doesn't look like it, but it's uphill all the way: Tilcara to Huama? hell if I can spell that!

July 10, 2016

The novelty of high altitude landscape such as this, soon wears thin. I long for lush pasture, deciduous trees and mild climate of places not far above sea level.

Notice door in corner of house: it gives new meaning to "cornerstone"

It is about 200kms to the border town, La Quiaca. I said to Dutch cyclist Leendert yesterday evening, I should cover that distance in two days. He doubted I could, saying it'd taken him three days to ride from Tilcara to La Quiaca.

I see what he means.

I think I overestimated my ability. Route 9 on from Tilcara is a constant uphill incline. Much not noticeable as uphill, looking quite level, except it tells by the low gear I'm forced to ride and the effort it takes pedaling.

I am still in an arid valley, called "Quebrada de Humahuaca" of red and various other hued rocky hills to the side, tree cactus and small cultivated fields on the flat, some with verdant green crop which I think is tobacco, others with yellowish maize stubble and yet others bluish green, looking like leeks.

I pass through many small villages of a few houses, many with fields enclosed by straight row Alamos windbreaks.

The 42kms to the next town, Humahuaca, as said, all uphill and energy sapping, I reach about 1pm. The legs feeling so fatigued, I know after turning off 9 and freewheeling down to the centre, I won't be going any further this afternoon.

The town looked rough, being rows of gerry-built block houses on the inside of a strip of wasteland along the road. But down in the centre it is another Tilcara. A UNESCO site and full of tourists which is good, as there are lots of places to eat and places to stay at reasonable prices. I sit down in one place, but waiting an extraordinary time for service that I get up and leave, resorting to lunch on bread and salami I've already got.

Call it bread. It is hard and close to uneatable. Whatever's soft in the middle is tasteless.

Most of the bread I buy here is pretty terrible. I have a theory about this; namely, the bread making wheat grown in Argentina is genetically modified; thereby, elements in wheat grain which provide quality and taste in the end produced bread, have been sacrificed for those which fill out the grain resulting in high yield and profit.

Anyway, I'm trying to eat this hard bread sat in a churchyard, when along comes a man, seeing my loaded bike and begins asking the questions I expect.

"Adonde vene?"

When I say where I'm from, that leads to the next question, where did I start this cycle tour? It is a long story and I find it intrusive to tell about what has been my life for the past how many months.

I am glad his wife whom he was waiting for turns up and they leave.

It is a few hours until dark, so I cycle around looking for a hostel. There are an awful lot, some of which are the, in the Spanish language guest house type of hostel; though, then cycling along a narrow street I come to a backpacker kind, which turns out to be comfortable and reasonably priced at 100 pesos (£5) for a bed in a dorm.

At this price I can effort to forego camping out in the cold and enjoy a warm bed.

Today's ride: 45 km (28 miles)
Total: 11,445 km (7,107 miles)

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