"Mint Mornings, Candle Nights – A Cuenca Journey"

 Part 1 – A Gentle Morning in Faded Brick

🕯 A Quiet Time Hidden in Weathered Brick – The Start of a Day in Cuenca

🌄 05:00–07:00 | Moonlight on the Window Frame and the Breath of the Andes

In the faint light of dawn, where darkness still lingers, the air was as fresh as mint—crisp, cool, and silent.
A new day quietly unfolded at Hotel Victoria.
As I opened the European-style arched window, the mountain air of Cuenca brushed against my nose.
Before me, the grandeur of the city revealed itself in silence.

Moonlight, not yet faded, gently spilled across the wooden floor,
and in the stillness, the soft, distant murmur of the Tomebamba River reached me.
It felt as if someone had painted the sound of the river with a minty breeze—
so vivid and clear that I was pulled in, caught in a moment where sound and scent became one.
It was then I truly felt: this was Cuenca.

🌅 Part 2 – Moonlit Water and the Breath of Stillness

The moonlight wrapped softly around the floorboards,
and the sound of flowing water felt like the river’s morning greeting.
Barefoot, I stepped toward the wooden balcony—
feeling the grain of the wood beneath each step, as if I were waking the floor itself.

Outside, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Transparent, bluish, with a hint of gray,
the sky wasn’t quite blue, nor truly black,
but somewhere in between—
a tender color slowly blooming awake.

🍃 Part 3 – A Sky Between Dreams and Light

In that sky, the colors didn’t shout—they whispered.
Soft gradients unfolded like a sleeping child slowly opening its eyes.
Everything was still.
Everything was just beginning.

That moment—between night and day,
between the breath of silence and the first light—
was not just a time on the clock.
It was a gentle gift,
a pause in the world,
wrapped in brick, light, and breath.

🌳 Part 1: 07:00–07:20 | A Morning Tea Steeped in Silence

Breakfast was served in a small glass conservatory beside the garden on the first floor.
The scent of flowers and herbs gently stirred the minty dawn air,
awakening something in the brain—like a soft spark to the morning hormones.
The fragrance traveled from my head down to my toes,
wrapping around my body like a quiet gift.

As I passed through the garden and stepped into the glass house,
I was greeted by deeply brewed milk tea and a citrusy orange juice with a strong note of lemon.
Mist rose from the cups like early morning fog,
and everything—from the handmade cassava cheese bread
to the butter toast garnished with marmalade, flowers, and herbs on an old plate—
looked like it had come from a loving hand.
The tea cups and saucers were modest yet charming,
carefully and warmly arranged.

🍊 Part 2: 07:20–08:00 | Sip by Sip, Bite by Bite, the Morning Blooms

I took a sip of the milk tea first—
a bittersweet taste that seemed to awaken both my mind and soul.
With my eyes closed, I quietly took in the unfolding of light and scent
as dawn opened into morning.

Next came the orange juice, bursting with lemon aroma.
As I drank, I felt the freshness of mint, herbs, and flowers
spreading through me, like the life force of plants flowing into every cell.

The cassava cheese bread melted the moment it touched my tongue—
so soft and moist that I hardly needed to chew.
The butter toast was crisp on the outside,
while the marmalade inside melted like rich cream.
Each bite filled my mouth with soft sweetness
and the fragrant warmth of handmade comfort.

🕊 Part 3: 08:00–09:00 | The Warmth of Cups and Strangers

From the trees outside came soft birdsong—
not loud or insistent, but gentle,
like a musical chorus conducted by the mint and herb-scented air.
It felt as though the sounds were rising from deep underground,
carrying the essence of that fleeting moment
when night gives way to morning.
It was a silent festival of light and scent—
a beauty too precious to fully hold.

The warmth of the ceramic cup in my hands
seemed to raise the temperature of the entire day.
Nearby, an elderly European couple sat with their grown children,
quietly enjoying herbal tea and cake,
smiling softly as they welcomed the morning together.

At the next table, another European couple
looked gently into each other's eyes, exchanging smiles without words.
That moment, like the breakfast itself,
was simple—and so warm.

🎨 Part 1: 09:00–09:30 | Artists of Calle Hermano Miguel

I stepped out onto Calle Hermano Miguel—
one of the oldest alleys in Cuenca.
Ivy crept quietly up the stone walls,
and between the vines were hand-carved wooden signs
leading to timeworn ateliers, one after another.

