Harry Alverson Franck,
Vagabonding down the Andes
“ In all Cuenca there is only one mean little bookshop, selling religious tracts and translations of American and English “penny dreadfuls.” The intelectuales can only, as it were, feed upon each other and form mutual admiration societies, where admiration soon palls from too constant familiarity and lack of new blood. Few, even of the “best families,” have ever been out of the cuenca, or basin, in which the city lies, and its isolation has given the place something of the atmosphere the traveler is always seeking—commonly in vain—of a world wholly removed from outside influence. ”
