Tag Archives: solo traveller

6 months away

1 Reply

6 months ago today I was being driven to Newcastle airport by my parents with a big scabby chin. My worldly possessions for my future away were packed into my little rucksack weighing just 12 kilos. It seems like a lifetime ago. Now my chin is healed and I’ve gained a few kilos (rucksack and elsewhere) and soz for the cheese but I’ve also gained so much more in this last half a year. 

Looking back through my blog posts since I touched down in Lima, pale and timid, I feel so happy and lucky to have encountered these amazing places and learnt so much from them: Cusco was my first Latino love; Bolivia was stunning; Colombia was just one big pleasure-filled love-in; I had amazing experiences in Ecuador; shared Christmas with my mum on the beach; was spoilt by my kiwi family on arrival in New Zealand; ran with my dad; found my perfect way of life in Aus; and got a nipple-on in Queenstown. 

The only thing that can match the places I have seen is the people I have shared them with. At home everyone told me how many new friends I would make away. From day one in South America I was wondering where all my new bezzies were hiding. I missed my friends so much and really wanted to meet someone just like ‘us’. It took me a little while and many conversations to realise that yes, my friends are the best, but I haven’t travelled around the world to meet someone just like ‘us’. Over these months my mind has been opened, my judgements blunted, and I have met people whose paths mine would have never crossed elsewhere. With that beautiful part of travelling, I have friends across the globe to visit when I can. And thankfully my home friends in the UK are still awake in the early hours of Saturday morning for a mashed party Skype exactly when I need them on a Sunday afternoon in NZ. 

Aside from being an excuse for self indulgent nostalgia, today is a very special day back home; my big sister’s 30th birthday. Being away has meant I’ve missed out on lots of occasions back home, not celebrating with my sisters, who I am so close to, is one of the hardest. This photo is from the last time the three of us were together and we got matching tattoos. We even got to tattoo each other! I’m so glad we did it (sorry mum); I just need to look at my arm to feel a bit closer to them. 

  

 With a further 6 months of running away ahead, I know I will still feel homesick (it never stops!), and miss out on yet more special days (two of my best friends are due to give birth in May and I’m gutted I won’t be around to meet the newborns). But I also know I have many more places, people, opportunities and experiences yet to come. I have been reassured that the UK isn’t going anywhere, and I’m sure as hell gona make the most of the next 6 months. Big love to all my family and friends; old and new.

 

  

Piha4

4 Replies

It’s my birthday! I’ve simultaneously hit 25 and the ground running! Quite literally, the first thing I did in my 25th year was go for a run. It was also my last day in Piha, and bounding away from the hostel I knew instantly my final jogging destination on the black sands had to be Lion Rock.

It was just a short run from the hostel to the beach and the base of the beast. Feeling energised and imagining the many new opportunities and experiences 25 will bring, I went for those steps like a bitch on heat. I scrambled a little further after the path ended but opted out of the full climb; the steep slopes and falling rocks looked a little precarious for my wine-legs (maybe the birthday-eve celebrations had affected me more than I’d thought). I found a comfy rock and sat silently contemplating my time in Piha; the new friends, places and experiences enjoyed here.

IMG_2322

One aim for my time in Piha was to get out on the ocean and ride some gnarly breaks. Ok so the surf lingo perhaps doesn’t suit me but I’m beginning to feel slightly less of a novice where it matters: on the waves! My last night in Piha was the perfect send-off: I managed for the first time to paddle out to waves in deeper water, upgrading from the white water. So I only caught one wave and didn’t even stand up on the board but it’s progress! And my wish to be one of the bobbing surfers at sunset was granted: watching another drop-dead sundown out on the sea was as good as I’d imagined; being next to new friends from around the world made it even more special.

IMG_2327

In my next destination more surf awaits. And the pilot on the plane I’m riding just said we’re flying over to 28 degree heat! Where?! The Gold Coast, Australia! In a shocking plot twist and ‘YOLO’ moment, I booked flights for a holiday from my travels to visit a friend down under. Well when am I going to get the chance to pop to Oz on my birthday again? And what are credit cards for…?