From somewhere came the faint scent of oil paint,
and from another, a classical guitar playing softly on a small radio.
This alley was the heart of Cuenca’s artistic soul—
filled with painters, sculptors, designers, and craftspeople.
Here, a painter brought color to life with every brushstroke.
There, the sound of a bamboo flute echoed,
and all the while, the ivy seemed to peek through the windows,
as if it, too, were watching the art unfold.

🌿 Part 2: 09:30–10:15 | Gentle Hands, Living Sunlight

The stone-paved path was worn smooth,
as if time itself had soaked into it.
In one tiny window,
an elderly painter in a white shirt sat quietly,
his hand moving gently across a canvas.

He paused for a moment, looked up,
and raised his hand in silent greeting.
He didn’t speak,
but the gesture carried the same warmth as the morning air.

Every window held a pot of sun-drenched greenery.
By one such window, an old sculptor carved wood with slow, delicate care.
He had the look of long years and quiet wisdom—
like someone patiently waiting for a block of wood
to turn into something living.
His hands moved with the pace of sunlight,
and beside him, a nameless herb plant from Europe
seemed to silently observe.

👜 Part 3: 10:15–11:00 | Leather and a Line a Day

At Taller de Cuero Santa Ana,
I stepped into a workshop where the roof was worn,
and the scent of old leather and age filled the space
like a preserved memory.

An elderly artisan greeted me warmly,
then returned to his work, gently shaping leather by hand.
As I looked around, I picked up a small leather notebook—
a palm-sized gift for a friend, priced at just six dollars.

He handed it to me with a smile and said,
“Write just one line each day. That way, it lasts longer.”

His words stayed with me.
Though simple, I heard what I wanted to hear:
That the friendship I was giving this to
was meant to last a lifetime.

He wrapped it beautifully,
his warm hands moving like sunlight itself.
And with that, I stepped back out into the street,
leaving behind the scent of leather and the quiet blessing of an artist.

🍵 Part 1: 11:00–11:30 | The Scented Invitation of a Tea House

Tienda Té de los Andes.
It must be the oldest tea house in Cuenca—
the moment I opened the door,
an enchanting blend of herbs, wood, and flower fragrances
wrapped around me like an invisible forest invitation.
After walking for hours, the aroma melted away all tension,
welcoming me into a space where even the air seemed to whisper with scent.

I ordered a mint rose blend, made with Ecuadorian herbs.
The sharp coolness of the mint touched my nose and chest,
opening my senses with a vibrant clarity.
Then the warmth seeped in—
as if my first sip was a kiss, soft and steaming,
carrying warmth from my lips down to my chest and through every vessel of my body.

It was still March,
so the sunlight that streamed through the window held a brisk freshness—
a clarity that made the whole room glow.

🌸 Part 2: 11:30–12:15 | Tea, Fragrance, and the Music Without a Score

As I sat in the tea house,
everything from the cozy tables to the window décor
felt poetic, like life and color had been gently poured into every little corner.
It was old-fashioned and cozy, with tiny floral touches everywhere.
The guests, dressed with quiet elegance,
savored their tea slowly, embracing the calm.

The rose and herb aromas filled the roof of my mouth.
I opened my photo album and notebook,
hoping to capture this slowness, this beauty.
Even just sitting there brought a deep sense of healing.

The soft sounds of tea brewing, the gentle clink of teacups,
and the distinct fragrances from each table
combined to form a kind of music—without a score.
Like rainfall that never follows notes,
this place, too, was alive with unscripted harmony.
Laughter, the clatter of cups, the whisper of pouring tea—
each sound a drop in the spring rain of the heart.

🌞 Part 3: 12:15–13:00 | Writing in the Sunlight, Within the Sound of Leaves

Sunlight slowly climbed down the edge of the stone-framed window.
At an old wooden table, I opened my notebook.
I wrote quickly, in my own secret scrawl—
not for anyone else, just for me.

Here, music didn’t come from sheet notes—
but from the natural sounds we can never truly recreate:
the rustle of rain, the birds outside, the whisper of distant waves.

This tea house wasn’t just a room.
It was a door opened into the sound of nature—
an orchestral silence made of herb steam,
glass clinks, and light filtering through half-closed eyes.

Just listening, just breathing,
felt like a quiet meditation wrapped in the fragrance of tea.

