Veintinueve.

Funny overnight stops. First, it was near El Pajonal valley at check-point of Bolivian green police. Their hut made from ply-wood, and instead of fridge guys have to use clothes-line, what they want to do with these chicken meat, hoping will get jerked beef in one day? Didn't guess to ask. It looked like a bunker of forest robbers more than like police check-point. A bit of moral optimistic wisdom on the "walls", on the plus side I've got nice lunch, breakfast and quiet and warm night in that hut, thanks, guys. And nobody wanted to check my luggage, and it was a good thing, coz I still had some dynamite actually. So, next night don Pepe (no jokes!) hosted me - haha, it was like a scene from Pet Sematary of Stephen King, I'm like a Luis he's like a Jude, were drinking a beer and watching at fucking highway with mortal trucks until huge green luminous insects came to the party. At morning I drove out with local cowboys in cargo body, then passed a night in gloomy overpriced hotel (but there was a jukebox! what about some old sorrow from Pink fucked Floyd, we-are-loving everything-for-easy-fast-listening-and-dancing-brainless-brown-farm-style-cock-suckers?), later I've been crushed on the way at the second time and lost a lot of skin of my poor hands. Finally, I understood what I like in Bolivia - it is special, unique time. For example, where else I can see a Pin Up-style posters that were published in the year 2009 without any irony and postmodernism sense?