A rest day. AT LAST! I´m a wee bit knackered again, but in a wholesome sort of way. I finally said ta ta to Highway 5 on Thursday (via a sign to Inspector Fernandez) and headed west on an infinitely more interesting road and I´m in the Lake District. Less trucks and getting towards the hills again. I´ve had a couple more secret campings and more ´ripio´gravel roads, slowing me right back down and giving me a puncture, but they´ve got kids drawing type mountains, perfect cones with snow on them and the one closest to me now even blows smoke [View Full Entry]

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360 km later and its Sunday morning in Casa Chueca, where I´m going to put my feet up for a day and I´ve picked the right place for it. Hammocks, good beer, veggie food and water with magic rocks in it for mystical energy (really). The whole way has been on or beside the motorway, which was horrible coming out of Santiago, but has eased up now, as the further South and more rural its becoming. Santiago was surprisingly laid back, in the Eco Hostel and a rubbishy film in the local cinema. Don´t see ´Beethoven'unless you´re a fan of soft [View Full Entry]

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First of all, I´m an IDIOT! You don´t just ´nip over´the Andes, cos they´re whoppers. So setting off at midday from Uspallata in the blithe confidence that after desert the mountains would be easy bit me in the proverbial. Needless to say, it was all uphill into the wind. Which was particularly pleasant in tunnels, which concentrated the wind into hurricanes. 8 hours and 67 km later, I limped into Los Penitentes hostel, to be greeted by Janina from La Cumbre with a beer and an asado. I ate most of a cow and half an egg. Dehydration, beer and most [View Full Entry]

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Weighty pictures from Barreal. [View Full Entry]

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At last, I´m up and running. Caught the bus to San Juan, met up with Sophie and Anya from La Cumbre, dawdled a lot and set off on the bike mid afternoon, just when it was hottest, relaxed in the knowledge that the town of Talacasto was only 50 km up the road and I could eat out, stock up, etc. EXCEPT that Talacasto doesn´t really exist. It is a name on a map in a desert and whoever may have lived there once certainly doesn´t anymore, so I slept in the desert, with big rocks outside my tent in case [View Full Entry]

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Right then, 6 weeks into trip already and my first attempt to blog. Buene. Too much cycling with no brain in France and Spain knackered up my hands, so I've laid off the bike for almost a month - 2 weeks intensive Spanish in Buenos Aires, then La Cumbre in Cordoba province for no Spanish whatsoever but lots of space in a great hostel. 'Claro', 'Muy buene', and 'Perdon, soy Inglesie' cover most conversations at the moment, supplemented by 'magic Spanish' of face gurning and expressive noises. My attempt to small talk about weather ('hot today, don't you think') turns out [View Full Entry]

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iii [View Full Entry]

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