Little Farmers

These little farmers were helping their grandpa. I wanted to get a picture of the grandpa but then the brakes in my head didn't want to halt. I road past him and when I caught a glimpse of what was behind the cart, I had to stop and back peddle.

Yesterday while biking, a motorcycle road along side me and asked, "What kind of hat is that?"
I replied, "It is a hat I bought in America."
He replied, "Oh you're a girl."
I guess my biking outfit disguises me pretty well?

The bike ride yesterday was sometimes frustrating because I had to stop for traffic jams created by farmers who use up half the narrow country road that is actually a "major" highway to dry out their harvest.

Two big trucks with over thirty people sitting in the truck bed made me curious. Are they migrant workers? Prisoners? Workers being hauled to a factory? After about twenty kilometers, I found out. They were being trucked to a big empty field at the edge of a plateau to learn how to drive buses, cars, and trucks through an obstacle course.

I followed a taxi down a side road and ended up at another driving obstacle course and a "tourist" spot at least that is what the sign said. The tourist spot was a restaurant with rooms that are caves in the mountain with a great view of a valley.

I find it surprising that in the middle of nowhere, twenty kilometers in the countryside there are so many driving schools.