Piha2

Leave a reply

Morning motivation is not always easy to come by. My very first blog post highlighted the benefit of nice clothes to aid motivation. Other sources of get-up-and-go could be a future goal, maybe training for a race or an event. Here in Piha my a.m. inclination arrives when I open the curtains. Even after beers and late night monopoly (cray cray, I know), a glimpse out the window at the terrific terrain makes retreating back under the duvet a travesty. When I drift back to this time last year, living and working in Manchester, UK: walking to work in the dark; long working hours; short daylight hours; walking home in the dark, I’m pretty happy with my life choices right now. This morning I laced up my new sneaks (still serving me well), and bounded away on a trail run before work, to the nearby Kitekite waterfall.

The trail winds through the bush, with some good little hills and plenty for the eyes to feast on. After just 15 minutes or so I caught a glimpse of the waterfall through the trees and came down to the pool at the base. I spent a few minutes enjoying the peace (I didn’t see a soul on the trail) but didn’t go for a dip. Maybe next time.

IMG_2261

Descending back along the trail I took a bit more time to stay steady on the steep bits and appreciate my surroundings. This area of bush was once a kauri forest, before being stripped of the valuable trees by the early 20th century. There are now young kauri trees growing here again, which one day will hopefully reach the stature of their awesome ancestors, with diameters of up to 5 metres, living over 1000 years. This one is probably less than 100 years old, with a diameter of about 60cm.

IMG_2263

Kauri trees are now protected from loggers, but face a new threat of kauri die back disease. A disinfectant station at the start of the trail is part of the effort to quell the spread and protect New Zealand’s fave leafy giant. A huge hollow kauri stump of around 3m diameter still stands at the mouth of the trail, reminding bush-goers just how big these bad boys can get.

IMG_2258

IMG_2265

I was back at the hostel after a very enjoyable half-hour run, ready to start my duties and spend another day in pleasing Piha.

Piha

Leave a reply

I have many memories of Piha from my previous times in New Zealand as a child: the black sand burning your feet; the wild surf; waves crashing through ‘The Gap’; Lion Rock. So I was excited to return after 13 years, now I’m all grown up. I’m going to be here for the next 3 weeks, volunteering at a hostel for free accommodation. I may have hit the location jackpot here, especially compared to my previous volunteering location; lacking Latacunga. Ok so Piha may be lacking a few things: a bar which stays open after dark; a supermarket; a cashpoint… But it really does make up for these shortcomings in natural beauty and outdoor opportunities. Thanks to this there is a steady stream of travellers, surfies, weekenders and more which keep the place alive and vibrant.

Piha is renowned in New Zealand as a top surf spot. It is also known for the dangerously strong currents and rips which pull surfers, swimmers and kids in dinghys out to sea. So much drama goes down on the black sands in fact, a TV series ‘Piha Rescue’ has been established, documenting the everyday heroics of the Piha Surf Life-Savers. I’m under strict instructions from my family to swim between the flags whilst wearing my best bikini, just incase I somehow end a starring role.

On my first morning in Piha I set my alarm with time for a quick run before I started work at the hostel. The skies were blue and the sun sparkled on the morning dew. I made my way to the South Beach along the little roads which are dotted with enviable holiday baches. My grandparents used to have a bach here, which I passed on the same road as the hostel. It still has the name my grandad carved from wood hung on the gate, Te Arawhata; ‘steps’, in Maori.

I made it to the beach feeling fresh and invigorated, though maybe not so much as the surfers, who were catching the first waves of the day on a sparkly sea. South Beach is dominated by a majestic beast, known as Lion Rock: a huge rock formation which looks like a a lion, keeping guard of Piha and looking out to sea. It is just as I remember it as a child and this time it was lit by a magical morning glint.

IMG_2218

After a short run down the beach I turned and headed back the hostel, ready for my first day of work, feeling energised and very happy to be here.

Auckland2

Leave a reply

New Zealand is off to a great start for me. I’ve had a fab time since arriving 10 days ago: spending time with my Dad, family and old friends; going to the bach at Whangapoua; seeing places I haven’t visited since childhood; enjoying the great food and drink, gorgeous weather and general beauty of New Zealand.

Die-hard readers will recall my historic pre-travel posts, before I had ran away from the UK. Well my beloved trainers are not so fresh and so clean these days. Since they are minimalist transition to barefoot sneaks, they were never very robust in supporting my humble hooves on longer runs. However they’ve done me proud over the last four months; we’ve been through A LOT together. Now training with my super-fit father, their shortfalls and loose threads are beginning to show. Luckily I am in a developed country which has the UK shoe sizes printed in the tongues of trainers! Dad to the rescue: he bought me some nifty yellow New Balance runners. They must be magic because they somehow make even MY legs look tanned! What more could you want from a trainer?

