http://youtu.be/-VvqElA2iiw
.....
The third epic. Or the continuation of the second one? This
is a story about my ride in Americas that started in november 2012. Although
two months had lapsed sinceI finished my Asian riding adventure, I would still
consider the ride in Americas into the same set. In Asia I finished in Tokyo,
which lies on an island called Japan – there was nowhere to ride anymore.
Unless youre a Jeseus and can ride on water. I had to take a flight out,
somwhere. At that time I was still in the mode of inspiration about the World
and wanted to continue touring. So the logical option would have been to fly
somwhere to the west coast of US. But I calculated. I had funds to continue,
but, well, not for going as long as I wanted. I still had 2 months left until
my Australian working visa expires. Why not use the oportunity and earn money
for those two months to make this trip last longer, much longer. Decided. Two
months later, on 11th of november I was back at the same
international airport, Narita, servicing flights bound to US. With a
considerable difference on my bank account. I had made the right decicion. The
second half of the epic2 was about to begin.
As they say, most memorable parts of any story are the end
and the beginning. That accounts perfectly for this trip. I was excited to be
in the open waters again, burden from the two long working months slipping off
my shoulders. As the plane took off, not just my physical body was flying, but
my spirit as well. Ther was many flight stopovers on the way to Los Angeles,
one of them being the capital of Philippines. I had exactly one short day to
spend in Manila, too much to sit in the airport lobby tired from the
previous flights, too little to make the effort, of dragging 2meter long
bokebox all the way from airport to the center and back, worthwhile. I choose
the second option. It was amagical day, where lack of sleep, shocking
impressions of the streetlife, target shooting sidetrip and philippine cousine
got mixed together. On top of that, next morning, the spacious taxi didnt show
up so I had to flag down a standard sedan, which was not capable of
fitting the bikebox in full length. ``No worries`` I immediately sensed the
taxidriver attitude when he started pulling apart its back seat. We rode throgh
the early morning Manila tarffic havoc both back doors open like wings
of a bird, somehow attached with a rubber string. Fucking crazy philippinos!
By the time I arrived to Los Angeles, there was 5 flights
behind me and I was fenomenally fucked up. But it didnt matter. As soon as the
realization hit me, I was as energetic as on my best days – I was on a new
continent!Everything was going to start now. There wasno lack of excitement.
Before in Australia I had planned a silly step for Los Angeles, which meant I
was niot going to take a hotel to rest. That day I road all the way cross Los
Anggeles to the national park northeast of the city. Though I had a chance to
see much of LA (well, mostly suburbs), I arrived my camping destination way
after dark. Lucky for me I arrived at all! This habit continued all the way on
the US territory. I was fresh and motivated, so I felt I could ride a lot. I
was determined not to lodge in before Mexico, but it was superhard to find
camping spot on the way to the border. All that amounted to finishing days many
hours after sunset and still finding myself ``sleeping`` in some very
ridiculous spots. Like next to a private property wall 3 meters from the
highway, just few meager bushes hiding my existance from the bydrivers. On The
ultimate day I reacheda science/innovation town San Diego. I thought I was very
closeto the border now, as it tuyrned out later, I was not. There was still a
fair bit to go for a completely exhausted rider and I remember I tracked down a
supermarket-kind of building. As I hadnt been properly eating and sleeping for
the last few days, I started to feel a bit delrious...when I walkked in the
marked, everything shining around in bright and clean colors, I
recognized...Santa Clause! Christmas decorations, pepper-coockies, red
coloreverywhere! Am I going mad? Hang on...it IS the time. Middle of november,
thats normal. Its just Christmas wasnt really in my mind when I planned this
trip. Iretreated quickly from the Santa-trap, and there he was, in the parking
lot, an early Christmas present for me – Robert Neveln, a local pal. He offered
to take me almoust to the border with his car, giving me a short overview of
town. I was a bit embarrased to haste through this history-full settlement, but
didnt want to brake my budget rules and I was way too exhausted to suck in any
knowledge. All I was thinking about was eat and sleep. Thank you Robert!
