As I left the hotel at Azogues the rain began. There was some climbing but mostly the road dropped down towards the plateau upon which Cuenca was built. It began to rain harder and I put on my full rain suit and bootees. There were some furious descents with the rain pelting my face like tiny pebbles.
Then the Pan American high way split off from the road I was on and I followed it, winding along a mountainside, towards Cuenca. I had researched the way into the center of the city the night before and it was as I had written it down. It was not long before I was in the old city and riding on the stone streets.
The hostal I had wanted to stay at was full and I took a private room at the hostal next door. The women there were much impressed that I could speak to them in Spanish. Cuenca is every bit as beautiful as I was led to believe.
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