IMG_2193

I test drove the new penny loafers with my papá yesterday on the same North Shore route as last week. It was a cloudy morning, making for cooler and more pleasant running conditions. The views weren’t quite as great but the people of Browns Bay were undeterred and the beach was full of dog walkers and early morning exercisers. Due to a combination of the cooler climate and familiarity of the route, I felt more energised and ready for the hills, twists and turns and did a better job this time round. The trainers held up well and I cooled down with blister-free feet. It was the last run I will enjoy with my Dad for a long time; let’s hope I can stick to the pace and distance once he’s gone!

IMG_2198

Tomorrow I leave Auckland for another new beginning; volunteering in Piha, a surfy beachy place I also remember from my days as a New Zealand nipper. My Dad is heading back to the UK and I’ll be a Lone Ranger once again; just me, my new trainers and the open road. Only now I won’t be too far from a familiar face; having family somewhere nearby is a comforting thought. The NZ unknown is calling and I have so much to see, bring on the next 6 months!

Lima2

1 Reply

And I came full circle. Well, wiggly oval really. My last run in South America, the same place as my very first. My mind drifted back to that first run:the nerves in the traffic; the shock of the misogyny; the sunburn; will I get mugged/attacked/fall over?! I’m not sure if it counts as wisdom but I am certainly more chilled out than on my arrival. Which my homegirls and boys may find hard to believe since calmness has (pretty much) always prevailed over panic with me. Man I am just so laid back these days. I don’t smoke da reefer but I reckon these days one could induce an irreversible horizontality in me. Best stick to the natural endorphin highs of running.

Not one to lose my British roots and traditions, I hit the tiles on Saturday night on a farewell foray binge in Lima. Feeling less than fresh on Sunday it took me a while to emerge from my bunk and get running. I finally managed late on in the afternoon. One thing I have learned whilst travelling is that my beloved binge culture stands firmly with the Brits and Aussies. South Americans (and everyone else) are quite content to have a few drinks and dance without losing all memory and dignity of the night. So whilst my traditional hangover was limited to me and my party pals from the night before, the people of Lima were upholding their own Sunday traditions: spending time with their families. My run took me to Parque Raimondi, perched above the cliffs of Lima and overlooking the ocean. Running through the busy park and seeing the families, friends and couples enjoying happy wholesome days really blew the cobwebs off and put a smile on my face.

The first scene I met at the park was of a large statue of a couple having an impassioned fumble, set against the ocean backdrop. Glancing down I couldn’t help but grin when I noticed the lawn strewn with enamoured couples. *sigh*. The beauty of life imitating art. Latino lovers show their love. In public, lots. South America has clearly turned the cynic within me soft, thinking back to UK life; where a couple snogging in the bus seat in front would have got my eyes rolling.

IMG_2087.JPG

Further along Parque Raimondi I passed many more happy families and companions enjoying the fruits of a beautiful Sunday afternoon. A large group of people, young and old, finessed their tight-rope walking skills between the palm trees. A group performed capoeira to crowds on the grass. Dogs were walked, bikes rode, and faces shone.

IMG_2089.JPG

The first chapter of my adventures running away closes. And what a colourful chapter it has been. So many places, people, parties, new friends, nights out, beauty, babes, boys, runs and memories. And I wouldn’t change a thing. I am so excited for the new horizons waiting to be run to in New Zealand. I won’t be met with stares of bafflement for being a running gringo, I will be able to put my toilet paper in the toilet, and I will be able to get change for a 20 without the shop person looking at me like I’d just stabbed their fave llama. Can’t wait.