These were the
memorable times. I dont want to underestimate all therest of the trip, but it
just is the simple nature of things. You always remember best the knots in the
rope, the turning points in life. I could describe every hour of these first
few days, every kilometer covered.I rode along an industial street, Mexican
border availing of its existence in the end of the strech. But I felt a growing
vacuum in my stomach, I was sure its gonna expolode inward before I reach
Mexico. So I stepped in a typical American food-bar (or how are they called
anyway) the one we know from the movies, with the doorbell, waitress and
everything. I ordered eggs and bacon for the breakfast...daaah, what else! As
expected, it was a bitter-sweet breakfast. 5 dollars was anyway too much I
could pay for one egg and infinitely thin slice of meat and my stomach
collapsed even more after this minuscule snack. I smiled and headed for Mexico.
End of the street, few more turns, and there it was. Dark,
dust-taken slumm of Tijuana a gigantic flag poking staright out of its center.
I dont know who had dug the ditch between US and Tijuana, but I suspect that was
more in the interest of Americans. A maze of on-construction bridges and
pathways led me through the dark mass of Tijuanees, when I realized that
knowbody had checked passport, let alone given permit or visa. I went back to
the sopposed customs booth, where I got a hardly recognizable stamp in my
passport. Later in Mexico, I met people, who had entered Mexico the same way
but were stupid enough to think about this peculiarity another day. In the end
they had much hassle with this issue and had to pay much more than for the
normal permit.
When I went back towards the center of town, I was shocked
by the action taking place in the dry ``river``bed also known as a border
ditch. Some very shady(I mean very) characters were chased by the cops in a
clumsy manner, half by car, half by foot. Packs of shady characters moved like
savannah-dwellers, away from predators, until one of them is kicked out of the
pack and eaten. In this case they werent kicked out, but voluntarily parted
from the other tramps to do...who knows what! That stayed the mystery until the
end. One possible explanation would have been, that they tried to make it
across the border, or, they just tried to make it close to the fence to chuck
some narcotics to the other side. Anybodys guess.
It went worse in the town itself. Constant police sirens
howling, shady characters here and there, watching the steps ofnewly arrived
tourists, especially close to the ATMs. Since I had previously been warned
about Mexico, all this raised obvious questions – is all Mexico gonna be like
that? In every town I visit, can I really just stay in the heavily secured
center? Is there any real threat behind this seemingly dangerous environment?
Looking back now, Tijuana was one of the worst settlements in the whole Latin
America, challenged only by notorious bad boys like Guatemala City and
Tegucigalpa.
Other first impressions. I couldnt talk shit. In spanish, I
mean. Its one thing to repeat after an audio voice from a study tape, another
to answer a real person. that didnt stop me to order some delicious mexican
food, namely tortillas. Spicedwith the hard stuff and consisting of the best
ingredients like meat, vegetables, cheese-like thing – tortillas are the most
common past time snack in Mexico and also the most delicious one.
Unfortunately, why I probably could never live in Mexico comfortably, is the
sizes of the meals served. I order to fill myself with the average stuffed
tortilla, I would have to order about 15of them. Which is ridiculous in itself,
let alone the price I would have to pay. The same goes for the full meals. They
are microscopic in any standards. I better not try to dicect the reasons here,
because I will probably run against some contradictions. Such
as, if I say, that Mexicans eat so little because they are small and they live
in the highlands, then I will quickly remind myself, that I could say the same
about peruvians, but peruvians eat 3 times more. Go figure!
Those first few days in Tijuana were the rest time for me,
to recover the stocks of carbohydrates I had not taken in US. Finally, I had to
go. Its always the same story. I had not been riding touring style for more
than 2 months, hence my body had to acclimatize with the long distances again.
Surprisingly, the greatest effect that Ican notice about my organism is that
when unaclimatized, it will consume more food. Maybe (quite possibly) its got
something to do with fat metabolism, since in a resting state (or every day
physical satate), our bodies use less bodily fat, if not at all.In a touring
state, when one rides 5-10 hours daily, body happily goes after fat reserves
under skin and uses them even when at rest. So after few weeks in the Baja
desert, I felt myself comfortably fall into this fat burning mode once again
and didnt feel burning hunger every time my body ran out of carbohydrates.
So, Baja California, or California peninsula. A desert
peninsula running smack 16hundred kmsouth from US border, is one of the biggest
peninsulas on Earth. Desert over all of its lenght, it has inspired adventurers
and missionaries throughout the centuries. It has been traversedand
circumnavigated by foot and by car, recently paved for trucks and tourism. But
inits gist it will remain a lonely and uninhabited place. Since I rarely
collect any hard information about the road I take, i had no idea, Baja isthe
land of cacties. I could only guess, where on entire Earth there is more
cacties than on Baja. Cactiethorns in various shapes and sizes caused punctures
almoust every day, Im still surprised I didnt run out of patches before
reaching to La Paz, the biggest town in south of Baja. The desert conditions
make cycling tougher but also memorable. Water specifically is an issue. Its
not that hard to find water on the way, just that sometimes its neccessary to
carry larger bottles for some distance, which your bike might not like. Also,
when you go there in the hot season (which wasnt the case) you might find
yourself in a big water deficiency very fast. LaterI met a Canadian exmilitary
(not that tough fieldguy, though) who started off from some village with
15liters of water and by the lunch he had consumed all of it. He had to
surrender and go back.
