Not Rolling The Rs: route 51-km38 to km118

June 19, 2016

"Holanda!" says the shopkeeper when I tell him where I come from. He misunderstood. See, if you don't roll the R in Irlanda, as I often do through laziness, it sounds as if you've said "Holanda" instead of "Irlanda" what was meant.

I am in a small adobe house with a shop stocking a few basics inside, one of a cluster of such houses and chapel, small roadside village. The short indigenes shopkeeper, a jovial talkative man asks me which country I'm from and I answer with lack of enthusiasm and sloppy Spanish, only wanting to buy a bottle of coke and anxious to get going again. I don't roll the R when I tell him I'm from Ireland and, I sound to him that I've said Holland. Instead of correcting him, I think it convenient to confirm I am from Holland, which leads to a conversation about Holland, beginning with Queen Beatrice. He didn't like monarchies this man. He seemed to know a lot about the low lying North Sea facing country, including a lot of it is reclaimed from abovementioned sea.

I nod and smile and agree, that monarchy is bad but popular and, much of the country is manmade. He would've chatted all day if I didn't politely hint that I needed to go further.

Well as expected today is clear and sunny, having climbed up out of the grey cloud cover that fills the valleys below. A finger numbing experience taking down the tent. At this altitude and time of year hard night frost can only be expected, though once riding I warm up quickly as I continue climbing and it is pleasantly warm during the day, until about two o'clock when I've climbed to the village of Santa Rosa de Tasil, when a moderate icy south-westerly wind rises.

Santa Rosa de Tasil has ruins of an Inca settlement up on the hill and a major stop for excursion buses, therefore I was expecting a café, or at least a shop where I could buy some lunch, but it being low season, there are no buses today and although there is a shop, it is closed. Later though, I remember I boiled eggs yesterday morning back in the hostel and they are still in my pannier untouched. Three boiled eggs are quite filling when I stop again.

I battle uphill with headwind the remaining couple hours daylight, when at dusk the road enters a narrow gorge sheltered from the wind with a stream to the left and soon come to a track down to it. A level spot to pitch the tent is scarce, but I find a place just big enough on the stream bank.

Today's ride: 80 km (50 miles)
Total: 10,888 km (6,761 miles)

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