Tag Archives: south america

6 months away

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.

Lima2

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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.

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.

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.

Huanchaco

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Mancora chewed me up and spat me out; before I had a chance to sober up I was on a night bus heading South. That place is a bottomless pit, albeit a very fun bottomless pit with lots of lovely people inside. It’s a good job I’m on a schedule at the moment, working my way down to Lima for a flight on Monday. Otherwise you may have found me still there next month; propping up/dancing on the bar, having accepted a job, paid in bunk bed and liquid form.

After 11 hours on that night bus, with a barely reclining seat, sandwiched between the window and a fat man, motivation was also struggling to find me in Huanchaco, my next stop. At least I’d had a seat this time (my seatless night bus from The Ecuadorian border to Mancora is really up there as a pinnacle of low points on my trip). But after a lazy day, chilling on the beach rather than venturing into the desert to visit ruins, an evening run on the beach really sorted me out and stopped me feeling sorry for myself.

Huanchaco is another coastal town, favoured by Peruvians, pelicans and a handful of travellers. The beach was still buzzing as I headed out whilst the sunlight started to die; many families from the nearby city of Trujillo and surrounding areas visit Huanchaco for the sun, sea and ceviche. Built on the coast of the Sechura desert, the heat is pretty searing during the day. Early evening was the perfect time to work up a sweat on the sand. It wasn’t such the meditative, primal kind of beach run I have enjoyed in places like Tayrona, Colombia or Canoa, Ecuador. I needed my wits about me, concentrating on the ground to avoid the many stones and children littering the beach.

Huanchaco is a fishing town, where the fisherman favour traditional canoes made from reeds. The boats are all lined up against the wall of the beach, creating silhouettes which pointed up at the sky like tall, erect bananas. I also found this Pelican chilling, feeling pangs of nostalgia when I thought back to the same thing happening on my very first run in South America, in Lima back in October last year.

As I got further around the beach, the crowds were thinning. I enjoyed watching the surfers catch the last few waves of the day, the Pelicans their last few fish. After enough post-night bus exertion I retired back to the hostel and to a bunk bed sleep I felt I’d really earned.

Cuenca

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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!

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.

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.

Quilotoa

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After my less-than-raving review of La Laguna de Latacunga, in support of fairness and balance, I thought I should write about a really spectacular lagoon not so far away. Even though it doesn’t involve me running. The lagoon sits in the crater of an dormant volcano, Quilotoa, a couple of hours from Latacunga.

Life in Latacunga, whilst I am volunteering at a pre-school ‘teaching English’, is the most hermit-esque I have experienced on my travels so far. I’m a very positive person, so my lack of words on this town could speak volumes. Hence I was excited to escape the drudge on a volcanic/mountainous/lagoon adventure with a friend at the weekend.

The first leg of our journey was a bus ride from Latacunga, up (further) into the mountains to Zumbahua. Zumbahua is a small town at 3700m altitude, populated by indigenous, or Quechua people. After getting off the bus we wandered around the market, and I got an idea of the everyday essentials in Zumbahuan life. We did stick out a fair bit; my fair hair; our backpacks; not to mention standing (at least) head and shoulders over 90% of everyone. Actually maybe 100%. My friend overheard a woman telling her child to behave themselves, or the gringos would take them away! I was simultaneously relieved and disappointed not to see the cui (guinea pig), bargaining we’d heard took place here, and we took a car onwards to Quilotoa.

The Quilotoa crater and lagoon are not visible as you approach, only when you walk up to the edge of the rim, can you see the incredible picture-postcard view. Because of this, I couldn’t manage to get the whole thing in one photo (even on panoramic mode; I tried).

The descent into the crater is a steep and sandy incline. Although not easy on the legs, the beautiful scenery made it far less than a chore. After breathing in the beauty for a while we reached the shore of the lagoon and took a leisurely paddle around in a kayak. Supposedly dormant, there was still evidence of volcanic activity which we found in hot water seeping from the rocks, painting them bright red and orange with mineral deposits, and natural jacuzzis bubbling up to the surface of the lake.

