Dentistry in Cuenca: The price is right but the challenge is knowing where to go
Going to the dentist in Cuenca is a bit like entering a lottery where all the prizes involve sitting with your mouth open while a stranger stares into it — but it’s still better than doing it in the United States.
Prices are lower, the equipment may be newer, and if you know where to go, you can get a crown and a cleaning for less than the cost of a single consult back home (wherever that may be). The challenge, of course, lies in knowing where to go.
Let’s start with the basics. There are dozens — perhaps hundreds — of dental offices in Cuenca, tucked be-tween bakeries, shoe stores, and evangelical churches. Some are slick, white, and space-age with automatic doors and cappuccino machines. Others look like they might also fix your motorcycle if you ask nicely. Prices vary accordingly.
For the frugally inclined or the uninsured expat (is there any other kind?), a routine cleaning runs around $20 to 30. Extractions the same. Fillings might cost $30 to 50 depending on the size and whether your dentist considers you a talker. A crown could set you back $150 to 250, though some clinics might charge more if they think your Spanish is bad and your wallet is good.
Which brings us to one of the minor logistical puzzles of dental life in Cuenca: X-rays. Not all dental offices have radiography equipment. This can lead to a mildly comedic detour where, after an initial inspection, you’re sent across town to a radiography center — often in a building that specializes in all things involving uncomfortable machines and polite receptionists with impenetrable booking systems. The X-rayos pano-ramicos cost about $15 to 25, and you’ll typically be handed a large physical printout in a manila envelope to bring back to your dentist like a courier in a Cold War spy film.
Or choose a dentist who has onsite X-rays, which may be wrapped into the price of your treatment. This option is better: a dentist without X-rays is like a barber without scissors — OK for a quick trim, but not much use when things get serious.
Appointments are usually made via WhatsApp. That means you’ll be texting things like “¿Tiene citas para mañana?” while nervously trying to remember whether “dolor de muelas” is molar pain or something far more intimate.
Most receptionists will respond quickly, and if you’re lucky, you’ll get an emoji or two. The good clinics run like clockwork. The not-so-good ones forget you exist until you’re sitting in the waiting room and they ask what you’re doing there.
(Pro tip: download Gboard onto your cell phone, if you have not already done this. Now you can dictate messages into your cell phone in English and deliver them to the recipient in Spanish text. Even if you speak Spanish well, this is quicker and usually more grammatically accurate.)
As for language: yes, you can find English-speaking dentists. In fact, there are a handful of very competent bilingual practitioners who cater specifically to gringos with aging dental work and strong opinions about fluoride. But most dentists speak only Spanish. That’s usually fine for routine work, but if you’re trying to describe the mysterious tingling sensation you get when you bite down on aluminum foil, you may struggle.
There’s also a curious inverse law in play: the more English a clinic speaks, the higher the price tends to be. Whether this is correlation or causation is up for debate. It may simply be that if you can’t ask the right questions in Spanish, they’ll charge extra for the guessing game.
Still, I’ve yet to have a truly bad dental experience here. I’ve had teeth cleaned, X-rayed, drilled, filled, and yanked by a range of cheerful professionals who were at least as efficient than their American counter-parts and infinitely cheaper. I’ve also left clinics feeling oddly grateful — like I’d just gotten away with something.
Which, in a way, I had. Because if you can get your dental abscess sorted out without taking out a second mortgage or reading 24 pages of insurance disclaimers, you are already a winner.
