Treinta y cinco.

After X-Mas, I set up stuff for a couple of days more at the local family house (Hi, Anahi!). Great guys. Then. On the road to Tocopilla Atacama stroke her first and last punch - I got into a sandstorm and lost my fucking hat. My sorrow was indescribable. I came back to Iquique, bought a ticket to Calama and took in wood a lot. What a shitty life. Next day I woke up, felt quite oneself, had chat with Kate and starting a new life. I've got a plan - to cross the desert in one day. My flag solved one problem as a doo-rag (deadly desert sun, I mean) but I still had another one. There were one hundred altiplano-km between Calama and San Pedro de Atacama, I never did so more on this altitude before, at least half as large. Whatever the case, I won. Goodbye, ma'am, I'm not gonna to sleep with you and drink morning coffee at your frozen bed, look for another dumbhead. On the road, I met entrants of Paris-Dakar rally (the first one in Sudamerica). Friendly and funny French and Belgian people, in the opposite Kamaz-team people, were like fucking jerks - haughty (almost spacemen) and incommunicative. There were six weeks and two thousand and a half km before meeting in Baires.