Hahaha! I had no intention nor need to surrender to
anything. I had Australian desert in my bones and head and this here was a
childs play. Instead, I let myself carry by some fortunate afternoon mussones,
hit the pedal full strenght and advanced 40km per hour. Speedy riding makes a
person hungry. As I mentioned, Mexico is not a place for weighty and powerful
pals who eat a cow at a time. I had to find my own solution. Since I couldnt
cook (I have the stove but not gas) I normally bought bagfull of
sandwichcomponent. Loafs of brad in Mexico, of course, are replaced by
tortillas. for breakfast I ate (large) tortillas with jam(every now and then
replaced by bananas) and milk. Fot lunch sausage, sliced tomatoes and onion
wrapped in...you guessed it...tortilla. For dinner, same same.Mind that – this
roadside-wrapped tortillas were so delicious that I did not get bored of them
during all three months in Mexico.
Just as I started to stink hard after not having shower for
few days, I met a bunch of germans. Klaus who was going solo from Alaska to
Tierra del Fuego, Berthold whos was also going south but not decided how far, and a
couple Dirk and Anita who had started from Alaska but their pace and
discussions gave away that they wasnt going to make it until the south of
Argentina. Who cares! As long as people are enjoying the trip and taking it day
by day, all works out, one way or another. I left them the day before La Paz to
catch the ferry to the mainland of Mexico. In terminal I met Dado and Marco by
accident, two italian cyclists whom I had met already 2 times before on Baja.
The change in people was noticable. Germans, being organised and meticulous
about everything, differ greatly from italians, those singing italians.In
Mazatlan, on the other side of Cortes sea, we found a common ground immediately,
going out every night with beer and Mexican snacks. Not just funny beers but
1,2 liter beers, which mached perfectly with unusually hot climatic conditions
that governed Mazatlan. You gotta give it to Mazatlan. First, gthere is the old
town and the always-defining market area smack in the center of it. Second,
undulatingseaside boulevard a part and party of old town, which, really, can be
compared with the best relatives along Mediterraneaen. Thirdly, there is a
superlong true beach connecting old town and the modern part. You cant go wrong
with Mazatlan.
Hugs with Marco and Dado
was a sign of saying goodby with tghis fenomenal town. I headed straight to the
highland or Mexican plateau, whichever you like. This was not a common route.
Most cyclist choose the coastal road to Guadalajara, second biggest attraction,
university and innovation center after Mexico City. This way is much warmer in
this time of the year compared to Durango, that suffers from freezing cold
nights and sometimes snow. In Durango I had arranged a warmshowers host, at
Fridas. Frida, as turned out, was not a person of a usual kind. From the age 10
until 18 she was a proffessional ballet dancer. As she found the perspective to
continue with this career not lucrative enough, she went into law. By the age
30, as we were behind the table discussing this, she had aquaiered a doctor
degree in law and was studying forthe second one. What is more telling, is that
she was having a successful career as a judge assistant, about to become a
judge in a year. She was living in a tailor made castel, barred and wired as
usual in Mexico. The interior was spotless, hospital effect so to say. Zero
dustgrain whatsoever. She lives by the rules and punctual timing. I could go
on. But in effect, it all amounted her being a robot more than a human. She had
a husband as well. But since they both were living this career-inclined life,
they didnt have time for each other. Divorce was underway, but nothing too
dramatic, they still got on very well. So, thanks to their superintensive
worklife, I had pretty intensive time with them, mostly in Jorges animal
clinic. Clients were pouring in all day long, it seems Mexico is doing well
regarding the amount of not that poor petowners.
