Today we have cycled about 30 kilometres along Ruta 40, having left El Bolson. We plan to spend the night in a small place called Epuyen (Argentinians pronounce it as “Epushen”). Epuyen is a village on the lake with the same name, and we read that there are campings there, so we shouldn’t have any issues with spending the night there.
On the road, when I am climbing a long slope, a cyclist overtakes me, then the next. They say hello in English. These guys are 25-27 years old, they are Canadians. Standard questions: “Where are you from? What do you go from and where to?” The guys tell us they go to Cholila, where this weekend there is an Asado festival – Asado being barbecue. Cholila is a village which is located to the west from Ruta 40, on Ruta 71, and we plan to get there tomorrow too. We have not heard about the festival before – but we think it’s good news, it’s a chance to see something interesting.
We say to the Canadians: “See you in Cholila” and continue, there are some 20 km left to Epuyen. It is evening already when we reach the secondary road which leads to Epuyen. The village is not near Ruta 40, it’s in a few kilometres from it. By this time we are quite tired and I suggest to Igor: “Let’s stay in some hotel”. We lived in a tent for quite a while and I wouldn’t mind some comfort. Next to the main road we saw some signs of hotels so we decide to look for one of them.
A steep descend on a gravel road lasts almost one kilometre, hands are clutching hard the brakes – and we return to a paved road. At a crossroads we are in doubts which way to turn, a car stops next to us and a woman asks us what we are looking for and shows us direction. Another woman passing by asks where we come from. We say: “From Russia” (we don’t go into details for the sake of brevity). The woman says: “Buena suerte!” (“Good luck!”) The unexpected kindness of strangers is ever so pleasing. (On the next day a man whom we asked directions to Ruta 40 was driving a car in front of us with a bicycle’s speed for a couple of kilometres, just to accompany us to the right place).
In a few kilometres we reach an hosteria (it’s a type of a cheap hotel). Wow – it is fully booked. Who could have thought? They tell us this is because a lot of people go to Cholila festival, that’s the reason. We are not so glad anymore that we are going to the same place this weekend… Looks like comfort will have to wait this time, camping awaits us again.
We go to the camping which is roughly in a kilometre, and at this time it starts raining a little. Before this day we were lucky with the weather and totally forgot that such natural calamity as rain existed at all, we never had to take out our rain jackets or waterproof trousers. Now we are so close to the camping that it seems unnecessary to take them out, despite rain. 
There is another hosteria next to the campsite and it is full too. I start worrying that the camping might be full too – God knows how many meat lovers have come here. As we reached the camping, the rain becomes heavier. While Igor is checking regarding a place (it is available) and pays, I am waiting for him under the trees. Opposite the entrance to the camping there is a pretty wooden house which is a bar and restaurant. I see the two Canadians there who are sitting there drinking beer and chatting to a blond girl whom they obviously just met here. The guys wave at us.
By the time we have paid and went to chose a pitch, the sky was pouring water relentlessly on us. The camping was in a pine tree forest, with big spaces between the trees. We chose a pitch which looked drier than the others and Igor rushed to put up the tent. By the time we remembered we had rain jackets, Igor’s clothes were all soaked. I had a windproof jacket on me so was drier. We put on rain jackets, but they didn’t protect us from cold, especially that we hadn’t changed to dry clothes when we arrived. The cold seemed to penetrate each cell of our bodies, and streams of water were pouring from above. It was getting dark quickly. I tried to morally support Igor who was setting up the tent, but soon I was all shaking and had to escape to the bathroom where I could hide from the cold.
When the tent was set up and Igor brought all bicycle panniers inside, we ran to the restaurant where we had seen the Canadians. It was dry, warm and cosy inside, but it took us a while to feel warmer as we still were in wet clothes. Thanks God they served hot food and tea there. We were waiting for our dinner and I was shivering at the thought that at the end of it we would have to go outside, back in the rain and cold. I would give anything to sleep in a warm bed under the roof. The thought: “What if tomorrow it keeps raining?” depressed me. What if it rains for a day, or two? I decided that I would sit in the tent for two days then, it is madness to go anywhere in such weather. I was sitting there wallowing in my sad thoughts about fragility of humans, our dependence on our houses comfort and about our helplessness in the face of whims of nature when outside of our buildings. Even a mere summer rain can cause us distress. I also thought that I had overestimated my own readiness to withstand discomforts caused by poor weather in our camp life. Sleeping in a tent on such a wet, dark, cold night seemed an ordeal which I was not prepared for.
My thoughts were interrupted by the Canadians who came to our table to chat. We discussed the horrible weather with them and I asked them: “Have you set up your tents already?” “We don’t have tents,” – they said. I was surprised to hear this answer.
“Where are you going to sleep then?” One of the guys replied: “We have hammocks. We sleep in them”. “Hammocks?!” – I was shocked. “In such downpour? And it’s cold!” I couldn’t believe they were not joking, but they seemed serious. “Well, we are going to look for a shelter now. But we also stretch fliers above” – and he showed something with a wide gesture, as I understood, something like a big piece of cloth.
This conversation somehow relieved me. I realised my ideas about the zone of comfort were mine only. I had thought spending the night in the tent was a horrible prospect – and someone was not too upset at a much worse prospect of spending the night in a hammock. At least we didn’t have to sleep in hammocks!
After dinner I took a hot shower – a pure bliss! Having put on dry clothes I hid in the tent. It was dry and warm inside. The rain was cosily drumming on the tent roof. It turned out to feel quite good in the tent, after all. Being very tired we fell asleep immediately. In the early hours of the morning a thunderstorm began, we were lying there listening to claps of thunder. When the thunderstorm was over, I went outside and saw the hammocks with the Canadians sleeping inside them. It was a very unusual sight.
By the middle of the day the rain spilt its last drops and the sun shone through the tree branches. All my night worries were gone for good. The weather was looking up and we were ready to continue our journey.
