Arriving in Cuenca

Cuenca
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It is very, very warm here in Cuenca. The hotel is very pleasant and well air conditioned. I’m forced to wait patiently whilst waiting for my room key. I decide that I should go for a walk before dinner tonight. So I head off to the old town on the hill above. Eventually I start coming across lots of young people all heading in the same direction. Most of them look like students - all wearing different brightly coloured T-shirts with bulls and slogans on them. The hill is pretty steep but I slog onward, passing more and more people as I go.

Raising the baracades, Cuenca
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I begin to worry slightly when I come across large telegraph poles stacked by the roadside. A series of temporary barriers are being erected and police officers and ambulance crews are milling about. Eventually I end up in the Plaza Mayor by the cathedral. It is packed with people all wearing T-shirts and neck scarves. There’s a lot of drinking going on - particularly amongst the kids! Several people are carrying and drinking from hide bags filled with a red wine. You have to hold it far from your mouth as you can without covering yourself in the contents. Unfortunately the more you drink, the less successful you become!

Just my luck, the next bull suddenly appears and is heading my way!

Getting ready to rumble, Cuenca
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I’ve just realised that I’m on the wrong side of the barrier. Fighting through the crowd I find a safe looking place and ask two local boys what is happening. They don’t speak much English, but at least reassure me I’m safe where I am. Now there’s nothing to do but wait. People are perched on the upperparts of the cathedral walls and any other high surface. They practice jumping up to grilled windows or scaling the thick iron nails on the cathedral doors. What on earth is going on?

A birds eye view, Cuenca
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At 5pm a very loud flare goes off. Everyone seems to be acting a little more seriously. Eventually the first “bull” appears. It’s led into the square on a very thick rope. It doesn’t look much of a bull - it’s too skinny and timid. Everyone stands around it taunting - it has a half-hearted go at some of them.

As I’m watching, an elderly Spanish man starts chatting to me. Unfortunately he doesn’t speak English and I don’t speak Spanish. It doesn’t put him off. He chats away whilst four bulls go though. I’m getting far too hot standing in the sun with sweat dripping off me. I make my apologies and set off back to the hotel. Unfortunately my new friend follows me. In an effort to shake him off, I charge down a narrow street. However it changes direction suddenly and takes me straight back to the Plaza Mayor.

Waiting for the main event, Cuenca
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It’s a tough decision but I start walking across the Plaza hoping that I can lose him here. Just my luck, the next bull suddenly appears and is heading my way! I leg it up a nearby slope and cross my fingers. When I eventually make it to the other side, I squeeze through a very narrow lane only to discover that my ageing Spanish Lothario is still in hot pursuit. I must say he is extremely keen. My plan now is to flag down the first tourist I can see and throw myself on their mercy. Luckily my rescuers are a Tasmanian couple from my group, Leigh and Pat. They find my story highly amusing and are happy for me to tag along with them. Leigh reckons the old boy is hoping to find a good strong wife - he’s apparently looking really disappointed now some friends have shown up.

A Prime position, Cuenca
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We decide we’ve had enough of the festivities and go in search of the Hanging Houses of Cuenca. The only problem is we don’t really know where to find them. We come out at a fairly modern viewing area that looks down across the lower, modern town. The river is down below in a tree lined gauge, so that’s where we decide to start looking. It makes a lovely change to be heading down. Brambles line the path and in a few places dried up blackberries can be still be seen. I’m surprised to see them but I don’t know why I should assume that they don’t grow in the rest of Europe. As we descend into the gauge, the fierce heat of the sun seems to wan. Eventually at the bottom, we find a bridge and a pleasant riverside walk - or at least it would be if it wasn’t for the smell. Presumably one of the advantages of living perched above a river is that you don’t have to worry about sewage. Despite this the walk is surprisingly enjoyable and we join the locals who are taking a break from the frantic activities up in the old town.

Cuenca
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Leigh persuades me to join them for a drink at a riverside bar. Finding just the right place to sit is not easy. Australian attitudes to smoking could not be more different to those of mainland Europe. They find it unbearable sitting next to a table where people are smoking, even though we are in the open air. Unfortunately the next table is probably a bit too close to the loo, and it doesn’t take any imagination to work out where their waste goes.

Despite the pollution, we had a very enjoyable drink which came complete with proper free tapas. It looks a bit like a sausage roll, but seemed to contain mashed up sardines and tomatoes. By the second drink however, we have been demoted to a bowl of crisps.

Although we have come across plenty of houses built right onto the cliffs, we have somehow managed to miss the hanging houses entirely. I did however learn that very few homes in Tasmania are built in stone. Leigh and Pat have in fact set a bit of a trend in their area by using the local stone to build their own.

In the end we walk half way round the old town and fail to find any trace of our target so we head back to the hotel. What a relief it is to have air conditioning. At dinner this evening everyone is happy to point out our mistake. We had simply worked our way around the wrong side of the gauge. Had we gone the other way, we would have found a rickety iron bridge across the gauge, offering wonderful views of the correct buildings. “Never mind”, I announce, “I’ll go looking for them tomorrow morning”!