It was well I'd that late large lunch yesterday, as I have no food, only water, so hope for a rain free morning for the final descent into town. It'll be better in morning. The tourist office will be open to find my bearings and way to a hostel for a few days off the bike to do other things. My hair needs a real wash. It feels like grease from a frying-pan has been spilt upon my scalp. Yes, hopefully the weather picks up.

I lay down to sleep early listening to the rain. I awake early to heavy rain drumming on the tent. Depressing to listen to, to know within a few hours I'll have to decamp; get out of this warm and dry cocoon.

By daybreak the rain has abated and I discover there is a puddle to my right, then a second puddle at the foot of the sleeping-bag. I have no idea how the rain could've gotten in. Looking out then its as grey and foggy as yesterday evening.

I pack away a soaking wet tent and set off at nine in light drizzle. Saturday morning traffic into town is light in comparison to Friday afternoon's rush. The final stretch as remembered from previous visits to Valparaiso is extremely steep downhill to the rough waterfront avenue, whereupon on the level, my rear-brake, after the constant braking in the wet coming down, has no longer any effect: the brake-lever goes the whole way back to touch the handle-bar. Though the front-brake still stops.

I am at the tourist office just as it opens up at ten. There a young woman points me in the direction of two hostels further up the same street, up a steep hill. She also recommends a place for Breakfast, where I head to first: a place used mainly by market stall holders, where the best thing looking at the pictures of food above the counter is a Hamberguesa Italiana; so named, I suppose, because of the Italian tricolour salad of avocado mayonnaise and tomato. Anyway, it fills me up. Pity about the Necafe coffee.

I try finding from memory the hostel I stayed in the last time I was here, as that was a really nice place ran by nice people, riding up another steep hill, but fail to located it. So return down and up the other hill and stop at the first of the two hostels pointed out earlier, Hostel Mitico. I am welcomed by a cute big dog in reception and Jordan, the volunteer who checks me in, tells me his name is Bedo, the hostel dog. She gives me soap and shampoo, so the first thing I do when I've moved the bike into the common area and put my stuff in a dorm, is have a good long shower, washing my greasy hair.