🪴 Part 1: 13:00–13:30 | A Calm Terrace, the Beginning of Cooking

I arrived at La Warmi Cocina Tradicional,
a space where you can experience both a traditional Ecuadorian cooking class and a homemade lunch.

From the moment I stepped in,
a neat, sunlit terrace came into view.
Ceramic wall tiles and hand-woven wooden shelves gave the space a cozy, warm charm.

Today’s menu was simple, heartfelt, and traditional:
Seco de Pollo (chicken stewed in tomato sauce),
Arroz Amarillo (yellow rice),
and crispy fried yuca.

The moment felt peaceful—
as if time slowed down to match the rhythm of cooking.

🍅 Part 2: 13:30–14:00 | Cooking with Marta, Cooking with Joy

Our instructor Marta smiled and said,

“Cooking is when the scent in the air and your soul become one.”

As we chopped, stirred, and seasoned,
everyone was grinning ear to ear.
Laughter filled the open kitchen,
and we learned with joy, not pressure.

The smell of stewing tomatoes, spices, and sizzling yuca floated in the air,
as if wrapping the whole class in a warm embrace.
Cooking didn’t feel like a task—
it felt like sharing stories without words.

🌞 Part 3: 14:00–15:00 | A Sunlit Feast on the Terrace

When we finished, we all carried our plates
out to the sunny terrace.
The food shimmered in the golden light—
juices glistening, spices warming the air.

The scent of herbs and laughter mingled in the breeze.
The stew’s aroma seemed to shine brighter under the sun,
and the spice-laced warmth of the dishes
gently floated across the terrace like a song.

Everyone’s voices—talking, laughing, clinking dishes—
echoed together in harmony.
It was a meal not just shared,
but felt—
like sunlight you could taste.

🪞 Part 1: 15:00–15:30 | Light Like Art in a Silent Monastery

Iglesia del Carmen de la Asunción.
It felt less like a church,
and more like a quiet museum where light became the artwork.

Stained glass windows didn’t just reflect the sun—
they absorbed it.
And as light filtered through,
it spilled softly onto the walls and floor,
creating a silence so pure it felt hand-carved.

This tranquil church in the center of Cuenca
was once a monastery from the 16th century.
That history still lingered, not in relics, but in the hush of the air.

🌫️ Part 2: 15:30–16:15 | Shadows That Breathe Like Veils

I walked toward a marble bench,
my shadow stretching long behind me,
following quietly like a second self.

The space was so still,
it almost felt frozen in time.
Yet the light entering through the stained glass moved—
and so did the shadows,
as if a bride’s veil were trailing slowly behind a memory.

I let myself drop gently onto the cold marble.
My body sank without thought, limbs relaxed, head tilted.
I closed my eyes,
sinking into an uneven, awkward pose
that somehow felt like complete freedom.
Everything—my thoughts, my posture, even my breath—
melted like sunlight on glass.

🙏 Part 3: 16:15–17:00 | A Prayer Without Words

For a moment, I simply sat in silence.
Then I gently folded my hands together and closed my eyes.

It wasn’t a grand prayer.
It was quiet—just a whisper from the heart.
Not for the past, but for what’s to come:

“Let the rest of this journey fill me more beautifully than the days before.”

Inside this old monastery,
the stained glass shimmered,
and in that flicker of light and stillness,
I felt like I was both fading and beginning again.

🌇 Part 1: 17:00–17:30 | Rooftop Above a Red City

At Negroni Cuenca, one of the most beloved rooftop bars in the city,
I found a small table pressed up against the edge—
like it was clinging to the sky.

The clouds looked like soft balloon threads strung across the heavens.
As they drifted apart, the sun began to set,
casting the entire city in a reddish glow.

It was as if a giant candle had been lit,
and the rooftops briefly caught fire—
before being swallowed whole by the deepening dusk.

A single candle flickered on my table,
its glow layered with the distant lights of Cuenca,
making my tiny table feel like a whole city condensed onto a plate.

🍹 Part 2: 17:30–18:15 | A Cocktail Without Alcohol, but Full of Electricity

I ordered a fruit cocktail—no alcohol—
but every sip felt electric.

The ruby color shimmered in the candlelight.
Mint leaves floated at the top,
a lime slice perched like a tiny umbrella.

The drink was alive: freshly squeezed lime, orange, and lemon
burst into my mouth with a zing so sharp,
it was like a bright current running through my veins.
It was more than just refreshing—it was awakening.
The scent of lime and lemon was even stronger than the taste,
filling the air and clinging to the glass like perfume.

