Early this morning at 4;30 am Vickie and Doug were picked up and driven approximately 2 plus hours to the town of Alausi to board the train for the Nariz del Diablo (nose of the devil) it is excursion adventure which tests the limits of your tastes for heights....http://trenecuador.com/en/day-trips/the-devils-nose/......I instead opted to rest back in Cuenca and visit one of the oldest churches in the city across from the new Cathedral.
The Curator opened the door to the crypt and sent me down alone...I trembled as I navigated the stone stairwell in the dimly lit space...the air was stale and my heart raced with either excitement or fear as this was the place the Rich Dead of the time would be deposited.
The bodies found themselves thrown into this well..........dare I look closer as I see or sense wisps of what seems like fog or smoke swirling about this spot....I make a hasty retreat for the stairs followed by these strange apparitions....the curator slams the door shut quickly as I emerge. His facial expression has a haunting look and he assures me I am safe as though he has read my mind as no words were exchanged. I make my way to the courtyard and snap a few pictures of the past hanging from the walls...
I am standing in front of this picture in the garden of what I expect was the Priest's personal area......an elderly lady is sweeping the stone walk way with a broom that re mines me of a witches broom ......I ask her about the picture....is this Calle Colombia... Our Hotel is on Calle Colombia. I used Spanish but though she is now between me and the picture, I am ignored but she looks up and smiles as she turns towards that frame...I step forward as I feel she has beckoned me to follow and I suddenly find myself standing outside the Church staring across at the central park. At first I do not notice the dress of the people or the change in vehicle traffic .....I am starring at the centre of the park where the big pines had been....they are there but about 10 feet tall. It is then that I fully take in the scene watching the residence going about their business ....the women are wearing long skirts, long sleaved fluffy blouses wide brimmed hats, boot like shoes. the men are dressed in suits some having seen better times and their heads adorned with low peaked caps or a version of the panama hat. Wagons pulled by horses are moving in both directions carrying an assortment of goods.......I have now walked 2 blocks away to the corner of Calle Colombia....I don't see a street sign but I recognize the buildings...the street is cobble stone, the street car tracks absent. A rider on a horse brushes past me and I am suddenly gripped by fear...I see my reflection in a store front pane of glass together with those about me......my dress is strange to those around me and I seem to be oblivious to them. I pinch myself as I must be dreaming...nothing changes....the urge to get back to the Church is over welling and I head in that direction...the old lady with the broom is standing by the side door and we enter together....I am in front of the picture but the broom lady is no where to be seen. The Curator appears and asks if I am ok....initially I am unable to speak but finally finding my voice I answer yes. He walks with me to the door I entered and I walk out into bright sunshine, starring at the park and it's tall pines imported from somewhere in Europe in the 1800 hundreds.
a couple more shots on my way out...this is the Organ...ancient leather pipe bellows.
4 of these pines not native to South America came as seedlings from Europe in the !800 hundreds and planted in this central park....a place of daily gathering and relaxation
A shot of the new Cathedral from the park
this pic is of the old church
The Curator opened the door to the crypt and sent me down alone...I trembled as I navigated the stone stairwell in the dimly lit space...the air was stale and my heart raced with either excitement or fear as this was the place the Rich Dead of the time would be deposited. 
The bodies found themselves thrown into this well..........dare I look closer as I see or sense wisps of what seems like fog or smoke swirling about this spot....I make a hasty retreat for the stairs followed by these strange apparitions....the curator slams the door shut quickly as I emerge. His facial expression has a haunting look and he assures me I am safe as though he has read my mind as no words were exchanged. I make my way to the courtyard and snap a few pictures of the past hanging from the walls... 
I am standing in front of this picture in the garden of what I expect was the Priest's personal area......an elderly lady is sweeping the stone walk way with a broom that re mines me of a witches broom ......I ask her about the picture....is this Calle Colombia... Our Hotel is on Calle Colombia. I used Spanish but though she is now between me and the picture, I am ignored but she looks up and smiles as she turns towards that frame...I step forward as I feel she has beckoned me to follow and I suddenly find myself standing outside the Church staring across at the central park. At first I do not notice the dress of the people or the change in vehicle traffic .....I am starring at the centre of the park where the big pines had been....they are there but about 10 feet tall. It is then that I fully take in the scene watching the residence going about their business ....the women are wearing long skirts, long sleaved fluffy blouses wide brimmed hats, boot like shoes. the men are dressed in suits some having seen better times and their heads adorned with low peaked caps or a version of the panama hat. Wagons pulled by horses are moving in both directions carrying an assortment of goods.......I have now walked 2 blocks away to the corner of Calle Colombia....I don't see a street sign but I recognize the buildings...the street is cobble stone, the street car tracks absent. A rider on a horse brushes past me and I am suddenly gripped by fear...I see my reflection in a store front pane of glass together with those about me......my dress is strange to those around me and I seem to be oblivious to them. I pinch myself as I must be dreaming...nothing changes....the urge to get back to the Church is over welling and I head in that direction...the old lady with the broom is standing by the side door and we enter together....I am in front of the picture but the broom lady is no where to be seen. The Curator appears and asks if I am ok....initially I am unable to speak but finally finding my voice I answer yes. He walks with me to the door I entered and I walk out into bright sunshine, starring at the park and it's tall pines imported from somewhere in Europe in the 1800 hundreds.
a couple more shots on my way out...this is the Organ...ancient leather pipe bellows.
4 of these pines not native to South America came as seedlings from Europe in the !800 hundreds and planted in this central park....a place of daily gathering and relaxation
A shot of the new Cathedral from the park
this pic is of the old church
V&D returned about 410pm but we missed one another as I walked down a parallel street to theirs and we would reconnect about 7pm for dinner.....then it was time for some shut eye as we had the Wanderbus to board at 7am 5 blocks from our hotel
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