After 2 nights and one superintensive day, I continued
south. Farmlands, not more, not less.But the highland dry season weather was
fenomenal. Skies cant get much clearer and bluer than this. Was not east to
find camping spot, but I didnt mind. Zaccatecas was waiting for me. Zacatecas
is a former mining town, situated in a unusual place, on top of the hill in the
middle of farmlands.Full of museums and such, my deal with Zacatecas was to
rest, and hard-style. I found a lovely guesthouse, probably one of the best Ive
ever had. Since it seemed to be the only travellers joint in town, I had
wonderful time with an austrian and australian girls, Marie and Rachel. There
was also this interesting character from northern US, an ex ITguru and now
freelance writer who had no rush to leave Zacateccas. Zacateccas is just that
good.
Since in my mind I was appointed to be in Mexico City for
New Years Eve, I was in a kind of a rush. That said, I still had enough time to
spend the most memorable few days in all of the travels. Firstly, in Dolores
Hidalgo, I was picked up in the market by a sex hotel owner and a former
traveller, Carlos. He and her other side invited me to spend Christmas Eve with
them. Just a small gathering with few falily members. Well, it turned out to be
more than few, more like a whole falily tree, which, of course, is norm in
Latin America.
....
Well, if you have managed to read this far, congratulations.
From here on, I will keep it short for I dont want to write a book, yet. All in
all, Mexico was and is the most memorable country traversed. not just for me or
the rest of the bicycle travellers, but also for backpackers and the kind. I
would lack fingers when I started to count all the invitations I got from
hospitable locals. That said, for some cyclists, Mexico has turned out to be a
misfortunate place. It seems, especially forcouples since they are more
vulnerable due to the female part. They have been robbed and lost all their
belongings. It is not wise to deny the danger, that certainly exists in Mexico,
but this reality has given birth to another fenomenon in Mexico as well as in
Central America. People are proud about their country´s notoriousness and try
to stress it at every possible time.
On Yucatan peninsula I had finally the opportunity to to
suck in first lungfulls of humid tropical lowland air. This sequence continued
in Belize. Moreover, the whole Belize is buried into this unreal humidity,
which it seems, has had a detrimential effect on the county´s ability to be
normal. In fact, Belize is all but normal. Insted of colonial architecture, a
visitor view is captured by inclined wooden shacks like Pisa tower, wich piled
up in a mangrove swamp make you feel you are in some big city´s outermost
suburb. That in case, of course, you can find a settlement at all. Then there
are those ``mennonites``, the natio-cultural group of very pale and
sick-looking people who like to practice incest and ride their buggies. So much
for Belize, ``the state of Belize``, although I personally really disagree with
that term.
Now I was entering the so called criminogenic zone – Central
America. I was so lobbied before about that all those counties are so
dangerous, that I really was afraid. Fortunately, due to extensive tourism and
big population, Guatemala is the best countrie for lodging. During all my stay
there, I remember only one camping night which was so ridiculous, I still think
about it every now and then. I pitched my tent between the furrows of maize
silently praying that a harvester wont
chop me up the next morning. Since the field was infested with moscitoes, i had
only few seconds to shit before eaten up by them, so I had to do it next to my
tent smelling the consecuences all night long.
Normally I withdraw a certain amount of cash that I predict
to suffice during my stay in country. So if the reserves are running out a
little before border, I just move faster and save more on food and
accommodation. This is exactly what happened many times in Central america in
all those small countries. Never minded, except when it happened before
Honduras. I thought I could rest in the first village in Honduras...noup. The
country is really fucked up both in economy and everything else that derives
from it. The first village where I intended to rest, didnt have any hotel
availabilities, although it wasnt the time of fiesta or any other occasion. It
was just a normal day. A day when the most popular tourist town is out of
rooms. That I call Honduras. So I was forced to move on and found myself
camping in a ditch that night. A little while after a truckfull of bandits
curved past me, screaming and shouting and banging their guns. They werent
really. But it surely felt like they were about to bang their guns. It was so
unnerving that I could not stop riding the next day and actually, all the way
in Honduras. I just wanted to get the hell out of that joint. This was also
when I began to feel ichiness in my chest, and what do you know, on the
heart-side, retreating long after when I put the brakes on in South America.
Luckily, the next country, Nicaragua, is much more subtle in
terms of unnerving ambience. Instead, the population consists of lot of
black-genes, those laied-back neg..., you know. Therefore I could easily leave
my stuff at the hotel and head out for a filling meal. The thing with
Nicaragüenses is, that they like meat. Roughly half of every meal is big chunk of any meat (beef or chicken
or...turtle)leaving the other half for ``gallo pinto``, that is rice mixed with
beans. Its hot, its poor...but its relaxed. and it really feels much more
secure. I met some relly nice people, wose sole had been teaken by God, Jesus
particularly. I didnt care much, as long as they let me camp on their property
and give me free food. I felt embarrased, too, as I couldnt compensate their
hospitality because of my lacking spanish.
