At 02:00 hrs. we stopped at the Cafeteria Susanita, which was more like a barn, which flickering fires which gave it a primitive feel. I had slept for a lot of the way so far, with my feet propped up on my rucksack in the aisle, but I was glad of the chance to get off and stretch my legs.
Towards dawn it began to get cold. This was a vast change from the uncomfortable humid heat of the Oriente and I had to dig out my anorak. At first light we climbed through the hills towards Quito and eventually arrived at 08:00 hrs.
I was now back in familiar territory. I strolled back across the Plaza Santo Domingo and passed the lady setting up her familiar live crab stall on the bridge on Calle Venezuela. I booked into the Gran Casino gringo hotel where a single room cost 350 Sucres. I felt sad because of the happy memories of my last stay here.
I had breakfast and set out to change some money and buy some postcards. I got stamps and cards from one of the kiosks and had to change up $20 U.S. dollars on the street because all of the banks were closed. I trekked over to the Terminal Terrestre to buy a bus ticket for Cuenca for tomorrow at 09:30 hrs. which cost 750 Sucres for the ten-hour journey. The exchange rate on the street was 372 Sucres for $1 U.S. dollar.
Back in room 6 at the hotel I sat down to catch up with my diary. Next, I wrote the six postcards, making the task less monotonous by starting to make a green/brown/yellow pulsara (bracelet) and weaving a few rows between writing each card.
When I went out to post them, I met Kent and discovered that all of the Swedish contingent were here and that Jackie was now in Baños, having cycled 120 miles. A lonely drunk danced outside a record shop as I headed down to the Post Office. Indian street trading was in full swing.
In the Post Office I danced back to avoid a lunatic tramp from grabbing my Brazilian pendant, which was on a cord around my neck. Back at the hotel I had a long chat with an American chap who wanted a companion to climb a volcano, and a French bloke who had made it through the Darian Gap into Colombia.
I went down for evening meal and while the Swedes played cards (what else?!). I got into a lively discussion with an Irish bloke, an American cyclist (maths teacher), an English-Australian and Monica from Sweden. The talk ranged through the usual world politics themes with Monica condemning American intervention in everything!
We polished off a good few beers until, finally at midnight, the hotel staff begged us to go to bed. I was extremely tired by then, so I was happy to oblige.
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