Cuenca

Leave a reply

I’m sure you have all been sick with worry. A whole 13 days since my last post, I do apologise. But unfortunately I have not been in tip top running condition: in a dramatic turn of events, last weekend I made a teary-eyed trip to A & E, convinced I had malaria, dengue or chickungunya. So it turned out to be flu which developed into a chest infection a few days later, after I crawled through some tunnels instead of resting. It had its dark points, but if anything my malady only served to boost my faith in humanity. It’s rubbish being ill and alone but despite being so far from home (and my mum), I was looked after from the moment I woke in my hostel bed, thinking I had the hangover of the century. The kind traveller in my hostel who accompanied me to the hospital; my friend from Quito and his family who took me in until I was feeling better; the family in Latacunga and their herbal remedies: I have been spoiled with kindness and amazing herbal teas for over a week! Thanks to these lovely humans I am pretty much better and was feeling well enough for a run in Cuenca this morning.

I had planned to head to Montañita for the weekend, starting my last week in South America as I mean to go on; with a beer in my hand and a slur in my words. However in favour of sense and responsibility (not sure where they came from), I opted for cultural Cuenca instead and some more recovery time. Cuenca is a beautiful colonial town; walking through the historical centre I felt as though I was in Barcelona, Vienna and Paris, all in the space of ten minutes. Along with having some great roommates at my hostel, I think I made the right choice in passing up the sun and surf of Montañita. I even learned a bit more about Mama Negra (still racist, also throws milk at people). And I got drunk last night. Everyone’s (I am) a winner!

IMG_2013.JPG

So the drinks last night helped me sleep through the incessant beeping of a pedestrian crossing outside my window and I woke feeling ready to run. My first run in nearly 2 weeks; I took it slowly along the beautiful riverside which runs from my hostel to the city centre, stopping for the occasional coughing fit. Cuenca is impossibly romantic; I’m sure the amorous couples on the riverbanks instantaneously fell in love when they lay down and saw the beautiful blue of the sky against the green mountains and reddish city-scape. It’s a bit harder to fall in love whilst running (not enough time for eye contact), so the river-dwellers of Cuenca were safe. These included lots of cyclists enjoying a leisurely Sunday morning pedal, a fair few other runners, and some walkers who were probably busy falling in love.

IMG_1995.JPG

I ended my run in the park/ archaeological Incan site of Tumipampa: a gorgeous park complete with Incan ruins, gardens, ponds and tropical birds. Despite feeling like I was going to vom when I got back to the hostel, it was a successful and enjoyable return to running away.

IMG_2016-3.JPG

Latacunga

Leave a reply

My first running destination in Latacunga was a statue of Mama Negra. That’s right, black Mama. Yep I know what you’re thinking, and I’m thinking it too. But I’m not sure if being PC is really a thing in Ecuador (or South America). I mean, I’m volunteering at a school at the moment and its quite acceptable, if not positively endearing, to refer to a pupil as ‘morenito’, which roughly translates to ‘little brown boy’. Don’t worry I won’t be adding (the translations, at least), to my regular vocabluary.

IMG_1931.JPG

So to Mama Negra: the story behind the statue… At Latacunga’s fiesta of the same name, which happens twice a year, a white or moreno (brown) man dresses up as a woman and blacks up his face, riding through the town on a horse, as the centre of all the festivities. I’ve had a bit of a look online and there isn’t a lot about the background of Mama Negra in English. Some texts say that she represents the Virgin of Mercy. Which I don’t really get. Another site says she represents the liberation of black people in Ecuador. Which makes slightly more sense but I’m not sure why this tradition happens in Latacunga, where very few Afro-Ecuadorians live, or have ever lived. It certainly isn’t something I am entirely (or remotely) comfortable with, and the fact that the only texts I have found on the matter are academic type papers on racism says a lot. But hey, they do say that imitation is the highest form of flattery, right? Hmmm.

Onwards from Mama Negra I ran to a nearby park, known locally at ‘la laguna’. Although maybe not quite up to the standards of some lagoons I’ve seen on my travels, it was still a pleasant little park. A large group of women were undertaking an aerobics class to hardstyle music. I got a snap from afar, including the lagoon and looking onwards to the mountains in the background.

IMG_1934-0.JPG

So Latacunga is a smallish town, the kind of place where running gringos might draw attention. A guy stopped me on my way and told me he was a personal trainer and runner and we had a little chat where he asked me about my distances and PBs and invited me to his fitness class. All in Spanish! I felt quite proud about saying the right things at the right time, and for once my perpetual nodding and smiling being sincere (since I understood pretty much everything). I also caught the attention of a few other locals, including two impersonators; one young boy who followed me for a lap of the park, and one middle aged man on the good old urban gym gave a great impression of me running and stopping to take photos. But hey, they do say that imitation is the highest form of flattery, right?

