Tag Archives: travel running

Auckland2

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?

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!

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!

Auckland

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From Peru to New Zealand in less than a day (but kind of in 2, given the time difference). I landed at 4am on Wednesday and spent the day napping, hiding from the rain and trying to work out what time it is in various countries. So why NZ? The largest chunk of my year around the world will be spent here, working and saving some much needed cash for further travels. I chose NZ because aside from it being a beautiful, fun and friendly place to live for 6 months or so, it is where my Dad is from. So with half my family here and a dual citizenship waiting to be made the most of, I’ve been excited to get here and rediscover my kiwi side. After 13 years away I am so excited to be back!

For the second time on my trip my longing for home, family and friends has been alleviated by a visiting faraway face; this time, my Dad. Aside from gifting me with kiwi heritage (and passport!), I have inherited my running legs from my Dad. Despite now being 60, he is a running force to be reckoned with! I seriously doubt there will ever be a point in our lives that I will pep him to the finish line in a race. So who better to have as a running partner; to whip me back into shape after my running schedule has become a bit too relaxed over the last 15 weeks?

I woke soon after dawn to weather in contrast to yesterday; the sun beating down and a pleasing breeze puffing. We hit the road from my aunty and uncle’s house in Browns Bay, a suburb of Auckland where my Dad grew up as a kid. Within a few minutes we were down at Browns Bay beach, sharing the scene with just a handful of other early birds. From the beach you can see over to Rangitoto Island; a volcanic island whose silhouette is etched into my memory from my time living close to it as a child. In my 2 days here so far, so many things have triggered memories of NZ which have drifted dormant in my brain for years: the taste of hokey pokey ice cream; the whistling of cicadas in the trees; the thrill of wearing no shoes when I went to school…

Our run took us past Browns Bay and on to Waiake Bay, another little beach facing Rangitoto. My Dad was my personal guide and historian en-route, pointing out his and my aunty’s old school (Browns Bay School), his old Scout Hut (still there after 50 or more years), and showing how the area has developed from being largely covered in wild bush, to a busy and built-up town. Despite my various hilly runs in SA (Bogota and Mindo spring to mind), undulating Auckland and in particular Deep Creek Road got my lungs and legs pumping; I was feeling the burn! After a faster and longer run than I’ve been attempting recently (nevertheless a breeze for my Dad), we made it back to the house for a (rather rosy) post-run selfie before cooling down.

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?

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.

Mindo

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Maybe I should have got my rabies jabs. My most recent runs have consisted of me running down nice quiet tracks, only to find that they are someone’s driveway with an aggressive dog at the end. I have avoided any rabid bites. So far.

My first run in Mindo pretty much panned out like that. I ran down a few surprise driveways until I gave up and headed up the main road, no pavement. Despite not choosing a great route, I still saw some nice things along the way. Including lots of bananas. Bananas grow everywhere in Mindo. Varieties I had never seen before, my favourites being these little stout pink ones. Mindo also has lots of birds, which attract many ‘birders’ desperate to tick off another exotic species on their bird bucket list. I saw some nice birds. I couldn’t tell you what they were but I did find out that there is a species of hummingbird called a ‘hoary puffleg’. Fantastic.

On my first tour of Mindo’s driveways whilst heading down a promising looking track (drive), there were a group of kids playing out. Seeing me running towards them they all screamed and darted for cover in their yards and houses. A red puffing gringo running towards you is clearly something of a rarity in Mindo. When I inevitably had to make the awkward u-turn back, on finding the house at the end of the drive, the kids did the same again; running screaming for cover from the scary monster. Only one brave little girl poked her head around the gate once I was at a safe distance and shouted ‘Hola gringa’ after me. Seeing a white person running seemed not just to shock the children. Making my way back into town, everyone I passed was struggling to contain their sniggers and gasps on seeing my red face. It’s essential to have a sense of humour at these times, or risk developing some sort of complex. I mean I guess they’re laughing at my red face, right?

My second run in Mindo was little more successful. It was however a bright and temperate early evening; lovely running conditions. After running down two very pleasant and long driveways I found the town playing field, with views down to the pretty little town in the mountainous jungle. The environment is sometimes described as ‘cloud forest’; the clouds kiss the tops of the mountains, sometimes enveloping Mindo and its neighbours. Literally having your head (and the rest of you), in the clouds.

It had been a beautiful Sunday in Mindo, and the hub of the village was the pretty river which runs right through. Locals were swimming, socialising and washing there; there was even a little barbecue set up selling grilled plantain and corn. The river festivities were winding down as I passed by on my run, but there were still a few people going for a dip before the sun went down. It was a canny community vibe and I wish now that I had joined them.

rosarunningaway

My experiences running, around the world.

Tag Archives: travel running

Auckland2

Auckland

Huanchaco

Cuenca

Quilotoa

Latacunga

Guayaquil

Canoa2

Canoa

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