Although I spent little time in Costa Rica, I could tell lot
about it, since the county is so different from its neighbours. But above all,
I remember most the pain and misfortune. It had been so longe since the last
real altitudes in Mexico, that when I rose up to just to 2000+ meters to cross
this minuscule chain of mountains to the capital, I suffered incrdedible lack
of oxygen. I could have died if the climb had lasted longer. But it didnt.
Instead my tire almoust blew up, so I had to patch it all the way to Colombia,
from outside, with the patches meant for inside tube.
Panama flag in the sight, it reminded me of something hot
and jungellike and..bananas. Indeed, Panama has the best bananas in the world,
challenged only by Guatemala. Much more interesting is the notion that behind
every banana, there is one immigrant chinese. Every small shop in Panama, from
east to west, is run by chinese family. This meant unavoidable get-together with
``Chinese logic``. There you go, here´s the next example of it. In Panama, I
went superfast on the endless straight strech from David to the capital. I was
so hungry all the time that at some point I ate two lunches in a row, the
second being bag of bread and milk. I put the rolls of bread on the cashier
table knowing the exact sum I had to pay, because the price was labled on the
very packages of both of the items. Then she (the chinese) types in the sum.
The one she types in for the bag of bread is competely different from the price
on the label. I point at the lable-price and look at her. She counts the rolls
of bread and makes a confirmed gestion that the price typed into the machine is
correct. I look at her again, now already having a
yes-I-have-been-in-China-look in my eyes. She freaks out and God knows what the
next Chinese-logical step will be, I dont stay there to find it out and escaped
from the shop.
The notorious Darien Gap is the obstacle between Panama and
Colombia of incredibly dense jungle, swampland and mountains, that
normally is not crossed overland. Travellers are obliged to find a way around,
which is, if choosing the easy way, not cheap. To skip the most commonly used
option of 600dollar sailing boat, one has to take either a plane or a smaller
boats or a combination of them. I chose the latter one. As I have become very
financially concious during this trip, especially with food shopping, I tried
to implement my well-acquired skills on composing my itinerary ceoss the gap.
Result – 2 days from Panama City to Medellin, cost approximatelt 200 dollars. I
had read before that its possible to make it that cheap, but the web warned
that the traversing time might be up to a week. Good luck I guess.
And then...I really was in South America. One could even
say, this is the real destination of every traveller bound to south. The rest
of the countries on the way are just something that have to be crossed in order
to get to south. But they are not the destination itself.
The beginning, though, was a bit of dissappointment. The
notoriousness of Colombia has long been diminished after the death of Pablo
Escobar. Of course, colombianos remain the best nation in terms of position and
skills for trafficing drugs, but nowadays common people hardly get involved in
all this action. Instead,Colombia has grown to a developed countrie, being an
oasis of cycling in the area. Moreover, the level of cycling in Colombia is so
strong, that some of the European professionals give up competing there. They
would just lose. But Colombians are not afraid of competing in Europe. The only
guy how could beat Nairo Quintana, the eventual winner of both mountains and
young riders jersey at Tour de France 2013, was Chris Froome.
In Colombia I had a little competition myself. I had come
very close to my friend Loic, whom I cycled with in China last year. So I decided to catch him to enjoy team cycling
for a while. We met in Cali, where his hostess, a Colombian family, invited me
to spent one day in Cali. Thats where I had a chance to meet a Colombian girl.
Named Mayeli. The thing is, that somewhy there is a myth going around about
Colombian girls being something of a special breed, divine beauty and all that.
Well, Mayeli held up with those expectations pretty well. She was both educated
and beautiful. She could drive a car like a man and didnt mind partying. There
is a reason for the myth.
This was pretty much the highlight of Colombia. Just before
Equador, the long-awaited mountains started again. Ecuador is probably the only
country where the Pan-American highway is in the high mountains at full lenghth.
The road just kept going up and down, 1000-3000. The rains that started pouring
already in Colombia kept doing so in Ecuador. Fortunately the pattern was
mostly the same – the rains hit late afternoon, just at the time for camping.
So we hid ourselves into our castles and enjoyed the noisy dribbling against
the waterproof shields all night long.