Back on shore we set up camp, collected firewood, and watched the sun go down behind the steep walls of Quilotoa which surrounded us. After a not-so sound night’s sleep, with strong winds and hard ground, waking up to the views of the lagoon made it worth it. One aspect which was particularly incredible was the reflections of the sky and the clouds on the lagoon. Being so close to the clouds, their shadows painted a flowing, dramatic contrast of colours on the surface of the vast lagoon.

Later in the day it was time to make the dreaded ascent back up to the mouth of the crater. Aside from the steep and slippy terrain, we were making the climb up to 3900m altitude. We took it slow and edged our way back up, taking a while longer than on the way down, and meeting some llamas on the way. They weren’t really as friendly as they might look in this photo.

Latacunga

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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.

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.

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?

Baños

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I’m writing this whilst trying to block out the squelches, screams and crunches of another horrifically violent, badly dubbed film being played to a bus load of families. Today, it’s a bus from Baños and I’m heading back to Quito.

As I had mentioned, I decided to opt out of running in Baños due to my gammy foot. I did however do a post-worthy hike up from Baños into the mountains above, to ‘the swing off the edge of the world’, locally known as ‘El Casa del Arbol’; ‘The Tree House’.

Baños is pleasantly cool compared to out last few stops, Guyaquil and Canoa. So a 3/4 hour hike into the mountains seemed pretty manageable. After fuelling up at breakfast I bought some treats for the journey and me and my mum and set off together.

The first stretch of the walk took us to Bellavista, the old South American favourite, a religious symbol overlooking a great view of the town. Baños has a large cross from which we enjoyed impressive views of the little town in the mountains, just below the clouds.

We met a Canadian family around here and walked with them for the rest of the way. The route took us up many muddy paths, through farm land and forest. There were lots of strange and interesting plants to take in, including these polka-dot trees.

After around 3 and a half hours walking we had made it up to El Casa del Arbol and paid our one dollar entrance fee. The area consisted of a field housing the treehouse and swings, a small zip wire and a restaurant. It in the middle of the clouds and we were unable to see the mountains and vast volcano which we knew surrounded us. We sat down for a choclo con queso for lunch and watched the other tourists going for the money shot on one of the two swings which fly out over the side of the mountain.

After our leisurely lunch, the clouds were beginning to lift and the surrounding mountains were peeking through. Mum had strict instructions as photographer and I took my turn at swinging ‘off the edge of the world’. I was happy we had hung around for a little while as the views from our vantage point at 2660m altitude were beautiful. We opted for a taxi ride back down to town, but only after I bought one of these giant seed pods for 50 cents. It’s called guaba and after breaking it open you eat the slightly furry white flesh which surrounds the big black seeds inside.

On descending into town, the festivities for New Years Eve were well under way. Many of the shops and homes outide had their effigies ready for burning at midnight. This tradition is called año viejo; old year, where celebrities and characters from the previous year are burned at midnight. Other traditions include men dressing up as women and stopping traffic for money, wearing yellow underwear for good luck, and lots of masks. The town was buzzing that night and complete with fox mask and yellow knickers, I partied like an Ecuadorian until the early hours.

Guayaquil

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Guayaquil is the only place (I’ve heard of) with its own community of urban iguanas. These creatures roam free in Parque Simon Bolivar, the first destination on my run this morning. It is unclear who or what feeds the iguanas, or stops them wandering out of the park fences and into the surrounding streets and roads. But they seem to be thriving, albeit with a few tails missing. The Ecuadorians in the park were fairly interested in the iguanas but were probably just as enthused about feeding the pigeons. Unfortunately I had forgotten to charge my camera today, but have some snaps from my trip to the park yesterday.

