Cuarenta.

Sometimes on the road, you make that kind of "friends" which even don't wish to ask "what time is it?" in the real city life. he looked like Azerbaijani fat boy, this stranger from Tolombon(!) invited me for a cup of coffee (suddenly, excellent). This dude collects tons of hash and antiquarian pre-Columbian-era-dishes. I dodged the piece of hash, but not a piece of the rare dish. Well, well. El Cafayate was the identical crap as the nearest towns. Even regularly stolen and perfect grapes didn't enjoy me. Let me free from this everlasting country-side life love!  Then the old man drove me up to Tafi de Valle, massive cloud of fog. Then I crossed the border "End of the world". There were birdy cheerful chirp and a lot of dead animals after the end of this world. Then I met a group of weaponed peasants, peasants blocked off a highway and had protested against the government and droughty river. Then street boy attacked me and tried to rob, it was just oversugared cheap orange juice. Then I drove again. They smelled not really cool, all these dogs, birds and cows outside of a highway I mean, I had to twist pedals faster than usually.