don't know if there is a particular grain for each apostle, like Peter = corn and Judas = lima beans, or if only the number twelve is significant. Either way, it's some tasty, tasty soup, and very hearty.

Surreptitiously observing our neighbors, I learned that the small plate of giant, mushy corn kernels (choclo) that comes with the food is meant to be eaten in the soup and not alone with salsa as we'd done last night (oops). You are supposed to scoop up a few kernels with your soup spoon and then dip the spoon into your soup to collect some broth, and then eat it in one mouthful. The choclo is better that way than with salsa, but I don't love it.

But fanesca? Yes. Cuenca? Yes. There is even excellent coffee here (at Cafe Austria) for Michael, who cares about that. We plan to spend at least a week here taking some more Spanish lessons and I'm very excited about the prospect.

 

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Parque Calderón and the New Cathedral, Cuenca.

Cathedral from the back, Cuenca.

Menu, Cuenca.

This is not ice cream. Cuenca.