It tingled on the tongue,
and I could feel the flavor radiate down to my fingertips.

🥘 Part 3: 18:15–19:00 | Crispy, Creamy, Ocean-Kissed Bites

The food arrived.

First: golden-brown croquettes
made from mashed Ecuadorian yuca and cheese.
Each bite cracked with a crispy shell,
then melted into a creamy center.
A drop of spicy aji sauce and a single coriander leaf crowned the top—
a sharp, awakening touch.

Next: grilled local cheese
paired with pickled red onions in papaya vinegar.
The contrast was divine—crispy on the outside,
but chewy, almost elastic inside.
The sweet and tangy onions stung gently,
like citrus kissing your taste buds.

And finally, a seafood entrée:
shrimp, squid, and clams gently stacked
on a bed of thin banana chips.

Each piece was marinated in lime juice,
Andean chili, and fresh cilantro—
smoky, citrusy, with a whisper of fire.
Five delicate bites,
just enough to savor slowly under the sky.

With every bite, it felt like the ocean had arrived at my table,
wrapped in smoke and sunlight.
The city lights beside me flickered,
in rhythm with the textures bursting in my mouth.

🚌 Part 2: 19:40–19:50 | A Bus Ride Through a Golden City

I arrived at a small bus stop called Calle Simón Bolívar.
After a short wait, the Linea 100 bus pulled up.
I handed the driver $0.30 in cash with a nod and boarded.

The ride began slowly,
the bus carefully making its way over the cobbled streets—
each bump and turn shaking loose another piece of the city’s charm.

We passed by Parque Calderón, the main square,
where the white cathedral towers shimmered under bright spotlights.
Grandparents were playing with their grandchildren in the soft glow.
A circle of teenagers laughed as they shared sandwiches,
their joy echoing through the park like music.

🏨 Part 3: 19:50–20:00 | Returning to Light and Quiet

About fifteen minutes later,
the bus stopped across from Hotel Victoria, near Av. Solano.

I saw the familiar brick sign glowing gently in the dark.
I stepped off, crossed the street, and walked up to the entrance.
After ringing the bell,
the door opened quietly as if it had been expecting me.

Bathed in the soft light of the hotel entrance,
I walked in silence,
letting the warmth and hush of the evening settle into my steps.
Home for the night—just as the city behind me continued to shine.

🕯 Part 1: 20:00–21:00 | Candles and Coconut in a Quiet Bath

As soon as I returned to the hotel,
I began running hot water into the bathtub.
I dropped in a Christmas Night coconut-scented bath bomb I had brought from home.

When the tub was nearly full,
I turned off the lights and lit two candles.
I placed one at the foot and another at the head of the tub—
far enough for comfort, close enough for a gentle glow.

Beside the tub, I laid out a towel and a travel book about Cuba.
Then I slowly sank into the warm water.
The scent—coconut with hints of evening greenery—
wrapped around my body like a lullaby.
I must’ve dozed off for 20 minutes.
When I woke, I turned on the warm water again,
letting it reheat the calm.

📖 Part 2: 21:00–22:30 | Reflections in Candlelight and Travel Dreams

I picked up my guidebook on Ecuador.
The candlelight reflected softly off the bubbles in the tub,
illuminating each page with a warm shimmer.

Though today’s journey had ended,
my heart fluttered at the thought of tomorrow—
Salinas de Guaranda was next.

The scent of cocoa, herbs, and warm water
filled the entire bathroom like a gentle fog.
Even after I finished bathing and stepped onto the terrace,
a subtle trace of the fragrance lingered around me.

I boiled water in the hotel kettle
and placed a teabag into a mug.
As I poured the water slowly,
the scent of black tea mixed with coconut and fresh herbs
filled the room again,
making the air itself feel like memory.

🌌 Part 3: 22:30–00:00 | Sleeping in Scented Stillness

I walked toward the bed,
my steps soaked in the quiet afterglow of the day.
The tea’s aroma,
the lingering coconut from the bath,
the touch of cool air from the terrace—
it all stayed with me, like a whisper.

As I pulled the blanket over me,
I felt my body soften into the bed.
A whole day passed before me like a mirage—
each moment glowing brightly,
then gently fading.

With the scent still wrapped around me,
I closed my eyes.
And just like that,
I drifted into sleep,
carried by the fragrance of peace.