Veintiseis.

Nothing odds in Tupiza, pacific quarters - main square, cheap market, old folks, red-brown rocks outside the town, no any sights. Spent there week or about; privacy of a single room, promenades with a dynamite and alcohol made these days appropriate for a work. Boxes for a trash on the streets, wow. I approached to a civilization, inexorably.

Veinticinco.

Let me think - it was the most difficult and probably most interesting part of my trip in Bolivia. In first, when I came back to Uyuni, my luggage rack had been broken totally. This time it was teamwork - what a pleasure to work a bit in the Bolivian workshop, no jokes ) Well, at deep night I've taken a shuttle (you still think it's a bicycle trip, huh? keep at it!) to Atocha. The train arrived at 5 a.m., four cruel hours in the frost altiplano-night. Alright, in second. A road from Atocha to Escoriani - there was any road. What the fuck - all sources - google the fucking maps, a map for GPS-navigator, local paper maps, even housekeeper in Uyuni - lied to me. It should be called shallowed river, sirs, no other way. Well, I did it. Twenty kilometers on the sand only, but I did. I could be a fucking hero that day, but I've broken my luggage track totally for the second time just after I found un hospedaje in Tatasi. Shit happens, I had to spend all next day in Atocha again, another one local workshop, and I've got new steel details for this stupid luggage Russian-rack bullshit. Also, I met there more long-way bicyclists (from Poland!)- Ana and her man (don't remember his name) - http://www.rowerami.info/ - here they're. Then I missed the only one bus back to Tatasi and had to go to un hospedaje on shank's mare. Hi again madly sand, ma`am! Darkness got my ass in a couple of hours, I was going and dreaming about somebody give me a lift. I had a little suspicious about the first car (two guys with shovels and the whole bunch of bagfuls, at night! in the middle of nowhere! - I still don't know what it was), but second was tootsie-wootsie, at last, I jumped to bed and that long day has been killed. Way to famous little San Vicente the town wasn't more easy, up and down, up and down (no more sand, but anyway I couldn't call these donkey's paths as a road), probably then I started to speak with Gods (i mean screams to silent mountains like I'M TIRED! or ANYBODY, STOP THIS SHIT, I JUST CANNOT CLIMBING UP MORE or just PLEASE!) for the first time of my journey. After ten hours of misery and pain, I came into the town. No any hospedajes this time, had to sleep on the floor at the little house of guards of nearest mines. Looks like I was the first independent voyager for many years here - folks prefer to visit this place by 4x4 jeep excursions, another one's long-way bicyclists have enough brains and to choose less madness way. That night I slept with ghosts in abandoned town, it was more pleasant than camping alone.

Veintiquatro.

Road to Colchani was absolutely crappy, hillocks and sand, sand again, and hillocks in the sand. I've seen a colony of llamas there, well. Think it's time to say smth about this type of animals - in boliviano altiplano they're everywhere, herds and herds like a herd of sheep, but more fearful. These dingy creatures have only one mindbending little thing - black eyes. Black in full. About salt lake - it's fine. I drunk some beer, pitched a tent, fixed luggage rack of my bicycle by some road rocks at the third time, and went to sleep. At night I froze my ass. Sad but true. On the way back to Uyuni I've seen two hotels for richy whity, it made by salt only. There is a little square for flags from around the world, thought about leave the flag of NBP-party there (Aleksandr Gelyevich Dugin surely dreamed about a place smth like that, when invented his ideas about national-bolsheviks and Hyperborea), but I didn't do it. Every flag must be captured or burned, there are no any ways.