The perk of joining Simon Bolivar Spanish School is that it offers free cultural courses every evening to students.  One can learn how to dance the salsa or merengue, cook Ecuadorian cuisine, or mix cocktails.  Deenaree and Ben take an evening to learn how to salsa and spend the next few days nursing their sore legs.  Apparently, salsa is also an exercise routine.

In addition to evening courses, Simon Bolivar also schedules ¨field trips¨or outings that students are welcome to.  One such outing involves going to the top of a hill overlooking town and visiting the ceramic studio of a well-known Cuencan artist, Eduardo Vega.  Although from Cuenca, he is recognized all around the world for his ceramic murals.  We were pretty captivated by all the detailed pottery in his studio and wished we could take some home.

A second school outing involves  eating cuy or guinea pig at a local restaurant in town.  Ben is game for this, but Deenaree relents only when she finds out that the restaurant will be serving other food.  When push comes to shove, however, Deenaree does give in to trying cuy and finds that it´s not as bad as it looks.

The Spanish courses themselves are very good.  We are pleased to find that our teacher, Fausto, is the director of the school.  He exercises an incredible amount of patience as we struggle through verb conjugations and sentence structures.  We spend a week’s worth of afternoons plugging away at ser, gustar, tener, estar, and irregular verbs.  Not only do we learn vocabulary and structures, but also we learn about Ecuador.

For one such class, we are reading a cultural note in Spanish about curanderos or “shamans” and discussing herbal medicine.  Fausto asks us if we know about the curanderos that come to Cuenca on Fridays.  We tell him, “No”, and he suggests that we go.  ”Ok,” we say, assuming that he means after class.  But he says, “Ahora (now)”.  We are confused, but we follow him anyway.

Several blocks away from the school, tucked behind a market, we see a dozen older indigenous women meeting with their “patients”.  Fausto explains that these curanderos come to Cuenca every Friday to heal the sick members of the community for only two dollars.  Many of the patients are children and it is believed that the curanderos can heal them of their childhood ills, night terrors, etc.  In fact, when Fausto was young, his  parents took him to these shamans, too.

As part of a process unknown to us, the children are swatted with bouquets of aromatic herbs.  Then, an egg is rubbed all around their bodies to “pick up the bad spirits”.  The egg is cracked into a plastic bag and “read”.  The amount of problem the recipient had is determined by how unclear the egg white is in the bag.  As a final gesture, the herbalists take a swig from a plastic bottle and spit the liquid a few times on their patients.  The reactions of the little ones are mixed.  Some cry and squirm while others smile and giggle.  Deenaree’s reaction is of shock at the spitting, but fascination at the readings.

We observe this healing ritual being performed a few times more before heading back to the school.   It has been an educational afternoon and we are aware that this experience, along with all of the other ones, has made our choice to attend Simon Bolivar a very worthwhile one.

Upon arrival at the airport, bags are checked and we are promptly informed that our flight is an hour and a half late.  As we settle in for the long wait, an hour and a half turns into nearly three as we finally board the plane at 12:30.  The flight is uneventful and we arrive in Guayaquil at 3:30PM, weary from an already long day.  Having spent two nights in Guayaquil prior to our trip to the Galapagos and having been none too impressed, we originally made the decision to press on to Cuenca by bus.  Arriving three hours late makes us doubt the decision but we carry on nonetheless.

Our first task is to arrange a taxi from the airport to the long distance bus terminal.  With five people, the quoted fare of $5 seems reasonable.  Bags and bodies stuffed in, the taxi takes off.  After what seems like 37 seconds (probably 5 minutes in reality) and two turns (probably accurate) we arrive at the bus terminal.  No longer does our gallant limo driver seem so generous.

With bus tickets purchased, gate found and bags stowed, we board the bus and are told to move away from our assigned seats and friends.  Confused, we are also told to place our daypacks in the overhead compartment (never a requirement before).  As the mess is cleared by another man and we are returned to our rightful seats, we wonder if a scam is narrowly avoided.

As our four hour bus ride nears an end on a dark mountain road, we come upon the scene of a recent accident.  A pickup had lost control and tipped onto its side, spilling pigs, chickens and people everywhere.  The bus stops and the men clear out to take action.  With a man still in the cab, the entire collection of Cuenca-bound men (us included!) combine effort to push the badly damaged pickup back onto its wheels.  With the truck running and no tires damaged, a boulder is removed from underneath, livestock reloaded and the truck, and bus, go on their way.

With the delay we arrive in Cuenca after 9PM and find our hostel a short time later.  Relieved that our transportation marathon is finally over, we all sleep very deeply for the first time in a long time.