Somewhere at that time I contracted a stomach disease, not
just a temporary one like in China, but a serious thing and almost had turned
to a doctor, which I normally never do. Since I already knew what the concept of ``tough``means, I was able to
keep cycling, but not with much joy in it. I was busy with pain and lacked
communication, no wonder Loic didnt want to cycle with me anymore in Peru. We aparted after the first impressive desert
roads and towns in Peru, but both of us were about to ride the hardest
mountains ever. This is just what peru is like. Andes, dividing all South
America from north to south into uneven parts, have a different face in every
countrie. In Peru it was endless up and down, this time altitude variations
from 1500-5000. Peru is a very big place and you can choose not just weather
you want to ride in sticky Amazon, freezing mountains or dry desert, but you
can also choose on which surface you wanna do it. It seems, more touristic
parts of Peru lie in the south of Lima, hence more asphalt there. Recently they
paved all they way from Cusco to Puerto Maldonado and onwards until the border
with Brazil, so its possible to ride now from Pacific to Atlantic without
eating a grain of dust.
Both Peru and Bolivia have preserved their indigenous
heritage very well. Or, to put it more precicely, it has been natural way of
things – nobody except indigenous people are neither able nor willing to
inhabit those high and remote areas of Andes, where agriculture is done by hand
without exceptions as everything else. Time over there, if not has stopped in
the sense of the western world, then at least slowed down 3 times. Combined
this, the breathtaking rugged peaks of Andes, almost impassable dirt roads –
riding there gives one a sense of being out of time and this world. Something
that cant be achived no other way than going there. More south of Peru and in
Bolivia, there are more celebrations held. Evenasmuch, that one finds himself
at a local dance parade in every major village. Of course, its the season, too.
What happens if you take a buch of people and put them to
live where the clouds are and planes fly, and let them simmer there for a long
time. You get bolovianos. Thats what God had in mind when he created Bolivian
plateau. Although plant still grow at this altitude and can support certain
amount of life, people shouldnt live there, in my opinion. Bolivianos are
obviously chronically brain-damaged from lack of oxygen, by the way, this is
not a joke. When one spends some time in Bolivia, he will satrt notice these
little differences in people – reaction speed to questions, thinking logic etc,
are all a bit slower and weirder than elsewhere. Nature, owing to the height,
then, is absolutely astounding. When a visitor lets erself carried away by
these conditions, she finds herself in a dizzing upperworld with all its
haunting beauty, crispy nights and howling near-jet stream winds. She finds a
worlds highest city, worlds highest navigable lake, worlds highest capital. In
the south-western corner of Bolivia, Sud Lipez, things get really tough, even
for the well-seen of us. -20 degrees Celsius combined with superstrong winds is
a norm, one has to bet for luck or loose screw to be able to cross that
fewhundred km part by bicycle. I seem to have both, so I did it without losing
too many days in the end of my life.
Decending down from the plateau, the whole new world begins.
It is here, where is naturally and historically drawn the line between strong
and weak indigenous influence, western and non-western way of life. Chile is
the most economically developed country in South America and booming at the
very moment. Hence, cost of travel is much higher here than up north, but
people nevertheless come her and dont seem to mind much when their wallet is
emtying in a whopping speed. Guess, there is something in Chile that gets into
people. In the first run I planned to spend in Chile just for few days to rest
and get some cash (US dollars to be precise) for Argentina. In reality, I
lingered for a week, enjoyed Chile independence celebrations and established
some long lasting bonds with people.
Off to Argentina it was, again over the Andes, in the belt
where they are still very wide and high, so crossing resembled a lot to
Bolivian plateau itself. As hard as it was, I finally made it to Argentina to
make the most of multiple agriculturally born cities situated on the
mountain-pampa divide. Some of them, like Tucuman had grown to a big one where
I also took part in a paragliding event. Dont suggest at all. Try to avoid it.
Better go cycle a bit. All in all, nothing really happened in Argentina except
of too much confort, too cheap, too easy to camp and so on. Paradise can be boring
sometimes.
That was it. The the ride in Americas. The third epic, as
promised. It was, as expected – the real adventure, genuine latin rythms,
astounding nature, alien people filled with affection that we lack in western
world. But, there is still a bit more left in the tank for the afterlogue. I
commence the final leg of this journey through Mediterranean coast and Eastern
Europe, on my way home.
from Madrid
 | |
| One of the last entries to the logbook in a small ski-resort village Uspallata, Argentina. |
