Treinta y ocho.

LP talks: "Salta is a most conservative city in northern Argentina but has a beautiful colonial architecture". Really, could you give me the address? I missed these things. What I've found? Hippie poetry evening (only Spanish, sure), Rivendell for long-way cyclists (and evil Elrond's brother), a giant monument of peludo (without peludos themselves). Most popular and best entertainment in Salta is sitting and drinking local beer in shiny nightly open-air cafeterias. Very interesting, if you know what I mean. Also, LP recommend to try it without a doubt! Well. Fortunately, I have been couched by Hugo and his family. Hi, Hugo. Fuck, why here so many warmly welcoming people? I fixed my bike and drove out to the wine lands.

Treinta y siete.

Jujuy - i've been there three days and i hadn't any contacts with anybody, just walked on the streets. I think, in that world still a lot of old places like Jujuy. And they will exist ever. Probably, that's not cool, but that's it.

Treinta y seis.

San Pedro was just a bunch of tour operators and people wore shorts with sunglasses (yeah-yeah, I'm just trying don't use a phrase "another one overpriced-boring-bitchy-touristic-hole" very often). Grannie from DDR was happy to speak in Russian with smbdy after twenty years waiting. A Swiss guy, my roommate, watched Cheburashka Adventures. Everything was relaxing and enjoying. I bought tons of water, fish&nuts and left the commercial village. The second try to make a bargain" for tomorrow" with local people failed as the first one - truck driver I guess took the mind of immediately to meet together at 6 a.m. near billboard before departing to boarding instead of me. I was waiting almost two hours after that just shrugged and took my way to the hills. Anyway, on that day I had a lift by three cars, the last one drop me out at the boarding-point. Just in time, after climbing to 5000 meters altitude I've got sick in my head and felt in sleep in building hangar immediately, just one hundred yards from the border. The second day I drove through endless high-mountain deserts, and at sunset came to Susques, ugly tiny village with jolly people. Unknown machine man on gas-station lend me his mattress and even made a dinner for me, it was on of the touching things that I ever feel. A couple of days later I crossed The Andes completely. Unbelievably, but Purmamarca was more badly than San Pedro even. I recovered strength as fast as I could and dashed off to Jujuy.