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Caramelo Caliente

Last night was pretty insane.

After running around and looking at digital camera prices which are all about twice what I’d be paying in the US I was off to the Wunderbar (ugh, name) for an espresso and some games of Backgammon. Back at the hostel I ran into Gerald and he said he had talked to Greta (dancer fromb Friday night at the Cafe Del Rio) and that they were indeed performing in Biblian that night and that we could probably catch a ride back to Cuenca with them. Sweet, time for an adventure. Empty the pockets. Stash cash in the socks and in various pockets. Bring nothing else valuable and head out. It was a about 7:30, it had just gotten dark.

We hopped on a bus to Azogues,… I don’t really remember the name of the town and then transferred onto a bus to Biblian. The whole trip took about an hour. Getting off the bus in Biblian was a bit odd. We had a sense of adventure. Sort of a where the hell are we and what are we doing here and why are there white folks walking down the street, oh, that’s just us in the mirror.

We didn’t walk long until we encountered a poster that gave the line up of all the bands that were going to be playing at the fiesta at the local school. We headed in that direction encountering quizzical stares from a lot of locals, I reckon not too many outsiders pass through Biblia. We ducked into a restaurant, ate salchipapas (french fries with sausage) and I drank a bit of coffee to get me through the night. Usually I don’t drink coffee after 3pm or so but I’m willing to make exceptions. The lady in the restaurant told us to take care of ourselves; even though it was tranquilo right now, once the people get some booze in the things might get a little bit uglier. Fights were sure to break out. Ok, warning heeded.

We get in line to enter the school performance space, watch the pimped out car turn its rounds showing off its with the fancy looking speakers that sound like crap because they’re turned up too loud and are distorting. When we get near the end of the line a few guys cut in front of us, being the absolute outsiders there we didn’t exactly feel like standing up to them, and I think the folks behind us understood. The bad people are not the people that let people cut in line, it’s the people that cut in line.

We get inside and there’s a sea of people shorter and darker than us. I usually feel pretty conspicuous but this was about the most extreme I’ve ever had it go in my entire life. The tallest out of the thousand or more people there, and the only one with light hair, whenever I looked up and around I was immediately greeted by dozens of fleeting glances. Many questioning. Some friendly. And then there was the guy who offered us some Zhumir, the oh so delicious (?) liquor drink that every one drank. There was dancing. There were bands. The girls from Caramelo Caliente were backstage and gave us a heads-up nod.

When the first band came off Caramelo Caliente took the stage one by one in their matching skimpy outfits, shaking what their momma gave them, uhm, their money maker if you will. The five took turns dancing and singing. The crowd pushed up close to the stage. I felt a little bit like I felt when I walked around the Amsterdam Red Light District about a year ago - sort of coming to terms with the en masse display of flesh. It was entertaining, the music was good, and they were throwing out posters. Gerald went up close and got himself a poster, much to the chagrin of the guy who had been trying to get one fro several minutes. We were in the in crowd with the sensation of the night, wtf? I guess you just ride it out and see what the night has to offer.

When the show was over at about midnight the girls were husteled out of there and Greta gave us the nod to follow along so we pretty much had to follow along. We found them outside, already piled into their van with manager and driver and all. There was some arguing inside, they had pretty much told us that we’d be able to get a ride back to Cuenca but the manager wasn’t having any of that. It’s perfectly understandable. I think I would have done the same if I was their manager. So we watch the taillights disappear into the distance…

Getting back to Cuenca would have to be a different adventure than riding back in the minivan with the objects of the fantasy of every guy that was at the event. We asked when the next bus to Cuenca might be passing through: 2am. It was 12:15. We headed back into the place and couldn’t find our old friends that we had been sharing drinks with all night. I felt kinda bad about ditching them. Music dance, we hung out until about 1:15 am when some guys Gerald was talking to started asking him for money… it was about time to go then so we headed out to the street and these guys actually follow us out for a while. Whatever, we just start walking down the main road towards Cuenca and they soon drop behind. At this point we start hitchhiking - and the third car picks us up, it’s a truck driven by Eduardo who was heading south - that’s about all we gathered. We didn’t have a lot to lose so we piled in.

We rode for about 10 mintues and Eduardo pulled the truck over by the side of the road with some other cars. Ahead was the sound of music and some lights. There was another fiesta here, in the street, free for all to attend. Why not spend a little bit of time here. Get some more of a taste for the culture. This and that. We were basically fielding questions for about an hour, fending off the one guy who hated foreigners,… our new buddies just told us not to worry, he’s just drunk. I would hate to run into a group of drunk people who hate me for where I’m from. That could be ugly. Eduardo came over and told us that he was continuing so we get that into our head. Time to leave. Right then a bus appears, headed in the direction we wanted to go. We run after it for a little while with no luck and here comes Eduardo with his truck. The new guys that we met are all telling us not to go with Eduardo because he’s a bad man, he’ll rob s they say. Ok, maybe we won’t keep riding with him. We tell him to go on but he doesnt’t leave. At this point another bus comes over the horizon and is blocked by Eduardo’s truck. I’m sure the bus folks are a bit apprehensive with amob of people outside and a truck blocking the way. We couldn’t get them to open the doors and Eduardo was not moving his truck untill a few minutes later when he realized that we were definitely not riding with him. Amidst the shouting of the few guys we had met at this second fiesta that the people on the bus were gay and that we should not get on, the bus finally opened its doors and Gerald and I quickly slipped in. It turns out that the bus was not really in service, they were just coming back from a trip that there were doing and were basically returning to Cuenca empty. They wouldn’t accept any payment. Nice folks.

We got dropped off on the outskirts of Cuenca where the busdriver lived and were told we could get a taki there but it took a while and some other people who were on the bus ended up giving us a ride straight to our hostel. Once again, we were not able to give them anything in payment. Good peoples.

Gerald and I headed up to our rooms, reflected for a minute and decided that being 3:15am the night was not yet over. Let’s go to the Cafe del Rio where we first met the Caramelo Calientes,… that was open until 3:30 on Friday. They were closed. We just wanted to sit down and drink one beer to close out the night but nothing was open. The first guy we asked led us to a closed door that he knocked on and inside we found a chill little bar with a few folks still lingering around, had some more conversations about travelling and working abroad and the likes. I’m glad we found that place, it was really chill.

We ducked out of there after about an hour and were trailed by some other folks that were leaving the bar. They were kind of sticking to us trying to walk to the hostel with us when a truck pulled up and the driver shouted “Hey, Belgica”… hey, Belgium - it was the bar owner who was heading home, he told us that these guys that were hanging around were wanting to rob us and we hopped into his truck for a two block ride out of sight of the others.

I never felt any real sense of danger all night. Even though I had been drinking a bit I did call it quits when I was feeling slightly out of control. I’m still trying to figure out all this calling the other people robbers, are they just watching out for us? Could they be robbers as well that are trying to get us to go with them instead. I guess you just have to trust your instinct and only ride on the back of trucks that you can jump out of.

We got back to the hostel at 5:15am and got up around noon. Today has been very mellow. Gerald might call the dance group to see if we can each get a poster, he lost his somewhere in our long journey home.

Tomorrow it’s off to Cajas National Park for some more camping. I’m beat. Peace Y’all.

Posted by volker at March 21, 2004 04:50 PM