Onwards from Simon Bolivar, I ran to the Malecón, another urban park which makes up a long promenade area along the seafront. It was early morning, before the rush and before the sun, and I was one of many runners making the most of the Malecón. The other runners included dozens of naval sailors undertaking their morning fitness training. I had seen many sailors in crisp white uniforms throughout the city the previous day (think Sex and The City navy boat party episode-or not), but this morning they were wearing cute little navy blue shorts and tee twinsets, complete with white hems and stripes, and ‘naval’ in white across the chest. Tres chic!

The Malecón has a lovely variety of environments; lush Gardens, fish ponds, performance spaces, restaurants, a cinema and a museum, as well as a life-size nativity scene and giant Christmas tree for the festive season. This morning I ran past a series of monuments to famous historical Guayaquilianos. One name stood out in particular and I repeated it to myself for the rest of the run, so as not to forget it. The name was Rosa Borja de Icaza.

On googling my Ecuadorian namesake, I found out that she was a writer, sociologist, feminist and activist. Yes Rosa Borja de Icaza! Recently when I told someone I was called Rosa, they said that I was “destined to make a change with a name like that”. A tall order I’d say, when I have such fantastic females as my predecessors: ! Rosa Parks, Rosa Luxemburg, and now Rosa Borja de Icaza. (If you know any more incredible Rosas, please get in touch). So back to running. Another reason I was named Rosa was that I was very red when I was born. I was now getting pretty hot and red on my run (haven’t shaken that off with age), so headed back for a cool shower at the hostel.

I still have 2 tiny pieces of shell stuck in the sole of my left foot from Canoa. They’re pretty sore and now also have pus coming out of them (sorry). I must have been running unevenly to compensate for this, and to avoid pushing them in even further, so had a sore ankle after the run. It may be best to take it easy on the running in Baños, my next destination, until my foot gamminess is resolved. All medical advice welcome!

Canoa2

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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.

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.

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?

Canoa

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Christmas: if not family, then what is it all about? Celebrating the birth of Christ maybe. But for me, mostly family. And despite largely being a solo traveller, at one with the open road and nothing else, I was lucky enough to have a (partial) family Christmas. That part of my family would be my mum, who has travelled to Ecuador to spend a few weeks of the festive season with me. Not only am I lucky enough to have a mum happy to travel with me, she is also up for running with me. Our Christmas Day was far from traditional and began with an early morning run on the beach together.

Awoken bright and early by la madre, clearly the tables have turned since the days I was up before the crack of dawn on Christmas Day, desperate to get stuck in to my stocking. After a not so early night on the tiles (sand), it took a few nudges and some persuasion before I was up and ready to go. Aside from the rum-head, I was slightly battered and bruised from a surf lesson the day before. I had also trodden on a ridiculously spiky shell and still had (have) some pieces of the little bastard in my left heel. Undeterred(ish), we hit the beach.

It was early morning and thus cool enough to enjoy a run out of the searing equatorial sunshine. The sky was cloudy but bright and it was shaping up to be a glorious day; a world away from the chilly Christmas the rest of my family were enjoying back in the UK. The beach was already gently buzzing with people enjoying walks, runs and even some swims to kick off their Christmas Day. Barefoot running on the beach, the sea lapping at my toes, is probably one of my favourite ways to start any day. I wonder how I could incorporate it into the usual festive traditions back home. After a brisk and refreshing run we returned to the hotel to exchange our gifts. No stocking for Rosa this year!

Later in the day we headed into Canoa for our Christmas dinner (ceviche, beer and ice cream). The beach was alive and singing with hoardes of families enjoying their Christmas in the sun. It was lovely to see an alternative to the traditions back home and to have my mum there. Nevertheless I couldn’t help but look forward to Christmas next year, with all of my family. And lots of cheese and wine.

rosarunningaway

My experiences running, around the world.

Tag Archives: south america

6 months away

Lima2

Huanchaco

Cuenca

Quilotoa

Latacunga

Baños

Guayaquil

Canoa2

Canoa

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