Tag Archives: traveller

Sunshine Coast

In true Aussie fashion, I woke early and eager this morning. After a busy day yesterday, surfing and swimming at a few spots on the Sunny Coast, we’d slept well and were gunning for another piece of The Sunshine. By the time we left the house I’d already polished my previous post, written some postcards home and got a couple of chapters reading in.

One thing I love (and miss) about little old overpopulated Great Britain, is that if you live near a city and don’t drive it’s no problem. Public transport is great and places are generally pretty close together making my fave mode of transport; cycling, pretty easy. Not so much in Australia and New Zealand. Since the start of my travels I have met Aussies who say they are from “near Melbourne; just about 7 hours drive…”. So my stubborn choice to fend off buying a car for as long as possible (I haven’t driven since I passed my test 3 years ago…) may soon come to an end. Especially if I want to keep surfing back in NZ! I’ve been so lucky in Aus and NZ so far, to have friends and family host and guide me, including driving me about. Today was the same and we had a Sunshine Coaster to show us some local hotspots.

First stop was a bush walk to waterfalls and rock pools. On the way we spotted these happy looking kookaburras, who when they call, sound like crazed monkies laughing. The walk took us past many impressive trees, including these twisty, hollow ones which would look right at home on a creepy woodland horror flick. I’m not sure of their name but they start life as a vine, which latches onto a host tree and surrounds, sucks and suffocates it until it dies and rots, leaving the tree-vine standing in its place. We made it to the pools and took a refreshing dip, in what was actually the warmest river I’ve swam in on my travels.

Back on the road, we stopped by a bakery and I found a post box to start the postcards on their long journey to the motherland, Newcastle (UK!). Now one thing I really hold dear from my Geordie heritage is pastry. You can’t beat a good pasty, and thinking of Greggs the bakers staying open until the early hours for a post-club cheese and onion really makes my heart twinge with homesickness. Luckily Australians share this pastry passion and I have been impressed with the range of baked goods on offer here. I opted for a delicious spinach and feta pasty (must admit, you wouldn’t find that in Greggs), to fend off my longings for the toon and fuel the next adventure of the day; climbing Mount Coolum!

The midday sun was beating down and a sign at the foot of old Coolie said it was a 2 hour round trek. Pah! We missioned on up and mounted the mount in just 20 minutes! With 360 degree crystal clear views of the Sunshine Coast it was the perfect photo opportunity.

So a post which is a little off-piste and on a tangent but I’m really having a great and active time over in Aus! Don’t want you to miss out on the pastry lo-down or adventures I’m enjoying. I hope it makes a good read.

Gold Coast

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My birthday began in Piha, New Zealand and ended in The Gold Coast, Australia. it lasted 27 hours and I blagged my way out of paying $130 for my luggage being overweight. A pretty special day all in all.

So I’m never really prepared for the weather in my subsequent destination. I have been surprised by snow in Peru, daily storms in Colombia and getting chilly in Ecuador. Clearly I still haven’t learned (to maybe just google the weather report). Who knew Austrailia would be so freakin hot?! On my first full day here the mercury was tipping 37! So I wisely decided to go for a jog at midday with my friend and Brasiliaussie host, Renata.

At the start of the run/walk I spotted my first proper Aussie arachnid! Framed against a blue blue sky towards Sufers Paradise. Yes there’s a town called Surfers Paradise here. And that’s the kind of place The Gold Coast is. Everyone looks so healthy and bronzed with sun kissed hair. On the short journey we passed walkers, runners, surfers, swimmers, cyclists, body boarders, kite surfers, paddle boarders, skaters and probably some more obscure sports I can’t remember. On a weekday lunchtime. It really does inspire you to be part of the moving masses! Seeing exercise ingrained into a society is a breath of fresh air. Ok so in the UK we don’t have so many white sand surf beaches or year-round sun bleached promenades. And I know Coronation Street is great, but more needs to be done to inspire people off their sofas and into some sweaty activity!

After a very short time running I was ‘the colour of a newborn piggy’; Ren’s words. It was ridiculously hot and my shoulders were screaming with sunburn. We passed this cool truck before slowing to a walk and lapping up water from the water fountains conveniently stationed along the promenade. I will be timing my next run here more carefully. Like maybe the middle of the night or something.

Piha3

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Last night I witnessed the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen. I stood in the shallows, looking out to the golden, blue and pinky sky; to the surfers just bobbing on their boards, facing the same way as I, disappearing behind the huge 2-3m waves which swelled between them and me; these waves which grew and crashed and rushed towards me, diminishing with every metre they travelled until they lapped gently at my calves and the sun shone golden on the temporary frothy calm behind each one.

I have seen some amazing spectacles on my travels so far: Machu Picchu; Caribbean beaches; Volcanic lagoons. However this is the first time an incredible sight has stirred such emotion in me. I felt like crying, or being sick, or something equally overdramatic. Maybe I only reacted like this because I had already been beaten down and battered; physically and clearly emotionally, by the scene I was now in awe of; I had just attempted surfing for the first time in New Zealand.

One of my intentions whilst in Piha was to learn to surf. After being here for one week of my total three, and having been surfing once, I have revised this aim to improving my surfing. Like maybe standing up on the board for more than a second. For many kiwis, surfing and the sea are what they have been brought up on. Not me. The sea kind of scares me; in fact I have recurring nightmares about big waves washing me away. But I’m the kind of woman who refuses to fear anything: confronting would-be intruders in the night (noisy pipes) with big spanners; ridding houses of large spiders; travelling the world alone. Trying to surf at New Zealand’s wildest beach is just my style.

You’ve probably guessed how my first surf lesson went. I was just practicing catching waves in the white water (broken waves near the beach) and getting generally battered and bruised by the sea, my board, and swept scarily towards Lion Rock. And I really hurt my bum. But I’m not giving up! Totally intended to go for an early morning surf before brekkie today but after a bad night tossing and turning (probably more tidal wave dreams), I’ve had a lazy day, ending with an evening run to try and catch another sensational sun-down, this time on foot.

I left the hostel with a surge of the energy which had escaped me all day. Running my usual route through Piha, up hilly Garden Road to then turn to the beach, I spotted a track which I hadn’t used before, with many steep steps. I picked this route and with another miraculous energietic burst, turned back at the bottom of the steps and did them all again! I’m just mental, me like.

Once my lust for steps had been satisfied, I carried on to the beach, as the sunlight began to turn pinky-golden. Approaching the beach the sky was reflected perfectly in the creek which runs past Lion Rock to the sea.

I had timed my run perfectly, the sunset was getting into full swing as I pranced across the sand. Again many walkers, swimmers and surfers had turned out for the daily treat. I saw a girl of around 6 with presumably her dad, surfing on the white water. She caught a wave perfectly to whoops, hugs and high-fives from her dad and I couldn’t help but beam. The peace and beauty was only broken by a little dog barking incessantly at it’s reflection in the mirror-like pools in the sand. I’ll let it off though, such amazing spectacles can bring about strange reactions after all.

Piha2

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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.

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.

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.

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

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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.

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

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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.

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.

rosarunningaway

My experiences running, around the world.

Tag Archives: traveller

Sunshine Coast

Gold Coast

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Piha

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Auckland

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Huanchaco

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