The day started with me packing where I had camped at the back of the YPF service station on Route 3, a few kilometres outside town. I expected to get a coffee in the cafeteria but there is only a machine: moreover there are none of the usual breakfast pasties, so I settle for the rather poor alternative of Fanta and a packet of Oatmeal biscuits, which are so sweet, I later regret eating the lot. And as if the lack of coffee isn't enough insult, when I sit down and plug the computer into the power, the girl comes over and tells me I cannot use the power.

My time using the wifi therefore is limited to battery life; and I've things on my mind distracting me. In the end I just give up and close the computer. It is now ten o'clock and I need to buy food before leaving town. The population of Piedra Buena I would guess is no more than 2000, but the town is spread over a large area along the riverbank, the opposite side of which has steep brown barrancas, as there are across the flat plain of the valley floor behind the town: consequently the streets are very long between small detached single story houses, some nice but most ramshackled: the older buildings in town date from the 1920s; and the whole has a frontier look about it. The big supermercado like all the other more recent additions to town looks a prefab structure put-up in a week; I pass it by as I've now decided to remain the day here, so I need to find a campsite. I first find a bank, as such is the expense of everything, money lasts no time. That done, I find the info centre, outside of which alot of men stand around looking at me and the bike, but I really am not in the mood for the usual what, where, how long questions to expressions of astonishment: I quickly get a plan with two campsites marked and leave.

The campsite is on an island in the river, Isla Pavilon, accessible by bridge: cycling down from which I see a big sign, "Complex Turistico", so at once realize it's expensive; but it came as a shock when the lady in reception said 80 pesos (£13): basically the price is for a sheltered plot with a barbecue fogon and picnic table for a group. I explain I'm alone. She then has to take the phone, so I turn my glance to a man that is standing behind me that nods his head in disgust: moments later as I push the bike away, he suggests free-camping further along the river. Sure enough, the island is big and there's lots of places to camp without paying anything. There are lots of buildings too, including a hosteria (guess-house), an Argentine Navy office, and a house of historic importance, the 19th century home of Comandante Luis Piedra Buena whom the town is named after and where the great explorer Perito Moreno stayed.

On the riverbank is an amenity area with short clipped grass and picnic tables where I sit-down to lunch, followed by a while reading my book. The wind is getting up however, and a sudden gust swipes lids and carrier-bags of food off the table and I make a mad dash across the grass after the lighter things; lucky, I didn't lose anything. I repair to a picnic table in the shelter of a wall by the Argentine Navy office.

As I write this evening, having chosen a place to camp, the sky is grey and it's bitterly cold; I wear a thermal vest, a fleeces and a Dunn-jacket to keep warm. I received bad news from home a day ago: my elderly aunt died. I wasn't especially fond of her in the last years something which I regret and I'm filling with darkness and despair.