Canoa2

Leave a reply

The sun blazes pinky orange, setting over the Pacific Ocean around 6:30 every evening in Canoa. So at 6pm yesterday I decided to head out for what will probably be my final coastal run in Ecuador. Barefoot, I headed South down the beach, away from the town (watching out for spiky shells).

Canoa’s long, long beach is home to a variety of creatures (seabirds, vultures, weird wriggly worms, snails…). But my favourite has to be the hundreds of bright red crabs who wile away their days digging little holes in the sand and then standing guard halfway out of said hole. In the five days I spent in Canoa, playing a game of chicken with these little guys; seeing how long they would stare you out before they plopped down into their den, never got old. It certainly made the first km or so of my run fly by. Then I found a sorry little crab flailing and stuck in his little hole which had caved in with the incoming tide. Ungratefully, he pinched me when I tried to save him but I think maybe his eyes had been pecked off so he was having a pretty rough day and I couldn’t really blame him for being bad company.

IMG_1854-0.JPG

After 20 minutes or so running the sun was almost down and the light was dying so I turned back to the hotel. Unfortunately my camera isn’t the best so didn’t really capture the colours and beauty of the sunset to its full effect.

IMG_1827.JPG

I really enjoyed my stay in Canoa, I’ve left now and am writing this on the bus to Guayaquil. It was a great place to keep active (swimming, surfing, volleyball, football, walking and of course running), without paying for expensive day trips or activities. Compared to cities and towns (think Mindo’s driveways/Quito’s altitude), beach running really is a no brainier; beautiful, super easy navigation and best friends with hench legs! What’s not to love?

Cali

Leave a reply

The only thing I had heard about Cali before I arrived is that it is the Colombian Capitol of Salsa. Even my travel guide has little to say about Colombia’s third largest city beyond its dancing and party culture. And yes, the salsa was impressive. Over my month in Colombia I had a few opportunities to witness salsa and give it a whirl myself. Although not necessarily successful I loved nearly every awkward, exhilarating and fun minute of it. Cali was the perfect place to round off everything I had learned, and inevitably shame myself on the dance floor. Unfortunately my final night in Cali left me asking whether salsa is somewhat tied up in misogyny… I don’t think it is; I’m sure there are arseholes represented in every dance style. No longer in Colombia, I have sworn I will return and brush up on my footwork; so people might want to dance with me for a reason other than my gringa novelty.

So aside from salsa, what does Cali have to offer? Gentle rain started one afternoon during my stay and thunder rumbled softly in the distance, I decided to whack on my trainers and have an explore. My run took me to a hilly park close to my hostel. Despite the less than perfect weather, groups of families and friends gathered in the park eating, drinking and laughing. Past the park I made my way alongside a highway, hoping for a good view over the city. Having not found my view and with the thunder sounding closer I headed back to the park. En-route I stopped to check out a charmingly proportioned nativity scene at the side of the road, complete with palm trees, crocodiles, giant lambs and a few dogs.

Entering the park again I headed upwards towards the little church which sits on top of the hill. On my way I managed to take a tumble and graze my knee so that it was bleeding a little profusely. I totally kept my cool though, I don’t think anyone even noticed; like a little dance move in itself I was on my feet again in no time and striding up the hill. In front of the church was the busiest part of the park. A couple sheltered under an umbrella, admiring the city view and the dramatic sky; a group were practicing ariel acrobatics from huge ribbons hanging from a tree; and street food stalls were selling a selection of classic deep fried Colombian favourites. There was a really nice community vibe in the park and I took a few moments to rest and breath it in. Until people started staring at the white girl with the bloody knee (I think Cali is the stary-est place I visited in Colombia).

IMG_1650.JPG

Something I haven’t reported on much in my blog is the beautiful and striking street art in Colombia. I decided to try and find some good examples for a pic before returning to the hostel. After a couple of minutes I found a wall with a variety of pieces. Unfortunately not up to the impressive and often political standards I have seen in other cities, particularly Bogota, I snapped a pic of this snake, eating ‘somos’; ‘we are’. The trickles of blood were sneaking down my leg towards my trainers now so I turned back and was under cover in the hostel before the heavens opened with full force.

IMG_1654.JPG