February 23, 2016
Every Day Is Like Sunday
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Sleep was hard come by my first night here. The dogs, you see; both local and across the valley and far away just kept barking and yapping all night long. And as if this wasn't bad enough, a couple arrived at one o'clock and pitched their tent right next, well just a metre away from my tent, when they'd the whole garden to choose from. The dogs didn't seem to bother them much, as soon both were snoring and snored all night long, while I'm kept awake by those yapping dogs.
I eventually sleep at some point. The watch shows 07.12 when I wake up, so I decide to get up. I take my food and computer indoors, begin journaling and after an hour make breakfast of toast and tea.
About midday I'm finished journaling for the day and need to get some other things done, like rinsing out my sweaty cycling cloths. Then set off cycling down to town, but on the way still feel that dead leg fatigue and just general tiredness from not having slept much and think of turning back.
The problem with Coyhaique, or more to the point, the problem getting from the Hostel Salamandras into town, is a deep valley. The hostel is on a wooded hillside on one side of the valley, while the city centre is on a plateau on the opposite side; so its steep downhill from the hostel to cross a river, Rio Simpson, then climbing all the way into town.
In town I'm disorientated and not in the mood to be out. Every cross street looks alike, until I find my way onto Calle Admiral Simpson, another uphill street, closed by roadworks with big trenches dug and mounds of soil at every cross street, which I have to get round by riding on the pavement. Then when I make it up the street as far as the bike shop, they're closed for lunch and won't open up again until three o'clock. Later when returning on a street parallel, on passing there's another bike shop only a block from the centre.
I stop and stick my head inside. The mechanic come out and looks at the split rim front wheel on my bike, pops back inside and returns with a 36 hole, 700c rim by Weinmann, which should do the job. He says he can build the wheel anytime, so I say I'll return in a few days.
Wednesday: The legs feeling somewhat lighter today on the steep climb into town. The dogs having incurred a truce and last night the couple in the tent next, I don't know whether they were snoring or not, because I slept. The little ride into town is therapy in recuperating tired legs and body. Returning yesterday I'd to go into mountain bike mode climbing the steep loose track in the hostel grounds, from the gate up to the door, the final bit perhaps a one in four gradient. A test of balance and bike handling.
The only errand today in town is grocery shopping. After two nights on boils potatoes, which aren't the best, I plan to make pasta with a cheese sauce this evening.
The problem encountered when shopping here, are: there isn't always a price label by the produce on display; or, the price label can be for something completely different. Something which used to be in a given place but isn't any more, nobody having changed the label. So you can easily pick up something thinking it is 1000 pesos, but at the check out you find in reality, its 2500. So with shelves without prices displayed of produces I'll be needing, I'm left guesting how much they cost. Don't ask an assistant as they don't know either. In any case the vegetables are easy, because they must be weighted. And the person weighting, sticks a price label on.
Another problem is there's only shopping trolleys, no baskets. Why do I need a trolley for a few food items. I resolve this by bringing in a pannier to collect what I need, but carrying the pannier soon become tiresome as it is designed to hang on the bike rack, not carried by hand. The handle being on the side instead of centre makes it awkward to carry when full and heavy with shopping.
I have got pasta, olive oil, tomatoes; then, the way is blocked by a woman and her road-train truck, a childbuggy and shopping trolley in-tow parked all along the refrigerator shelves containing Italian cheeses, which I need to see before selecting. All this is going on while listening to the supermercado sound system pipe out "every day is like Sunday" by 80s band, The Smiths. The singer, Morrissey's voice especially sad and depressing in the circumstances.
Today's treat to cheer me is custard pastries from the panadaria (bakery) before I walk toward the check out queue, where a light goes on. A voice in my head says "tooth paste. Go to the toiletry section and select tooth paste." like a robotic voice in a lift "door closing".
In three aisle or six rows of soap, shaving, hair styling, make-up and whatnot, could I see tooth paste. No. I go to and fro through the same aisles looking, but don't find tooth paste. I begin panicking: tooth paste! Where's the tooth paste? I ask an assistant. The woman isn't too sure herself and looks around a bit through the toiletry section until coming upon a near enough empty shield with only a few left of one type of tooth paste. No wonder I couldn't see it, its so small.
The 1500 price tag on the tooth paste brought today's supermercado bill to 9000. As I write, I'm having a cappuccino in a Mamma Gaucha pizza café, for another 1600; together with camping, the day's budget is 14,600, or £15, which is not bad when staying in a city. I have no need to go wild spending a huge amount over that. Though the bike will need a full overhaul when I'm here.
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